Severed Umbilical Cord
I am no longer part of the university which has supported and nurtured my mind and body. I have completed my doctorate and now the umbilical cord has been severed.
It occured in the most prosaic and banal manner. I went to the university with a colleague to use the wireless network on her laptop. We tried to connect through the AVN Client but it woudn't authenticate my identity. So I went to the HelpDesk and asked what's wrong with it? She said it could just be a connection problem, but I had my doubts. We tried using the system yesterday in the same place and location and it worked. So why did the system throw a tantrum today? It didn't make sense. Technology never did.
So I took the laptop to areas in which I thought there were connection points. I held it up to honour the Black Box of fiber optics and I placed it low on the ground in supplication to this machine of power. Nothing happened. The Black Box was feeling indifferent to my homage. The connection was "very low." So finally I took the laptop to the serraphim of The Black Box and asked her one last time, "What's wrong with this damn thing?" She checked the system and said nonchalantly, "You're no longer part of the system. Sorry."
Sorry. That's the final message I receive after 6 years of habitat in this University in which I called home. For 6 years Murdoch was the place in which I eat, sleep, shit, learn, teach, make love to minds of incalculable intensities. And on this day, the 1st of December, 2005, at 3.04pm, I am graced with an apathetic apology - sorry. The umbilical cord is severed. I am hopelessly saddened by this incident.
For almost 13 years of my life I have called no where home. I travelled from Malaysia to Singapore and then to Australia. In each country I moved from one home to another, and in each location I stayed for no more than 2 years. Sometimes in less than a year and I would have to move. But the one place that stayed faithful , the one place that never dislocated my being, was my University. I am so naive. Everything changes and everything moves. I cannot call anywhere my home. Rossi Braidotti was right and wrong. In nomadism is the fluidity of identity formation and the transgression of borders, but it is so painful sometimes. The affective texture of movement is paper dry and arid. I have tasted the sweat of my exertions for too long. I am now tired and thirsty.
I don't know where I'll go now. I just have to move on.
It occured in the most prosaic and banal manner. I went to the university with a colleague to use the wireless network on her laptop. We tried to connect through the AVN Client but it woudn't authenticate my identity. So I went to the HelpDesk and asked what's wrong with it? She said it could just be a connection problem, but I had my doubts. We tried using the system yesterday in the same place and location and it worked. So why did the system throw a tantrum today? It didn't make sense. Technology never did.
So I took the laptop to areas in which I thought there were connection points. I held it up to honour the Black Box of fiber optics and I placed it low on the ground in supplication to this machine of power. Nothing happened. The Black Box was feeling indifferent to my homage. The connection was "very low." So finally I took the laptop to the serraphim of The Black Box and asked her one last time, "What's wrong with this damn thing?" She checked the system and said nonchalantly, "You're no longer part of the system. Sorry."
Sorry. That's the final message I receive after 6 years of habitat in this University in which I called home. For 6 years Murdoch was the place in which I eat, sleep, shit, learn, teach, make love to minds of incalculable intensities. And on this day, the 1st of December, 2005, at 3.04pm, I am graced with an apathetic apology - sorry. The umbilical cord is severed. I am hopelessly saddened by this incident.
For almost 13 years of my life I have called no where home. I travelled from Malaysia to Singapore and then to Australia. In each country I moved from one home to another, and in each location I stayed for no more than 2 years. Sometimes in less than a year and I would have to move. But the one place that stayed faithful , the one place that never dislocated my being, was my University. I am so naive. Everything changes and everything moves. I cannot call anywhere my home. Rossi Braidotti was right and wrong. In nomadism is the fluidity of identity formation and the transgression of borders, but it is so painful sometimes. The affective texture of movement is paper dry and arid. I have tasted the sweat of my exertions for too long. I am now tired and thirsty.
I don't know where I'll go now. I just have to move on.
posted by Insouciantfemme at 3:06 pm
3 Comments:
I have so missed your play with language - "the fluidity of identity formation and the transgression of borders"
You will never be a nomad of place in a community of conviviality - only ever a nomad of administered and controlled institutionsl space - which is not a bad thing
Am interested in where you might choose to next exercise an "I" "thou" relationship.
Will you be looking for a post doctoral fellowship?
Get some action man! heheheh :)
Yes agreed.. you have your ways with words!! You can bring a plane from the sky, down to ur feet..
What bout... mm hmm *coughs* the male geitalia??!!!
Hi artichoke!
I missed ayour writing too!!! I haven't been able to write much lately as I have been bogged down with this part-time job of mine. Excrutiating yet pleasurable in the most masochistic way. No, no dear... I'm not a prostitute - yet. :)
I don't have a post-doctoral. I have been trying sooooo hard to find a full-time lecturing position but all have failed so far. (Sigh...) oh well... Truthfully, I have never attempted a fellowship. I'm not particularly sure about its criteria.
Anyways, pop-by sometime. I should have something up by the end of the week. :)
See ya!
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