There’s something strangely satisfying about the air of mystery that I manage to project through the opaque and basic answers that I offer acquaintances these days when they ask about my current preoccupation in life. It serves to cover up and in some cases implicitly expose the fact that, frankly, compared to months past, nothing much is really happening. Yet beneath a façade of what’s barely visible and what’s physical (geographically-speaking, that is; I have been mostly glued to my station in front of a – now proud to admit – OS X-run MacBook Pro), I don’t believe I’ve ever been more intensely engaged in a scholarly pursuit, while ironically my fears of academic inadequacy have never been more acute. It took a 400-word, logic-laden reply from a person who now holds the key to my future to soothe my doubts and indicate that the concentrated effort I’ve put into this past month, and the attempts I’ve made at furthering my aspirations throughout this year, were not spent for nought. So I shall continue along this path and bury myself in texts, papers and sleepless nights along the way, and if all goes well I shall before long be experiencing the surrealism of a reality that is taking every ounce of my being to believe could come true. I plant a seed, an idea, a thought, a myth, and the world – family, friends, strangers – conspire to help me see it through. Why or for what am I doing this, I do not really understand, but curiosity seems as good an answer as any: a hunger for learning and an insatiable curiosity.