That Time of the Month

Hear-yee Hear-yee! It's that time of the month when Calvin Magnus feels slightly bogged down with this shit on his head, on his shoulder, and basically on every other flat surface on his body, and therefore feels like ranting on and on and on and on. First of all, I would like to apologise to those people who, by the unfortunate turn of events, happen to read my blog posts and cringe at the sight of my glaring typo errors. I gotta inform you straight now that sometimes my fingers just cannot keep up with my brain activities: so much to say, so few fingers.

I assure you that I, Calvin Magnus, am capable, at the very least, of constructing non-repulsive, grammatical sentences free of all forms of typo errors, and any mistake made henceforth results exclusively from inadvertent lapse of concentration. I'll try to read proof my posts, I promise. I'm just a lousy grammar Nazi wanna-be.

Anyhoo, enough law-school bashing. There's nothing that I can do but to deal with my sad life. Since evidently I have not been acting on the advice I gave myself the last time I reflected on this tragedy, another ranting on the same subject seems futile and irksome. So, let us talk about things which are more interesting, dance!

It's has been quite some time since I talked about dance. I guess it's because this part of my life is one that I really hold dear to my heart (this sounds so gay!), so talking about it on my blog, to me at least, is equivalent to exposing one dark corner within me that I am not sure whether I would want to let others to see. Other than that, dance has not been the centerpiece of my life until just recently, which thus allowed me to just not think about it so much, to cast it aside, away from my every-day-life field of vision. However, now it's the one thing that I can think about. I am not saying that I'm super dancer, because obviously and really, I am not. Nor do I aspire to be one. I just think that it has now taken such a major portion of my life that it has become the one thing I look forward to when I wake up in the morning. Even now, I initially promised my self that I would do my reading for my 11 o'clock class (which is in one hour's time) once I reached school, but now I'm like ranting senselessly on my blog, which I don't even know whether real people, or even whether I want people to, read. As illogical as it is, I just can't help myself to do it. I guess this is what the law sees as lack of volition.

OK, let's stop digressing. I feel rather emo nowadays because I do not seem to have the capacity to break out of my shell. It feels like I have hit a plateau, on which I have been running amok, senselessly and tirelessly, yet to no avail. I cannot get to that elevator and move on to the next level. This frustration (ok, may be frustration is too strong a word) is compounded by the fact that at times I feel that I am put under a microscope (it took me 1 good minute to spell this word! Darn it!), exposed, scrutinised, studied. Perhaps others may argue that I'm the one who put myself out there, that it is all a fruit of my own choice and actions. May be they're right (wahooo, I can't believe I'm being so honest here, but better this than to pretend to be naive), but on the other hand, the reason why I am, so-to-speak, proactive is that otherwise nothing gets done, seriously. If I were to take a backseat and let things unfold themselves, everything would just continue to be in a hot mess. Again, I am not saying that I am the sole ball of motivation around, nor am I taking all the credit for the progress that has taken place. Trust me, it all stems, and can only stem, from a solid collective effort.

I guess my plea here is that if I were to sacrifice so much for this thing which we all love, and I do, I would expect others to do the same. At the very least, I would expect others to TRY to do the same; whether or not the same product is made is secondary. It's the effort that counts. Contrary to popular belief, I am not very free, and I am not very creative (if this sounds a bit like a self-praise, then I would wanna say, NO, it's not). It takes me a great deal of time and effort to funnel the haphazard and ever-so-fleeting darts of 'creative' spark, which people think I have, down to the reservoir of my memory. It's a labourious task, but truthfully I do not mind doing it because I love it so so much. I guess what I want to say here is that as much as I do appear like a sarcastic and annoying, free slot-machine dispensing sweets at your command, I wish not to be taken for granted. I do not, and do not want to, feel it now. However, when the normal course of nature makes you appear that way, when actions betray those sweet promises, I fear that I would succumb to this ugly emotion; a state I genuinely wish I can journey through this whole experience without.

Keeping It Real

My teacher just gave the class a 20-minute break, somehow I can't even be bothered to scream 'horray!' Seriously, I don't know why I cannot bring myself to concentrate during class. I would argue that all the presentations made during class are all of excellent quality, stuffed with all the good 'law' things that I need to know. However, I can't give a shit. One of my classmates just approached the guy sitting next to me, like 5 seconds ago, and he was talking about this law stuff, about presumptions of the law, about the reputation of some legal scholar whose existence I don't give a f-word. Can you say the f-word on a private blog? Now that sound like a legal question.

I mean, why should I give a crap about the difference between legally wrong and morally wrong, between insane automatism and unsoundness of mind, between justifications and excuses? They all seem to come in from one ear and out the other. Whenever I get to this emo, angsty, teenage mood, I would ask myself why I chose this course to begin with. At times, it seems like I am over-burdening myself with things which I can otherwise live without. Now one thing I have noticed, and those who know me would concur with me, that I tend to write in complex syntactical structures, peppered with superfluous predilection for verbosity, after I joined law school. Anyhoo, back-paddling a little bit to the times of university application, I can still recall that I was so convinced that I wanted to do what I am doing now. Perhaps then I was too much of a wet puppy to acknowledge that I wanted to do what I'm doing now just for the money. Or the prestige even? Whatever. You can't blame a 19-year-old for being and wanting to be human. And rich. Haha. Anw, my point is that back then, I really had to psych myself to be, so to speak, enamoured with this subject. I mean, if I couldn't bluff myself, I wouldn't be able to bluff those law professors at the interview right? LOL.

Fatigue

Life? She's a ball of contradictions. Sometimes she puts you in a yucky place, and you see yourself trudging down a narrow path. After each step you can feel your foot squeezing into this sickening softness; grimy, thick mud pushing through the little spaces between your toes, fighting to fill that minute gap underneath your toenails. Each step is heavy, painful, sticky.

Suddenly, when you least expect it, everything's cold, rimy, blue. You do not know what has happened, but you are now skating on thin ice. The icy wind brushes against your cheeks, messing up your hair as you dart around the skating rink. Exhilarating, thrilling fun. Your knees wobble still.

No matter what the surroundings are, be they cold, icky, blue, or brown, the strain is there, squeezing the same part of your back twenty four seven. You can't reach it with your hands, but it's there, and it does not go away. So, against it you persist through, through the miry and the frost of Life, all with the hope that you can lie your head down at the end of the journey, on that illusive place Life has made you think of and struggle for always.