A Terrifying Thought

In reading the literary works of Fyodor Dostoevsky, a thought struck me that is both a tribute to the edifying genius of great writers as well as a step towards erasure for the rest of us. During my second reading of Crime and Punishment, one particular passage (don't ask me to remember which) gave me an emotion of such clarity. It was as though those unique collection of words tore a gaping hole through the fabric of the human soul, leaving it naked for all to see. Mr. D described the human condition so perfectly that I found myself nodding to the book, like an idiot, so enthralled by the pure truth of his words. But I only agreed so emphatically with Mr. D because I felt sure that these same thoughts were bubbling away just beneath my consciousness. It only took my reading these same thoughts to bring them to the surface.

Which brings me to the part of our erasure. Is it possible that we all have statements of utter profundity lurking slightly beneath our mundane exteriors? We are unable to draw them out, unable to voice them into words or music or visual expression. They are left there to fester and we will carry them to our grave. What if these thoughts are the best we have to offer, but since we common folk can't coherently express them, will be lost forever into the limbo that is the afterlife? They would be erased by the silencing of our earthly voices, and so would we. Couldn't we save them somehow? Bottle them up, store them and worship them as a testament of human triumph?

Some artists seem to find the trick.

Me too

Me Too Campaign is like an addiction. I can't believe so many Duke students are depressed. Clearly, the high-pressure atmosphere of an elite university is distracting to some extent, but never would I have guessed at the number of genuinely sad and lonely kids. Just think, I probably see them everyday! Walking to class, grabbing food, stopping and chatting with friends. But how superficial.

Are we all living a big lie? How can there be so much sadness seething under the surface of this picturesque postcard of our Gothic Wonderland? An outsider would never guess. Heck, even as a student of Duke, I'd never guess.

I wish there were some magic words I can say. Maybe something like, "Cheer up everyone, life's not so bad. Just think of all the great things in your life! You're probably better off here than flipping patties in some dingy burger joint."

But then I think, is it better? Some of the emotions my fellow students pour onto that blog are just devastating. Students lamenting their grades, their friends, their relationships. There are so many instances of individuals being fervently in love with someone who doesn't even acknowledge their existence. A feeling like that must take over every free thought they have. My heart goes out to them.

We hide so much of ourselves from the outside world. We strive so hard to present this image of "effortless perfection". Because hey! We're Duke students right? Brightest of the bright from all over the world. We'll all go on to be doctors and lawyers and successful academic researchers. Life is peachy and dazzling. Really, though? Everybody has their secrets. Sometimes I wonder about that high-profile individual, what he or she must go through inside. Maybe her parents are going through a tough divorce, but she struggles to present a happy and smiling face to the world. Maybe his sister's fighting cancer but it's such a private matter that he doesn't want to tell anyone. Maybe it's something much worse and the rest of us can only thank the heavens we only have to worry about that next chemistry midterm or whether or not the cute boy in bio lab likes us or not.

Reading that blog fills me with a sense of compassion for my fellow Dukies. It's horrifying to read, but I can't tear myself away. It's like watching a horror film so scary that I can't bear it, but I have to know what happens next.

Apologies for ending so existentially, but where are we all going?

Questo e quella?

I seem to have this problem. This problem of phases. One moment I'll get inexplicably excited about something or another and pursue it as if it were my lifelong passion, and then, just as suddenly and certainly just as inexplicably, I'll drop it like it's hot. If only I could express my fervent desire to NOT live through the important things like this. My friends have warned me, "Dude, what's gonna happen when you get obsessed with a guy like you do?"

Like I do.

Poor guy. That is all I have to say. I will weep for that man as much as I will rejoice in finally finding him.

Current obsession: opera (and not the browser, though that is admirable as well).

More specifically: Luciano Pavarotti. That man (may he rest in peace) is as close as the human race ever got to musical perfection. Those who know me understand how I will listen to one singer obsessively because I love the timbre of their voice, their phrasing, their quirky personalities, etc.... But never have all these elements come together in one miraculous human being. His voice tugs at my heartstrings. It lifts me to soar amongst silver clouds and sparkling sunshine. I can feel something happening physically, not just emotionally. I can only describe it as an involuntary clenching of all internal muscles. That voice can make rocks weep and scarecrows rejoice. Many songs will send me into a rapturous epileptic seizure ("Sleeping Lessons" by The Shins is such an example), but that voice! No words! Only poetry will suffice. Poetry from the gods.