Academic Progress Alexander An
“Just keep swimming, swimming” - Dory
I’m a stranger amongst these bushed seas. Still after calling this place home for the past four years, I still can only appreciate parts of our city. Studying at the ANU and living in Canberra are intrinsically linked. Perhaps, this is my tale of keeping on. After being here for so long and by writing this article I’m hoping I’m able to self-justify my continued existential existence. As the days pass, I feel an increasingly disjointed sense of self— torn between what I came here to do originally and what I am doing now. Canberra has perhaps some of the widest lanes on its roads, and equally, a diverse and widening depth of opportunities for those who come here for a new future. This was the hope and motivation that made me move here all those years ago. But as the university year restarts and the summer weather crawls into the retreats of autumn, Canberra returns to a cold atmosphere. With the plummeting temperatures and blistering winds, my own sense begins to freeze. Whilst the local populace and social hive of the city seem to continue on into the winter, it’s only with the passing of seasons to summer that my life returns to a sense of normality. Politicians and the parliamentary year return to provide the endless theatre of spectacle we see in the halls of democracy. Public servants begin to crowd our roads and public transport in the peaks of the day. Marking their returns to the offices and frequented cafes after exhausting last year’s worth of accumulated leave. The endless construction sites and projects return to smite our undeveloped capital with endless amounts of light trucks and utes parked everywhere. Our small city centre becomes a hive of social buzz and pleasure on the end of
the week trawls of Thursdays to Saturdays. And of course, both school and university students return to academia’s halls of wisdom in its lecture theatres, libraries, and classrooms. For me, as the days go by, the capital’s routine begins to eerily plague my weeks and days. It’s only the working week that drives me towards the end. Perhaps a couple of years ago time seemed meaningless to me. Certain days of the week were only distinguished by who was out, and what was open. With growing up and working, time becomes more important to me, especially the weekends and days off where my commitments and obligations are not set in stone. After three years of the same student accommodation, a double degree spread out over four years, and the same chaotic over-demanding retail job, an indescribable toll has scarred my small soul. The virus and the year we shall not mention initially offered a bleak future. It was terrible working in the frontlines of the life-draining supermarkets and studying by Zoom™. It was terrible for all of us. I was only beginning to appreciate summer, vacations and not adhering to routine. Last year was the year that made us wait for these things to come. I guess writing this jumbled mess of words makes me feel catharsis and relief for what actually happened to me last year. The taking up of a full-time job and the decision to drop to part time studies were met with little resistance from my parents, friends, and ultimately me. It has eased my mind in terms of the instability caused by full time studies and part time work for such a long period of time. Having now also comfortably nested myself in the ANU-wide hated south, I feel more at ease than I did when I first came to Canberra.
53.
