Who can say where the road goes?

Dear future hubster,

have I mentioned that time is of a weird nature? That it flies but sometimes crawls is no news; that days can be slow (not to mention meetings and lectures that feel like an eternity) but weeks and months made up of those slow days run by way too fast is a notion familiar to many. 

I must admit that I'm not entirely surprised by it, but it is certainly curious to experience how a couple of weeks can feel oddly long and logically short at the same time. Missing the Kivu sun and Tshukudu food is justified because it was just two heartbeats ago (and my repatriation ticket is still not paid, so maybe I never left?), but then what's going on with this familiarity of streets and trees and St John's disco signs? Knowing shortcuts to get to class the spooky way if it didn't rain the night before? Only getting lost in the building every other day? Feeling like that's all I've ever done?