When considering how I could make my grand entrance on the Sinister list I imagined myself writing in various ways, casting myself in a myriad of different lights. Before actually committing the act, you see, I had the option of being anyone. I could represent myself as a giddy, light-hearted soul or a debauched individual or a depressed misanthrope. And yet, once I have set out on my course, once I have made that first contact and the deed is done, my options vanish. All of which, I think, was intended to illustrate the problems with communication, or perhaps the problems of self image, or even the multi-faceted, changeability of the human nature. Regardless, I could wait forever for the perfect moment when my personality could be defined and set in stone, but it would never come. So I shall make do with my current mood and, at the moment, I am thinking of churches. I am not a religious person; I am thinking of churches because they are solemn, gloomy places, increasingly neglected by society but still remaining in the paces they have inhabited for centuries, lonely and brooding yet not without a certain dignity in their quiet repose. At this moment in time, they seem to symbolise my mood, and I would rather like to be standing in one. Or, rather, walking. Disturbing the dusty air with the clack of my shoes on the cold stone floor and gazing upon the statues and relics from times long forgotten. I am also thinking of Cemetery Gates by the Smiths. Wilde used to be on my side, too, but somehow he defected. And all of these things spring to mind because, currently, I am discontented. Adrift, in fact. If you will be so kind as to indulge the reason for this, I will happily tell all, although there is not really much to tell. Today I was rejected from the university I applied to, and thus all the beautiful castles in the air my vanity and imagination had erected with such love and care have been shattered, have vanished leaving a yawning chasm over the next three years which I shudder to think of how to fill. The fact is, I know how to fill it really, but the challenge makes part of me want to just curl up in bed and never get out again, to hide from all the trials and difficulties that may visit upon us in life. Beds and sleep are safe, warm and undemanding. Yet what I really hope is that the desire to forge on and face the challenge will prevail. It remains to be seen which side will win. I hope I'm not boring anyone who is reading this rather lengthy splurge of writing; in the future, perhaps, I will write short, glittering pieces, though that may have to wait until the daffodils begin to blossom and the birds return from their winter retreats to brighten the days with song. At the moment all I feel is disinterest which is, I think, the very worst emotion of all. It is the most distressing thing in the world to look up at the moon or over a sleeping city and not feel the slightest stirring of emotion or interest, as if all the joys of life have fallen asleep and won't be woken up. But perhaps it will all turn out well. The dawn is beginning to break, and even though I can only see a tiny patch of lightening sky from my window, that is enough. I haven't witnessed a dawn for many weeks, and its return to me, or rather my return to it, since it didn't go anywhere, is like that of a long lost friend. A long lost friend who, like the churches, is filled with symbolic importance that mankind has created in tribute over the short centuries. Unlike the churches, though, it is a symbol of hope, choices and optimism, of the cycle of nature and of timeless beauties. Maybe it is telling me something, or at least reminding me. I should take my own advice; humans are changeable, and disinterest today can be joy tomorrow. So I've tried to end as positively as I can, and it isn't insincere. I believe, I really do. And if one believes hard enough in oneself and in the fact that life is beautiful, surely, eventually, the belief and the wish for relief will come true? Or so I hope. Hope, and keep believing. That's what I'll do. In the meantime, I will continue to read and enjoy the various and varied e-mails that swell my inbox (what horrible, utilitarian words they are that pertain to computers!), and keep my fingers crossed that dawns break in the human spirit just as much as in the sky. Before I finish entirely, I have a question which I hope someone can answer for me (if indeed anyone has lasted this far). I have been considering volunteering to teach English in a foreign country (China, India, Russia and Nepal were the places I have been thinking of), and I wondered if anyone has had experience with this. If they have, and could tell me anything at all about it that may be relevant, I would be grateful. Ruvi. PS. I would like to assure everyone that I do like Belle and Sebastian quite a lot, despite not having once alluding to them in this post. PPS. Just to balance the morose content of this post, I would like to include a joke: Why does a vampire take his medicine? To improve his coffin. +----------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the undead Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister@missprint.org. To unsubscribe send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to majordomo@missprint.org. 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