Spirits of the Past, Present, and Future

Yesterday was a very nice Christmas Day, and today was an equally nice Boxing Day. I woke up after one in the afternoon, which is, of course, not so good, but it was a very deep, perfectly restful sleep, and I will go to sleep at a reasonable time today (I think), so I don't regret it.

I showered, had some of Papa's delicious coq au vin from yesterday, browsed through a volume of Encyclopaedia Britannica (I only wanted to see when the sculptor Houdon flourished, for the purposes of my French Revolution story, but my curiosity took me from one article to the next), watched television, and continued re-reading Fanny Burney's Cecilia online. The television programming is uncommonly good just now. Today there was a documentary about the ancient kingdom of Saba, in present-day Yemen, interesting though filled with stupid clichés (historical reenactments, slow motion, and dramatic music); a Karl May film; and El Dorado (a western with John Wayne). The Karl May film was about Winnetou and Old Shatterhand helping a woman, the daughter of an old friend of Winnetou, in her quest to find the gold that her father had hidden in the Valley of the Dead. A despicable band of gold-greedy men and a belligerent Sioux chief complicate the matter, but with the help of the Osages all ends well. The scenery (Yugoslavian, as my parents pointed out) was lovely, and the rockscapes reminded me of my first-year Geology course, while the sulphur emanations in the Valley reminded me of my family's trip to Hawaii in 2004. The rattlesnake-infested valley was fascinating too, and the "rattlesnakes" were just unconvincing enough not to be really horrifying. I liked El Dorado too.

As for Cecilia, it is about an orphaned heiress who is left to the tender mercies of three guardians: Mr. Harrel, Mr. Briggs, and Mr. Delvile (I feel awfully tempted to add another "l"). Mr. Harrel, after ruining himself through his extravagance, and almost ruining Cecilia because she has loaned him so much money, commits suicide. Mr. Briggs is a hopeless miser with little tact or taste. Mr. Delvile is a complete and utter snob. Of course, Cecilia, despite these undesirable acquaintances, is a paragon of virtue and wit. The inevitable hero of the story is Mr. Delvile's much more agreeable son, Mortimer. The real obstacles in the path of true love have not yet arisen, but the heroine has already been reported engaged to three men, and been suspected of being engaged to a fourth. The plot aside, the book is nice to read, lively, with a fairly good portrait of the society of the time, which is why I think reading it will prove useful for my French Revolution story. I doubt if I can get into the mindset of the late 1700s easily, but this is about the best way I can try. And the interest with which I read the book is not diminished by its intermittent rambling, repetitiveness and unsubtle didactism.

I would write more about Christmas Day, and the Midnight Mass that Mama and I attended, but after seeing my original description vanish into cyberspace (I'm beginning to detest the rainbow pinwheel that informs me when my browser is busy not responding), I don't have the patience to do so.

But I will add some thoughts about where I'm going in my life. Lately I've been relaxed enough to take a step back and look at my plans for the future, without wanting to push the topic away from me because I feel too much pressure. On the other hand, this means that while on a good day I'm prepared to do another round of obnoxious internet research, on a bad day I'm completely despondent. I have worked out a schedule of what I want to do throughout the week, like going to museums on Mondays and walking to the Kleistpark on Wednesdays, and I haven't given up hope on studying by myself. But I'm still vacillating between depression and cheerfulness. Perhaps the weather plays a role in this too. I often feel terribly lonely and without any sort of grip on the outside world. The attempts that I make to go out seem fruitless, because when I go for a walk or to a museum or to a concert I am still alone, and I only carry with me my own observation and knowledge and energy, which are too little.

It depresses me each time another remark is made about how the family doesn't get out enough. I can't say we do much to contradict this assessment, but the repeated iteration, direct or indirect, of this patent fact is a negative reinforcement that I definitely do not need. Each time someone mentions it I really feel pained, and more and more insecure. I think what I need is for someone besides my parents to say, "I hear you will apply to a university in spring. I hope it goes well, and if that doesn't, there are many other nice possibilities here too. What you study, and what job you will have, is your decision, and I trust you and I'm sure that you will make a good decision. If you like, I will keep my eye out for a small job as a translator or tutor, which would give you experience in the work you're good at and wouldn't require a large commitment. Also, I would be happy to take you to museums and other things so that you can get to know Berlin properly, and learn nice things in the meantime." But so far the chorus is, "You aren't doing anything right now, you lazy and negligent and incompetent person -- and I'm speaking in this way to you because I care and because I know I would do a much better job of running your life than you are -- and you're throwing your life away. So is all of your family. I'm giving you this advice so you can at least save yourself." And this is said not only once, but repeatedly.

I gave up my thoughts about doing journalism or medicine or law or writing in high school because I wasn't getting the experience I'd need to know what these jobs are like, how to get into them, and whether I would be good at them. Also, I had no idea who I really was and what I really wanted. In Grade 5 I had learned a lot, and I think everyone considered me as the best student in the class, so I confidently day-dreamt about passing successfully through university and becoming a teacher or humanitarian worker. In Grade 8 it no longer mattered how much I knew. The main thing was handing in homework. Also, it was, I think, important to adopt a certain way of thinking. I was really bad at both of these things. So I was usually not considered as one of the best students. The school also thought it was more important to be good at sports. Beginning in that year I didn't learn what I wanted to, and as much as I wanted to. My grades were so-so, and I doubted whether I was really the least bit intelligent. As a social hierarchy developed among the students I ended up being in the bottom stratum, so I felt even worse about myself. It wasn't that the students were mean, but rather that I was passively ostracized, and therefore felt inferior and weird. In Grade 11 everything came to a head. I simply couldn't picture the world outside my high school and home, or being at a university, or having a job. I thought I was literally going crazy, and I worried that I would end up being mentally retarded. But during my two years at university I began to understand again what I can do, and how well, and I didn't worry any more about being insane. At the same time I still don't fully understand what I can do, and what I'm best at. So I think it's unkind and unreasonable to condemn me for not being in the middle of a splendid academic and equally splendid financial career.

The relatives who put pressure on me to do something with my life are sure that they understand me. But I think that they really don't, because they don't know about what I've just written. They don't make allowances, and they don't seem to think it necessary to spare my feelings. And they don't think highly of me enough to trust me. So they say things that give me a lot of pain, and increase my anxiety about the future with their own, without seeing what kind of help (sympathy, at least) I need and giving it.

This is, I hope, a fair and honest assessment of the situation. And I must clarify that it's only a few of our relatives who are worrying me and us so much.