| Excitement |
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| Written by Pooja Subramanya | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Thursday, 13 November 2008 07:26 | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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“Get excited and enthusiastic about you own dream. This excitement is like a forest fire - you can smell it, taste it, and see it from a mile away.” - Denis Waitley
Rohan and I are finally done with our respective thesis and are finding freedom hard to come to terms with. We spent all year like 'The Little Engine that Could'. Huffing and Puffing and Chugging away with this unshakable notion that the moment our dissertations were handed in, we would get consumed by an overwhelming sense of accomplishment and ecstatic delirium. I was quite looking forward to skipping about whistling care-free ditties (I forgot I can't whistle) and having picnics in the sun (I forgot it's winter). I honestly thought that fireworks would spontaneously appear and go off, leaving me to bask in their warm, multi-coloured glow. In fact, the entire ordeal was an utter anti-climax in which I could barely sit still and relax for a good round of 'America's Next Top Model' with out feeling guilt akin to that of not feeding your dead aunt's arthritic cat because you can't be bothered finding the can opener. But then I remembered - We're going to Europe. I'm excited. I can't believe it. I'm going to Europe!!I think.
Is it Real?Yes, that's right. I think I'm going to Europe. I do have some scientific doubts as to whether it's even real though. Its just too far away and alien for me to really believe in it. I have a theory in which Ro and I will board the plane to Paris, getting all comfy in our seats as the realisation dawns on us that the air hostesses aren't laughing with us, they're laughing at us.It's al a big joke you see. Don't you think it's far too convenient that we live on an island so far from anything that references to Australia in the movies are often akin to saying 'I'm going to live on Mars'? I have it all worked out too. You see, we get on the plane, then it takes us to the middle of whoop whoop - Tasmania perhaps - and then they put us to work. They make us slave away for the duration of our 'holiday', all the while brainwashing us to remember an awesome, utterly fabricated, dream holiday in Europe. Photos are planted, cameras are stolen by 'gypsies' and obviously, substantial sums of money are withdrawn from our accounts. We are then sent home, exhausted but happy, with what little time we could afford to spend in the land of the Mona Lisa and legalised marijuana. Ahh well, in the end so long as the memories are good (and we have some frame-worthy, envy-inducing photos), what does it really matter?
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