I graduated two days ago. You know, for all that stuff I learned over the
past four years. But it seems the most important lesson of all was only
imparted to me at that very ceremony, which is not to be confused with
Hogwarts; though I don't think anyone would mind if it was. All the
representatives onstage were clad in full wizard gear – robes,
not-overly-fastidious hats, and wrinkles. The only things missing were wands;
but they’re old-fashioned anyway.
The University of Waikato is no school of magic, to be sure. In fact
Philosophy, which I majored in besides English during undergraduate study,
would violently argue against this claim. Nonetheless, what I learned that day was that
magic itself does indeed exist. The same magic that enables planes and bumble
bees to fly, and which explains the internet.
Of course it wasn't explicitly mentioned. It never is. Both for the sake
of the university's mediocre reputation (it specialises in engineering, so it
has to run with the myth that physics can explain how a one-hundred ton chunk
of metal filled with even more tons of people and petrol doesn't, at any point,
drop from the sky - except when someone fires a pistol, and then the entire
aircraft explodes), and because it wants to keep its audience ('physics' has
been a thing for centuries now, so introducing magic, which necessarily
contradicts physics, wouldn't be a very economical thing to do). But thanks to
my keen perceptions, I picked up on the dark arts which were
a-happening onstage.
It started with a nod of the hat given by the chancellor to the vice
chancellor. The vice chancellor returned the nod and began his spiel about
students and the future and whatnot. He spoke eloquently, and his words were no
doubt as impacting as general go-out-and-make-money speeches can be. The
chancellor, who, before returning to the stand, received a hat-nod from the
vice chancellor once more, was equally well received. “Huh,” I internalised from my end-row seat.
Yet when it came time for the arbitrary guest speaker, Judge so-and-so of
such-and-such a place, to speak, she did not receive nor grant the slightest
gesture of hatual agreement; and boy did she pay for it: speaking too quietly
at times; looking down far too often at her script (or magical scroll as was
likely the case); people laughing out of turn; my gown getting stuck between
the bum of the person beside me and his seat, revealing just how un-wizardly I
really am. Heck, the list goes on. Coincidence? I would’ve thought so. But then
the generic student speaker, lacking in both hat and nod, took the microphone.
She spoke about… oh wait, I seem to have forgotten in the deluge of her stutter! Then when the chancellor or
vice or whoever (they were wearing the same wizard attire) returned, he gave
and received a nod-of-hat and forthwith spoke flawlessly. It’s a shame, because
I think the generic student said something good at one point because there was
an applause.
Anyhow, this strange turn of events led me to believe that either magic
was at work or women shouldn’t speak. Today’s society and the existence of
planes and the internet – oh, and my personal values, of course – incline me
towards the former. I see now that none of those speakers had a script. They
were speaking from the top of their heads, and some head surfaces had been enchanted with hat magic. This begged the question, “Why did some of the speakers choose
not to buff themselves?” The answer, and it took me a good few minutes to work
it out, was obvious. It was an implicit message to eye-opened,
logic-and-reason-don’t-explain-everything people like me that there's more out
there. You just have to look for it. And look for it I did.
Their generic, forgetful speeches were just so because they didn’t have
speeches at all. Their true message was the subtle implications towards the
existence of something unseen, something divine (for which magic has up to this point been a metaphor, because I don't actually believe in magic, but thought this post should have some meaningful connection at the end of it). It goes without saying that
it’s now my duty, and those of you who are with me’s duty, to share this
revelation with others.
And what revelation is this, exactly? Well, perhaps it
starts with something very simple. Faith.
0 comments:
Post a Comment