Oh, fuck. This post was supposed to be a happy one, about the euphoria of being an artist. I had it all written down in my little notebook (a Hannah Montana one that I got ages ago, that I never dared to use till I got over my fanatic love for the show), ready to be typed, a happy, HAPPY FUCKING POST, BUT NO.
I have other plans in store for this post as another wave of complete inadequacy and why am I like this washes over me. One of my cousin chappies came over, and he was generally throwing me questions about my course. He'd studied sociology, so he'd asked about that - what did I learn, what chapters, all that. I, of course, being the brilliant student and rememberer that I am, totally blanked out. But now, I remember. We did kinship, and religion, and caste, and the problems of caste, and family. He then asked about mass communication, and I actually remembered things but my slow, slow, slow brain could not get the words to my mouth. Good going - now I look like an idiot. Which makes me wonder whether I really am a fucking idiot.
I feel like how flustered I got may or may not be (but most probably is) related to the fact that, like my brother, this cousin makes me feel like an idiot. That forever judgemental, oh-you're-a-stupid-little-thing-but-look-at-me way of existing. It's an existence I strive for, so that I can make others feel like absolute shit, while I stop feeling like absolute pants at everything. A beautiful thing to aspire for, isn't it? Nevertheless, I want to be part of that oh-so-smart club, members of which are defined by their (I grudgingly acknowledge) fairly vast knowledge, ability to sneer at others superciliously and (mostly) confidence in their own words. There's also, I see, quite a bit of hypocrisy.
The fact that I covet membership to this special, first class, creamy-layer of intellectuals sickens me. I probably don't belong there at all, considering my completely and totally wishy-washy behaviour - but if I stop striving, I stop caring; and if I stop caring, I stop learning. Which I feel, is what I am doing now. I need to care about these things again, instead of being constantly reminded what an idiot I am with my silly taste in movies and music and whatever else the fuck my brother says. He makes me want to not be him, which may directly be good for my self esteem (because I think I'm absolutely smart enough), it's also indirectly bad for my self esteem (because I think I'm getting dumber).
All in all, like my usual wintertime mooning, it's quite a paradoxical muddle of emotions.
I have other plans in store for this post as another wave of complete inadequacy and why am I like this washes over me. One of my cousin chappies came over, and he was generally throwing me questions about my course. He'd studied sociology, so he'd asked about that - what did I learn, what chapters, all that. I, of course, being the brilliant student and rememberer that I am, totally blanked out. But now, I remember. We did kinship, and religion, and caste, and the problems of caste, and family. He then asked about mass communication, and I actually remembered things but my slow, slow, slow brain could not get the words to my mouth. Good going - now I look like an idiot. Which makes me wonder whether I really am a fucking idiot.
I feel like how flustered I got may or may not be (but most probably is) related to the fact that, like my brother, this cousin makes me feel like an idiot. That forever judgemental, oh-you're-a-stupid-little-thing-but-look-at-me way of existing. It's an existence I strive for, so that I can make others feel like absolute shit, while I stop feeling like absolute pants at everything. A beautiful thing to aspire for, isn't it? Nevertheless, I want to be part of that oh-so-smart club, members of which are defined by their (I grudgingly acknowledge) fairly vast knowledge, ability to sneer at others superciliously and (mostly) confidence in their own words. There's also, I see, quite a bit of hypocrisy.
The fact that I covet membership to this special, first class, creamy-layer of intellectuals sickens me. I probably don't belong there at all, considering my completely and totally wishy-washy behaviour - but if I stop striving, I stop caring; and if I stop caring, I stop learning. Which I feel, is what I am doing now. I need to care about these things again, instead of being constantly reminded what an idiot I am with my silly taste in movies and music and whatever else the fuck my brother says. He makes me want to not be him, which may directly be good for my self esteem (because I think I'm absolutely smart enough), it's also indirectly bad for my self esteem (because I think I'm getting dumber).
All in all, like my usual wintertime mooning, it's quite a paradoxical muddle of emotions.
No comments:
Post a Comment