Sinister: The joke is at the end.

[Ruvi Simmons]

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.

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