The ups and downs of education
Jan. 20th, 2009 01:11 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
friezaessAfter watching clips from X's Hong Kong concert I am now desperate for them to announce the dates of the US concerts. HOT HIDE COSPLAYER OR HOTTEST HIDE COSPLAYER? Hopefully I'll get to the one in NYC if it agrees with my holidays and I can get a decent job in time. (The one I signed up for at Uni doesn't have many hours ;_;)
Oh, good news! I managed to shirk my Bachelor of Arts and weasle into the Bachelor of Journalism so I don't have to do any stupid crap like writing a 3000 word essay on the history of reporting, rather I am taught how to actually go out and report. Freaking w00t- theory can suck my gargantuan pulsating manmeat.
And this all would have happened a lot sooner if it wern't for one little conversation that happened almost 10 years ago. (Good Christ, how can I possibly be that old?)
It's only recently become apparent how damaging high school was for me. At the age of 15 or 16 my student counsellor bluntly advised me that I couldn't be a palaeontologist - something which had been my dream for most of my life. I had spent days researching which Universities offered it as a bachelor's degree whilst getting ready to sign up for senior science classes. My life's dream had been snatched away from me due to my poor grades in maths, but at least it was warrented and it's not that moment that was the most damaging. It was when I mentioned my back-up plan of doing journalism. I had always been a good writer - indeed, all my English teachers doted on me - and though such things don't automatically make a person the next Anna Corrin, it seemed like a good plan to me. "No," I was nonchalantly told, "if you don't enjoy Study of Society you'll hate Journalism." Note: Our version of Study of Society involved feminist bullshit, studies from the 70s and a ban on using the Internet as a research tool.
Before that day, I had never been so certain that I was going to go home and kill myself. I know I would have done it had a parcel from eBay hadn't been waiting for me upon my arrival and brightened my mood just enough to bring me back from the edge.
And so, I had to wait this long to start down the road of writing about human interest stories for evil corporations. Not only that, but I have a bad feeling that the reason I have such trouble drawing anything nowadays is due to the impossibly high standards I set myself in an effort to garner the attention of my Art teacher back then. This woman went out of her way to make sure I didn't succeed- refusing to look at my work, not telling me where textbooks and supplies were when I asked, giving me feedback in the form of showing me how much better other students were at drawing than I was and not letting me enter art competitions. Back then, drawing was my life, my purpose, the one thing that kept me going when I thought myself to be utterly worthless. Senior Art class was hell.
But anyway, enough of my rantings. I'm slowly making something of my life, perhaps. I've managed to toughen myself up enough so that I'm no longer suicidally depressed, I hope. And maybe, just maybe, someday I won't be completley worthless... maybe even full-on happy. That would be nice.
If you made it this far without hitting the back button or falling asleep, I salute you.
Oh, good news! I managed to shirk my Bachelor of Arts and weasle into the Bachelor of Journalism so I don't have to do any stupid crap like writing a 3000 word essay on the history of reporting, rather I am taught how to actually go out and report. Freaking w00t- theory can suck my gargantuan pulsating manmeat.
And this all would have happened a lot sooner if it wern't for one little conversation that happened almost 10 years ago. (Good Christ, how can I possibly be that old?)
It's only recently become apparent how damaging high school was for me. At the age of 15 or 16 my student counsellor bluntly advised me that I couldn't be a palaeontologist - something which had been my dream for most of my life. I had spent days researching which Universities offered it as a bachelor's degree whilst getting ready to sign up for senior science classes. My life's dream had been snatched away from me due to my poor grades in maths, but at least it was warrented and it's not that moment that was the most damaging. It was when I mentioned my back-up plan of doing journalism. I had always been a good writer - indeed, all my English teachers doted on me - and though such things don't automatically make a person the next Anna Corrin, it seemed like a good plan to me. "No," I was nonchalantly told, "if you don't enjoy Study of Society you'll hate Journalism." Note: Our version of Study of Society involved feminist bullshit, studies from the 70s and a ban on using the Internet as a research tool.
Before that day, I had never been so certain that I was going to go home and kill myself. I know I would have done it had a parcel from eBay hadn't been waiting for me upon my arrival and brightened my mood just enough to bring me back from the edge.
And so, I had to wait this long to start down the road of writing about human interest stories for evil corporations. Not only that, but I have a bad feeling that the reason I have such trouble drawing anything nowadays is due to the impossibly high standards I set myself in an effort to garner the attention of my Art teacher back then. This woman went out of her way to make sure I didn't succeed- refusing to look at my work, not telling me where textbooks and supplies were when I asked, giving me feedback in the form of showing me how much better other students were at drawing than I was and not letting me enter art competitions. Back then, drawing was my life, my purpose, the one thing that kept me going when I thought myself to be utterly worthless. Senior Art class was hell.
But anyway, enough of my rantings. I'm slowly making something of my life, perhaps. I've managed to toughen myself up enough so that I'm no longer suicidally depressed, I hope. And maybe, just maybe, someday I won't be completley worthless... maybe even full-on happy. That would be nice.
If you made it this far without hitting the back button or falling asleep, I salute you.
