I’m not too sure where exactly to begin writing this because my thoughts have been extremely crowded recently. I attempted to clear this up, perhaps unsuccessfully, in terms of finding some resolution or peace with myself. Writing has not proved itself to appease, however unrelentingly I have scribbled in the past few days about worries both real and petty. To first account for my decision of putting this up here instead of my proxy for the few reasons being this is primarily text and the latter does not serve this purpose in its primary function; it also takes the formality out of the context that i wish to preserve; neither do I have to consider the relevance or ill-relevance of an image to match this murk for whichever image I choose will either be unequable in what I am trying to convey. In part, I owe this slightly pretentious formality to what I have been reading — it is fascinating to consider how what we read affects our manner of speech so readily, how we are such malleable creatures — most of which are academic, some incoherent and others dense but illuminating, all of which in their certain positives have momentarily assumed my speech as so. I have marked my prose with sub-headers, if you wish to skip the parts that less interest you, do feel free.
An indefinite break from social media
I have a couple of thoughts lately, which I refer to as contemplations because they involve an action or call to action which I am pondering over its necessity and consequence. Among it includes the consideration to do away with my proxy platform. This in part is due to a larger desire to distance myself from social media and go offline for an extended period — by this I mean an indefinite hiatus. Lately it has occurred to me that this pressure of visibility is unwarranted and unnecessary, even distracting to making good art or good work. It is something I could do without because neither my life nor my income depends on it (though I have no income to speak of currently.) If I am finding nothing meaningful in whatever I post and all these actions are in fact mere gestures, self-aggrandising and therefore possessing the power to do otherwise, should it not be without a question to do without so as to do better? Another of which stems from the inadequacy of the platform in presenting thought and coherence as I would like it. Owing to my obsessive natures in this respect, it is frustrating to deal with it all the time. So for those of you who read this will know then, that if my silence has become obvious, it is not without reason. I would then request for you to write to me instead, if you so wish to know how I am. Letters are most welcome, but the instantaneous messages over mobile devices will not be shunned either. This distance is aimed at breaking the attachments formed between my sense of self, time and occupation with the entrapment of social media and its dangers, folly, excessive — not friendships.
Academic woes: a headache basically
A rut that I have been within in the past couple of days has been with regards to my next essay. This predicament can be attributed to a few things that form my incoherence and hence no sense of direction in which to take for this essay. To provide context, I am researching on Orientalism in the 19th century. My initial idea was to compare and contrast ballet repertoires choreographed during the late 19th century to early 20th century, and their representation of the Orient/ Exotic/ Other through the female body. Ideally, this would create many opportunities for discussion: fear projected in terms of imperialism, or perhaps classism thereby leading to ornamentalism rather than Said’s Orientalism; the male gaze and the female nude as prevailing practices and the Orient is a means of perpetuating that rather than representing anything; using Freud’s analysis on dreams and the erotic to explore if perhaps the sexualisation and sensualisation of the exotic is a deeper desire concealed by the Europeans than necessarily a means of subjugating the Other, for the Other is perhaps merely a means in which to distance such desires from themselves as they would hope to preserve as pristine, godly, restrained.
But, not everything goes as we intend it to be. There is a sore lack of research on Orientalism in ballet, and a greater cavity in the archival footages of ballet in the past. In part, photography was only gaining momentum in its infancy and the acclaimed Diaghilev also made sure that no recording of his choreography was permitted. That poses the question: how do you write about ballet if you have yet to see it live for yourself, even if through a screen? I can only read about it, and as with all secondary accounts, they might not be entirely factual; and as with all theatrics, there is a habit of exaggeration in play that I expect no less of an extravagance like ballet. So right now I am left with the ballet-russes of the 20th century, not 19th century — and only one was extensively publicised and studied over (that being Schehezerade, inspired by the Arabian Nights), and perhaps Salome, but that is a biblical tale, not exactly about the Eastern culture at all. I ever thought of doing a cross study of ballet, painting and perhaps poetry or literature, but none quite inspires as much as my initial imperative.
