Let's be honest: buttoned-up shirts, skinny jeans, high-top shoes - a common look around campus, yet something which doesn't suit everyone (*Mark). Whether it be indie, well-dressed, under-dressed, or simply the comfortable clothes of someone who doesn't care much for the trappings of modern society and its embrace of the superficial, everyone should have their own style. Or should they? Now being the proud owner of skinny jeans myself, which, despite being neither comfortable nor the right size, are a testament to the need not to possess a style which we call our own. Having been told that wearing the same pair of college trackpants everyday for months on end is 'unfashionable', I caved in and made a conscious decision to 'conform'. With a notepad in one hand and a Castro's coffee in the other, I could be lost in even the smallest of crowds, but who cares? (*Callum) Surely our uniqueness, whatever it is that separates us from the next guy, should be defined by a personality, by an approach to life, not simply a superficial pursuit such as fashion. Conformity is something that many people do, but few are willing to acknowledge - an approach which leaves it on an exclusive list including racial profiling and mastibation (*James). I say embrace it, because before you know it, conformity will be the new non-conformity.
P.S. Song of the week: a classic. Enjoy!
The Middle - Jimmy Eat World
We all know the clichés. Scarf-wearing, pretentious, lattè-sipping poseurs, right?
With their philosophy books carefully but jauntily displayed, despite them having only read the Wikipedia summary.
Three contact hours a week, spent drawling about their notion of identity.
Reject the stereotypes! I'm proud to be an Arts student, even if I do poke fun at the fact I have a four-day weekend and baulk at the idea of waking up before midday. As bold and obnoxious as it may sound, I posit that a lot of the negativity we are on the receiving end of stems from good old-fashioned jealousy. I hear your groans already, but please, hear me out.
What makes being a BA candidate really valuable, for me, is the fact that we're studying what we are because we're passionate about it. With the Melbourne Model, there's no point pretending that the letters B.A. (Melb) after our name are going to realistically open that many doors after graduation, the way that a biomed or commerce degree might. So why do we persist, sighing over the Hegelian dialectic among stacks in the Baillieu? Well, simplistic and naive as I confess to being, it's because we like it. What we study, in my less-limited-than-it-used-to-be experience, tends to be incredibly relevant to the world we live in, most notably from a social perspective. One of my Arts friends went as far as to posit that everyone should be made to do a handful of Arts subjects before they start their bona fide degree, so that they can enrich their worldview a little. Sociolinguistics has made me reflect on the way we all use words every day to categorise people into identities, politics and history have given me an understanding of my role within a western democracy, psychology has pretty much revolutionised the way I conceive humanity.
Do you follow me? These are the skills and knowledge resources that would improve anyone’s life, whether or not it guarantees some fabulously well-regarded career path, and so be it. This said, I do acknowledge that I mentioned this to a friend studying science and she insistently protested that what she learns in her subjects are as relevant and enlightening as what I do. I suppose it takes all types, but I for one can learn much more by studying conceptualisations of the nation than bent over a microscope;
but I'm really glad that there are scientists out there. The last thing I'm suggesting is that we all become Arts students. I'm suggesting that we respect everyone's degree equally, and stop with the stupid clichés, please. They're not funny any more. (On a final note, a Commerce-student friend of mine confessed that she is irriatated by the stereotypes surrounding her degree as well, so I don't suppose that Arts kids have the monopoly on the issue, but I do think we seem to be the most poked-fun-at degree.)
Now, I need to go get a skinny soy latte from Castro's and look down on people who haven't read Nietzsche, while rolling cigarettes moodily and adjusting my beret.
If you are a current UniMelb student and would like to be an Orientation Host in 2011 please follow the three steps below.
1. Applications to be a host are now open, so please take a moment to read the applications page at http://www.services.unimelb.edu.au/transition/volunteers/applying/index.html and then click on the link to apply via the database
2. Once you’ve applied, please help spread the word on Facebook, by updating your status to say ‘I’ve applied to be a 2011 orientation host’ and include this link: http://www.services.unimelb.edu.au/transition/volunteers/applying/index.html
3. Join the Facebook page ‘First Year at Melbourne’ (check out some of the photos and submit more if you have any) - this is the page where you can ask questions, make suggestions, and start conversations with us and one another.
