This site has been blocked by order of the government of Russia.
Now I’m officially a postgraduate and I’ll be starting with my masters in February. The title (in English) is ‘The influence of power on the position of the Other: A philosophical-ecclesiastical perspective’.I relied heavily on the ideas of Foucault, Levinas and Derrida. In his blog he tries to find the answers for the things he is struggling with. Not like the pretentious shit you get (I’m not innocent in this). I actually lead a mediocre life, while my friend does the exact opposite. One year we had all the family at our house for Christmas.I guess, if I’m really honest, the reason I chose this topic is because I’ve always felt like an outsider. I feel as if I need to start writing for some cause. The “family” consisted mostly out of the sorry, knifing bunch on my father’s side.I’ve never felt particularly normal or considered myself the epitome of society’s expectations. And needless to say- things are very messy at the moment. Though that year my maternal grandmother was also present, Ouma Issie.Say I discover I have an odd looking rash on my arm. Also– my grandfather had a stroke and isn’t doing to well. Yesterday my mom asked to help put my grandfather to bed (he’s in a wheelchair now, and very weak) I couldn’t so I just fled the room. I have this need to be anywhere else but here at home, at the same time I am compelled to stay. Just as he saw my coming into this world, I owe it to him to see his exit, I guess. She was my favourite and ,though it’s probably wrong, I think I was hers too.
What I would usually proceed to do is jump to the terrifying and absurd conclusion that I have cancer– or something to that effect. The wind is howling outside, the sky is filling up with blue grey clouds that blot out the sun and now and then the air shivers with the rolling boom of distant thunder. My parents keep on talking about the moments we have with my gran-dad is “borrowed time”. She died a few years back in an horrible car accident… Maybe it’s just because she actually gave me the time of day.Throbbing pain in my head, would of course mean I’m experiencing a brain hemorrhage. The other family members did not– to them kids, and in particular myself, was a nuisance. Only, grown-ps do not realise this because their worlds are devoid of innocence and magic. And you were happier and life was simpler and all the shit of the world had not yet hit the fan.I am a hypochondriac (which in itself is problematic). We always got in the way and bothered the grownups who were busy doing grownup stuff. Only had I stayed outside and climbed a tree or something. Whilst sitting in the corner, the adult conversation was seeing the effects of the merry intake of food and drink. People tend to idolize and romanticize over the past. The relationship my dad and I have is not a good one. So when I say I actually tried and talk with him- that’s a big thing. Can a person’s essence stay the same while growth and change occurs?Hypochondria (if you don’t know) refers to “excessive preoccupation or worry about having a serious illness”. I’ll rather keep things general for fear of anything resembling actual persons or situations. That particular christmas they made an exception and I was allowed to sit very quietly in the lounge and hear the grownups talk. Somebody was relating an humorous anecdote when my grandmother, who like myself, had also been sitting quietly, suddenly speaks. The other day a friend, who’s always been a bit worried about my daddy-issues, told me to just try and talk to my dad. His corny response was,” It’s never too late.” Well, now I tried and it just reaffirmed what I already knew– sometimes it can be too late. I am still me, though I’m different now from when I was 10 ears old.Even though I know this about myself, I still keep on doing it. The good thing about being human is that even though I fuck up, and fuck up badly, I can learn out of my mistakes. I, for example know now that if I imbibe to many Long Island Ice Teas it will inevitably lead to poor life choices. Once her husband, when he was a boy, had been sent by his father to the neigbouring farm on an urgent errand. It seems it has become customary for me to be dissapointed in regards to potential ‘love-interests’. But I do feel like standing under a blistering hot shower en sobbing. Instead I will immerse myself in wonderous dark art. Luckily, my social life’s also mutitated into something alive and oscillating. It keeps me busy and that way I don’t think about my shitty personal life. Is memory the only thing connecting my ten year old and present ? Everytime I reflect on my previous actions/convictions/ words- the fact that I was an idiot strikes me repeatedly. I feel just as restless and trapped like when I was a teenager.Right now I’m in the midst of obsessing about going to a gynecologist. I write on this very sad blog only when I’m home for Christmas. People screwed me over (literally and figuratively). While taking a shortcut through a veld, he came upon a lamb. The boy, who was no stranger to the death of animals on a farm, suddenly felt such great heartache and love for this poor forsaken lamb. So I tried to do the logical thing and disprove “Fifa Canada International Lottery” promises of riches. plaid by ~igorska The moment I decide to take on more responsibility because I have time- then WHAM! This will be last time ever I torture myself by going to my hometown for the whole holiday. I hate it here, and being here makes me hate myself.