Ramblings of an Escapee

It is official – I have been defeated by my dissertation.
My quasi responsibility-free year is coming to a close with just two months to go, yet rather than frolicking in the sweet spring sun, fuelled with tortellini and parmesan cheese, as I should be, I am sat at home trying to pull a draft out of my ar… nose. And so I raise my white flag in surrender. I throw my hands up in the air (in true Italian fashion), and with an expression of unapologetic, resignation (essential for pulling this off - see below), I let loose a big shrug (might as well embrace it while I can) and sit back. And that is the story of how I ended up here, committed again to my blog.

Somehow, however, I feel it’s not a coffee shop reviewing sort of day, so forgive me as I unload a handful of my thoughts onto my pristine, blank, word doc of a canvas.

In fact, my absence here has largely been due, not to my dedication to my dissertation (hence aforementioned lack of frolicking freedom), but more to the fact that I have come to find the sheer sight of this blank canvas of mine rather daunting. Something about the anticipation of the white page with it's little flashing line, waiting to be busied, and eventually filled, with letters and words and wit and what not.

Having been replanted in Italian soil, away from my roots, my family, my more matured and cultivated friendships, and my boyfriend dog, whatever time I have not been in class or out for a quick drink, I have spent sprouting little buds of semi-thoughts, semi-ideas, semi-opinions, basking in the bliss of my solitude. But somehow I have been unable to nurture them to the point of blooming. Which is fine. These things need to come from somewhere and often take time to grow, before - if ever - reaching their full potential. Why is it then that they now seem to have become more burdensome than promising or stimulating?

I have managed to pinpoint a couple of possible suspects to my new found, rather incessant series of uncertainties and, thankfully, a couple of prescribe-able remedies (even if only placebos). 

Suspect Number 1: Failure to address and resolve pre-existing insecurities.

Compliments - I have always had a bit of a problem dealing with them. Blame it on having grown up in a country where modesty and humility are the basis to everyone's character. Or on having grown up with a mother whose affection is not shaped by the conventional mould of motherly love (though still very much present). Or even on having grown up being showered with compliments as a "hafu" or rather, an "exotic" hybrid of Asian and Western physical traits, in a relatively homogeneous society (more on that another day). Whatever the underlying cause, compliments have always made me feel uneasy.

The two very separate events which, not only brought the existence of this issue to light, but identified it as a major weakness, were both a bit out of the blue. The first was when my boyfriend's mother was praising some dish I had cooked and I kept on rejecting her compliments, shaking my head and avoiding all eye contact, hoping it would all be over soon - until she finally put her index finger to my lips and said "just say 'thank you' and accept it." This simple piece of advice launched me into a completely new realm of awareness, both of social interaction and of myself, totally alien to me, yet fascinating and pleasant all the same. The second event, I admit, is slightly bizarre, but came from a procrastinating session when I stumbled across Kanye West's appearance on the Jimmy Kimmel Show. Ok - I do find him sliiightly arrogant and obnoxious, but Kanye sort of hit the nail on the head when he justified his reference to himself as a "creative genius", by rejecting this now well-diffused idea of "false humility." Cioè, feeling the need to be humble with regards to everything. Even the things that we know ourselves to be good at.

But my problems are not only limited to the receiving of compliments but also to giving them. Mainly due to some inexplicable concern on my part of coming across as insincere, even if I genuinely admire whatever it is that I am trying to praise. All in all, I just don't know what to do with myself when faced with the giving or receiving of a compliment. But what has that got to do with anything, you say?

Just about everything, that's what. Being able to praise other people is not only a great social skill, but largely reflects how secure you are with yourself. Just like jealousy and bitterness manifest themselves in insecure subjects, compliments and praise roll out of the most secure. Before you can run around, beaming at other people's successes and nice outfits, and new haircuts, you first have to come to terms with what you possess. And don't possess. Acknowledge it all, evaluate it all, identify what can and cannot be changed. Take a deeeeep breath, accept the things that are here to stay and mooooove on. 

Suspect Number 2: Ignorance (is bliss only up to a certain point)

The more I think about it, it is actually no surprise that I have difficulty getting my mini mental florets to blossom. Quite simply I have a gaping whole in my small, shallow reservoir of knowledge. Luckily there is an equally simple explanation behind this. The cause being, the lack of exposure to other wise people and their thoughts, often left in the form of articulate, beautifully bound books. The more I venture down the path of literature, the more I am able to appreciate its value (and the more unable I am to keep myself from gaping at how observant, articulate and profound some of these writers were and are).
To be able to really form an opinion, or push towards the realisation of an idea, or even to have thoughts that go beyond what outfit to wear and what to buy at the supermarket, one must be curious, informed and, to a degree, assertive: three magical ingredients promoting your mind to another level. Great, so what to do now?

Remedies: 
The suspects that I have just publicly shamed, are as it turns out, partners in crime. 

Have a think about the people in your social network that are most confident, sure of themselves and outspoken or opinionated. At least in my web of pals and professors and people that I look up to, they are the ones that are, or even unjustifiably believe to be, knowledgable and well-informed. Whether through reading books, exploring google and wikipedia, watching programmes, studying art or having a passion which leads them to develop an area of expertise, they are undoubtedly the inquisitive, knowledge-hungry or passionate ones. They are also often the ones that have scoped out a way to express themselves, whether through painting, singing, talking, blogging, vlogging, dancing, debating - there are an infinite number of ways one can express themselves. And this, my friend, is a necessary form of therapy.

So there we have it.

1. Learn to give praise and to accept praise. 

2. Find a medium through which to express yourself (as corny as that may sound).  Or a hobby of some sort.

3. Read. Read, read, read. Appreciate and question what you read. Oh, and don't forget to read.

On that note, as I retract into the depths of my dissertation dungeon once again, I leave you with a parting gift (something to remember me by if I never make it back out). Two and a half minutes of Mark Grist's genius, which my old English teacher (female, nothing weird going on here) emailed me after I graduated. 

Happy Friday! 

Lovely image of Berlusconi excelling in the art of shrugging was from here.
Others here, here and here.