A part of me also wishes to make study the psychological/ social use of the East to represent sensuality and sexuality during that time. Perhaps as time continues to pass, I will not have the liberty to be choosy about this. Having written all these down, I surprisingly might find a way around this. I shall first delve into the possibility of the latter as my directive and see if there are possibilities for such. It feels like such a huge task because there is so little written about it, which might be an optimistic thing, in terms of originality, yet it also places such immense pressure on validating the arguments. It could go right with this, or very very wrong. I have rambled too much about my homework, which I would assume, not even make much sense to anyone other than myself. But all this is cathartic in a way. Now moving on —
The New Year and Turning 21
It is the doubling of the new year and turning a year older that always somehow leaves me more troubled and reclusive during this period than one would perhaps expect of in the festivity of the new year. This year has proven more weighing than the others, and if you may ask what turning 21 feels like, I think I have an answer compared to any one who thinks there’s not much change. It is only those still amid transitionary states do they feel most deeply what the ‘coming-of-age’ truly entails. Most days I am rattled by the worries of finances, and the ability to manage it properly and more than just adequately. I admit that I have ridiculous savings plans that require me to eat myself but I am confident that they are not impossible. This ridiculous savings plan is a method of future planning because this will be my funding after I graduate and anticipate the few months that I need to fight very crazily hard to stay here. It is almost sickening to think that if I save half of my allowance every month, I would have only saved a year of my tuition fees by the time I graduate. But it also reveals to me how hard I need to make my education worthwhile and my time here more worthwhile than anyone else. I also loathe the financially-conscious me who has to opt out of everything because it just isn’t within my priority nor means to do so. If you read this, I am not asking for sympathies or what not, maybe just the courtesy of not talking about it because it is already on my mind 24/7 and I just don’t want to talk about it further.
Money is a very real and disgusting problem, but we cannot do away with it, that would require an upheaval of entire economies and world that we have long set in stone for ourselves to relinquish. So as always this still stands: to beat the system is to excel in it, and gain the freedom in which it will allow you the options to stay away from it. I spent New Year’s Eve and countdown vacuuming the house and changing my sheets, making my house clean after two weeks of holiday. It’s the reality that a celebration is momentary and there are more important things to see to — the celebration can perhaps wait until you are in the mood for it. While everyone is planning some big party and joyous thing, I’m just thinking if I should catch that movie cause it would cause money; if I should go for tea as a treat to myself but that would also cost unnecessarily which I can instead use for classes or something else; staying at home alone would seem too sad and sorry; maybe I should take my film camera out for the afternoon and explore London instead. (But I am looking forward to dinner with Lynn that evening.)
Yesterday, I wrote a list of goals for the year: things I wish to accomplish in this year. It is encouraging and motivating to have that list up on my desk wall. Let’s hope I do stick to realising them. And perhaps I should even do away with using the word ‘hope’ excessively, because it only provides excuses and consolation for when I do not actually accomplish anything. To also reduce the dependency on these words: ‘just’, ‘maybe’, ‘hope’.
Unemployment; recruitment is a pain
Currently still unemployed. It is disheartening when you can’t even get a temporary job under your school because it’s by a first come first serve basis — and though you think you would be the first when you reply to the email immediately, you’re just that few letters short of time. How shameless can one also get? Or which desperation drives us into. I applied for the same job which rejected my application last October because I really really want to work there. There is no reply and I only think of the worst lately. Next week, I tell myself to grit my teeth and go to a few places to ask if they have any part-time vacancies. I am crossing my fingers I get some good news with that. If I have this job, then I wouldn’t have to worry so much about finances. I also tell myself it is only 4 months since I’ve moved here and I need to give London some time, so time I will take. But recruitment, you really are a pain.
My thoughts have presently escaped me and I shall pause here till they return, should they ever. School reopens tomorrow and many things await but taking a step at a time. Adulthood is terrifying and burdensome and whoever thought of this vicious cycle is a maniac. (We are worse, for buying into it and living it.)
2087
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