The past two days arrived bearing rain and thunder. On days like these the first thing that filters through hazy consciousness is the pitter, patter, like grains, like static, or, if like on Monday, the slam of thunder rudely jolting you awake. On Monday the whole room shook with the insistence of the weather, count one two three four to hear yet another furious roar. I stayed resolutely in bed, determined that no circumstance shall disrupt my sleep, so much so that even the alarm could not get me to emerge from the cocoon of my room into the treacherous outdoors. Lesson? What lesson? I turn my nose up at your unteaching face.
Perhaps a reason why sleep and rain go so well together– besides the cooler temperature, that is– is that the sound of rain drumming upon the ground resonates with sleep on some level of consciousness. If you think about sleeping, and you try to come out with a sound for it, I think the sound would be the sound of rain. There’s a certain quality of being nestled in something with the sound of rain, of static.
I got a new haircut recently, after having been inspired by this video where I decided that my life ambition was to be Justin Bieber’s doppelganger too (well, not quite my life ambition, but close). When I entered the seminar room on Monday for my first lesson Keng Hua took a look at me and went
Joe came in about ten minutes later. “Nice haircut,” he said.
Benedict saw me the day after. “Why did you get a bowl-shaped haircut?? Your hair looks funny.”
Wenbin remarked, “Your hair looks like mine when I don’t do anything to it. I approve.”
Ray Chuan asked me something he kept asking with regards to my T-shirts: “What’s up with your hair?”
John echoed Joe: “Nice haircut.”
And Rose Marie exclaimed at the end of it all, “How come nobody noticed I had a haircut too?”
We moved on to Waiting for Godot for EN1101E, and from the sound of it, it is my type of play. Some of my notes (credit to Dr Susan Ang):
Human condition: tragicomic; existentialist void; repetitive; entropic (wasting away, pining); man is a tramp; man is a clown; human relations essentially relationships of need; human condition is uncertain and uncertainty is terrifying but better than nothing.
It is the consciousness of the meaningless of existence that plays an important factor in the tragedy.
The tragicomedy lies in that the lack of clarity (if life is a repetition, why do we not end it? it is because we aren’t certain that there won’t be a change in the future, we hope for something better, and hence the lack of clarity) works to prevent a clear course of action. A switch that is neither on or off. We can’t can’t call ourselves purely comic or tragic, never clear cut, a waiting mood as we never know whether life will turn out to be something more.
Minimalist setting (A country road. A tree. Evening.): not realistic because reality is messy, not inviting you to relate to it, nothing to distract you from the void. Markers within the void in the play: tree, other humans, punctuation; needed to help one orientate within.
Anything more will bore you because it goes down into details of the play, and you need to read it to get it, or not get it. I can see why there are over a thousand results when you search for it on JSTOR– all the literature fans having the time of their lives diving into the symbolism and internally going “Oh, the utter hopelessness of the human condition– I have been affirmed.”
And that is all for your erratic update of zhixin’s life.