Missed Opportunity

This didn't seem to be
In need of counselling,
But wait, it's the call of hesitation
That I find me waiting on.

Maybe it's naive to think,
To think I know to think,
Keep the emotion buttoned down -
Why let it slip away?

It's like waiting on authority
For answer. For the sign.
Did I miss it, hands in pockets,
Watching the world be round?

I can't help but run out
For the answers to be read
And when I'm to ever get there,
Silence reads instead.

Spot me sitting a seat away,
Waiting for the words to say,
Holding me captive in mentality,
Bested burden, waiting prey.

Answer me. Answer me.
You said you would when I'd call.
So did I miss your ring
Out of the context I was in?

I tried not to think,
As I now avoid to dwell,
And the prayer that I sink,
Addresses this species of hell.

God, I don't know it any all.
"Don't be fooled", I tried the same,
But why did I not talk?
Is that the question?

Hesitation translates to regret,
And what is, is.
And if we never would have met,
The moment, would I seize?

I'm breathing. Just tell me, man,
What do I do? I implore you,
The pieces I've pieced together
Don't fit to me. Yet,

Where do we go from here?
How do we carry on?
To the answer that you'll give,
What is the question?

What do I ask, to know the truth?
Find me.
Find me.
Find me.

Second Week

The second week of university has come to a close a few hours ago - the weekdays at least. The weekend is still ahead, a time for reflection, relaxation and rest. I've gotten more used to the university experience now, so I feel more comfortable with it. Tutorials were interesting and interactive and the psychology lab was short and sweet. A highlight among these was today's English tutorial. We were asked to write for seven minutes without thinking. To spark off this journey into the known unknown, the tutor wrote on the board "It's funny the things we remember..." I started off writing about Commander Keen, the game I used to play in childhood, then went through a discussion which features computer comparisons, a trophy cabinet, a question in French, followed soon by an expressive question about the journey I take during life, having been through so much, yet so little, and heading somewhere, but not knowing the destination. The degree does not matter, for it is nonexistent.

What a question. Following the writing down, some of us were asked/invited to read out a piece or all of what they wrote. People around me intentionally (I think) did not make eye contact with the tutor, but I did not deviate, something he noted. I read out what I wrote, and as I did so, I felt my face warm, partly at the idea that I was sharing something personal, partly at the triumph that I was sharing something that came from behind the 'protective' veil of thoughts and warnings. At one point in the middle I think I got a chuckle, but once I was finished I looked up, I don't remember how many clapped out of the dozen+ people that followed the tutor's example. Victory? Pourquoi pas. But it is not a war, death is not the aim. He commented on my expressiveness and how the discourse came out from within me. He said something like it sounded like a novel. Cool.

About not remembering the applause. This has occurred times before. When I have won an award and I have been congratulated, the procedure that follows is clapping. The most I've gotten was during last year's awarding of the highest academic prize offered by my high school. I remember it very faintly, possibly because I received the majority of it as my name was announced and I moved onto the stage. I think there was whistling too, but I was nervous. Heart was beating, I could feel it, sentimentally visible within my body. Blood was pumping, rushing throughout my body. Maybe then that the memory of the experience was erased partly or adjusted in order to prevent trauma or shock? En tout cas, I enjoyed the moment. Few months on, I think back. What does it mean? That's the question that I asked in my writing. That is the question that I am asking? What is the point?

Gratitude

This week was my first week of university, hence the mini post-hiatus. Monday to Wednesday, I left home at 6:50 a.m., came home around the same time in the evening. Information overload in the first few days because I found out about the expected workload. Full-on expectations of excelling, chasing those A+ grades. Study all the time. No. That was my mind blowing it out of proportion. I don't need to worry. So I'm not. One thing at a time, I will focus on that. Thank you for that advice from a friend on Wednesday, and reinforcement throughout the week.