If you can name the song, win 1000 Shannon-Points! It's kind of irrelevant to this post. BUT I LIKE IT.
HINT: BIG DAY OUT WOAH OH MY GOSH HOORAAAAAY ETC.
And hello again, devoted and adoring readers! Just putting it out there, you look amazing. /end_pleasantries.
If you've read my last blog, you will know that previously I was depressed, for reasons involving: parental pressure, detachment from boyfriend, I'd just quit one of my subjects KINDA on a whim (my whimsy is a force to be reckoned with), general feeling of insecurity in both of my homes, falling in love with The Jerk (whom I can't have anyway), uncertainty of what I will do for my course, etc etc etc.
I would have used the University's Counselling Service (http://www.services.unimelb.edu.au/counsel/) but I sorta just woke up one day and decided to get over it. I know that sounds bad when I put it like that, but I can't think of any other way to explain the way I got up, and decided to get on with it. I mean, I wasn't eating properly (or much at all) and I was sleeping far too much or far too little (depending on the day) being generally careless and self-hating. But I found someone to confide in. Granted, not the right person (see also: The Jerk). The lovely and wonderful Jinghan also emailed me about it, and I was much relieved to see how she handled her break-up (see also: the post before mine).
What I'm trying to get at is, I had resolved to go. I was planning to book in the next morning. However I woke up that day and felt good. The next day, still good. This good-ness is ongoing. Despite the fact that I've broken up with my boyfriend, who didn't take it well.
Maybe I should have gone. Other people may not be so lucky as me, as my depression was short-lived, and it seems that I'm in the clear. Err on the side of caution, my dears.
Soooooo.... I broke up with my boyfriend of almost four years. Funny how I only very recently noticed how detached I'd become. I guess that there was physical distance (he lives back home in the ooooold country) between us, and I just took this lack of emotion as normal, or a coping mechanism or something. Hmmnup, wrong. I'd just fallen out of love with him. I had a two week break from classes and I planned to take these two weeks as a kind of trial period... Decide whether it wasn't in my head.
However one day in, he started talking to me about moving in with him and I sorta broke and just came out with it. Oops. He didn't take it well... Over a week on and I'm still working to define boundaries. He still tells me he loves me. He still sends me compliments. He still hasn't changed his facebook relationship status. I've been trying to convince him to get some professional help, as after dumping him his nephew was diagnosed with cerebral palsy, his nanna has been hospitalised due to heart attacks, and he's moving houses. It sure makes me feel like my timing was perfect.
So aside from feeling massively guilty about dumping the poor lad's ass, I am still massively struggling with what to do with The Douchebag. That guy I have a massive thing for. And whose intentions are massively impossible to read (massively impossible doesn't make sense, I know, I'm only rolling with a theme for a paragraph!) even when asked outright. My gut tells me he is a decent guy, gossip tells me he's leading me on for no reason at all, my libido tells me "yes please," and my common sense tells me I should stop talking to him altogether, and live like a saint.
I'm tired of all my white middle-class problems. They're all relationship rubbish, and not really problems at all. They're distracting and a pain. I should sort out what I wanna do with my career, and try to cure cancer along the way.
Since the topic was brought up by Shannon, it is perhaps the right time to write about relationships and breakups now.
Breakups are scary. Even if you see it coming. Even if it's your decision. No- especially if it's your decision. For me, it was a week of nail biting, sleepless nights and sweaty anticipation. But by the end of that week I was single again. It took me a long time to get used to the word "boyfriend" (my first one) and now I find myself back at square one shying away from using the new and foreign word "ex-boyfriend".
The day after the breakup I got a phone call from a girlfriend, "Hey are you free next Tuesday? I was wondering if you wanted to catch up just to do girly stuff, paint our nails, eat cake, you know?"
"Yeah, sounds awesome, I'll be over around lunch time."
