To do B.Sc, or To Do B.Tech, That Is The Question

        Dear ladies, gentlemen, and all the rest. I write this to you from a Slough of Despond, where I lie, half-suffocated and despairing, trapped beneath the weight of all this wearisome world and my own foolish self. The first of my burdens I have hopes of shaking off, perhaps even abandoning altogether, from the other I shall have no rest while breath still illuminates this mortal coil. Until the time when my flame finally gutters and dies out, I shall carry it with me, whether waking or sleeping, laughing or weeping, such that the final rest is a consummation devoutly to be wished. Elaine Paige expresses my feeling beautifully with her silver tongue in this song:

            Truthfully, I have no reason to feel this morbid, except that I have just read Wuthering Heights, and, also, I have no idea what I'm doing with my life. If you came here for something worth reading, you are in the wrong place, and I recommend you follow this link instead: http://www.africa.upenn.edu/Articles_Gen/Letter_Birmingham.html. You will not regret, I promise you. It is beautifully expressed.

          An abyss of doubt and questioning gapes below my feet, and a voice in my head (my Physics teacher's) warns that a single misplaced step will send me over the edge, tumbling down rocky slopes to my own destruction. Basically, I can't decide what college course to take, whether I should take a gap year, what college to go to, what to have for dinner, nothing.

       I wish someone would grab me by the shoulders and tell me clearly and firmly that they have looked into the seeds of time and seen which grains will grow and which will not, and therefore I should take engineering, or that I would raise my eyes to the sky and see the path that I should take there, traced across the clouds in burning characters. In my weakness, I even checked my horoscope this morning, hoping for some sort of sign.

       The cry famously uttered by Eliza Dolittle is constantly on my lips, I wake screaming it in the cold watches of the night. No, not "buy a bunch of violets off a poor gal,", the other one. "What am I to do? What's to become of me?" It's becoming a problem. I have been reduced to such a state that I soliloquize now, which is mostly because I'm basically confined to my room these days and there's not much else to do, really. My native hue of resolution is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought.

Here's hoping that you know your minds better than I do at the moment. Yours indecisively,
Joanna Koshy.

The Sun will come oouuuttt..... Tomorrow!

                   Hello, person who is probably supposed to be doing other work but is reading this blog instead! Welcome to the internet and it's procrastinating ways! To ensure that you are really on the path that leads directly to hell, check out the following websites also: Youtube, mangareader, and Facebook.

                    Life is made up of smiles, sniffles and sobs, with sniffles predominating. I believe that this is O. Henry's quote from his wonderful story 'The Gift of the Magi'. If it's not, feel free to snigger at my horrendous mistake and assume an air of smug all-knowingness. Treat yourself to a cupcake for being so clever.

                   I didn't really agree with this quote two years ago. Life seemed to me (then young and innocent) a vale of sunshine, with each second disclosing some fresh delight. If you've heard 'The Good Life' by One Republic, that was basically the way I felt back then. However, I am no longer of that opinion.

                  The truth is that life is hard, and then you die. Anything else is just a bonus, a little extra to keep us going in the vague belief that it's all somewhat worthwhile. This could be a post about all the sniffles in my life, but it's not going to be. Everybody has sniffles, and mine are nothing special. 

                   Something that I learnt from my Mum, is that we can't depend on our circumstances to make us happy. Sad things and hard things and sometimes downright unfair things happen to everybody- but happiness has to come from inside, and by inside I mean chocolate. So, I thought I would make this list for you, in the hope that it will be enjoyable and instructive.

Things I Do When I'm Sad:

1. Read a good book: And by good book, I mean P. G. Wodehouse. Books are comforters and friends- the voices of interesting, clever, funny people bringing you brilliant ideas without any of the trouble of having to think yourself. I haven't experienced all the pleasures in life yet, but I tentatively believe that there is none greater than a good book. Especially P. G. Wodehouse.

2. Play the piano: I learn classical piano, so it's not just uneducated hammering of the ivories that I do (typical classical student snobbishness), and there's actually a lot to keep in mind while I play- lifts and slurs and finger numbers and such. This is usually a good distraction, and of course, more than that, there's the joy of making music. If it can really be called that. In the words of Questionable Content: "My guitar doesn't gently weep- it screeches profanity." 

3. Get some sugar in me: This doesn't generally lead to long term happiness, but a good rush of glucose through the blood vessels does tend to make one chipper.

4, Imagine: my tragic death and how sorry all the people who were mean to me would feel gazing on my pale, still body. Childish? Yes. Comforting? Hell yes.

5. Rant: Keeping your problems crammed inside your festering frame will only lead to indigestion and cellulite. Express yourself. Speaking as a speaking person, it really helps.

And that's what I do "when the dog barks, when the bee stings" What are your misery-handling methods? Tell me! I like stealing good ideas. Aunts and cousins and things are coming over tomorrow, leading me to the sobering reflection that there are two things you cannot escape in this life: the love of God, and your mallu relatives. But it's okay, because I love them very much! I hope you are having an excellent Friday.

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