Woe is Me: An Essay

Today has been another nice day -- quite sunny, not too hot, and, in my case, marked by a good mood. I can't say I did much. I woke up early (before ten), read books by a certain Harold McGrath (with a steadily decreasing opinion of their literary value, though they are entertaining nonetheless -- for me, at least) at gutenberg.org, showered, copied out Russian vocabulary and completed some exercises, and did the dishes. Then Uncle Pu came and we all sat in the living room and talked. After that I shopped for groceries, and prepared a potato soup and a salad for dinner (there was going to be roast chicken too, but I ended up not having time for it). I've been thinking lately that I should accustom myself to executing housework as speedily as possible, and I like cooking unless I happen to be in a bad mood; hence the dishwashing and culinary enterprise. When Papa and Ge. came home from Ge.'s flight school we had ice cream, too.

The learning of Russian is going fairly well. I would prefer to be motivated in learning it by a love for the language, but presently I think that I am learning it just to become more knowledgeable, which makes it less fun. On the other hand, I am genuinely interested in comparing Russian to the other languages I've taken a look at. It is rather depressing that I keep on starting languages (ancient Greek, Italian, etc.) and not continuing them. French is the glowing exception; I've discovered that I'm quite at home in the language now.

As for my future plans, I haven't done any more research yet. My latest plan is to find a piano teacher, and then to find a part-time job. That way my mind won't stagnate, and I'll have a distraction from my job if I need it. Today I decided that it may be better if I also try writing and publishing commercially viable short stories.By "commercially viable" I don't mean sensationalist and low quality, but unambitious and about subjects that are probably more interesting to the average reader. I don't want to publish poetry, because, firstly, there is a lot of it out there already, and secondly, I have only managed to write three poems naturally and completely sincerely (and one of them unfortunately resembles a pre-existing poem) in my life, and I wrote those for myself. Anyway, these are short-term plans. My studies and real career are still a knotty problem.

I still have many stories written just for my own pleasure waiting to be completed. There is my story about the British spy, which I should take a look at again -- also my "Friedrich von Tautzick" story. I have a third story underway; it is about an American schoolgirl who is summoned by her imperious aunt (who looks somewhat like Madeleine Albright) to Berlin to study at a prestigious private school with her cousin. The main setting is Berlin-Dahlem. I've made the psychology of the girl similar to my own, and it feels good to be able to express and analyze a portion of my "teenage angst" in this story. I know nothing about German private schools and nothing (directly at least) about the higher socioeconomic circles in Berlin, but so far that hasn't impeded me, since I just try to be as realistic as possible, and the private school hasn't come up yet. However -- I haven't thought out a plotline for the story yet; so far it's all development, even though I guess that's all right as long as the reader isn't led to believe that a climax is coming. I wonder how far real life does conform to the introduction - rising suspense - climax (- anti-climax) - dénouement pattern. I suppose that an important part of art is to search for patterns and climaxes in life, even if the pattern is only an approximation, and the climax not recognized as such by those who experience it. Perhaps I don't believe in climaxes because my life has seemed boring -- not that I regret that fact; as someone has said (unless I misquote), "Un peuple heureux n'a pas d'histoire," and this statement can be applied just as well to my own individual story.

Anyway, I've digressed enough. It's probably because I rarely have conversations with others that I go on and on once I have a pen in hand. Not only is my sociableness repressed, but also my general conceited impulse to air my thoughts for all to see. Such are the trials of a hermit. I'm not even a real hermit anyway. It's only when I feel defensive that I am a hermit; otherwise I am a cheerful girl -- sometimes too cheerful, simply because I feel so restrained and repressed by my self-doubt most of the time. To further prove that I am no real hermit, one reason why I don't learn languages for longer periods on my own is that it makes little sense to me unless I share it with other people. There is only so far I am willing to go to secure my own self-approbation. Sometimes I think it doesn't really matter how much I grow in terms of mind and character, if no one sees it and no one is the better for it. But I keep on learning things and trying to be better because I haven't anything else to do.

It is difficult, I suppose particularly at my age, to be aware that I am waiting for something to rouse my mind, to develop the talents that I have, and to help me to be the un-self-absorbed and helpful person that I want to be. I waited in high school for the moment when I would figure out what I want to be; I waited during one long gap year for life to start again; and now that I am no longer at UBC I am waiting again. Not only am I waiting, but I constantly doubt if I should wait. Am I being lazy, or am I truly only pausing for something to fall into place before I can go on? The university year here has already begun; that must wait. But what about the college year? And what about a job? -- Altogether I prefer having time for reflection, but it is hard to reflect when I feel pressured to act. How am I supposed to know what I want to do? One thing that I do feel strongly is that there is something big missing in my life. It does not seem to be university, because I felt this thing missing there nearly as much as anywhere else. I also do not think that the missing thing is money. So at present I am not eager to go back to university or to have a job, because I don't think that doing these things will fill the void.