Well since I wrote that I have moved cities, come back, had my heart broken, had my heart repaired (by same guilty party) smashed out two winter school subjects, dropped three regular subjects and found myself at this point in August; 3 months left of the semester, and doing one measly course in Beginners' Logic. What?
If only we could just fast-forward ten
years and have someone tell us what we will be doing. Is it what we are working
towards now? Or something completely opposite. Are you knee-deep in third year
Architecture, only to find ten years later you’re a veterinarian? Are you
training to become a lawyer only to find yourself working with refugees? Or did
you eschew traditional study, and end up as an oenologist and one of the best
winemakers in Australia anyway? What are we supposed to do? My mother tells me I
just need to keep going, get a year of Uni education under my belt so that I can
say I went to uni for a year. That doesn’t mean anything, woman. It doesn’t
work like that. I may as well start knitting a jumper, get to the point of
having knitted a sleeve and try and sell it. No, we want the whole jumper or
nothing.
Again, because I’m ‘good’ at writing means
I have to do an Arts degree. What if I don’t want to write? What if my talent
actually lies elsewhere and nobody sees it because they are too busy
pigeon-holing me into doing a freaking Arts degree? To quote Kumar (from Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle), ‘Just
because you’re hung like a moose doesn’t mean you gotta do porn”. Fair. What if
writing as a living takes away everything I like about it? Studying writing
feels likes studying walking, or breathing. Stupid. It’s just something you
know. Shouldn’t you study something more specific, or get into something more
specific rather, and then write about that? I don’t want to write about
writing, or write about nothing. I want to write about SOMETHING. Something that
I find interesting. I don’t find writing interesting, but I do like doing it. I
find other things interesting. Writing about those things makes writing
interesting. Fair?
I like houses. I like rooms. I like
thinking up ways to make a room beautiful, changing my room around, going
through the real estate section of the paper and imagining filling these houses
with my furniture, my style, my ideas. Giving the place a feel, or my touch, whatever the hell that may be. Hammocks hanging from the roof today, black walls tomorrow. Filling the shelves with the books I love,
planting little tables with candles that make everyone feel like they’re at
home. But how do you make money from that?
Food is another one. Love talking about it,
making it, thinking about it, reading about it, obviously eating it… How do I
become a food critic? How do you get to the point where people go, "well, (insert flamboyant French name) obviously knows a lot about food, so we will trust their opinion on where we dine tonight and forevermore". I'm twenty. Outside my small group of friends, nobody would think I know shit about food. I probably wouldn't listen to me either.
Sometimes I think I just have to buy my own farm, start growing
shit, pear trees, vines of tomatoes, herby herbs... then start taking photos of it and my rustic cottage, throw in a few recipes, and boom. But that
takes money. So for now maybe I will just make money. Realistically, all the
things that I am passionate about are really lifestyle. I am passionate about lifestyle – about a certain way of
living. Aspirational living? I know that phrase gets thrown around a bit
(particularly in Sydney’s Eastern suburbs. Cough – people living beyond their
means. I drive a Mercedes-Benz S class, and live in a shithole) I love the idea of growing something yourself, and cooking it in your
rustic kitchen for your wonderfully relaxed family and friends, then curling up
later with a beautiful cup of tea, candles burning, to read the newest book. Is
that ok? I am twenty years old. Do I have to be sorted right this second?
Please, mother, world, stop pushing me. You should know it is in my character to go exactly the opposite way to where you want.
Just let me be, please.
And judging by what I can see in the media,
print journalism really isn’t where you want to be anymore, anyway. People are getting
laid off left right and centre, buying e-books, reading blogs... I know I just cancelled my magazine subscription. Can't afford you anymore Harpers, but I'll definately still be sneaking around the website...
So in summary, still here, still NOT in Istanbul, still trying to figure it out.... In the meantime I'm going to post things that I like the look of. Aspirational living via the Blogosphere. Maybe something will stick. X x
So in summary, still here, still NOT in Istanbul, still trying to figure it out.... In the meantime I'm going to post things that I like the look of. Aspirational living via the Blogosphere. Maybe something will stick. X x