If she had been expecting me to be sad, or hateful, or just confused, she must have been disappointed at my cheer when I met up with her that Tuesday. We did paint our nails, but there was no cliche post-relationship weeping and mass-consumption of ice-cream as teen novels seem to suggest. I won't lie, I did cry. But it was from sheer emotional exhaustion, and the nauseous feeling you get when you have to face up to change in your life. One thing I will never admit to, though, is regret. I don't regret having the relationship, and I don't regret that it had to end. Perhaps it's just pride that prevent that, but perhaps it's because the experience changed me, matured me in some positive way.
I'm a romantic. I have great faith in young love. It makes me cringe when my parents are not very good at hiding their assumption of how shallow young love is. But now I bet you want to ask me: then why? Why did you break up? It's been six weeks and I'm still trying to work that out myself.
Before uni started I had pictured that I would make new friends, they would get to know my boyfriend, I would see him a lot more than I did back at school, I would have him hang out at my place when we were both free, maybe move out with him eventually. I remember my (now ex) boyfriend saying to me "I'm scared that when we start uni you'll meet guys who are better than me." But that wasn't what he should have worried about at all. In the small picture, the breakup was me realising and being ashamed of how disconnected I was from my friends, and finally admitting to myself that being in my current relationship wasn't helping that. In the bigger picture, it was because we were both growing and changing. We had headed in the same direction for a while, but now it was time to become different people.
The weeks after the break up there was a great sense of freedom, but with that came a great sense of fear. For the first time, I was surrounded by new and exciting people and I could fall in love with anyone, but I was (and still am) scared because I also have the power to hurt anyone.
"Hey, how are you going?" I text to my (newly) ex boyfriend a mere week later. (What can I say? Old habits die hard.)
"Uni's busy, but what's new? How about you?"
"The word busy doesn't even start to describe how busy I am at the moment. Take care."
And so in this friendly but not too intimate or awkward way our friendship has now played on. I thought the breakup would be hard, emotional, soul-crushing, character-changing; but now I know, it's the working out who you are afterwards part that is the hard part. I'm excited to forge new intimacies and experiences, but I'm scared that I may get trapped in a pattern of repeating the past. Not knowing what I want from a relationship and then hurting people because of that. At the moment, I'm giving myself time and space to just be me. To have a crush on everyone, but admit none to anyone. To think about what I really want from a relationship.
My girl friend pulls me over to her by my arm. "He hugged me! Do you think that means anything? He doesn't do it to any other girls. Does it mean something?"
It's the third time she's asked me this week. "Why are you asking me? You know the answer!"
Spring fever is abundant at uni at the moment. A likes B but is scared that B likes C. In the meantime D seems a bit too interested in A, and a bit too interested in E at the same time. And E is interested in F but doesn't know F is already in a relationship... and it all sounds like its straight out of a soap opera. I sit down with my friend and we have a long discussion about boys and relationships. She describes in detail the sort of guy that she can't stand. And I can't help smiling to myself as I hear it; it's just the sort of guy that I enjoy the company of. And the sort of guy that she swoons over sounds like the sort of guy that I can never get beyond being just an acquaintance to. I kept thinking that she is over thinking her feelings, telling too many people about her feelings, but maybe people are just... different.
I'm one boyfriend down. But I don't think that's enough to shake my faith in young love. Besides, look how much I've learnt about getting to know people and accepting them for who they are.
I just got home last night from an amazing camp. I shoveled food into my mouth, had the sweetest shower of my life and fell asleep straight away after that. But you don't want to know what I did after I got back; you want to know about the actual camp, right?
I had just gotten home from my last day at uni before the mid-semester break, dumped my bag full of lecture notes on my bedroom floor and already I was dissembling my room tossing clothing into bags, trying to find multiple toothbrushes, (all while trying to have a conversation on facebook.) I had a mere 12 hours to pack for two consecutive trips: 1) I was going skiing at Mr Hotham with my family 2) I was going on a camp organised by a Uni group called the Kwong Lee Dow Scholars.
