2001-07-28 - 12:12 a.m.
I blame just about everything I don't do on inertia. My mother calls it sheer laziness. You see, I am highly prone to sudden, shortlived sprouts of motivation to do something, go somewhere, meet someone. These bursts of enthusiasm disappear as quickly as they come, leaving me unaccomplished and unfulfilled. While reflecting over my last 3+ years here in Melbourne, I found myself lamenting on how little I had done or seen to better my aesthetic self. I remember getting tremendously excited about the plays, operas, jazz bars, film festivals I would go to when I first arrived. Sadly, I saw more plays and attended more film festivals back in Singapore than I had here, and gone to more operas and classical concerts during my one week in Vienna than the years here.
After careful consideration, here is the list of things I haven't quite gotten off my arse to do:
* Gone to any performance of Brahms' works (particularly his symphonies and piano works)
* Gone to see The Magic Flute (this time without falling asleep)
* Gone to the art gallery and fallen passionately in love (Gustav Klimt always did the trick)
* Taken jazz lessons on my saxophone (a little Gershwin never hurts)
* Gone to the film festival for a dose of realistic satirism (they don't make films any more bleak than 'Breaking the Waves')
* Written a novel entitled 'Life: love, lust, and lies' (think I might leave that to those who do it best)
* Gone to a jazz bar for bossa nova (for Antonio Carlos Jobim would have been the love of my life had he lived)
* Drunk enough Martinis
Of course I could go on, but I realise this would be a tedious task. Apart from feeling frustrated that I have yet to do any of these things, I would increasingly be forced to face my lack of commitment to follow through with any desired whims (however frivolous). It never feels good to expose your own character flaw.
