Can you feel the love… in this?
I’ve been reading Love in the Time of Cholera these past few weeks, and I am finally in the middle. I bought it not really knowing Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s writing style; the only thing I’d read of his prior to reading the said novel was his speech for the Nobel Prize.
Normally I’m a fast reader. But lately, I haven’t been. I don’t know if my watching too much has affected my interest to read, but what I do know is that the love story in Marquez’s novel is not touching enough.
At least, so far.
I mean, I’m not feeling it at all. It’s not romantic.
A boy and a girl meet for the first time and instantly like each other. They correspond through letters and hardly have real conversations. While she is writing to him in class, a teacher discovers she is not taking notes, but writing a love letter. She gets expelled. The girl’s father finds out about the boy, he reprimands her and takes her on vacation with him so she’ll forget. As usual, she does not forget him; the boy works in a telegraph office, and he learns of the girl’s location. They continue to write to each other. After around three years, the girl and the father go back to where they came from, and the boy sees the girl again in the market. When he gets near, he whispers to her. The girl turns to look at him and realizes that what they had was an illusion.
After a while, the girl catches the attention of a doctor who is one of the most respected people in the town. She is hesitant, but they get married, and this hurts the guy. He spends years agonizing, spending time with other girls but never really moving on.
Half a century later, the doctor dies; the girl becomes a widow. The guy visits her and tells her he still loves her.
Seriously, there’s really nothing to it. Maybe back then (and in Mexico), love letters were everything. But it seems so shallow. They hardly really know each other, and yet the guy is so dramatic and convinced he deserves the girl.
And what about the girl? Well, she’s stupid too. What kind of a girl gets kicked out of school and sent to some faraway place with her father for three whole years because of some guy, and comes back to tell this guy that it was all an illusion? Sure, it’s hard to really identify what we’re feeling, but come on! Cut the guy some slack. She should have rejected him in the first place. (That’s a laugh though–I am one to talk about rejecting people). Or at least, totally forgotten him in the years she spent with some cattle and pigs (’cause she went someplace rural).
I am a romantic, but honestly, I don’t feel the love in Love in the Time of Cholera. And that makes it hard to finish the book. I can’t feel what Florentino Ariza is hurting over, because it all seems so shallow.
I was much more touched with books like Atonement and Eleven Minutes (I’m serious). Technically, Marquez is a good writer: very descriptive and knowledgeable. But his plot sucks. At least for this book. And at least for the part I’ve perused.
If the ending throws me off, then he’s good. Really good. But if my summary up there proves to be all there is to this story, then I don’t think there’s anything marvelous about Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s little novel. And I’m sorry for that, because I really thought it was something.
But since I’m not through with the novel, I can’t judge it once and for all. I’ll write a follow-up for this entry. Once I’m done with it.
I’m keeping my fingers crossed.
Reflection.
After having spent three whole semesters in the University, most people still think I am a freshman. I do not know if I really look that young or if I look too innocent or if I seem to be…disconnected. I can not blame those who get the wrong impression, though. There is this crazy ideology that a person is a freshman if a) he or she is disinclined to converse with a weird seatmate; b) he or she is too careful, or too organized, or too conscious; and c) he or she is anxious about the subject and the instructor/professor nearly every meeting because the latter might call out his or her name for recitation or give a surprise quiz.
I call it crazy because I really would fall under the “freshman category” if this were something freshmen-hunters should follow.
Maybe if people knew who I was more, they would know better than to call me a freshman.
I have a lot of casual friends, I know a lot of names, and I can recognize which car belongs to whom. I can be known through degrees of friends, known only by face, or by name. And yet I am not known. Not at all.
I do not want to be a popular, “universal best friend” who gets away with everything. That is somebody else’s dream. I want to know others and be known, but not for reasons other than friendship and getting a big shot at something.
Our interviewee, Karen, snagged the opportunity of a lifetime. Long before graduation came (of course, she has not really graduated yet), she received an offer to write for the Philippine Daily Inquirer (PDI), something she had dreamed of doing since high school. Her friend from the UPLB Perspective who had been working in PDI, Nina Calleja, recommended her to the editors. Nina was going to be promoted, and the editors were looking for a replacement for the position she was leaving.
