Three years ago, when I had taken up Political Science, every single day I would question my choice. I felt unprepared, inadequate and just ill-fitting, sitting there in that classroom with those people. Today, three years later, when I see these Literature texts scattered in front of me, I feel as if this is a challenge I can live up to, a choice that befits me, a second chance that I will forever be grateful for. Yes there definitely are moments when words just zoom past my head and speeches whizz past my ears, but it doesn’t make me want to give up. It’s okay, I can live with momentary lapses because between those moments of vaccum, I feel alive and I feel at home.
I don’t know the entire alphabet of this discipline, but it doesn’t scare me. I’ll get there, that’s what I tell myself everyday. Beyond the lectures on Althusser or Irigaray, I will find a place, in fact, I think I see my place already, it’s just a matter of getting there.
It’s funny how in the most compressed of spaces right now, the stressed time before exams, I am taking time to realize how much I love doing what I am doing right now. Even when it’s 1.18 in the morning and I have loads to cover, I have that warm feeling of tea in a cup, that strange happiness, a strange adrenaline rush to do this and more. Rushing doesn’t tire me, stagnation does. So whether sleep evades me or whether so many things are going wrong in life, this is what is acting like my comforting cookie.
So I’m guessing the struggle is paying off, not in medals but in this satisfactory way, the realization that I made the right decision, finally, after a tragic tragedy.