There really isn’t much going on in my life at the moment. I am breathing (somewhat at a normal rate); I am alive is what I’m trying to convey. The life of a biological and chemical sciences major isn’t conducive to leisurely time. The moment I finish one assignment or complete a laboratory report, it’s on to another. I march ever on, hoping that I’ll reach my destination at some point, and without sacrificing the remains of my sanity.
I’ve barely written for there isn’t much privacy when two of your closest uni friends live either near you or with you. I have come to fear the creak of the door when I am immersed in my words, and rush to close the tab in which I write my drafts.
Writing, I feel, is very much an intimate experience. The final product may be displayed to the public, but the alchemical process of combining words and making ideas alive is very much the work of a singular entity (as far as individual-run, self-dramatising, blogs are concerned, that is).
I am very much an introvert, so I find myself wanting solitude amid all the socialization and the pressure to socialize in a university environment. It’s taxing to constantly adhere to people’s perception of you as some butterfly flitting here and there to have a little chat (or seventeen). But I suppose that’s my own fault for trying to expand my social horizons (whatever that means, anyway).
Exhausted, I am leery of engaging in another activity that involves sitting around a table and being expected to contribute to the conversation.
Anyway, I apologise for pouring all this rubbish in spite of my lengthy absence. After letting the words simmer in my brain for so long they just pour out when the opportunity displays itself (often in the form of an electronic journal which at this point probably reads like some dramatic English major’s/aspiring writer’s diary).
Final line: If you are pushing twenty years old (as I am), are feeling directionless, and have a sickening tendency to relate to literary characters, I recommend you do not, under any circumstances, read books about directionless, nineteen to twenty year old aspiring writers with melancholic temperaments. It’s like looking in a mirror. (But not for me as I am a science major with some sense of purpose in her life! Neener neener neener! Or so I tell myself).
I just finished posting an entry in my blog and can empathize with the heart-dropping feeling that happens when people intrude in the middle of when you’re writing. I agree, writing is extremely personal, and sometimes I feel as if when someone walks in on me when I am writing, all my thoughts and feelings are written across my face in big bold letters when I look up at the intruder in horror. But also, (if I’m really in the zone), I’m in my own little world while I’m writing and intrusions make me feel like I’ve been yanked out of that world and made to land painfully on my bottom in Reality. Not a good feeling.
I’ll be attending college next year, after being in IB as well, and like you, have made the decision to major in Science and not English (I love English, I really do, but I would never forgive myself if English class managed to ruin English for me, in the same way that Spanish class almost ruined foreign language for me). How is your university experience going so far? I’ve heard so many different versions of “college life” that I guess I won’t really know what it’s like until I get there, but I’d definitely like to hear your version. 
But anyways, I really like your blog posts, and I’m glad you’re back to posting
Thanks for commenting, NS
. I have definitely had that horror-struck look on my face when my roommate has dropped in unexpectedly; she must think I’m doing something shady when I am hunched over my laptop, a cup of coffee in one hand, hair askew and a mad look on my face.
University life…is rather interesting.