Wanderlust

Sunday night, a night which was spent writing an exam while giving up my chance to go to the Junos, also was an opportunity for me to contemplate the act of writing. My philosophy prof gave us a "take home" exam which was to be completed and passed in online, and it required writing three essays. When you spend your night saturated in essay writing about philosophy, a mind is bound to wander. And wander mine did.

We had choices on the exam, but the fact of the matter was, no doubt at least fifty percent of the class were writing the same essay question that I was. This was interesting to me, because no doubt, we would all write something different. And then I though that even if I had sat down to write the essays at a different time, it would come out very differently than the essay that I was writing then. And that's what is interesting about writing. With simply 26 letters forming our English language, we form so many different words which in turn form so many different sentences and paragraphs and full works. Post Modernism claims that everything that can be done, has already been done. And maybe everything is a copy of everything else. But what I write, no one else will ever write that. The forming of my words are unlike anyone else's.