It seems I’ve been in the academia for too long that even for writing a mumbling post, I would give such a formal title. Not sure why.

But that basically sums up what I’m experiencing now—or what has been being experienced for too long.

That may be said to be the uncomfortableness for sitting down and keep working, which has been claimed by many to be one of the main reasons of procrastination. As for the actual cause of it, some say it’s the fact the person is fearing something—perhaps that he’s not smart enough; perhaps unperfection¹; perhaps failures; perhaps not enough preparation; perhaps difficulties.

Or perhaps just simply habit, really bad habit.

What I always think—at least feel—though, is the purposelessness of doing ‘all these things’. That is not to say that ‘all these things’ don’t have their purposes, but it is adressing the concern that, at the end of the day, why do they matter? Of course, there are lots of answers to that, and I believe many of them are legit. My reading what I shall read would contribute to my writing the thesis that I want to write and commit to; my thesis will contribute to my degree; my degree contribute to the next degree or a career.

But as a matter of fact, in all these moments, at this moment, I am alone, I have no connection to anyone else—so do ‘all these things’.

But sure: Maybe my thesis will do one day contribute to the development of a better system of human rights. Perhaps some countries or even United Nations do adopt my thesis and pass a resolution or even a law that is based on it.

But they are too far away, in time and space. I’m not Peter Singer anyway.

I was trying to read—concentrating—on something that is needed for developing my thesis, and I find interesting—as I should. While I was getting into it, I thought of the person—that person—I like, I love, I’ve made love with and to. Frustration, distraction. What I don’t like particularly, is that I cannot be with her. Not only not this moment, but also many other moments in my life in the future. It’s not just her, but some other hers, or perhaps even the one that I haven’t met yet.

That thought came into my mind like a thunder and lightning out of nowhere. And it’s not just this time.

She said: ‘I know. Lack of love.’ I would pretty much agree. The feeling of loving and being loved is too good to forget. But it’s not just that feeling itself. It’s the knowledge that I have someone I can rest on, a haven I can always retreat to. The fulfiment of the heart—if not for the forgetness caused by life’s distraction, frustration and many other things, it is always at least half empty—comes from there.

I said ‘there’, for it’s not here.

I’ve been wondering what exactly is the thing that I should be after in my life. For many things, even sometimes philosophy and the degree itself, give me a strong sense of ‘distraction’ that would trigger me to believe that ‘this is not what I should be doing now.’ Yet I cannot tell what exactly it is. Perhaps it is music, composing and playing music. I onced thought philosophy is something I retreat to but these three years in Scotland has proven me wrong. I fear music would be the same. And, again, when I was practicing the piano a lot before I came to St Andrews for the pursuit of philosophy degrees, I would sometimes pause because of the same thought—a very sudden strong one—I’ve written above: What good is music, even the Beauty the Form itself would do, if there is no oneelse to listen to. I guess that’s why I always hope I can meet or find someone that can go to a concert togather—sure, someone that we share at least a genuine friendship—Something I imagine that would give much happiness, most likely better tan the music itself. Unfortunately, not yet.²

I suddenly recall: Last November when I was ‘trapped’ in Shenzhen and working for the OCT International Jazz Festival that year, I met a female student who volunteered that day. She was lovely, cute, and we did can have some nice small chats. She is studying in my alma mater. We smoked that afternoon after dinner with another volunteer, and both of us was just doing social smoking as we didn’t really smoke. That evening, as volunteers, we got the chance to went to the live for free, and we were sitting at the back of the venue, listening to the music. The first musician’s works was interesting, but not that insteresting. The second one, Old Dan (老丹) was much better. I was attracted to the music and quite concentrated. Suddenly, I smelled a sense of fragrance nearby, and I realised I was sitting very close to the girl. It was of course a solo performance, but even in the music, I sensed some silence that’s not composed in the music. I knew clearly that I was much distracted from the music at that point, and I imagined—just imagined—that it was the same for the girl. At some point, that uncomposed silence got even a bit awkward as I felt it. Something was eager to come out of my skin. I smelled and smiled—or perhaps was indeed just laughing at myself—in the way as if, after so many years and stories, I as a relatively old person close to 30, can still feel for an undergraduate. Then, at some interval, I chatted a bit with her about the music. To my delight, we were in delighted mood, and we agreed on the valuation of the music.

For those who are curious, ‘nothing’ happend that night.³

I remebered she said she’s planning to come to study in the UK. We met once again sometimes later during that festival. As I was mainly working as a bartender in a relevant bookstore & bar rather than a volunteer in the organisation of the festival, we didn’t interact much. To these days, I still sometimes—though rarely—wonder why I didn’t exchange contact with her, and so, as a result, I missed a precious chance to connect with a likely lovely person that I will unlikely meet again.

Just like many other people I’ve already met. Some regret: not too much but enough.

Last modified on 2018-05-15