Dear Ban Ki-moon, Helen Clark, or whoever between the two of you follow my online musings:
When you’re 25-26, losing a career you studied 4½ years for to the reality of hypocrisy in just 5 months is difficult to bear. But thankfully I’ll age. And when I’m 50 years of age, 5 years will only be one tenth, a small portion, of my life and those years will hopefully sink beneath whatever sustainable-career life throws me into, and I hope that will be filmmaking. And then those years will be remembered as years of friendship, rather than academia. That is if I don’t die young, and I know that when I do I’ll spend the last minutes of it mocking, laughing at myself because I’d know my death would be either self-inflicted or my own fault. Now the disappointment from wasting one fifth of my life for bullshitery consumes me. It’ll be over. Soon.
Just know that I don’t trust I can help fix the world’s many big-deal problems through the UN when the UN can’t even help itself from the pettiest of internal problems. What I mindfuck with all the genocides going about: life’s a bitch, isn’t it?
Now that I’ve made my necessary rant, I shall go back to my hiatus and finish my screenplay. And no, you will not be invited to the premier. You will have to purchase tickets like the rest of the mortals. For your kind no longer hold a special place in my heart (with the exception of MilkTea, DietCoke, and a small number of sincere-friends who had lunch with me at the Thamrin office).
Love,
Ms. Phoebe Peppersåsen
Everybody’s favorite self-loathing intern.
PS: I don’t want a pathetic career where the higher-up I am the more useless I become anyway. Meh.
1 anno fa • Note