Well I went skiing with my family first, which was brilliant. We had the most beautiful weather, perhaps even a bit warm considering we were wearing ski clothing, but I liked it. The snow was very nice to us, the runs that were a bit icy in the morning softened up to a perfect consistency by the afternoon (after a day in the sun) and the ones that were a bit too soft in the afternoon was just right in the morning. So we managed to cover a really good range of runs including some black ones, and for the first time skiing felt effortless and relaxing. And in the evenings after a hot shower, I would zone out put some nice music in my diskman and just read.
I did some pretty decent legs of driving as well, including some very fast and some very bendy driving*. So after the ski trip I drove from Omeo to Bucchan where I met up with the camp group. I was a bit nervous because they'd all know each other from the train trip and I'd be a bit out of the loop. But it turned out that I didn't need to be worried at all.
The camp was run by an international non-for-profit organisation call Outward Bound, and was in the Snowy River National Park area. We spent the first day learning to put up bivvies**, collecting gear, separating stuff that we would carry (one change of clothing only) emergency clothing and clothing for trip home and playing some silly games. When it was dark we stood in a circle and talked about what we considered outside out comfort zone like pooing in a bucket, keeping up with people who are more fit than we are, abseiling, not having electricity, being with unfamiliar people, etc. We had two camp leaders, and they talked about Outward Bound's visions and aims which was to make us all realise theres more potential in each of us than we know ourselves.
Day two was a big hiking day, we had to pack all the food and we learnt to navigate using contour lines, and how to use a compass, the difference between grid north and magnetic north. You know how when you do hiking things sometimes the fast people are way ahead while the slow people get further and further behind, while getting more and more tired because the fast people stop only long enough for them to catch up and then keep moving? After a little of that, we worked out a system of putting the slowest people in the front and everyone agreed not to overtake anyone. After that we managed to travel a tight group, and gave as a great sense of team-man-ship. It also meant we could sing songs as we walked. ("There's a hole in my bivvy dear Eliza, dear Eliza..." "If you need to tie your shoe tell a friend..." ) We did some initiative/teamwork activities and talked about leadership styles, and it turned out that everyone in the group were very "people" focused as opposed to focusing on achieving a goal in a timely manner so it was almost completely dark when we got to the camp site.
The food was pretty damn awesome, better than some camps where you get the food cooked for you even. I discovered the deliciousness of cream/yogurt soaked bread with jam for breakfast. You should try it if you ever have the chance. At first it was mostly the girls doing the chopping around the "kitchen table" (which was merely a tarp on the ground). But by the end we were teaching the guys how to chop stuff etc. (I caught this guy chopping the capsicum one piece at a time.) For lunch we had sandwiches every day, and there were some crazy combitions of things put into a sandwich (vegemite, tuna and jam anyone?). On the last day the leader got us each to take out a bivvy cord and sit in a circle - we should have seen it coming - they made us make, eat and clean up lunch tied together. Sounds horrible? It was one of the most fun things that happened. For dinner we had a wok that we put over the fire. On the last evening we were given a challenge: to keep the fire burning all night; so we had to set up a roster of people to supervise the fire. sitting by the fire talking at 2-3am in the morning was one of the most relaxing things I did on the camp, actually.
During the day we also did some climbing activities. We worked in pairs to climb this giant ladder, and even though not everyone made it to the top we all tried really hard and worked well with the people we were climbing with. "Success is measured by how hard you try..." is what the camp leaders told us. We did rock climbing and also abseiling. I was at first excited; but when I got to the edge of the cliff I was nervous was hell when I saw how bloody high the abseil was. The exhalation didn't really kick in until I was on the ground at the bottom, but I'm glad I did it. It comes with bragging rights after all. Afterward I went back to the bottom to take photos, and the two girls who were scared of heights went last. I was holding my breadth hoping that they'd at least come to the edge. (They wouldn't have forced us to go down but everyone was encouraged to put on a harness and at least go to the edge of the cliff face). But you know what? Both the girls both abseiled down! I think everyone was in admiration of their courage. I mean for some people it's not a big deal, but it must have taken so much courage for them.
