My Bildungsroman

This post is going to sound a lot like an excerpt from a Bildungsroman, i.e. reflecting on the self and considering what it means to grow up -- that's me warning you in advance, in case you dislike that sort of stuff, or think it excessively corny.

I was talking to my friend a week or so ago about how nowadays it's so much harder to get overly excited about something than it was when we were kids. A specific example of this is the Harry Potter films -- the last one is coming out soon and I'm really indifferent about seeing it immediately, whereas in the past I would be filled with liquid excitement the weeks leading up to it. It made me wonder if this is what "growing up" is about...  Does it mean not being uncontrollably excited about things any more? Does it mean being tame and lame, so to speak?  We talked about it for a while and we eventually concluded that no, that's not the case, it's just now we're excited about other stuff -- for example, in my case: uni, freedom, future travel-plans, photography, philosophy, etc.

From this, however, I was lead to question who I am (i.e. what type of person am I?). I've always had this mentality of Change -- i.e. bettering yourself with every passing moment, embracing experience in order to alter your being -- however, when I reflect upon some of the stuff I say in these crave-experience-and-change frenzies, I realise they don't entirely reflect me as a person, despite what I may think. It's strange, and I don't mean to sound psychotic, but in my mind there is a forefront, a cortex -- the person I attempt to present myself as and who I think I am/want to be -- and then there's the medulla, the inner part that is the person I am when nobody's looking, just my thoughts alone, or sometimes when I talk to people I'm comfortable around. I usually consider myself as who I think I am in the forefront, the cortex, not the medulla, because I hardly ever reflect upon the medulla ... the medulla is just there and it is what it is. But recently, I've been reassessing it.

The outer-me, the cortex, wants to be eloquent, wittily funny, talkative and excitable -- very Oscar Wildean -- while the medulla is more humble, almost shy, doesn't like to be ostentatious, but is instead quietly intelligent and perhaps witty (once you got to know him) and perhaps eloquent (if you bother to talk to him and listen), but he would much rather do it in small, comfortable groups, than (for example) shouting out and making a show of himself in class. Now, I noticed some parallels between the two, and I think I can conclude my cortex is me wishfully augmenting some of my inner qualities, but the truth is I'm just not that sort of person. As I've described my medulla, that is how I am. I'd much rather be in a 3 or 4 than be in a class-sized group; the more there is, the more chance of unfamiliarity there is, and when there is unfamiliarity, I close up and become watchful and quiet, as opposed to loud and controlling.

There's nothing wrong with this, however. I don't mind. In fact, I quite like the idea of sitting back watchfully, absorbing and contemplating, and contributing sagaciously only when necessary, aha. Somehow I've got it in my head (probably via society, not by my own reasoning) that it's best to be the Life of the Party, the Star of the Show, but no: I would much rather play an impressive supporting role than do a clumsy, poorly-acted, overly self-conscious protagonist (which is what I've been doing up till now). From now on, I'm going to relax and just be me (whatever that may be).

I love capturing reflections in photographs. This is a small garden-ish area that nobody seems to use in between two buildings in my college. 

The view from an overhead window in the library.

The sky above the aforementioned garden area. It was quite beautiful.

Me and my tattered trousers just chilled, waiting for my next lesson, musing about the self (well, I wasn't actually musing about the self when this photo was taken, but SHUSH, I say it for dramatic effect).