i went to east park. it was around half past noon and the sun was shining so intensely i could take off my coat and sit on the stone steps above a creek and read a chapter of a book. the wind still reminds of winter but the sun is unmistakably spring-like. at this time of year my favourite pastime is to walk around and stare at trees and bushes and spot buds of what feels like the greenest leaves i have ever seen. passing by, i wish them luck in blooming. the gradual reappearance of colour in the world astounds me.
spring for people like me is the antidote to cynicism, as i told my friend a couple of days ago. sitting under the sun unearths the most deeply hidden, inaccessible supply of hope, for better or worse. one moment you find yourself enjoying the warm air and feel like all is right with the world, then with time your body starts to notice the chill and the sadness comes back, as my friend elaborated in response. the authors of the Young Poland period were known for reflecting their characters' psyche in the weather. i think it actually is the weather that shapes us.
and the bipolar march weather sure is playing tricks on me. in january i always feel dark grey and directionless, hibernating on a mental level. in february my memories of spring wake and every day i am driven mad with longing for warmer, longer days and i find myself still ineffective, like a blunt instrument. march comes and gives me back my energy but instead of following my duties all i want is to wax poetic about the weather and wander around town in buses and write nonsense poetry. my mother retired from work last month and i envy her intensely. i have too much to do.
but, gradually, i find myself having less to do. graduating IB had felt so distant and unreal and yet my final exams are in little over a month. it's odd how i already feel as if i won, when the ultimate challenge is still before me. i'm done with CAS, i'm done with all my internal assessments (barring my polish IO, which I have scheduled for next week) and having that weight off my back feels like i should already be celebrating. i shouldn't. what i should to is actually start revising. although, to be fair, after having written 7 different essays (and the accursed CAS portfolio), the task of studying feels so quaint and normal i'm quite looking forward to it.
i have so much to say about what it's like to be an IB student. it's the worst/best thing i committed to and it's terrible and cult-like in this particularly offensive corporate way but also it is not fully devoid of potential. it's disgustingly formative even if all you do is laugh at its lack of sublety. it's an ideology?. talking about this makes me feel pretentious as all hell, like i'm some private school kid trying to assert superiority over others on the flimsy foundation of "having worked reeeeal hard in high school" despite never facing any real adversity in life. but i was never a particularly social, or adventurous, or active kid. school was honestly all i had and now i have to learn to actually be someone autonomous. i need to finally finish reading Ferdydurke.