Sunday, September 25, 2022

The official student newspaper of Methodist Ladies' College, est. 2020


You might notice, on the regular, that the world has turned to a foolhardy wasteland of polarity, of day against night. Sepia-print, print-news, new-fangled filth. Everyday faces, or lack thereof, do inspire disquiet in the easiest of minds. Thoughtlessly tangled in prose, surely, there’s a meaning here, like most things, an obscured vision: unfaltering duality, the yin and yang, cosmic difference – something cyclical and difficult like that. But, I’m not here to argue for greyscale and the integrity in the in-between and the third-party and all that centrism. 

I beg to theorize that a good portion of my readers- the lucky one or two- engages, weekly, with epistemology (the theory of knowledge) and so I wonder if you wander the abyss-like questions often. ‘Who’ and ‘what’ and ‘why’. I, personally, find that the days become nights in the seconds where you blink and, similarly, find that the fundamental passions of existence disappear with virulence when they are considered. As Harper Lee wrote, ‘one does not love breathing’. Truly, to study is the greatest luxury. All examination is the flaunting of security where no time can stand between the subject and the pursuer. Every double-meaning I just created sets a precedent for the falsehoods of adolescence and the righteousness with which one can sit down to feast of lies. Do you know if you were ever taught to think? 

Ashen and crestfallen is the study of philosophy – a diluted art. It wasn’t until the 19th century that science was considered separate to philosophy. Philosophy: the love of wisdom. Enclosed in my type-face of elitism and secularity, I venture to ask where that is now. Understanding without purpose doesn’t seem to be of interest to many and, where it is, it isn’t so rewarded. Mankind has never been able to balance itself and so follow the things we know to be true. ‘That’s just the way the world works’ and other great lines from the play we’re about to put on, boasting… unhappiness? Dissatisfaction is the martyrdom of modernity and the middle class. Dissatisfaction is the bitter pill of adulthood. Dissatisfaction is the water in the fishbowl where we reside and we simply don’t see it – until we do. 

We are goaded, consistently for romanticisation and for the childish tremors of hope. Children of our age sullenly crawl through the dystopian fallout of instant gratification and consumerist culture. Then, the audacity and gall with which we are commanded to follow our dreams whilst watching society whisper its last words – proud boys… social security… campaign for the 4 hour work week. Which fool is it that ponders the nature of water during a drought? No, we’ve regressed to the age of necessity and survival and the luxury of thought has long been expended. Everyone is all too easily commodified by reason in times of action- anti-intellectual in times of growth. For all that’s said and done, an essayist’s word is nothing against the legislature.


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