I don’t know much.
Honestly, I envy those people who know so much. The ones who can pepper a normal, everyday conversation with literary terms, who can endlessly quote ideas of archaic philosophers and make it seem like they read Kant, Heidegger or Foucault over coffee in the morning — right after browsing the news. I stare at them, wide-eyed and enthralled. I secretly revel in the snippets of information I gather from their animated discussions with peers, thinking, at the back of my head, will I ever be as clever as they are? And so, like an amateur bracelet-maker, I wade through a lake of a million beautiful beads, with just a wrist’s worth of thread, trying my best to piece borrowed thoughts and ideas together.
I usually end up with a plain-looking bracelet though. Maybe I need a longer piece of thread. Or my own lake.