But the writing process... it's the worst part. There is only you and the pages to be filled. You wake up every morning, crumble in the words during the whole day, and go to bed with them, and wake up with them again in the next day. You cut all your links off from the real world, and the world is made up of something flowing between your desk, the books and the imaginary space where there is no gravity, no ground and no sky but the concepts with their immanency in the touchable. There is no rain, no wind, no snow, no sun there. There is no time to be grasped. There is only the passion for the perfect, Leidenschaft to reach the ultimate love you would create by the means of the words.
I failed. I was so chasing after this Leidenschaft, I forgot the time. I couldn't manage the time I had as I lost the sense of it. And damn, I missed the deadline. Now I failed. I came back to the real world from the one I lost myself in and the latter melt into the former's cold chest. I thought it would be the end of the world. I thought, if I couldn't submit it and failed, I don’t know, the world or my head would explode, the time would stop, and the life would not continue anymore. It didn't happen so. The f... life is still going on as if nothing happened at all.
Which one is more embarrassing I don’t know... whether the fact that I failed or that I cried for three days long like little girl till I got sick. The loneliness... it's the worst part because you cannot expose the growing frustration inside you due to the failure. You cannot share it as you forgot the language to express it, and those who can understand the language you have are far away. You cannot share it because you know nobody would give any damn about it as much as you do. Especially, if you are in a foreign country alone... then, the language in which you can express yourself is literally not shared by the others. The loneliness... it is so incongruous with itself. It drags the one whom it trapped into the deep and deeper and deeper. It hurts but it gives a secure space where one wants nobody with her/himself there. It is both secure and embarrassing so it can't be shared. If it could be, it wouldn't be named as loneliness anyway :o) You have to deal with these ruins alone. You must pick up the pieces by yourself, do your damage control, and face the reality. The second chance... it's the procedure if one fails. Another five months to complete your work, which will have a place in the records.
There is no one to blame except myself. I think that's what is called 'growing-up'. To face the reality, to stand by it, to take the responsibility and move on. I have to live with it as I cannot get rid of myself :o) I needed this punch in to my face. There is somehow a recovery, but not everything can be recovered or undone - like the time I spent for nothing. It hurts for sure. It hurts more than 'love' (where there is always someone other you can blame besides you :o) it's practical though). I'm not 16, I'm 26. That means, "deal with it!".
I really wonder if Adorno ever failed.
Jamie Cullum - Twentysomething