On day two...

... I guess I have to tell you why I'd go with Fay Weldon's life and loves instead of reminiscing about real virtuality á la Manuel Castells.




A PhD-to-be is a normal person.



I am aware of the fact that "normality" is somewhat of a flexible term. What I mean to say is basically that even though my whole endeavor (again, be reminded, that's an academic degree) is academic in nature, it does entail all the intricacies that are inextricably tied to it.




Let me briefly mention the most obvious one, just to give you a feel for it.




A new country.




In the UK...



... people do drive on the WRONG side of the road.



They cue up in front of the bus in orderly fashion the way you learn to do it in kindergarden. (!)



You'll find yourself being hugged by random people in the middle of the street entirely boozed up at 8pm already and asked whether you'd like to join them for a drink or whatever (gender doesn't really matter here).



There is no healthy food. Not to mention anything that might approximate something like food culture.



There's no way you could smoke except for in front of buildings. As they say, smokers won't die of lung cancer, but of freezing to death outside of pubs.



You'll be mistaken for any other nationality but yours. (funny thing is I appear quite Scottish.)



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Another thing is what and who you leave behind and all the emotions tied to this.




Settling in on an entirely new road makes you reflect on what you have and what you miss.




It's strange that you won't really get to think - well, reflect, really - on what it means to you to be surrounded by people who are used to your idiosyncratic habits and proclivities and who've spent a great deal of time dealing with and getting accustomed to it.




This, however, may not only result in efforts on your behalf to present yourself most favorably, but it also opens the door for you to explore yourself, your up to then taken for granted identity, and start anew. Tabula rasa. It means that you get the chance to configure a new self.



And this is exactly where virtual experience ties in. I'll explore this later on with my research, so prepare yourselves for exciting revelations!



Let me return to what's left behind, since this is where this train of thought initially started off.




There are those very special people, who you've known and who've known you forever, whom you love and cherish for all they've been through with you, for all they've done for you and for the way they've made you feel. That's a big chapter.



Another chapter concerns the people that you may have just recently met and who've suddenly, but intensely, occupied some space inside of you.




Physical distance doesn't mean disattachment. Physical distance may entail lack of direct contact, lack of regular contact. But, let me make this a big BUT, it does not mean that you disappear and the past is forgotten. You will carry your memories along with you as you go and proceed towards some other goal. You may work towards what your heart and mind are telling you. But you will never forget the moments when you felt at home with someone. You will never forget how it feels like to connect with somebody who's close to you.




Just like normality, proximity is an elastic term.




It is fed by your memories and your emotions. It may take just a (virtual) smile to remind you of what has been and what is still to come.




For now, let me leave you with this brief interlude. I'm sure Castells won't mind that I've traveled beyond the virtual to capture some of the complexities taking on a route towards academic gratification carries along with it.




In the end, it's all an adventure which might bring me, as a PhD-to-be, as one among all of us (citizens of the net, normal people, as it were), closer to both my academic and my very personal goal, self-fulfillment and happiness. Reconstruction and re-discovery come at a price. And I shall be willing to pay for it.




PhD, here we go.