Magdalene

My love affair with my studies is going through a rough patch.

Maybe it's just because of exams? Exams, the loathsome creature that mocks my immaturity, my lack of hard work, my stupidity. Perhaps. But this semester has been a sort of blur for me, and the only classes I felt like I was attending body and soul were my french classes.

How can you have a love affair with accounting anyway? It sounds downright laughable. Have you ever met a person who is genuinely fascinated by it? I was reading someone's blog, and the passion and innate interest she has for what she's learning, her enthusiasm about her studies and her course work, it shone through, and it killed me a bit, because I don't think I've ever felt like that about my studies. Yes, what I learn can be stimulating,I acknowledge its due importance, but my interest for my studies is parked at the end of classes, and I don't integrate what I learn with my life. I wish I could be more... emotional, I suppose, with my studies. But it's kind of hard to get all worked up over the joys of learning things like the existence of separate financial reporting obligations for different-sized companies, or directors' duties to shareholders.

Why did I choose a commerce degree? Because I felt a certain satisfaction in working out how accounts balance, and was stoked when they actually did. Because economics fascinated me in a way physics and biology couldn't. Because I thought I was good at it, that my intelligence was meant for these subjects, because I could see myself becoming a kick-ass accountant.

Now that I don't feel that I'm good at it anymore, and that my intelligence seems non-existent, and half of my lectures bore me to tears, what does that leave me with?

I want to come home so badly, I am ultimately tired of this place for the time being.

*** Very sorry for this, I tried very hard to avoid doing an emo exam post this time around. I was initially supposed to blog about things like witty(if I do say so myself) retorts to weight-gain comments, tim-tam slam orgasms, my imaginary t-shirt shop ambitions, etc, but somehow this was what came about. I is failure.