And toilets? As one girl said on the last day: "if you asked me at the start of the camp, I would have never guessed how god damn happy I would be to see the poo bucket when we come into camp." Whatever awkwardness surrounding the idea that was in the air at the start was gone by the end of the five days, and we were all loudly discussing the matter of poo on the train home. (We apologise to the other people on the train). The sleeping bags were really warm and comfy. The first night I was kept opening my eyes at intervals and thinking "whoa! shit! trees!" but I slept so well every other night. We were really really lucky that it didn't rain at all during the camp.
There were twelve of us all together. At the start I barely knew anyone's name, and had seen maybe two or three of the people on an acquaintance-level before. But by the end I think I can say that I knew everyone fairly well, and was really comfortable just hanging out with them even when they were talking about bands that I didn't know etc. I think I already miss them.
On the fifth, and last day, we were given some solo reflection time. And it was during this time that I realised how much the camp had changed my perspective on life. Before I went on the camp I was stressed as hell: about studying, about keeping in touch with friends, about spending a whole week of my holiday at a camp when I could have been studying to catching up with friends. But at the end of the camp what was on my mind was the weight of food in my pack on my back, washing my hands so that we wouldn't all get sick while on the camp, putting up my bivvy properly incase it rained - rudimentary things that are the real stresses of human life. Everything else in life are things that we should take joy in, small things like having a toast on one morning out of four, or the feeling of success when you've hiked to the top of a hill. Before the camp I was nervous as hell about spending five days with strange people, but by the end I was feeling nervous about leaving them to face the other people in my life as the slightly changed person that I am now.
Anyway, so I got home, and had the sweetest shower in my life, and fell asleep straight away. In the morning I found my uni bag full of lecture notes exactly as it had been a week and half ago when I had got home from uni before the mid-semester break. And I laughed. Life's crazy, but I'm ready for anything now.
*in Victoria I have to accrue 120 hours of learner driving time before I can do a driving test.
** sort of like tents, but more like just a sheet of plastic tied to the trees on either side.
Well, this is awkward.
Hello again. Hi. Yes, fine. And you? Good, good.
I am so sorry, it's been so long. I still love you, I promise.
If we were on a footpath rather than the internet, I'd be throwing myself on the ground with remorse, kissing your hem. Maybe. Unless the street was really dusty that day.
I ran into one of the other bloggers at Starbucks today, and we both mumbled awkwardly and hungoverdly about how neither of us had written in ages, so I'm reforming myself.
So, what do you want to know? That's part of the reason of my non-blogging tendencies, it's difficult to know what facets of my life interest whatever stray cyber-waifs stumble across my words. My stance on UMSU elections? (irritating. I just voted for candates with the prettiest names because I am a valuable and well-informed member of the electorate). My views of subjects this semester? (Seriously, deeply mixed. I contemplated dropping a couple at one point. Personality psychology's pretty ace, though, I've taken to analysing my friends which I'm sure is not in the least annoying.) My personal life? (Messy and splendid and not really a can of worms I want to open to the world of public speculation).
Let's talk about Melbourne! This city doesn't stop amazing me. I had someone ask me this morning (Cara-speak, 'morning' means whatever grey-faced early-afternoon hour I roll out of some winestained bed) 'so, what don't you like about Melbourne?'. I was speechless - unable to envisage this city as anything other than a garden of delights. I exaggerate, yes, but not that much. I know it's full of creepsters and filth and rats as well as coffee and joy and architecture, but hey, that doesn't bother me. If you ever stop appreciating this place properly, spend a weekend in Perth. If you manage to get through without killing yourself at how despairingly dull it is, you'll return to an eye-opening revelation of this ol' town.
I feel like I should leave you with some sage words of wisdom, but I'll leave it to Jónsi.
