one step at a time

One year. Eight months. I don’t know. My mind is so busy or at least pretending to be so busy that I cannot even tell how long my break from writing was. All I know is that my mornings and evenings are the same. I would wake up every morning and think about one thing – law. Then in the evening, before I sleep, I likewise think of one thing – law. In fact, my mental states in my mornings and evenings are only an ounce different from my mental state in the period between them. It sounds boring, I know; but I would lie if I say that it’s not the case, because it is. So here I am, staring at a pirated MS Word 2010, which I downloaded from the internet because I hate MS Works, armed with nonsense thoughts, which are not worthy of anyone’s attention. With my hands that have been recently victimized by paper-cuts, I am about to write these silly views, which, up to now, are yet organized in the overused brain of mine.

Let me start with “law.” It’s not that I want to make it a topic here; but I want to start with it so as to make it clear that this piece of writing (essay, entry, whatever this is) is not about law. It has been the center of my attention. Now that I am having a lucid interval (from a state of insanity, i.e. a state devoted to law), I am excluding law as a topic. There is more to my life than just being a law student.

The question is, what comprises this “more” in my life? I wish I could speak of an inspiration or something to that effect. But the first thing that came to my mind after thinking of the word “inspiration” is “my dream.” This is an instance wherein the goal and the inspiration (which is supposed to be a mere means to an end) are the same. If you say that this kind of life I am living is boring, then I am telling you right now that you are a hundred percent correct. Perhaps a redefinition, or at least a redescription (a word not recognized by my pirated MS Word because I just invented it seconds ago) of the term “inspiration” in my personal dictionary is necessary. And after such new definition or new description, might be a finding for a new inspiration. Or maybe not. Because the traditional me tends to say that “inspirations are not meant to be found; they’re meant to find you.”

Inspirations, as I see (or saw) them, are akin to what my Ancient Philosophy professor used to talk about. They are akin to “the Sun” – that which cannot be denied. For some unknown reasons, I still tend to think that this “Sun” exists – such that I would not deny it once I knew it. Perhaps hopeless romanticism could be blamed for this longing for the Sun. And even though I could conceptually think of a possibility that the “Sun” is inexistent, to believe or not to believe in such stance is like a battle between Utilitarian ethics and Kantian ethics. Worse, it could be a battle between a stallion and a unicorn. While I am still in the state of lucid interval, teach me (I am addressing this to you, whoever you are) the way out of the ivory tower.

I am not some Rapunzel who needs to be rescued from a tower, nor a sleeping beauty who has to be awakened from some slumber. And I am most certainly not praying for some knight in shining armor who would appear before me and promise me a happily ever after. I am not looking for an inspiration, which is synonymous with hassle-free love-life. I am looking for the red in ROYGBIV, and hoping for some blue moon. I am still wishing for the possibility that there exists the “such-that-you-cannot-deny-it-thing” otherwise known as the “Sun.” But if that can’t be the case, a bonfire would do. It’s not that I’d be contented with mediocrity; it’s just that I should learn to recognize certain boundaries.

Whoever you are, are you still reading? Have I bored you? Yes? No? The fact is, I don’t care. Because I’m not writing this for you. I’m writing this for me. But maybe someday, if not tomorrow, I’ll write for you, leave the ivory tower, and abandon some (just some) of my unorthodox views. By doing such, I hope I could have eudaimonia, one step at a time.