It's been quite a while since the last time I posted here. This happens almost every time I decide to "write everyday." I somehow manage to fail to pick up a writing habit, every time, without a doubt, even though it is one of the goals that I wish to achieve. The idea of keeping a journal always fascinates me. I love browsing the journal entries of well-known authors, such as Jorge Orwell or Italo Calvino, which are usually compiled as a collection of essays. On day I opened a random page of one of those collections written by Jorge Orwell, and the first entry started with a line "Mr.--- was late." It was the exact moment that I thought I should keep my own journal, too. Life is full of insignificant moments -- the moments like this one where a man who you are supposed to meet at certain time was late. The moments which are so futile and mundane that you'd probably forget by the time you step into your long journey of you own dream at night, but if you keep a journal about it that moment turns into an important thread of the story of your life.

This is how I always start my first entry of the month, dreaming about finally composing my own journal full of lots of small insignificant events, from cover to cover, once and for all. Sadly enough, it's safe to say that my current ability to keep a journal has always been subject to doubts.

However, among many other things that I failed to pick up, there's only one thing that has stuck with me for a long time: language learning. I can study a language for hours a day if my schedule permits. I can study it without missing a single day. Of course, the level of intensity varies depending on the day. On a good day I can tackle a series of units in my grammar book. On a bad day, it might be just listening to my favourite podcast while scribbling a deformed shape of unknown word that I guessed from its pronunciation, or it might be more relaxed an activity such as reading and listening to my all-time favourite book translated into my target language.

I didn't really know why this particular activity of learning a language, just sticks with me. I hardly get tired of it even after three years of learning. Then it suddenly struck me. Language learning has been an antidote to chaos in my life. It gives me a certain sense of conformity when I feel restless. When the materials in my target language are laid out in front of me, whether it be a formal or non-formal style, I'd just surrender myself to and start working on them one by one. Learning languages takes time, and I know that. Only thing I can do now, at this exact moment, is to work on just another tiny piece of an enormous puzzle board.

That reminded me of one lecture I attended in university. In that lecture the professor said to us -- the buzzing audience in a large classroom, most of them sleeping or fiddling with their phones under the desk -- as if she was talking to herself. "Study. Study whenever you feel like everything is out of control. Study whatever you like. Find the one that you think you can throw yourself in, and work on it. Whenever you feel restless. Whenever you feel depressed. Studying is not about getting high scores in final exams. Studying is an anecdote to chaos in life."

Her voice was so quiet that I was sure that nobody else was listening to. Only this scene has remained in my memory as vivid as it can be. I can instantly remember this exact moment when I am asked what my favourite campus-life memory is. If everyone can experience a so-called "epiphany moment" in their lives, this was it for me.