Posts Tagged With: musings
Dinner with Allie, Karla and Luchi at Nando’s before watching Deadpool 2 at Dendy’s Canberra Centre!
Yesterday, I got a 90 for a research proposal I did for two days, I even handed it in late. Now, imagine submitting that to a linguist, who published articles in journal? It feels good to be honest, and it absolutely feels good to get it out of my chest. But I just don’t have the courage to say that and to let others know. It’s not only that, I realised I’m dumbing down myself. For example, my friend told me she got 86 in another course, but she got 95, 95, 98 in the previous assessments. One of her classmates told me that the professor was rather lenient in that class. And even if I didn’t know if someone has higher than my score, I told her, “but most of them are higher than 90!”. The heck? Why did I lie? Why did I lie that many of my classmates have higher scores when I don’t know? and I never told her that the prof was a strict grader in that course? She’s witholding information to lift herself up while I witheld information to dumb myself down. I also lied to a classmate in that course, telling her I didn’t get an HD. Why? I have been thinking about that all day yesterday.
Voice: What do you do when you feel you’re stuck in a rut? Do you stop and let it be? Do you allow it, and pitch camps? Do you want to go forward?
Me:I think moving forward is the best way.
Voice: Why are you scared to accept where you are now? It is far from what you want to be?
Me: Yes, it’s not what I envision myself to be. Everything has become silent. IT’s deafening. The more I push the wall in front of me, the more I get hurt, scratch my palms, the more I understand that I do not power over the wall. I canno
Voice: Yes, so what do you do if there’s a wall? You go around it! You don’t push it, you are yourself. You just go around it or climb over it. You don’t have to push it, climb over it! You don’t have to expect a sudden change, you slowly put your right foot in the wall, and place your left hand on a sturdy rock on the wall. It’s gonna be difficult, it may be long, but soon enough you’ll get past through that wall. Again, you feel satisfied, but remember you have to go down, to humble yourself and accept that whatever accomplishment you may feel on top at the moment is not exactly the reason why you started climbing the wall.
Rest, but you have to go down and start a new liberating journey. You don’t have to push the wall, it’s going to be difficult. Stop pointing everything wrong in your life. Instead, choose to choose the best way you think you could move past that hurdle. No need for bantering, no need for overthinking. Just do something, a little something is better than doing a big act you can’t even maintain. You can use a ladder or leverage other people. Anything. As long as you do something. Instead of looking at the wall and saying, “That’s a huge wall”. Does thinking day in and day out change the wall or lift you up? Nope. At some point, you gotta do something about it. Climb over it or go around it! There’s always that small step that you can take. Don’t pitch camps there. Don’t. That’s the reason why you get stuck at present.
You asked why I turned down the Phil Sci Academic Writing teacher’s position, and chose to work for
a this private company.
P iles of emails and mounds of meetings
E xtroverted introvert environment, and the
R ight to control rest in the midst of busyness
But that’s not it.
I t is the job’s sometimes rapid-snailed and other times steady-flicked pace
Its rather systematic-creative approach, and the breadth and width of potential learning available, mostly strewn and presented in fixed formulae
In other words,
O xymorons that
D azzle me. Period.
You sit alone in your room, gazing into space while your mind wanders around a spate of negative thoughts… “You are dumb. freak. hopeless.useless…” Actually, you already forget the time when you felt optimistic and passionate. You bawled your eyes out the night before and you wish tonight’s going to be the same – tears dripping, you falling asleep then waking up in the morning, following the same old routine. Tonight’s different though – your eyes are frozen and the time is, too. You search for that one hopeful thought to keep you going, but you can’t and so, a far more dreadful train of thoughts enters and slowly drowns you – “Better end this. I should stop this. There’s no point. When I die, nobody’s gonna cry! My death would make them happy!” You want to stop them from drowning you. Still, you are rummaging through your memories for that glimmer of hope that could stop you from taking your life. Today you are successful, but tomorrow might be different, who knows.
His color is darker than mine and her color is a shade brighter than mine, yet in the first meeting at a restaurant where we sit in a round table, we don’t ask each other where we come from. He introduces himself, asks my name. After answering, he inquires if I watch the latest basketball match. I smile and drawl, ‘of course’. We surely exchange conversations, I can’t remember it though. The lady inquires how’s my mindfulness meditation going. I reply, “It’s awesome”. As she shares her meditation experience, I slowly begin to focus my attention elsewhere. A burly man sitting at the opposite table stands up and turns the TV on. Successful environmental projects and social enterprises flood the news. They seem to be conventional to all. I can’t help but notice each table and each interaction. Everyone seems calm, focused, gazing each other’s eyes. Two young white women at the table on my right are joined by a laughing black guy with a confident mien. Three of them seem to be conversing about the social projects they are doing. Hearing her loud squeal, I turn my gaze towards a girl with a black lanky hair on my left, she seems too excited about starting something for her neighborhood; I reckon a sports match? I tilt my head to the left as I fix my gaze on the service crew who are all smiling. While I am the only one guilty of inattention, there’s a sense of calm, focus, and deep joy emanating from each person.Where am I?
My mind is screaming in retaliation, “so what if you don’t want to write for them? What if you write not to be read but you write as a pursuit to purge and even out the unwanted swirling emotions inside screaming to be written down, and you got no choice except penning them down?”
What if it’s not really meant for them? What if?
If it’s really not for them, why does it affect you?