I go through paragraph after paragraph of my drafted discussion. My eyes sifting through every meaning of the word trying to make sense of of it all. Despite the immensely huge screen in front of me, I keep squinting and hunching forward as if it would make any difference at all to my efforts. The nights have been long but my work is far from being complete. It feels though as if it’s far from actually starting.
A message pops out in the background. A welcomed moment of procrastination.
“I so love our ex prime minister’s blog. I mean, he’s almost 90. He gets 2 million hits in the 2 months he’s been up and he averages 500 comments a post, with 100 within the first hour of posting. Now this is what blogs celebrities should be about…”
I paused for a moment, trying to find the words to reply. My mind unable to comprehend the sheer interest of the conversation, let alone the whole point of it. It’s not that I wasn’t aware of it. It wasn’t that it was a bad thing to know and admire. It’s just…after a whole minute of sitting there trying to work out my response that I realized one important detail.
I really couldn’t care less about it.
I quickly flip through all the forums, notes, comments, blogs that I’ve subscribed to reading all this while. My eyes scanning through every new post, through every unanswered question. I try. I tried and replied. I tried and came up with words that make sense to me, to the conversation. Yet it made no difference. For all that it’s worth, my mind couldn’t find anything interesting about it. It couldn’t find anything worth its time to process, to grasp, to understand, to play with, to connect.
Then dawned on me that I have already crossed that line. A line every one of my kind has to cross the longer we’re in it. It isn’t that we’re stupid. It’s not that we’re uncaring. It’s just that we’re part of a different breed.
What mattered to me more was the task I was embroiled. What I could comment upon were the stacks of journal papers that have been arranged in a way that only I could make sense of. What I could make sense and take interest on was anything else related to what I was focusing on that very moment. My enthusiasm overwhelmed by the sheer scope of a project I was entirely responsible for.
That’s right. My name is Edrei Zahari and I…am a post-graduate student.
Brilliant. Fragile. Insensitive. Oblivious.
That’s the price we have to pay for trying to make a different in the world. The thing is, I would weep for the part of me I’ve lost/shed/forgotten/adapted to in order become part of an exclusive world. But frankly I couldn’t care less either. Maybe that is the sad thing, but only if it made a difference to what I’m doing and I don’t think I could comment on that. At least not one that made any sense to me, what more, to you.