segunda-feira, 24 de janeiro de 2011

The Girl With No Opinion

My head is bursting with the need to express.
I hear endless monologues inside myself to an invisible or absent audience. Or better than monologues, I hear entire lectures and speeches I give to the world and then I think, oh god, I've got to write this all down, where's a pen, where's some paper? But alas, none are to be found or, if they are, the pen stops at the first touch with the blankness. 
Suddenly it becomes too much and words so little and ridiculous.
I wanted to follow through today and see where that led me and I promised to myself that I would not under any circumstance erase everything afterwards as I do so so so so (too) many times. 

The school. The school, classes haven't even started and there's so much to say here. I am reporting as psychologist-english-speaking-student undercover spy. They all know this, but they don't actually KNOW, because the implications are undercover. I know there will be moments where someone will catch on to something that isn't quite right in the equation me being there in my position, but I my plan is just to keep them distracted and keep a low profile.
There are so many times when I just have to shut up, literally. Just be quiet, Maya, daze off, cut your little classroom decorations in silence and just go along, because there is so much I disagree with or that really bugs me in a lot of the assumptions or attitudes that go along the whole school thing. That sentence didn't even make sense but I'm not going back to correct or revise it. Let's just keep going. Kudos to you if you are able to follow. I have to shut up when I hear the English being spoken so poorly, I have to shut up when I see that the bilingual purpose isn't really present, or at least the way I understand it, or that way I LIVED it. Especially the way I lived it. I guess this isn't an EAB, I'll just have to make peace with that. Actually, I have made peace with that. It's a Brazilian school with Canadian liscence to kill and a whole lotta people speaking English. But it's not bilingual or multicultural...How can I explain? I can say this better in Portuguese -  a vivência não está lá. Speaking English for the sake of speaking English in a classroom is not bilingual education. I have no idea where I get this from, there is no conscious theory behind this, I have no idea what famous person I would have to cite, I'm just getting all this from a feeling. 
I guess it does annoy me, because I have to shut up so that people don't realize, by mere contrast, that they're just pretending something. 
But in the end, I know they're not PRETENDING per se, they genuinely believe in all that. I don't want to be the one to crush their ideal. 

Fine. So there's that about the school. And it broadens, there is so much more in my imaginary speeches and rampades. 

It goes on to include anything that includes much of an opinion. I have come to consider myself opinionless these days...not really consider, I am discovering this little fact. Which reads into: I am discovering that I am quite indifferent to many matters nowadays. I am indiffirent to many things which if said outloud sound atrocious and unhumane. But truly, the indifference lends itself to irritation which grows into a much more embedded anger and temper tantrum with the world. I don't want to give an opinion because I don't care because I am angry in fact, with all this that makes up the world, at least the one I'm living in. So really, if the whole thing went up in flames, I think I would actually feel pleasure (see, the part about atrocious and out loud thinking?)
I read some psychology texts and I feel angry. It's all theory. Theory about something that is lived. Let me when I write a paper on some issue, I feel like I'm being so fake and unauthentic, for I am having to report to a theoretical level and make reference to other people who said something on the matter to talk about something that is lived. I live something, then I have to theorize about it, and the lived gets buried under that theorizing. It sounds like madness, it feels like madness. 
I guess in this sense I am an artist at heart. I do not want to theorize, I abhore it actually, I want and need to express what is lived. That is all. I express what I live. And I need the expression to be pretty, I need it to be aesthetic to me, for then my world makes sense. The theory put on top of this removes me from what makes sense. Many times I read a text about whatever in Psychology, let's say, psychopatology or personality theory. Inevitably it happens that at one point or other I lose faith in the author or the text, for I get the gut feeling that this person has not lived what they are writing about and are talking about what they construct around the subject. For example, when writing about a patient, it drives me crazy how we are supposed to be able to describe what that person lives and interpret this based on some theory or model. IT DRIVES ME CRAZY. For as much as we can listen and listen to someone talk, and as much as the setting is set up to give as much allowance for authentic showing, WE WILL NEVER KNOW HOW TO DESCRIBE someone's life as they live it. We just can't. All we can describe is a construction that we made of what that life must be like. So, consequently, it drives me even madder that we are supposed to elaborate on this and interpret and give meaning (and values!!) to all this. What a crazy psychotic thing to do.

I feel out of myself at this moment, I literally am feeling removed from my body and I grow light-headed and faint. It feels like I'm leaning forward and almost falling, the computer is tilting in all ackward directions. But I am just here, and the computer is just here, nothing has changed.  My muscles are cramped up in my shoulders, I wasn't aware they were scrunching up like they did and I wasn't aware that I am barely seeing the screen in front of me.

I need to stop. 

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