Journal
October 13, 2009
Language-wise, I am quite pampered. The spoiled brat who spoke English and only English and understood little Dutch. I am in the Netherlands. For three years now and still in denial. I still believe that the Dutch language isn't the most charming one there is in this world. I swear I wouldn't be caught dirty-talking with it. It just doesn't do the trick for me.
How did I survive three years of having to deal with it? The anxiety, the silence, the near-zero means of communicating without misinterpretation? One of the many reasons I ran away to The Hague and did photography was the fact that I just did not have any interest of learning the language. And the mindset that this is just a temporary place and all the brain activity used to speak it will simply go down the drain one day.
Sure, a lot can be told with a photograph. But it's only half the truth isn't it?
And how long will this bogus convenience last?
It's 2am now and I could use a little contact with the world. Yet here I am talking to myself and getting good at it. It's getting sad and boring. I should be doing my work.
For a split second I am contemplating my exit from the Academy. They did their job on me and in a thousand and one languages their message was clear:
Not good enough. Try harder.
Homeworks done: 1 out of 8. Time left: 5 hours.