Go sing, too loud
Make your voice break- Sing it out
Go scream, do shout
Make an earthquake...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T6HjT4SQKJI
Watch this. It'll reassure you that the world is a wonderful place. (Or maybe you're someone with their shit together who never doubts it, but I need reassurance sometimes)
I am two people. A broke uni student addicted to cigars and good wine. A Melbournite and a Sydney-Sider. An arts student with great aspirations. A self and an other? An existential crisis can suck the life out of you - an awareness of the absence of the proverbial rudder inside us that guides our every decision.
The only things helping me through this period of intellectual struggle are the small things - the light jazz musings of the sensational Paris Combo, the aroma of a good cigar, the aftertaste of pinot noir; habits which give an 18 year old a sense of purpose, yet ultimately are vacuous interests of little benefit. Do I continue to plod on like a Jew in the desert, or do I seek new challenges, new interests, new habits?
Old habits die hard, and life is certainly too short to drink cheap wine. A living cliché...
Paris Combo - Living Room :)
Hello there, beloved and numerous readers. I am currently miserable and confused, and as such, considering eating toast covered in Nutella. That would improve things.
You'll never guess what I did yesterday, ladies and gents!
You got run down by a taxi, you ask? Well, yes. But that happens everyday, so that doesn't count.
You enjoyed a lecture for once? Well, yes. That too. It was the first lecture on the classification of stuff in genetics. TARDIGRADES, EVERYONE. TINY WATER BEARS!
You dropped a subject because you've been struggling with various non-university-related-bothersome-things and you suddenly realised that you knew jack all about the subject and had no hope of catching up? Uh... Yes. You're an awfully good guess, charming reader.
So, bye-bye Data Analysis! We were never great friends, I'm sorry. Studying you was like studying drying paint. There was no love between us. Maybe one day, when you sort out your p-values and your deviations, we can be together once more... Until then, so long.
Now on to the juicy Shannon-gossip.
At the start of this week, I was woefully depressed. Stuff this, I'm going to spend the whole day sleeping, I don't need food, etc. So I did.
Why, you grudgingly ask of me? I'm usually in a chipper kinda mood, walking around daydreaming in good spirits.
Perhaps the weight of studying for mid-semester tests brought me to this. I don't know.
Here's a dotpoint summary of everything that was crushing me! Organisation is key.
- I no longer feel at home anywhere. Even in the place I've lived for 18 years, and certainly not here (at my grans in Melbourne.). It's the most peculiar feeling. I feel like I've outgrown my old hometown, which I will explain. And I am generally ignored up here. Which I can deal with most of the time, but seriously. My gran's son - who I guess I am related to but you will never catch me admitting it, if you knew him you'd understand - has had to move in here with his girlfriend. Which makes for extreme awkwardness. Pretty sure no one noticed that I spent all last weekend curled up in bed.
- I didn't take a gap year. And I've noticed now that the novelty of university has worn off, I'm just as burnt out as I was last year. I told my parents that I want to travel and get the heck out of Australia, even just for a bit. They're people who have never left themselves and they don't get it. Mum just straight out ignored me, with a condescending yes dear. Dad treated it like I was playing some kind of game. And thinking about it, everything that I actually aspire to do, they ignore.
- I wanted to be a dentist. And now I'm almost certain I do not. All the other things I've told my parents I might like to do have been met disregarded. And they keep hinting at how great it would be to be a dentist. Meanwhile, they haven't been to university. They don't get the pressure and the dedication that is required - and how hard it is to keep it up.
- I think I'm falling out of love with my boyfriend of four years. For no good reason. He still treats me as wonderfully as ever. I just don't feel like we connect like I used to think we did. I think I've grown up, or something.... And I don't want to hurt him at all. It is one hell of a judgement call - do I break it off with him? He wants to move in with me next year, which I used to look forward to but now the idea is like nails down a chalk board. Maybe this is just a phase... I honestly don't know.
- I think I'm falling in love with some guy who openly admits to preferring one of my friends.
All I want to do is travel somewhere pretty and avoid my problems for a while. That would be lovely. But I would be spending the money I've been saving for things like... Bond, and furniture for when I do move out. SIGH.
