I've lost all interest in being philosophical, deep and compellingly touchy about UTSG and its inability to cater to the needs of its students. Because... as much as I believe half of what I'm writing, I'm also fighting the little beast in me that actually likes the school. Yes. What? Surprised? You didn't think that ranting and raving could ever be associated with passive-aggressive taste for a large, open-space, academic prison? Wowzers! Well that must have been a blow to the brain.So, I'm just going to tell it as it is. First year, which has technically ended (but since I'm taking a second year course during the span of it, why not include it), will be written as first year should be. In incomplete, run-on sentences that describe and curtail the indecencies and complacencies of being a student without a real sense of what the future is. Indecision, too much passion for all things/lack of passion thereof, etc. Technically, what being a nineteen year old is all about.
At this stage in life, I'm feeling particularly antsy. I'm feeling unaccomplished. Unfulfilled. Completely devoid of excitement -- so much that I have to resort to the stupidest stunts to get my fill of adrenaline (can we say watching movies you never thought you would, i.e. Spiderwick and The Golden Compass -- both of which were fairly amusing). I'm feeling caught in between. I'm in limbo. I'm between a rock and a hard place. I'm just... here. And that, right now, is the hardest place to be. Here.
What if -- I wonder -- I had chosen a different path. What if I actually took the SATs and took the American-college life as my own? What if I actually went to McGill? What if I actually took the arts program several years ago, worked my ass off and found a way into Julliard? What if I went into the humanities and/or political sciences, as opposed to the life and health sciences? What then? Where would I be? What would I do with myself? Would I be happy? Would I be fine? Would I be... me?
I wonder that every day. I wonder if I would have been happier in a program that facilitated my need for writing, my craving for reading and my yearning for some good ol' fashion learning (I kid on the latter of the three). I wonder if I'm acting the way I am now simply because I've lost a fairly important chunk of my life -- my writing and my art -- by entering a program that does nothing but downplay the right-side (artsy, fartsy, as you would say) of my brain. Writing was my life. I can barely write now; I've lost half of my instinct for it. Art was my soul. I haven't painted a watercolour or acrylic and I haven't touched my palette in a while; my fingers have gone odd.
And then, I wonder why I'm here in the first place. Ah, yes right. To learn. To gather an education revolving around the life sciences -- because at the end of the day, I'm not getting a degree for me. That is the easiest part of going to school: going for yourself. But by the end of your four years, what would you do then? History and life doesn't bode will with people that need and take from life; you have to be willing to give to it, and society for that matter, in order to be a part of both life and history. So why am I in the Life Science program (to-be Evolutionary Biology and Ecology)? To put this knowledge to better use, I guess. At the end of the day, what am I doing and who is it for? Of course, I'm learning for me -- but I'm doing this for the future. You have to think several steps ahead in order to play the game. If life is a play, and we are the actors, you have to know your lines before you walk on stage. These are our lines. The dreams we have are intertwined with the betterment of society, I guess. And I sound pretty cheesy, pretty corny and like a bucket of sap (i.e. sweet and syrupy), but that is what it's all about.But who's to say that the other route wouldn't have been for society? Who's to say my to-be novels wouldn't have been for the sake of uncovering the inner turmoil of mankind? Who's to say that I wouldn't have gone into politics with a B.A. Major in Poli-Sci and come out as a politician raring to be the vox-box for the people -- the voice of the mute, and the ears of the deaf? Who knows, I say. It all comes down to one question:
What if...?
That will always be the question regardless of age.
It may not be a regret for everyone, but it is a question.
And unanswered questions haunt us for quite a lifetime.
PS: There goes my psychobabble. I've filled my "discover Suzette!" quota for the week.
