“I now know I am infinitely stronger than I realised.”
Iwish I could say there was some grand finale at the end of it all. But there wasn’t. After everything—putting the budding years of my career on pause and hitting rewind to fill the gaps in education I knew deep down I’d missed—I expected to finish my post-graduate degree with more sentimentality. After giving so much of yourself to an ideal, a discipline, a principle, and one as convoluted as being a writer, you’d think there would be more room for epiphanies. But learning, or unlearning, to do something doesn’t look very noble.
Studying and writing involves me, alone, bleeding mercilessly onto a page and hoping it glues a little piece of myself back together. If not for me, then maybe for someone else. The law of motion states what comes up must go down, the natural order of exchange suggests if you give you may just receive.
I now know I am infinitely stronger than I realised. As someone who is naturally an escape artist, I was desperate to quit, every single day. I didn’t. I finished. I don’t know if I am a better person for it but I am certainly a better something. The result of the work may not be a ceremony, but for as long as it shows me parts of myself I didn’t know existed, I can be willing to give, even just a little more.