Like I said, at the start of this week I was doing nothing but wallow, and sleep. At the moment I'm fine - I was one day away from contacting the Melbourne University's counselling services, but I woke up on Wednesday and felt... Good. Normal. I'm still feeling... Good. I've been feeling nearly satisfied with everything ever since I dropped that subject. And I don't regret that at all.
But there is so many things that I'm afraid to take action on. I should probably just come out and tell my boyfriend that I'm not sure how I feel about him - but he just sent me an text full of sweet nothings. And it would not be an easy conversation with my parents - QUIT CRUSHING MY DREAMS. Actually, maybe that would be an easy conversation... And that bastard knows how I feel about him. Curse my vulnerability.
Yes, this post is long. But now you are completely up to date.
PS. go get a pumpkin pie from the food co-op.
PPS. A Perfect Circle are touring. If this means anything at all to you, then I love you. =D
PPS. TARDIGRADES.
" [bla bla bla] ... mini essay," the physics teacher says as he announces our latest assignment. there is a short silence before an uncertain murmur diffuses through the lecture hall. An arts stuend would laugh at our hesitation in the face of a 500 word mini-essay. "500 words?! What a joke!" they would say with a laugh.
Indeed, 500 words is nothing. I have to write a 1200 word essay for my breadth subject. "1200 words?! What a joke!" they* would say, with a laugh. But, I protest, it's not fair. They write them all the time. The last time I ever wrote an essay was back in high school in the last few days before the final exams: something about Hard Times**... And they were one-hour essays written about a book we had spent months studying. University-grade essays are scary. For instance, what the heck is a reference?!
It does not make me feel any more secure, knowing that most of my class is composed of Arts students. We make snide remarks about Arts Students ("Ah... don't worry, you wouldn't understand, being an arts student etc.") but I fear they will get the last laugh when it come to these fandangled essays thingys.
I have two fears:
1) My essay will come out somewhat like a mathematical proof: "It needs to be shown that... given... which implies... hence... therefore... Quad est demonstratum.."
2) It will turn out somewhat blog-like and I will be disintegrated down by the death-glare of academics. "Chapter... today I... he said... she said... but I thought... MY LIFE IS SO HARD! (whinge)..."
I open my email inbox to find "12 new messages". One is a reply from my breadth tutor in reply to my anxiously sent essay draft-of-a-draft-of-ideas-that-are-not-yet-a-essay-plan. I brush aside the other emails ("MUMS Seminar on Friday", "Jinghan you're in this incredible video", "Hash function presentation", "Library Overdue Notice", etc. etc. etc. etc.)
"That lookes like it's coming along fine. I look forward to reading your essay. I have put another example on the LMS."
What? Isn't she supposed to, you know, be nice to me? coo to me like I'm a baby? Give me some hints on what to do? I'm a floundering science student for gods sake!
I decided I need more feedback and write an essay plan. It's coming back to me: "introduction... paragraph 1... paragraph 2... paragraph n***... conclusion..." By the time I finish I realise that i have pretty much written my whole essay. (I could kinda take out the dot points and brackets and submit it and get a kinda dodgy score!) Was that it? Was that it? Aren't I supposed to break down in tears because I can't write essays? What am I going to whinge about on my blog now?
I hit the reply button above my inbox.
"Dear ____,
can you please read over my essay plan (attached).
Jinghan.
P.S. If you are really busy, then don't worry, I think I may be able to have a stab at writing it now.
With that done, I open my informatics programming assignment. I have scribbled on a bit of paper:
- make movie dict, pickle and save
- find title key words
- find cast key words
- map to movie file and pickle/save
Which sounds all nice and linear (or alternatively - slightly slanted like a big mac) but in reality what I means I need to do is: write something in section B, write something in section C, test, move something from section C to section B and something from section B to section A, test, throw your hands up in the air when red error message appears, try to resolve, throw your computer out the window when red error message does not go away, run outside to retrieve computer, fix section B, repeat until you have a fully (or mostly) functioning program.
Heck! Give me an essay any day. At least it's linear.****
*the very same they
**pun intended
***where n is an element of the set of natural numbers
****don't quote me on this.
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