Have you ever gone to a new place or tried a new experience and thought to yourself, “I’m never doing that again!” Tell us about it. Thanks for the idea, emilyeggplant!
Source: Never Again
Please remain seated at all times as this is going to be the same old rant-and-rave all over again. In case of inconveniences and emergencies, please proceed to exit by clicking the x-button at the top right of your screen. Thank you.
And so the curtain falls open.
Enter the naive little protagonist as high-spirited as she can be, welcoming this new adventure despite her natural skittishness. She hopped on the plane, went off to learn and explore a foreign land, hoping that she might be able to acquire new skills, meet new people and most importantly to have her own privacy to think about what she wants and what life offers her. Despite her own flaws and limitations, she felt like she grew as a person, achieved the first two on the list just enough, but not the last one. At least not yet, she thinks, and I still have time. Little that she knows, time cannot always tell.
She continued her journey, holding firmly onto her principle of sensibility, because obviously that’s what everyone needs to do to survive, no? Off she goes to her first conscious, yet not necessarily unstructured, decision to pursue another level of higher education. She walked through the doors of graduate school with determination–she then believes it is the key to a flicker of security that is employment–only to find the process unbearable and the merrier prospect thin.
She has expected the minimum of the experience only to be disappointed even further. She came to learn that it might even help not to even expect anything at all, which is a difficult task to do in itself with the need to reason why before taking the first step into basically anything. Ironically, both what she did not expect results into two complete opposites. She met those she can confide in as friends, and thus she has never been more content in her experience of social encounters. Yet not once in her mind had she imagined her lifetime strategy of tolerance finally wavers down in none other than the critical juncture of the pavement to graduation. Our protagonist, in her own little story, is poisoned by her own medicine, attacked by her own immune system. It’s a mental lupus.
At that moment, she recalled the third and fourth line of the second stanza of a poem that left her a deep impression:
…Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed…
Hence she kept her head high, exerting the last of her willingness and rush of panic to finish her study. Albeit the brutality of fighting the constant enticement of the three vices (the Bed, the Internet and Pointless Philosophizing), she survived once more…
Oh, I wish that is what factually happened to our leading lady–with all humility to how small her contribution to the world she lives in, despite imaginary. She has not even lift her finger to touch the books she is supposed to be reading unless when due dates from the library approaches. I agree that she is rather pathetic than worth sympathizing: her bloodied head is practically touching the ground hard, under the bludgeonings of procrastination, laziness and quarter-life crisis.
And I cannot agree more, she should by now at least–putting it the way she has always preferred it–be “sensible” enough to say, “Never again!” if any opportunity of further schooling that enlist any forms of dissertation writing compulsory. That, if she at least to manage survive this one.