Illustration by Lena Kulla

 

On the End of the Show

That's it. It's a wrap! Ms Misterman's Off-Off-Off... Off-Off-Bronlineway show is over. No more whims and whines! No more grudges and grumbles! I'm going off stage. I'm going to meet my graduation critics behind the scenes. Thank you all for applauding, booing and snoozing with me. It was stressful and strange. But it was also fun. I'm contentedly closing the curtains. See you in another season!

Illustration by Lena Kulla

 

On Choosing A Career

I loathe decisions, because I loathe the idea of me choosing foolishness over prudence. But what is what? I think I am torn between what I think I want and what I think I need. But are wants automatically foolish? Are needs always prudent? Maybe.

Maybe the answer is not important. Maybe it is enough to know that next to nothing is final. Decisions can be evoked. They can be changed. We change. Over and over again. So maybe, we just need to choose in order to start. We choose in order to test. It might only satisfy the moment, but at least we got that want, that need out of the way.

Illustrations by Büke Schwarz

 

On Graduation

A few days back, I wrote about a deadline, about how its corresponding fear both speeds me up and slows me down. That deadline, that random changes of gear, will dominate my ride for another four weeks. Then, I will arrive. I will hand in my thesis and leave the bumpy comfort of university life behind.

Up to recently, I was excited. I was excited to break free from the tightly woven cocoon that has been surrounding me for the past years. And although, its inside resembles a rule fanatic boarding school, some part of me wants to stay. Some part is craving for detention, for time to avoid the decision of what to do and where to move next. Because soon, everything will somehow be possible again and I have no idea which possibility I want for me.

Illustration by Lena Kulla

 

On Deadlines

A deadline is more than just a line to mark the finish, to mark the end of a race. To me, it's in the track, the team, the audience. The car! It's in potholes and grip, in sabotage and support, in cheers and boos. It's in my engine and my brakes. The deadline is in all influences on my performance.

Whether it is dirty potholes, sabotage, boos and brakes or an excellent engine, cheers, support and grip, the material, the motivation, the voices and the fuel are made of the same. They are made of fear. It's fear that works the tracks, chooses the team and whispers to the crowd. It's fear that fuels my engine and my brakes. And it's fear that influences my performance. Deadlines come with fear.

Illustration by Büke Schwarz

 

On This

Sometimes, this, cutting thoughts into clear written pieces, is like exposing an organ to grab it and dash it on paper. It's a martial act, a fight for and against every word I put down. It's bloody. It's bloody annoying. I am annoyed at hitting the letters on my keyboard just to press delete soon after.

This, it constricts me. The freedom allowed in writing constricts me. And yet, I'm urged to open a new page. I eagerly stray into the vast wonderland, where anything, LITERALLY anything goes. Of course, there are signposts to spelling, punctuation and grammar. And yes, there is vocabulary, collocations and style. But most routes are subjective. Directions vary. In the end, the number of words and ways to arrange them remains. Freedom remains.

So, I do what I do. I do what it takes to numb a fickle perfectionist’s pain: I press delete until the page is empty. And after awhile of starring, of hoping for a gracious mood, I resign over the endless opportunities ahead.

On the Special Ones

Now and then, we happen to witness the Special Ones. We watch them from a distance. We watch them, although we would like to get close, really close. But we don't. We stay away. That way, they will always be that. They will always be special.

He felt it the moment they met. He didn't need to hear the voice, hear what it was about to sound. He knew. He always did. Because the people he admires, the ones he calls the Special Ones, are the people who are the loudest alive. They are the closest to uncertainty. And that is where he wanted to be.