|I realize now why I feel little admiration for any of the works I have produced lately. As opposed to the essays I had written years before, concerning the tragic history of Marie Antoinette and her role as a misunderstood historical figure, the ghastly absence of basic human rights experienced in various cases of Muslim women and the abuse suffered by Pearl at the hands of her abusive husband Wen Fu, among various other subjects.|
I had identified with the people I wrote about, I felt an intimacy with them, a deep understanding of their agony, their emotions and I only did what was naturally expected of myself; to write.
Ernest Hemingway once said that there had been nothing to writing, all one had to do was to sit at the typewriter and bleed. And I did. I bled. And it was good.
If anything in fact, I wrote as if my life depended on it. Perhaps to some extent, it did. I found little in other areas of my life at that time to function as a coping mechanism and I forced myself to do only the sensible thing and that was to never lose focus of my studies. Yet I embraced that with bittersweetness, knowing that it reflected on the miserable fact that there was a gaping void where life and its pleasures were supposed to be. Work became my drug. It was a sickening oxymoron: the maddening threats of deadlines, of self-imposed pressure to excel robbed me of many hours of sleep and food yet was the only thing preserving the last vestiges of my sanity. Perhaps one might even peg that phase as the most Baroque movement I have experienced so far.
These days, however, every academic remembers to maintain a sense of detachment in history essays. But would not the absence of emotion somewhat undermine the impact of the writing? Yet it is a reasonable regulation; how could one take another historian seriously if they were writing as if they were writing a diary? Calculated reason and extreme emotion rarely ever proved a much effective union in academic writing from my experience so far in university.
Perhaps its just myself, I no longer feel the passion that had once fuelled my drive before. It is deeply saddening, and consequently fosters this sense of mid-university crisis, where I flounder and I begin to wonder...
What am I supposed to be doing?
I have reached stagnant waters, and I am phlegmatic to the point where it seems to cause my creativity to deteroriate..
I had been driven by an insatiable innate anger, and I vented by channeling all that emotion into work. But now I have tried searching for that anger but I could not. I find only angst, one that has caused me to inflict complete isolation from everything on myself. I could only find an unfulfilled yearning for acceptance, for applause,
Before, I had been certain I was deserving. Yet now, I wonder if I am worthy..
|I begin with an age old question; could science and religion ever co-exist and operate harmoniously for long?|
In the first semester of university, it was fascinating to observe the Church's dominance in medieval society but it gets more interesting this semester as I begin to see an intriguing combination of religion and science surfacing which may arguably be the forming of the foundation of the very atheistic modern technology we are familiar with now. Witchcraft persecutions evolved to the legal justice system of this age and science, once fronted by religious men, even Darwin and Einstein himself, dissipated to an irreconciliable conflict between the both.
Reading about Newton provoked me to question my own faith. People often fail to distinguish the difference between atheism and agnosticism; atheists thoroughly believe there is no God, agnostics are ambivalent. But perhaps personally, I drift between being a believer and an agnostic. I'm not ambivalent about the existence of God, I'm just certain he hasn't much to do with my life. I believe the bible is a social construction, a manmade object. What authentic claims may man make that it is indeed the word of God? Its a question as problematic as solid evidence of God. That is the whole point of the meaning of faith; the term itself suggests belief in the abstract and the intangible. But of course, this is merely my humble, not so educated opinion.
Yet as scholars write about how one in this age may be surprised that Newton was adamant about proving the existence of God despite possessing a reputation as a brilliant, prominent theologian who developed the framework of classical mechanics, I wonder myself if merely believing that there is a God is really that much of a degression. Why do people in general still equate religion to ignorance? And I begin to wonder if its due to the few but conspicuous zealots who make no secret about their politically incorrect religious views. But then again, is it not as ignorant to view this collective as an accurate representative of believers? Again, all this pondering gives rise to more questions than answers, much like Newton's attempts to prove God's intervention in the solar system.
Perhaps I am just saddened that to believe is laughable to many who only want tangible concrete evidence, and the spaghetti monster is a farcical result of this problem. Perhaps I feel as Newton does, for all his intelligence, his faith is still penalized and questioned. And perhaps, this is all just my frustration that to believe is to appear ignorant and wilfully so, when Newton and I just wanted some evidence, some substantial argument for the existence of a God.
|Surreal, the lights hazy and dim|
Your scent was maddening
What had transpired would seem
a bliss most baffling
Even admist the elation, lurked deepest fear:
Would you not remember tonight?
Yet every sigh, every kiss, I would hold dear
Yet I gazed in your eyes and never beheld an equal sight
Like nothing I've ever felt before,
Like nothing I dared conceive
Could it be, that thing of myth and lore?
It would have been love, I believe
|Life just feels like one big failed dota game. I don't think I've ever been this frustrated. |
I have no communication with my peers like I have no communication with my teammates.
I am farming in life like a grandmother in comparison to everybody else's imba carry tYranEE style.
I thought I was certain of what I was doing at uni like how I was farming for this item but now I don't know what items to get so I think I got the wrong items.
Then I got owned because of my item choices.
My life has been filled with failed relationships/friendships/whatever like how 70% of my games are filled with dumb teammates. I lane with them and I get screwed over by them like how they won't stun/disable/just hit two heroes ganking on me. And then we all start blaming each other like how everybody in the team starts trash talking and pointing fingers when everybody realizes its GG.
I get harassed by my worries like how I get harassed in a tri-lane. Because my anxieties hold me back, I am not getting any XP either.
I was so confident in my abilities and so sure of my decisions in doing what I'm doing but now it just feels like I just -random and failed because I don't know how to use the hero to save my own life so I end up feeding.
I get shit for doing a Bachelor of Arts because I thought I could be a teacher after I finish a Diploma in Education but as it turns out, I might just find my best option is a job in Maccas.
Just like how people underestimate a Dark Seer outcarrying Spectre or Weaver, who happen to be Med and Engineering students respectively.
By the end of the game, I am underleveled, have no items and my teammates have all left.
I lost the game due to a combination of bad teamwork, so many wrong choices and just being a noob.
I'm going to die alone in life like how I'm going to die alone in DotA.
I got owned by life. I give up. GG WP CBF
|Je suis très peur. Terrifié. Je pense que je suis folle. |
J'ai diminué, je suis une personne socialement maladroit.
J'ai développé anthropophobie! Ha ha ha ..
Mais je veux simplement être seul dans le coin .. ou dois-je?