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| by comrade commissar | Thomas | @ Wednesday, June 09, 2004, 12:17:00 PM | permalink |
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Disillusioned
In secondary school, I did literature for my O' Levels. In sec 3 and 4, I had a Ms. T as my lit teacher. Literature, being my most keen subject, generally was given a boost in my priorities by her combination of firebrand-preacher enthusiasm and madcap styled education. The subject, as well as the job of being a inspirational pedagogue, begun to appeal to me as a career option. So imagine my reaction when I went back as an ex-student to tell her about my future dreams in adult society, and she said this: "Well, actually, I plan to quit as soon as possible. Actually, I want to be a waitress." My girlfriend had the opportunity to be involved in a publication recently, which among other things, allowed her to discuss about issues related to feminism. Knowing that Ms. T did this topic during her uni days, (and assuming that she would have a similar level of zeal for the subject) she brought it up during her conversations with Ms. T. Ms. T just laughed a little and gave a knowing smile. As growing individuals, we all have our fair share of idols and role models. I just wish there was some sort of alert or indicator when some of these role models have the punk dysfunctional edge of Titus' dad. Burn Out In History remedial class today, a short unofficial break among us became a raving rant session when the topic of the quality of Literature lessons this year (2004, yes, I do Lit also for my A' levels) was raised. There were different levels of agitation among my classmates, from the bitter grumbling to the barely-controllable rage. From a strange third-person perspective I observed the proceedings and watched as one of them, Rathiy become louder and louder and more emotional. It was not that I disagree. Certain lit classes this year leave much to be desired. It was not that I didn't feel pissed either. "When we know what (good things) the Year 1s and 2s are having for lit, it makes us so pissed." Amen Rathiy, Amen. I guess I just couldn't bring myself to pour out my burning anger, because I didn't have any. For some, giant outbursts are cathartic enough. I guess my version is a form of long term therapy instead - Deliberate "artistic" misinterpretations during drama act out sessions, agreeing with my classmate's views even when the pragmatic lit teacher rules them out without much consideration, reading and making my own notes instead. My own volcano eruptions will come for some other situation or occasion I guess. Communication A: "Thomas, I think you like things which confuse you. That's why you are also confusing." B: *insert snickering sounds* "Birds of a feather come together what." ME: Screw you. I have always known that I did not have the same thoughts, ideas or mindset like most people. Dimly aware at young, to acutely so at present, it seems very much so that I might very well be living the brain-in-a-vat nightmare. Beyond Cogito Ergo Sum, who else is out there? How come among my peers, I can hardly find anyone else who can engage me in meaningful thought-provoking communication? com.mu.ni.ca.tion ( P ) Pronunciation Key (k-myn-kshn) n. The act of communicating; transmission. 1. The exchange of thoughts, messages, or information, as by speech, signals, writing, or behavior. 2. Interpersonal rapport. Generally, I meet 3 kinds of people: 1. One Way Traffic - They don't understand WTH I'm talking about when I start talking about deeper stuff, struggling along with a mix of wonder and bewilderment. 2. Limited Bandwidth - They understand the ideas being discussed, but don't know enough about it to contribute much to the dialogue. 3. Two Way Traffic - Constructive material constantly being brought onto the discussion table. Control over the thesis/antithesis on a subject can easily be achieved by either sides through skillful persuasion. Think about it as being like competitive debates, but without the aggressive attitudes. Come on. Enrich me. Amuse me. Reaffirm my mental existence. Thank you. Weighed Down I do crazy things. Midnight cycling, a past attempt to do some sketches on my school rooftop, crazy firestarter pyro-antics, bouldering, you name it. But these activities for all their wild appearances, keep me within my safety bubble. and I noticed that 1 thing that I am really uncomfortable about is with the screwing of my 5 senses. I cannot let go. I have a serious dependency problem of myself. To a large extent, that's why I suck at doing gymnastics, handstands, somasaults, assigning tasks in group project situations, have dictatorial tendencies in making decisions. To a small extent, that's why I can't swim very well as yet. The need to discover myself and to let go has become so much clearer in recent years. The first opportunity I had was when i accidentally slipped while bouldering. *blink* For a split second I am suspended in mid-air. Awkward, I grasp out in vain. At that moment, fear grips me tightly. Fear is not being in control. Fear is being helpless. Fear is being insignificant, falling like a stone towards an envisioned impending doom. I cry out aloud in my head the only name that matters at that point. "Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you." (1 Peter 5:7) "... because God has said, "Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you." (Hebrews 13:5) "I can do everything through him who gives me strength." (Philippians 4:13) I hit the crash mat and land safely. Maybe its what I thought about during these climbing sessions. But I always leave for home physically and spiritually refreshed. |
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