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This week I walked by Harris Manchester - a college that is usually out of my way. They're the only college at Oxford that specializes in mature student, and the words inscribed in these walls seem all too appropriate: "it's later than you think. But it's never too late."
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Term time at Oxford can be pretty intense. I didn't really understand this before I came. I thought that, since graduates are expected to be working in our projects year-round, terms wouldn't make much of a difference, but they do. A lot happens during term. Lectures, seminars, Bodleian iskills sessions, not to mention all the fun extracurricular stuff. Every week I think "wow, this week has been busy", then the next one comes and it's even busier than the one before. It's intense, but it's nice.
The week started, as it usually does with writing in the morning and singing in the afternoon. Actually, this week we were working on a pretty anthem, "Presentation of Christ in the Temple", a challenging piece for me because of all the split sessions where the second sopranos sing something other than the melody. I was determined to do better than last week, which is why I went to the MCR early on Sunday morning, to practice my singing with the help of the piano there. It was a nice way to start my week. Later in the week, on Tuesday I got lucky that my practical session finished early and a spot opened up for a singing lesson at the college's music room. This lesson went way better than the one I had had previously, and it really felt like my luck had turned.
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Holocaust survivor talk at the sheldonian.
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Although I had a great deal to do with regards to my project, I managed to squeeze in a couple of extra things here and there. One of these was a talk at the Sheldonian on Tuesday evening, given by a holocaust survivor, for holocaust memorial week. I have mixed feelings about the experience. In a way, it was interesting, but not fascinating. I had questions, but I don't think my questions could have been answered by the person speaking. What thoughts I head I think I'll keep with me at this time, but it sparked ideas that may eventually end up in a book. A book about monsters...
The other event that sprung out of nowhere was a meeting of writers at gulp fiction, a cafe/bookshop at Oxford's covered market. I didn't quite know what to expect, but the people organizing the event were very welcoming, and one of the editors read the first chapter of my book. I was encouraged. It's exactly the sort of thing I hoped to be a part of when I first moved here, and I hope there's more meetings like this sometime soon.
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Writers' meeting place
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On Friday, after my meeting with my supervisors, when I closed the door on another extremely busy week, I took a bus to Wormsley with the bibliophiles society, to visit the library of Sir Paul Getty. What a place. The collection was outstanding and several of their most precious manuscripts were on display for our benefit. The library was a spectacle on itself. Tall, full of wooden shelves heavy with beautifully bound books, complete with busts of six great poets (including Fernando Pessoa, which was a surprise, and Rilke, with whom I have fallen in love since reading his letters to a young poet) and craniums of giant antlered mammals, extinct since the ice age. We were there for a couple of hours, enough time to give a good look around, but as much as I enjoyed the ride, I have to say, by the end of it, I was beginning to grow a bit tired. A library is not, after all, a museum. As much as I appreciate a chance to visit and look at the manuscripts, I would have much rather been able to choose a book from those shelves, find a good spot in a corner and spent some time reading, and being inspired by my surroundings.
The week ended on a lazy saturday that had me working on my first video essay, a video that I will probably publish tomorrow, after my brother has a chance to take a look at it.
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The library at Wormsley
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