I’m concerned that some people, including those on appeals committees, will believe in what one could call a “Just World Fallacy.” I’m concerned they’ll be like Job’s comforters and have a (perhaps religiously motivated and/or conservative) belief that those who struggle and suffer must have done something to deserve it and/or cause it
That’s a big part of why I dislike “focusing on the gloomy bits.” I know, through experience and literature and logic, that some people will use any negative disclosure against me. I don’t want that to negatively effect my academics
Am I being reasonable here?
If I am, then I must admit, that’s incredibly frustrating. Distressing experiences that would effect anyone could be used against and used to justify and compound hardship caused by social systems I have little control over.
I can’t say I have much sympathy for a system that functions like that. I like learning, but not elitism and compounding privilege.
I think education should teach people about the wonders of the world, teach them how perform complex tasks, and reduce inequality, not exacerbate inequality and make people feel bad for being marginalized and violated.
In truth, I don’t really believe in free will or meritocracy, and I have a hard time translating my experiences and beliefs into an institutional framework that assumes those things.
I also don’t like personal narratives very much. Life isn’t like a story, and something is lost and misrepresented in fitting one’s experiences into a narrative structure, especially one that involves a prelapsarian beginning, conflict, and a distinct, perhaps teleological end, which seems common in “hardship” essays.
What is lost my be unstructured representations of what people were like, the phenomenology of love and pain.
I don’t want to lose that.
When I was eighteen I started to photograph. I became social and started drinking and wanted to remember the details of what happened. For years, I thought I was obsessed with the record-keeping of my day-to-day life. But recently, I’ve realized my motivation has deeper roots: I don’t really remember my sister. In the process of leaving my family, in recreating myself, I lost the real memory of my sister. I remember my version of her, of the things she said, of the things she meant to me. But I don’t remember the tangible sense of who she was, her presence, what her eyes looked like, what her voice sounded like.
I don’t ever want to be susceptible to anyone else’s version of my history.
I don’t ever want to lose the real memory of anyone again.
Nan Goldin, The Ballad of Sexual Dependency
I’m more like a Harawayan cyborg than an atomized liberal self. I have no innocent orgin or telos.
The cyborg does not dream of community on the model of the organic family, this time with-out the oedipal project. The cyborg would not recognize the Garden of Eden; it is not made of mud and cannot dream of re-turning to dust.
Donna Haraway, A Cyborg Manifesto
How am I supposed to translate my experiences into a framework that may presuppose ideas I find alien and pernicious.