humanness.

I had crit this morning. It lasted from 9am to 8pm officially, but personally I only observed about 5 crits the whole day. That's because I was third in line to present, and crits are incredibly _________ so I popped in and out (the latter more than the former) intermittently. As usual, there were the usual threats by Dr. E(vil) that some would not be able make it to second year, and the common warnings for us to reconsider remaining in aki. But we, like common labrats, will obstinately refuse to be forewarned, and will stubbornly clench onto the rails of the hamster wheel for all we're worth and continue the rat race. Why oh why? Because, like anyone swinging hard on a swing in mid-flight, it is easier to sit on until the momentum, the initial surge of enthusiasm and impetus dies down, until there is no more potential energy stored in the rope-and-swing, until there is nothing left for a swing to do but to stop. And only then, is it human to step off the swing. Haha. Holding on to something in full knowledge that it will die someday- is that noble, or more infallibly foolishly human, than jumping off despite the rocking fears of a scraped knee and a fractured rib?

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I have no idea why I am typing in full sentences and proper punctuation today. Perhaps it is an inert revolt against the lowercasetypologydisease that all architecture students succumb to. architecture with a small a. For a day, at least, at the end of crit, the end of submission, the end of Design in Year 1, that is today, I will deny all semblances of kinship with this dismal camp, which despite, or perhaps because of, its grating coarseness, superficiality, banality and futility has been eating into my time, my effort, my mental capacities, my lifestyle. I would like to disown you. But like any disowned relative I still talk about you too much. ---It ends here. The ribbon cutting ceremony begins.---

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On the whimsical side of things, why is it so hard to please someone? A father, a good friend, a spouse? It's not as if we do not know that all of us are equally frail, equally human in our disabilities and discontent, equally short-fused in our temper (some more equal than others, as George Orwell says), equally selfish in our pride, equally pained, and equally, insufferably, tenderly, vulnerable. I think the answer lies in our equal foolishness, and our equal tendency to hope. Hope leads us to unfounded expectations, by which we allow ourselves a suspension of disbelief; ignore the loopholes, neglect the limitations, hope against hope that hope will prevail. Why do we pile on the expectations and set ourselves up for disappointment? Apart from a foolish but rather adorable insistence on hope, we also have a conception of what is pure and perfect, which drives us. That same inborn idea of perfection which inspires the aesthetics of art, inspires hope and expectation. Humanity paints a picture of herself which she cannot match up to, and humanity alone dissolves her colours in her weeping.