“Teppic hadn’t been educated. Education had just settled on him, like dandruff”
~Terry Pratchett – Pyramids
I don’t like school. I suppose I could spew up in my defense a whole story of how organised studying stifles natural curiosity, and how I knew beforehand most of what they tried to teach me in primary and secondary school, meaning I never managed to get used to an organised way of studying. I could spew that up, and it would be mostly true. But that doesn’t really matter. I don’t regret the classes spent reading under my desk. Those books formed me and taught me. I do wish I knew more history and more chemistry and more French and much much more math. I do wish I didn’t have to learn now how to properly study*, but that’s just laziness. And all these are just small regrets and missed chances and nothing that can’t be changed if I really put my mind to it**. What worries me is how I sometimes find myself thinking myself better than other people my age, how, when I have to accept that someone went through and paid attention to an organised learning process and now knows more things about something than I do, I immediately tell myself that I’m still better, because what messy knowledge I have I got by myself. I remind myself over and over again that it’s not how you acquire the knowledge that matters or how intelligent you are, but how well you actually understand things. I remind myself that I can’t be the one making my decisions and the one whining about them at the same time. And I must admit it would be nice to have enough background info to systematize all the stuff I know about, say, literature. Or enough background info to figure out what I would like to do for a living. I guess I should stop flaming the school system. It’s been kind enough to let me read under my desk in 3 classes out of 4. And, while I wish I had a truly amazing teacher, one that fascinates you and makes you fall in love and feel like a magician’s apprentice, it’s no teacher’s job to keep the passion and the curiosity and the flame burning in my heart and head, and no teacher’s fault that I feel more like smouldering cinder. Things have been confusing lately. I suppose someday I’ll make something out of this mess. Meanwhile, I’m glad that I could get up my ass and write a blog entry and buy a paper diary for when I don’t feel like dealing with complete or comprehensible phrases.
*As opposed to simply learning
**Though I probably won’t. But still.
