Of Triumph and Emptiness
Life is full of little ironies. Take for instance, work. I've been terribly busy the past week, which is understandable -- I've been juggling practice for Prometheum XI and prep sessions for a random, relatively unimportant debate competition that everyone really wants to win, which implies staying back in school till 9 pm when there's a Mathematics TA the next morning.
To the average, possibly unimportant reader of this blog, pity and sympathy for the fatigue that I felt (and am still feeling) is inevitable. To a more sophiscated, more involved creature like me, however, the catharthic effect of the end of the Mayor's Debate Series and Prometheum on Saturday was nothing more than a temporal relief of a mild case of nerves and backaches. Somehow, the conclusion to a truly hectic week seemed so much less satisfying than I had hoped it to be. No, it wasn't the fact that the exhaustion hadn't worn off yet -- that was a matter of rest. Rather, Somehow or another, the end of Prometheum left me feeling... how should I say... empty.
Perhaps it was because I loved what I was doing too much. I like to sound noble, to sound like I'm dedicated to whichever cause I pledge my services to. But really, much as I enjoy putting on a front of self-importance, the truth is that I do enjoy creating musical fusion, so to say, or insulting the intelligence of a sub-par opposition team with the might of language. I claim not to be particularly good at playing the sax or debating, but it's the passion for whichever pursuit I engage in that makes it worthwhile. So maybe -- just maybe, the emptiness I feel stems from what was a forceful divorce from both my two true loves -- music and logic.
Or maybe I feel empty because suddenly my life lacks purpose. For a whole week I felt important -- like everybody needed me at practice. It was a feeling of triumph, of recognition that there were people that recognized my worth. And that felt good. It felt so good.
But I have an inkling that I am not as noble, not as important I as think myself to be. The reason for that void in me is not because of fluffy ideals of love, or because of my contributive ability. No, I am not a man of excellent depth of character, nor a very intelligent one. I just come across as one of these people. Quite the contrary, in fact, for really, the reason for this emptiness in me is a recognition of my real worth.
But I like to keep my identity, my inner karma something of an enigma. I like to make myself a mysterious man. So don't bother attempting to probe into my privacy, to discover the hesitance I've discovered about myself, because I'm not telling. Quite frankly, a blog is not a suitable place to pour out all of my secrets.
This week has been a triumph -- great concert, great music, great speeches. But that only accentuates the tragedy of self-discovery. The fact that this post has been dry, boring, and above all, all about me, will put off most people. But it really doesn't matter -- today this blog is not for entertainment, but more of an avenue for relaying my discontentment, my jealousy, and my tragedy, in a violently botched attempt at filling up the void that now resides in me.
To the average, possibly unimportant reader of this blog, pity and sympathy for the fatigue that I felt (and am still feeling) is inevitable. To a more sophiscated, more involved creature like me, however, the catharthic effect of the end of the Mayor's Debate Series and Prometheum on Saturday was nothing more than a temporal relief of a mild case of nerves and backaches. Somehow, the conclusion to a truly hectic week seemed so much less satisfying than I had hoped it to be. No, it wasn't the fact that the exhaustion hadn't worn off yet -- that was a matter of rest. Rather, Somehow or another, the end of Prometheum left me feeling... how should I say... empty.
Perhaps it was because I loved what I was doing too much. I like to sound noble, to sound like I'm dedicated to whichever cause I pledge my services to. But really, much as I enjoy putting on a front of self-importance, the truth is that I do enjoy creating musical fusion, so to say, or insulting the intelligence of a sub-par opposition team with the might of language. I claim not to be particularly good at playing the sax or debating, but it's the passion for whichever pursuit I engage in that makes it worthwhile. So maybe -- just maybe, the emptiness I feel stems from what was a forceful divorce from both my two true loves -- music and logic.
Or maybe I feel empty because suddenly my life lacks purpose. For a whole week I felt important -- like everybody needed me at practice. It was a feeling of triumph, of recognition that there were people that recognized my worth. And that felt good. It felt so good.
But I have an inkling that I am not as noble, not as important I as think myself to be. The reason for that void in me is not because of fluffy ideals of love, or because of my contributive ability. No, I am not a man of excellent depth of character, nor a very intelligent one. I just come across as one of these people. Quite the contrary, in fact, for really, the reason for this emptiness in me is a recognition of my real worth.
But I like to keep my identity, my inner karma something of an enigma. I like to make myself a mysterious man. So don't bother attempting to probe into my privacy, to discover the hesitance I've discovered about myself, because I'm not telling. Quite frankly, a blog is not a suitable place to pour out all of my secrets.
This week has been a triumph -- great concert, great music, great speeches. But that only accentuates the tragedy of self-discovery. The fact that this post has been dry, boring, and above all, all about me, will put off most people. But it really doesn't matter -- today this blog is not for entertainment, but more of an avenue for relaying my discontentment, my jealousy, and my tragedy, in a violently botched attempt at filling up the void that now resides in me.
posted by Jumbiez at
7:44 AM
1 Comments:
post concert blues eh? you'll get over it =)
By
Brian, at 9:15 AM
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