I watched The Man Who Knew Infinity earlier today. I'm a sucker for biopics/dramas with a quaint British backdrop (e.g. The Imitation Game, The Theory of Everything, Mr. Holmes, Remains of the Day, Pride and Prejudice ... you get my point).
It was a movie about a mathematician by the name of Srinivasa Ramanujan.
As much as I secretly wish I was some prodigious whiz kid, I am very much aware that I am not. I admire these people for who they are, yet I do not aspire to be them. However, I do wish I could have the amount of passion they have, which I'm beginning to realise that it's probably not something that everyone has, despite popular belief.
I just can't shake the fact that what I'm doing right now just isn't particularly exciting. It's okay, but it isn't enough. Maybe I've been reading too many books and watching too many movies that romanticise this notion of having this one thing that makes it all purposeful; maybe it's just my attitude towards things that make me not feel strongly about things. Shouldn't these things be inherent and immune towards shitty attitudes that might otherwise diminish it?
I find a life where one works for the sake of survival utterly meaningless, but that's just me. I admire those that find a purpose in other things, like raising a kid or supporting a hobby, but I have yet to find that thing. While I'm not suicidal, I'm kinda miserable. Occupying my time by working and socialising only temporarily makes me forget such feelings.
I've been working for 5 months now, and I'm grateful that it is probably one of the better jobs that I could've gotten as a fresh grad, also I have no financial worries, but it's just so ... meh. Don't get me wrong, the job is still very much challenging, but something seems to be missing.
This is going no where. I should just go to bed.