Realism

The student life and all the new information it brings with it. So, for the last three weeks I have been studying realism in literature, for which anyone will come to the conclusion that truth does not exist. This blog has been written in a form of realism, trying to tell the truth about myself. The truth to that matter is, there is no truth, the language barrier between what I think/see in my mind is not necessarily the words that end up on the paper and certainly has the possibilities of being interpreted differently than I anticipated my lines of text.

Another fact of this blog is that I do not always tell the truth, something I make matter worse, sometime I pretend things do not exist and sometimes the words on the screen do not reflect what I was initially thinking. Telling the truth is a hard thing to do, the border between what is real and what is not is thin and human perspective has a hand in it to.

The topic that I wanted to address this morning wasn't realism for sure. I just ended up talking about it since a analysis of the book Fathers and Sons by Turgenev has a female character in it that describes lots of my character traits. The eternal battle of their own minds, the constant opposites that inhabit my character. I hate being locked up, dancing to my parent's feet, but on the other hand freedom scares me more than anything else. I do not wish to be different but I also do not wish to be as normal as everyone else and I would love to be in the extreme. Why am I made out of contradictions? The sentence that struck me the most was: "She wants to be something, but also she wants to be nothing and she wants to be everything." That is how I have always felt, for most of my life (contradiction). The moment the character Anna sees a glimpse of her future, she only sees a void, that is how I perceive my life. There future is just a vast emptiness and love is a trifle thing that will not be able to fill the void that is ahead of me. Depressing, isn't it?

So the day before yesterday, randomly jumping back to a normal diary entry, I was in college and all I wanted to do was just cry. I felt so, filled up with sadness that the only way I could ever let go was by crying. Not that I let go of my cool, ever, as I don't. For me being a woman means that I bottle up my feelings until I am safely in my room. Is college too hard for me, perhaps, does the stress keep filling my mind until it has no place for anything else? Perhaps it does. All I know is that I am unusually tired and in a state of controlled sadness, a state where I don't care what happens, I am walking on. I sleep 10 hours a night and wake up being tired, just to resume the same rhythm the next day. This study just asks a lot of the students, not intelligence wise, time wise. For next week's program we have to read a 420 page thick book on realism, summarise a theory book on analysing text and practising with the analysing on a story that I have already read this morning but have to reread after reading the theory. Let's just say it takes a lot of time to read, you can easily spend 20 hours on only the reading part without having done anything. On top of that the house has to be cleaned, cared for and restocked with food and this weekend I will be on my own as everyone has fled to the east to enjoy some quiet time as the festivities in town commence.

See you further on the road of self-demolition.