And on the First Day there was Silence...

20th April 2009

I reclined deeply into my chair as I let out a huge sigh; an almost instinctive reaction that stemmed partially from exhaustion, relief, and oddly, satisfaction. A piercing silence rang throughout the room, as I stared blankly at the empty room white-washed by the accompanying furniture.

Silence is an odd thing, always has been. Sometimes inducing a gap of awkwardness, sometimes creating the boxes for thought, and at other times, simply representing "nothingness." But oddly, it is within this "nothingness" that causes one to find "something" - something to occupy your mind with; almost as if a natural instinct to not let one sink into said "nothingness". Perhaps "I think therefore I am" and the implications of its contrary are truer than most of us would like to believe.

For that moment, the silence that filled the room pierced my soul, and dawned the realization upon me that it was over - a day of charades, anxiety, expectation and uncertainty had finally come to an end. And all I was left with sitting in that room alone was the memories of the day.

The memories of the slight discomfort and awkwardness that always came with introductions in the first hour, the need to take the first step and extend the first hand, the speaking of the first words, and the writing of the first sentences. Self-induced pressure perhaps, but the saying cannot be utterly false; first impressions do count - but the problem was, I was not exactly very sure what I wanted to project in the first place, so I was groping around in the dark for the most part of it.

Fortunately, things warmed up as the day went by, as the structure might have it that I had time to spare for individual groups on a smaller scale during the second session. No matter how many times I do it, speaking to a smaller audience will always be easier than addressing a larger one, and perhaps this really shone through during the group discussions as I felt more approachable, and more importantly, personal through mid-day.

The proteges took the reins in the third session as I started to get a better grasp of their personalities and styles as they took the stage one at a time. The tables were turned, and instead, this was their chance to leave their first impressions on me.

As my backbone took to the shape of my chair at the end of the day, exhaustion occupied the better part of me, no thanks to the malfunction of the body-clock and the preluding insomnia. Strains of relief flowed through my mind sporadically, each representing a different blessing that I was counting - reality was a bit better than anticipation in this case. But deep within the trenches of my soul, was an odd sense of satisfaction; something that I didn't expect myself to gain from the experience.

In all it's ironic glory, oddly for me, teaching actually was gratifying in itself. In a rather inexplicable manner, I was actually somewhat... satisfied, even though I was not exactly sure from what. Never to be regarded as the patient or nurturing type, the experience was still somewhat fulfilling nonetheless, and for the first time in my life, I started to get a glimpse of the satisfaction and fulfillment that one can gain through this in the long-run.

But perhaps for me, this in itself, was the most scary thing. Being oddly gratifying in itself probably meant that it would become increasingly difficult to draw the line. I believe that it is very much human nature to be cognitively dissonant about your circumstances, and somewhat convince / hypnotize oneself to believe that what one has is what one truly wants.

And oftentimes, when one doesn't have a clear idea of what one truly wants, it is easy for him / her to account to himself / herself that what he / she has been given is indeed what he / she truly wants. And naturally, this only becomes easier to believe if one can find derivable, tangible and verifiable pleasure from what one has.

As if beckoning me into her deadly jaws of comfort and stability, the world of academia suddenly started to look a little rosier than it has ever been; and perhaps if I was any less of an idealist, I would probably fall to the wayside a lot more easily. They say: Beggars can't be choosers - true, but being spoiled for choice is lesser and more of a dilemma at the same time.

Fortunately or unfortunately for me, I still very clearly know where I want to go down my path of life, and perhaps now, more consciously than ever, I have to will myself more to not rest on the laurels of my circumstances, but continue up the ladder of dreams. Desperation, anger and indignance will slowly depart from me as my muses, and I will have to seek strength from different sources, but of course, that's in the time to come.

For now, I can only open my legs wider as I continue walking down the now-forked path of my life. Where this will lead eventually is something that I will probably have to wait until 'eventually' to find out. But one thing that I believe to know now is something that I mentioned to the class early in the day....

"The good news is: it can only get better."