A list of what I am grateful for this week:
- Making my first friend at university.
- Reuniting with my best friend from year 7.
- Seeing people I used to work with around campus.
- Hearing French being spoken predominantly in my French lectures.
- Meeting students who are enthusiastic and willing to speak to me.
- Being driven to and from university by my father, with my brother.
- Finding the location of all my lectures.
- Being given the opportunity to write for the Student Magazine.
- Having time to study and learn what I need to for my lectures.
- Learning about the university computer and library system through the courses offered.
- Going onto Queen Street when exploring with friends.
- Purchasing the needed textbooks and manuals for my courses.
- Organising my diary to prioritise my study and to tell me when assignments are due at a glance.
- Realising that I was creating unnecessary stress on the subject on university.
- Meeting friends from AUT in Albert Park.
- Having lunch and spending time with friends from high school.
- Playing badminton.
- Having notebooks to use for vocabulary and mind-mapping, as well as a refill pad for note-taking.
- Honing my mind-mapping skills by reading part of "How to Pass Exams" by Dominic O'Brien.
- Having Friday off to relax and recharge my energy in preparation for next week.
- Spending a weekend doing both study and fun activities, a blend that I appreciate for helping me achieve a state of balance.
- Seeing "Alice in Wonderland" at the cinema.
- Having Butter Chicken with Naan bread for the first time in a while, a few years likely.
- Being reminded who I am, and about what I need to do.
- Being given the lessons of "A Course in Miracles" for me to apply and learn from.
- Becoming more proficient at work and being present.
- Having my family's support as I adapt to this new environment.
- Being.
- Recognising my brother for who you are.

Thank you.

Steps, Discovery

University... I start Monday. Orientation this week has been a challenge. Power overwhelming. Except the space, that is the cheat code for invulnerability in Starcraft. It is free, yes, because it is up to me to organise my schedule and plan my time. It is up to me. There is guidance and support, but on a level that assumes my autonomy. Maybe it expects it. My education, what I make out of the lectures, tutorial and laboratories, is on my shoulders. I came to university to learn.

"Learning is not attained by chance, it must be sought for with ardor and attended to with diligence."

Abigail Adams' words lie below the picture of the snowy mountains on my calendar. Words of inspiration.

This month, that is the proverb that I have explored. University seemed a clear opportunity for me to attain this learning. I have been excited prior to orientation, and after the initial information overload that the experience offered, I have had time to accept what it is. So while there is plenty of reading to do, plenty of absorbing of information, plenty of questions to be asked and answers to be discovered, I realise this is happening. I am learning. High school was a stepping stone to this next part of the journey. My hand was held as I walked up the path, and now I have left go of the hand and taking the steps myself. And the hand still guides me, this time pointing ahead. I am grateful. I am getting an education, I have this opportunity to be shown new things about the world, to learn histories and les histoires. Am I ready? Yes. I've been gaining skills, broadening my horizon, readying myself to enter into the world of academia, where people aim to explore the world and discover, at least that is the aim. Not everyone goes to university for this reason. For me, I go, because I want to explore, to grow mentally and discover more about this world I live in. I want friendships to burgeon, love to be. I can hone my writing abilities, but not because they are not perfect at the moment, but because there are techniques and ideas that can sharpen my skills. I have this opportunity here, to discover. I can let it pass me by, but I do not. It is here, and I appreciate it. I am learning.

So while I now walk, one small step in front of the other, towards the true, I know that if I fall, I shall get back up again and continue. I do not need to fear falling, for I am guided and I am whole. My journey is known, it is sacred, and I am not alone in its creation. And I walk.

Foreign Place, Foreign Face

Unfamiliar voices with familiar accents, a worthwhile combination I am presented on the sixth floor. Climbing up the stairwell, I dared eye the ground down there. Incognito faces walk towards points on an unseen horizon, a place where I could have been going. At the receptionist, the lady had a stern face, cold, almost as if she was forced to be welcoming, but calm, as if she was really nice just having difficulty speaking English. A foreign face in a foreign place, her and me, foreign to each other too.

Seriously, I felt like a child in a loose crowd of adults going their own way. It was a kind of out-of-place experience, a feeling that I think will dissipate as I actually join this world. Mental snapshot, with descriptions, in no particular order:

1) Girls behind a concrete column that probably held the building up so that it would not collapse and cause a scene. They are talking what sounds like politics, in common English, fluent. Something about Iraq? Having an opinion on what should happen with some people?
2) Sex. Joking. Bald man talks to a woman at a table in what I thought was French but turned out to be English in a French accent. Makes sense, since this is the French Languages office. I expected more French, the natal language the receptionist spoke but chose instead to adhere to the norm and speak English in her European accent. Cool with me :)
3) There, in the bookshelf by the bald man and the woman, a variety of thick Le Robert are aligned.

All the aforementioned made me feel like a child yet to attain the level of expertise and intellect that the university seemed to require. Did I feel inferior? No, just uncultured. This was a think tank with a reputation that had its own gravity and momentum.

Despite this sentiment, I did what I came here for - to enrol for French. And I did - after getting lost for a few minutes trying to find the Arts Office.