8th May

So finals came and went on the last day. Sure was underwhelming, felt like it was undeserved and frankly speaking a little too lightly thought of on my side.

1 month ago I started part time work at my internship company as an obligation I made to myself to better manage my time. It didn’t work out spectacularly well I have to say because I still wound up rushing last minute work both for school and work and also to handle the cancellation of my Nepal OCIP.

Most people are rightfully shocked upon hearing that my finals start and end on the last day but only a few know of why is it so. I originally planned for a relatively finals-free finals period as my Nepal trip was right after and there were definitely a few issues to settle pre-trip. Unfortunately the trip didn’t materialise, and I am of course thankful for the safety of my charges but actually more disappointed at the efforts gone to waste. Of course, its the journey that counts yadah yadah..

Had a friend feeling down recently and it reminded me of how writing can be actually quite cathartic. The simple act of penning down your thoughts seemed symbolic of casting them away into the vectors and lines and fibres of the diaries, notebooks or scrap paper that pass through our lives. I think I once wrote about how its generally sad that the society I live in has so much emphasis on the quantitative. The arts and humanities are in general the missing ingredient to a really wholesome society. The sensitivity towards linguistics is such an important skill – but probably never pursued in the normal field of studies. By this I refer to a cultivation of wide reading, which I am guilty of not having.

I do realize that I am honed and used to particular styles of writing, I pick up books and its either I am dozing off by the 1st chapter or its in my shopping basket. A writing style is a distinctly private and precious asset, much like the windows to one’s soul. How very sad am I to realize that the freedom to adopt one’s unique style is being robbed by our very own educational structure. Report writing, critical writings, ethical reasoning essays are just some of the worded assignments I encounter in my life as a business undergraduate and all these require a simple, professional manner of writing. No doubt it has to be, and some may argue that one can choose to switch their persona and adopt a different writing style but most people grow up adopting it as their only style. Personally, it kills me a little inside every time I churn out a report because its just so restrictive.

Its also Mother’s Day this weekend. I screwed up something today, doing something which I usually won’t do for reasons that baffle myself too. I came home filled with apprehension but I had to tell her, to which she smiled knowingly. She said she knew it was bound to happen. I didn’t know why but after that was done I told her to take a walk with me, to which she agreed with a puzzled look. You see, we don’t normally share or talk much. Today was slightly different. I couldn’t have anybody else to confide in and so there we were, an odd couple with even odder conversations. Maybe its because I do not have the privilege of an open family, but the act of opening up is a very endearing process which carves out a different dimension from somebody you have known all your life. But mothers (and parents in general) evoke, I dare say the strongest of emotions. Throughout the most emotional periods of my life, the notion of parental love has always had a part to play. Be it during national service or during overseas community involvement programs, nothing stirs the soul like reminding young, privileged kids like ourselves of the unrequited love our parents have shown us.

For the guys, without fail, rain or shine, eager and anxious faces will await them every book out day, ready to shower them with good food and all the civilian comforts for the precious weekend they have with them. A guy stood up during the mail run during field camp, compelled to say something despite his sobbings. ” I want to say sorry to my mum. I had a fight with her and did not say goodbye to her when I booked in. But I know she will be waiting for me this weekend no matter what I do..and I don’t deserve it.”

I am glad that I made the choice after 1 year in uni to reset my priorities. At some point of time, one just has to understand that some things in life are there but will not always be. We only learn to most appreciate what we have after losing it, but if we just take a step back and imagine how it would be like without them we might instantly regret not cherishing every waking moment with them.

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