you walk out the house in silence and it is raining slightly. every now and then a raindrop strays onto the surface of your glasses. you walk on, watching two-second fogs caused by your breathing form at the bottom of your glasses. you run for the bus because it's cold and you don't want to wait around.
crossing the road you jog a little to beat the incoming car and two steps before the sidewalk there is a loud thud behind you. your stupid brown rectangular leather bag is seeping up the wet of the ground. you drop your A3 sketchbook ring folder psychology textbook art book to the sidewalk with an equally loud thud and run for your bag just before the car whizzes past. this all happens very fast. the hook of your bag has opened up again. you look at this lump of a bag for one second before hurriedly picking up your other books to walk to the bus stop. it's raining slightly heavier. the bag strap swings about wildly and scrapes against the cement. you make awkward movements to swing the bag up slightly to catch the stray strap and even more awkward movements for your already full left hand to try and get it.
you fix the malfunctional hook of the leather strap and for a while it is hard to see the value in this bag, not the value of a thousand eight hundred pesos but the value of the context, of rustan's and kath saying it was the london bag and javi looking at slippers and the feeling of accomplishment while handing money to the cashier. of going home to find out that the laptop fit perfectly, and emptying the old bag to fill the compartments of this one.
catching a breath before the bus comes, you look up at the sky and it is gray and dull and dark and unwelcoming. your throat goes a little tight as you strain to pull back tears.
your chest starts feeling a little heavy and hands slightly cold as you write notes for Repression on your A4 lined paper pad. We forcibly forget facts or events that cause anxiety or unhappiness, you copy from the powerpoint slide, as a form of a psychological defence mechanism.
next line. dash. People show symptoms caused by these events and is evident in states such as depression, but they are not aware what it is causing it because it has been repressed.
the more settled in, the more dead.
you spend an hour in the art room today, not doing anything, really.
because you can't handle just sitting there not being able to read email, you read the past posts on this blog instead. the layout looks better on a big screen. makes the words smaller. makes the white blank space dominant and suggests the smallness of you.
you write in your moleskine and don't even bother making the date stand out like in the rest of the dates you'd written before. October 24 1151 you write:
you get a D- in your first English essay. d for disheartened. stout round handwriting at the bottom of the second page says you make good points and Great First Attempt - Well Done. the D still looks bad though.
you annotate an excerpt from pat barker's The Ghost Road as the teacher talks it through with the class. Hallet the soldier is in a hospital with his family and he is dying of battle wounds.
"Shotvarfet."
"He's saying, "It's not worth it." "
his last cries that send the whole hospital ward into murmurs and groans of agony, made incomprehensible by "damaged brains and drooping mouths". he dies in the quiet aftermath of the deranged protest, such pathos and juxtaposition. he dies questioning his purpose in war. realizing his lost identity, his shell of a human body.
as you walk down the corridor from english class, sara turns back and casually asks how much you got for the essay. "a D minus," you say, with the disheartened lifting of the left corner of your mouth. and you find out it's actually a good grade because A Levels are way too hard, and it's actually like a B. that makes you feel a little better,
but walking out towards the green school gate you feel an uneasiness despite the tiny relief of the start of half-term break.
crossing the road you jog a little to beat the incoming car and two steps before the sidewalk there is a loud thud behind you. your stupid brown rectangular leather bag is seeping up the wet of the ground. you drop your A3 sketchbook ring folder psychology textbook art book to the sidewalk with an equally loud thud and run for your bag just before the car whizzes past. this all happens very fast. the hook of your bag has opened up again. you look at this lump of a bag for one second before hurriedly picking up your other books to walk to the bus stop. it's raining slightly heavier. the bag strap swings about wildly and scrapes against the cement. you make awkward movements to swing the bag up slightly to catch the stray strap and even more awkward movements for your already full left hand to try and get it.
you fix the malfunctional hook of the leather strap and for a while it is hard to see the value in this bag, not the value of a thousand eight hundred pesos but the value of the context, of rustan's and kath saying it was the london bag and javi looking at slippers and the feeling of accomplishment while handing money to the cashier. of going home to find out that the laptop fit perfectly, and emptying the old bag to fill the compartments of this one.
catching a breath before the bus comes, you look up at the sky and it is gray and dull and dark and unwelcoming. your throat goes a little tight as you strain to pull back tears.
your chest starts feeling a little heavy and hands slightly cold as you write notes for Repression on your A4 lined paper pad. We forcibly forget facts or events that cause anxiety or unhappiness, you copy from the powerpoint slide, as a form of a psychological defence mechanism.
next line. dash. People show symptoms caused by these events and is evident in states such as depression, but they are not aware what it is causing it because it has been repressed.
the more settled in, the more dead.
you spend an hour in the art room today, not doing anything, really.
because you can't handle just sitting there not being able to read email, you read the past posts on this blog instead. the layout looks better on a big screen. makes the words smaller. makes the white blank space dominant and suggests the smallness of you.
you write in your moleskine and don't even bother making the date stand out like in the rest of the dates you'd written before. October 24 1151 you write:
you get a D- in your first English essay. d for disheartened. stout round handwriting at the bottom of the second page says you make good points and Great First Attempt - Well Done. the D still looks bad though.
you annotate an excerpt from pat barker's The Ghost Road as the teacher talks it through with the class. Hallet the soldier is in a hospital with his family and he is dying of battle wounds.
"Shotvarfet."
"He's saying, "It's not worth it." "
his last cries that send the whole hospital ward into murmurs and groans of agony, made incomprehensible by "damaged brains and drooping mouths". he dies in the quiet aftermath of the deranged protest, such pathos and juxtaposition. he dies questioning his purpose in war. realizing his lost identity, his shell of a human body.
as you walk down the corridor from english class, sara turns back and casually asks how much you got for the essay. "a D minus," you say, with the disheartened lifting of the left corner of your mouth. and you find out it's actually a good grade because A Levels are way too hard, and it's actually like a B. that makes you feel a little better,
but walking out towards the green school gate you feel an uneasiness despite the tiny relief of the start of half-term break.
