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Why do I feel so melancholic whenever I return to Aberdeen?

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This time to call my own shots is now.

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This time to call my own shots is now.

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Aftersun

Honestly haven't wept like this after watching a film before. Everything from the performances by Paul Mescal and Frankie Corio to the Soundtrack, to the Cinematography to the Editing. Everything seamlessly interlinked. Charlotte Wells is truly a visionary genius.

This thought about pursuing a degree in Film seems to keep pushing itself toward to the forefront of my mind. After Dad had said that I become more animated when I'm talking about it. Perhaps I do? These past couple weeks have been particularly quiet and introspective. Not much talking out loud. A lot more talking inwardly.

I need to do this more. It's calming. I've always been proud of it.

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Berlin in Black & White

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One of the, if not the best photo I’ve ever taken on my Pentax K1000.

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oxymoronic paradoxical interpretation 

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“We don’t like to admit it,” said Julian, “but the idea of losing control is one that fascinates controlled people such as ourselves more than almost anything. All truly civilized people – the ancients no less than us – have civilized themselves through the willful repression of the old, animal self. Are we, in this room, really very different from the Greeks or the Romans? Obsessed with duty, piety, loyalty, sacrifice? All those things which are to modern tastes so chilling?”

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BEAUTY IS HARSH

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“It is is better to know one book intimately than a hundred superficially.”

A book like no other I’ve read. The Secret History by Donna Tartt has an eloquent and personable way of pulling you in and spitting you back out. From the language to the arching characters - it’s entirely true what the Guardian means when it says “it is as if her every reader is the first and only one to read it.” It has consumed my life this past week and I am completely empty after handing over my entire being to it.

The sense of impending doom I felt every time I put it down was something that became very apparent after reading even its first page. It was absolutely imperative that I was to finish it - however, nearing the end I didn’t want it to conclude. It touched me in a way that I never knew possible, the journey I’d been on with these deeply disturbed and extremely flawed characters was one I was prepared to cling on to forever. 

I sympathised with Richard, the idealistic, romantic, non prying protagonist. I felt closer to him with every turn of a new page. I was “merely loitering” in the metaphorical bullet’s path like the bystander Richard essentially was throughout the whole story.  I believed in some way that, through the stylistic and haunting form of the way the novel is, that these characters were correct and misunderstood and not the complete opposite. I somewhat, willingly sided with Henry Winter, the groups “cult leader” if you will - that is until things unfolded and I began to become acutely aware of what exactly was going on. The novel made me interested and envious of how attractively intellectual the group was. I wanted to be part of the team, to learn Greek, to snob and to sit around in their fancy apartments, drinking Scotch and smoking cigarettes and probably having the most stimulating conversations I’d ever have. 

The imagery was stunning - a perfect picture in every scene - painted - gorgeous and dark. Tartt has a way of completely absorbing you. I was there - in the room - listening in to these immensely twisted yet beautifully fantastical dialogues, like a fly on the wall. I sobbed when Julian, their mysterious, knowledgeable professor left the group to fend for themselves but I realise it’s exactly what they deserved in the end. I am woeful, mournful, solemn at the fact that I’ve finished this wonderful story. My time with Richard, Henry, Francis, Charles and Camilla is over but as characters they’ll live on in my mind - provoking me, questioning my own morality between right and wrong.

Mystical, provocative and simply perfect -  “I suppose at one time in my life I might have had any number of stories, but now there is no other. This is the only story I will ever be able to tell.” 

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Self destructivism

What makes me do the things I do? Why do I this to myself? Do I hate myself? Do I love the thrill/difficulty/process of making life’s obstacles more massive than they already are? Do I like hurting people? Am I self destructive or this all for nothing?

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reaching out and finding out how I’m actually feeling has been valuable. I have been consistently mentioning that by expressing how I really am, proves that articulating yourself is the best way to self - discovery.