It's Not Where We Go, It's How We Go

Who'd have thought that selecting a course to take, applying for a uni and gunning for a scholarship would be this much of a complication. The prospects of everything are undoubtedly daunting to say the least, by the very nature of how vast the possibilities are. I recall once aspiring to become creative director of a prestigious advertising firm--something which I kept assuring myself would be something I'd love to do, and would be willing to sacrifice the lives of thousands of coffeebeans for. That engendered somewhat of a targetted approach to choosing a course; I figured I'd head headfirst into a course about something I love, since everyone knows that if you like doing something, you can't quite call it work. And it was with this sunny-faced optimism of the joys of work and the passion of the abovementioned that I planned my route.

But we all know that plans, being plans, have somewhat of a tendency to lose their state of certainty--not quite unlike a particularly determined souffle which attempts to rise, only to deflate into a sorry looking pile just as it was about to attain its full culinary glory. With the haters and the realists (the pessimists in denial) on my back though, I began to question these ideals which I had only just recently become so sure of. I won't go into the grisly details, to save you the pain of having to read through them only to fling canned tomatoes at my simple ignorance, but in short it seems like a business course would be the safest option. It covers the most ground, it opens the most doors, and it doesn't sound half as boring as nineteen-hundreds Greecio-Roman historial-cultural studies. Not to mention there seems to be a distinct possibility that I end up losing my interesting in advertising (something which I don't quite see happening in the near future though) and end up instead taking up interest in the flight trajectories of exotic butterflies. If that ever does happen, at least the business degree would come in handy, should I wish to open a shop selling memoriabilia and collectables of the said insects. Or I could also open an enterprising joint selling traditional snacks at not so traditional prices, something which seems to have picked up here, as the hordes of kaya toast touting franchises can testify.

As far as plans are concerned, I think I can safely say that to most, there aren't many boundaries to how far you can go, or what you could achieve. Having the end goal in mind was never the problem; after all everyone's heard of how if you aim for the stars you'll at least land on a cloud. Alas, naysayers also say nay, characteristically enough, and they pointedly highlight the fact that contrary to popular belief, clouds aren't very suitable objects for landing on, thanks to the fact that you'd be hard pressed to find a clump of condensation tenacious enough to want to hold your weight. But nevertheless, I maintain the metaphor still stands.

So we have established that people dream of going places. But it seems like many don't give up on them just because they're particularly lofty in nature. Rather, questions about how to get about getting there bubble to the surface, and honestly most of them are pretty rank. They say that engineering students have become successful creative directors, and I know of people who haven't taken degrees at all, but who've ended up with rather respectable positions. Hell, even the fish & co startup story in the papers the other day wasn't all smooth sailing, but look where it's got now. And there we have the success stories. Cue awe, applause and apple sauce. So yes, everything appears to be possible, as evidence has shown. Now the question is this: how do we take this square peg that we have, and get it through the round hole of where we want to be. Oh the ways of doing so are endless; you could try to smash it through with the force of an overbearing intern, or you could try to slowly shave away and smoothen the corners like you would with an all-rounded university course, you could also proceed to hack determinedly at the round hole until its misshapen form allows you to push the square peg in a form of compromise not quite unlike those cloud-landers. The possibilities are endless. And honestly, that scares me.

Because with so many different ways to go about achieving your goal, how would you know that the route you've chosen is optimum? Does the round-hole-hacker somehow have it better than the square-peg-smasher, or did the shave-and-smoothener somehow get the best deal? And if it's really like they say, and it's all about the journey, not the end point, then I want to be pretty damn sure that I'm taking the right path. And yet, there sets in the famous Analysis Paralysis, the metaphorical equivilant of this being staring at the round hole and decidedly scratching your head with your square peg.

But I must conclude somewhere here, for this post has stretched for too long. As things are looking right now, I'm still somewhat decided on being undecided (something I usually end up doing, unfortunately). Maybe the round hole will change by itself, as I embrace that beach resort on an island nearby (April 13th never seemed this near), and maybe by then I'll be in a better position to consider.

Other issues wrestle for centrestage as well, and my mind's beginning to look like a very schitzophrenic pizza, but this post is probably not the time to bring those up. But it does remind me; I need a break. Heaven knows what sort of break I need, but I do need one.

So many things have to be considered and thought through. But as for now though, I'll just rest uneasy knowing that I just don't know.

Writing The Wrongs

During my time of absence from the blogging world at large, I've come to realise that trying to quit blogging's somewhat like trying to get an exhaust pipe to surrender it's carcinogenic activities amicably and dispense nicorette gum instead. There's something largely therapeutic about putting pen to paper, putting paper to shredder, and then starting all over from scratch with nothing but a sliver of a thought and a sense of purpose. Unfortunately however, both of which usually end up either largely incoherent, wholly misguided, or a gourmet concoction of one measure of each.

It seems like shifting the writing process into first gear often involves clutching, often rather clumsily, at whatever straws happen to pass by on their way to wherever straws head to in their leisure time. At other more enlightened moments though, there tends to be a faint flicker of inspiration from somewhere which stirs up the desire to wax lyrical. Though it is one thing to think of something to write about and what to say, and yet a completely different thing to finally get to click the gloriously orange 'publish post' button down below. Knowing my ocd self, it takes roughly about five re-readings and edits before any form of exposition gets to see the light of day, and we're not even talking about the number of times the baby had to be thrown out because the bathwater just wouldn't go by itself.

Sometimes the words just don't fit right. Sometimes the tone of the piece flows so poorly it makes you think of something which would've been written had Roald Dahl a bit too much green eggs and ham to eat. Sometimes you finish with the body, and realise that the tail doesn't quite stick the way they do on donkeys. Sometimes you lose your train of thought (happens that in the world of writing, locomotives aren't particularly as conspicuous as they should be). Sometimes you don't know how to express the ideas swimming around your head. Sometimes you'd just rather go watch an episode of House.

But it's a love-hate relationship like that. Eventually you know you'd want to put your thoughts into words. And when you do, you'd want them to come alive for everyone in the same way that they're alive for you. It's a form of catharsis, almost.

Continue a blog? It just seemed the write thing to do.

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Note: I realise that the photos selected have seemingly less and less significance with regard to the content of the post, but I shall blame it on the lack of exposure my camera's been getting. If my camera was a person it would probably look albino from the lack of going outdoors.

Oh, and speaking of abandoned drafts, there's currently about four half-baked posts waiting to see the light of day, but I doubt I'll ever get down to clearing those