You can find me at http://thehybridmachine.wordpress.com/

Anyway, I’m sitting here waiting for a friend to call while I stew in my own anger and disappointment with the events of today – which I shall not go into in great detail – and I’m trying to rationalize why these things make me so mad. I shall attempt to talk about the smallest, and easiest thing first.

a) At a conversation we had at lunch, two of my friends tried to dismiss something that’s been a part of me for as long as I can remember. I realize that the following rant may not be completely understandable to some people, nor its importance, but it needs to be acknowledged for its own sake, so deal with it.

So, back to lunch. Somehow, we came upon the topic of weight, and the term ‘fat’. Now, apparently, there’s a whole identity axis around being fat and fat positive – something I didn’t know growing up and would have loved to. More importantly, these people – whom I totally love, tried to tell me that I’m not fat – and, as much as I love hearing that, one of them insisted that me calling myself ‘fat’ is what makes fat girls want to punch me in the face. Now, this is problematic because apparently only these fat girls get to tell me I’m fat. However, having grown up being repeatedly de-valued for my weight, and repeatedly reminded how enormous I was, I can assure you that even if I’m apparently not allowed in the hallowed halls of the fat (sad day) I have still been told that all my life, and hence, it is how I see myself. So even if I don’t seem fat enough to whoever these people are, I assure you that I feel it, and all the discrimination, and problems that comes with it.

b) I have also been repeatedly hearing this discussion of ‘morals’ and people having a ‘moral compass’, or a conscience, or whatever. Apparently one loses ones moral compass when one decides to be a part of any sexual activity outside of a heteronormative long-term coupling. We now have enough academic discussions about gender, sexuality, and the de-pathologising of homosexuality, and so on, but it still surprises me when people who call themselves liberal, and progressive, and all those other good adjectives, see sex as immoral if its not occurring the way THEY do it. Sometimes, I’m just so fucking tired of having to explain myself, or anyone else’s sexual activities as if they are some lascivicious secret that I can only share with select individuals. And loathe even more, the people who encourage such behavior by agreeing that they have no moral compass and wear it as a badge of honour. I mean, great, if that’s how you identify – as an immoral wanton slut, and you enjoy those titles, good for you, but please, don’t make that true of everyone that behaves as you do, because my morals don’t get defined by who I sleep with, it gets defined by my own system of ethics as I exist in this world.

c) Today, I am seriously disappointed in the academy. I have spent nearly a year trying to put together this thesis, and making it as good as I can. I’ve put my heart and soul into this. And today, I watched something happen to someone else that just cheapened the entire system of grading, and knowledge production altogether. I have believed, somewhat naively, that if one did excellent work, recognition would follow. And as a corollary, if one did less that excellent work, that would be recognized as well. (sidenote: no, this isn’t about my grade – I haven’t received it yet, so I’m neither gloating nor hating) Having been through a week of presentations, and discussions, I’m coming to realize how arbitrary this whole thing is, and that there literally is no meaning to the system of grading we have. I guess this isn’t surprising, enough people have pointed that out over the years, but somehow, I believed that the more nuanced, mature, and interesting the argument, the better one’s work would be received but after being aware of how ridiculous some work is, and it still getting passed, I’m really coming to question the value of what I do.

Of course this comes back to me, and my problems. Having spent my whole life convinced that all I needed to do to get out of the horrible childhood I had was to be as smart as possible so I wouldn’t have to deal with all the trash that I was put through (partly influenced by rant a)) I thought the academy was my safe haven. Having to deal with its failures is like watching everything you ever believed in fall in one big sweep.

Anyway, I have resolved to throw money at my problems, and drown my sorrows in consumerism – Zara, H&M, here I come.

[Yes, this is ridiculously privileged. I am also filled with self-loathing about that.]

And now some Derrida before bed. Tomorrow, I can loathe this post in bright sunlight.

The endless loops of anxiety, uncertainty, and sheer terror have left me an unproductive wreck. Memory is a tricky thing – it makes the past look a lot better or worse depending on what I want it to say, and right now, it has me longing for something that I know never existed. The possibility of the future in a past that never was haunts everything that I think about right now. Exhaustion is the only present. But this may not be true; this is only me making coherent a collection of sensations at 2.30 am – never a good time to try making sense of anything. Time.

Why are you wavering?

Uhh, I need my own Eleven Theses on Feurbach.

I’m going to try making sense of the last two weeks, even if I’m likely to fail.

Being back home is always weird, and each time I come back, it gets weirder but I thought I had it figured out. The few things I could count on happening were: boredom, comfort, laziness, and quiet. Yes, it’s sometimes complicated with the parents, but at least that’s stuff that I can handle. I can also handle meeting old acquaintances for short periods of time and usually spend my time with the same 4.5 people for days on end, just drinking on my terrace.

This trip back home has been strange, terrifying and awkward to say the least. It’s been filled with half-relationships, not-yet friends, and a weird mix of familiarity and complete alienation. I did the usual rounds- besant nagar, Zara, 10 D, Sangeetha, Bikes, etc. and each of these things has just become harder to bear – like it’s so full of memories that I might burst from them showing up all at once. I’ve also made some strange new ones – something I definitely didn’t expect, with people who’ve taught me things about myself that I really didn’t want to know but apparently needed to learn. Home is supposed to be a collection of the past and to think that I could have a future here just took me by surprise. I’ve learnt that I’m not as grown up as I thought I was, nor as young as I was either. Maybe this is what Deleuze means is to get inside the time of the event and grow old and young at the same time?

I’m leaving tomorrow, again. And I really don’t have a return ticket this time. I could be back in 5 months or 2 years and I don’t know which option I’d prefer. This time, like the first, feels a little bit like I’m running away but I’m not sure from what exactly. A large part of me is quite terrified at the thought of this coming semester – thesis, finding a job, organizing my life, etc. and it’s so tempting to just refuse to leave (marriage is always an option, as my mother never fails to remind me) but, of course, I miss the academy too much to stay and the academic work here feels too isolating for me to be able to sustain it for any significant period of time.

These last two days have been particularly torturous since I’ve had nothing to do except distract myself from my impending departure with school work – a task that has failed miserably. I know I’ll be paying a price for that when I’m back in DC and buried under a mountain of work but I feel like I need to let myself be angry about leaving – it shows that I still care, perhaps? Or maybe it’s pointless. It probably is.

Anyway, I shall go pack and try not to stare at Facebook. I can’t even handle my level of crazy right now.

Oh, and, Happy New Year.

P.S. (Such a self-indulgent post. I wonder how many “I”s were in it.)