Passions
I was at a tute yesterday where we were discussing the role of representative institutions in creating political commitment (party party). One of the questions was how far these institutions can be effective in such a manner in developing nations. A German dude, chubby rosy cheeks and neatly parted blonde hair, blue eyes, make Hitler proud sort, went on to say that in developing nations there isn’t a culture of democracy unlike Western nations who have always opposed totalitarian rule (implying that ppl of developing nations do not oppose totalitarian rule). What a twat. But the sad thing is I couldn’t bring myself to put my hand up and ask him if he honestly believes that Mugabe is thought of as the saviour of all saviours by Zimbabweans. I just couldn’t quite be bothered to waste my breath on him. When I was walking towards the tube station that evening I realised that I seem to have run out of passion in my blood, there’s not much that I care about a hell of a lot. I mean, this is the age when you’re supposed to be brimming with ideals, love, hate and feel everything with passion and fire. I see it in my tutorial group, they’re passionate about everything and have heated arguments, getting all worked up about shit like political economy. Man, imagine what would happen if we started discussing abortion and euthanasia? Shudders. And there I am, sitting, looking bored and staring at my latest doodle of the chap with the odd hair-do (It was a nice doodle btw, he had this mop of shocking blonde hair on his forehead (yeah, what’s with blonde’s in my tute groups? they’re full of them i tell you) a bit like Tin Tin on a day his gel didn’t quite work).
I seem to have skipped that whole stage of youthful exuberence and hopped to uninspired middle age. But then come to think of it I did have my short spans of idealism. I remember in my first year of undergrad I was a Marxist! for one term, but a Marxist nonetheless! Unfortunately my facial hair didn’t grow in an even manner so I couldn’t get me a nice beard and I was too cheap to buy a red cap. All this after reading Marx’s Selected Writings (ed. McLellan). And then in my 2nd year I became a champion for fighting world poverty. I remember writing an e-mail to this guy in Trinity telling him that I’ve decided to dedicate my life to the cause of those less fortunate. He replied saying, “quite.” Soon after I finished uni I wanted to work in a village without any of the modern comforts that I’ve got used to, and I was convinced that money isn’t important and that I can live on 10k a month, easy peasy. But all this lasted about 2 months as well. Today I feel like a middle class center left, moderate, settled individual. (What a wonderful thing euphamisms are, all I’m saying is that I’m boring.) Well I’ve got to run off for a lecture now, another hour of verbal discharge. I need to get laid, non?
