The only thing left is to jump right in.

Because the riverbank is filled with water, and the only thing left for me is just to jump in.

It's all about knowing what you are doing, when you are to stand and when to lean backward or sideways. When to reach out, when to pull a punch and when to hold back. In the exact words of my drawing teacher (who quitted his job as an engineer and became a renowned painter after reading 'The Art of War", for heaven's sake): "What to tell and what to keep, how fast or slow you're going to let people read the lines. Recognise what your problems are and how to solve them, who to turn into in case of dead-ends. The worst thing you could've done is to hide every single problem just because you want to surprise people with some suddenly awesome image at the final critique. Most of the time it simply doesn't happen. Even if it does, so what? You're still preventing others from learning from you and you won't learn as much anyway."

I admit though, drawing classes are much more mind boggling when your teacher speaks like a Chinese philosopher. Can't really tell when he stops talking about painting and starts talking about life. Most of the time he does both at the same time.

So.

Here it is. Six subjects, six exams in their respective formats (which are hardly similar to each other. Damn art major.) which starts around... now. I just have to stop dilly-dallying and jump right in. Oh God.

Here goes nothing-