My uncle has a lot of friends around the world, and when he travels he does not have problems with money or with places to stay because he is well-connected. My mom cites this in some of her lectures to me about how important contacts are and how I should make friends with older batches. Sometimes she even goes overboard and tells dad how he should be, since he is more accustomed to doing things by himself. His justification is that he does not need other people to be able to get what he wants. He thinks people are meant to stand on their own, and that this is a type of measure of success or something.
I understand the two sides. Obviously I am more of the second at the moment. I have been for nearly my entire life. And yet a nagging thought absorbs me: What if I can not do everything on my own? What if there are some things more powerful if brought about by others?
There are so many things I want to do after I graduate. There are so many possibilities, and I can not choose on my own. Maybe in the long run, if my friends are not there to help me get a job like Karen, then maybe they could help me choose. Maybe they could advise me against the bad habits of a certain company, or push me towards the good qualities of another. Either way, I feel the need to mingle with others.
I have never left a bad mark with my interviewees (or at least, I do not think I have), and if I went to visit them today they would probably still recall me. But that is not exactly enough for them to want to recommend me to anything. They barely know me. And I bet if Karen were to be promoted, she would refer someone from Perspective to take her old position, because that is just the way it is done.
I know a lot of people, but most of them do not know who I am. I practically knew Karen (even Nina, only by name) way before we met each other.
The point is, I think I should make use of the time I have now to get to know others. I have been thinking about it a lot since the semester started, that I should stop keeping to myself. I feel that I have been too selfish, even in writing, and that I should do something new.
Even though I know this now, I think I have some personal prerequisites to gain—just to make sure I am stable—before I pull off something mindless and start looking more like a sophomore.
Insipid.
I’m bored. It’s a Monday afternoon and you’d think I’d be studying right about now. The day before my week normally starts.
Next week, and for the weeks after that, my Monday afternoon will include paying my hours for Literacy Training Service. I’m a little bit excited for that. Maybe I’ll learn how to teach properly and… well, I don’t know, maybe I’ll learn to love it.
Now that I think of it, I must be lucky I was put on the Monday schedule. School is usually cancelled nation-wide on Mondays. Lucky.
As I was saying, I’m bored. I thought I would forever love the monotony of my existence, but this moment proves me false. How else would you explain?
There’s nothing to look forward to. Every day that I wake up, all I want to do is not face the day. That is just so wrong.
Each time that I pray my thanks for the day, I can’t help feeling that I’m not completely and sincerely thankful. Because another day entails fear and impatience with time. On weekdays I count the days until my weekend arrives. During class I glance at my watch every now and then. I don’t know what is up with me, aside from the fact that I am bored, and that I’m getting tired of the same routine over and over again.
What am I to do? What can cure me from this indifferent disease?
There’s a battle in my mind.
Today was my first day back at school. Just like most of the first days I’ve endured in the past, at least one of my professors had the need to put me on the spot.
I hate it when they do that. They all have the same “coincidental” action of throwing me a perfectly sane question (thus earning the attention of virtually everyone in the class room and easily labeling me as a poor, pathetic student), except that it is never sane enough for me to answer eloquently.
I’ve always been at a loss for words. And it isn’t the speechless kind of being at a loss for words. It’s the literal loss–not finding the right words, not knowing the right way to respond, not comprehending the question enough to fish out a good answer. And it sucks. You’d think that because I’ve had so many “opportunities,” (what with professors always randomly calling out that mysterious name) I’ve been able to perfect my speaking skills.
But no-o. That isn’t the way it is for me. I’m just horrible with my speaking; I don’t know what to answer to normal questions; I don’t know how to control my audience when they’re obviously not listening to my kind of well-prepared speech; I don’t know how to speak clearly and audibly, such that the person at the back can hear me; I just can’t speak well.
Which is why I think writing is so much better. At least when you’re a writer, you can play around with your words until it’s time to submit a composition. At least when you’re a writer, you can publish anonymously and not lose it when people criticize it to be trash. At least when you’re a writer, you’re the one who’s in control. You don’t necessarily have to care about your readers, because if this is what you want to write, then you should just go ahead and create your masterpiece. What does it matter to them if this is what you know and feel like writing? What is it to them if they don’t find it as marvelous as you think it is?
Don’t get me wrong. Constructive criticisms, when completely unbiased (although sometimes biased comments can do tricks), help improve something, so writers should not shy away from them.
What I am saying is, it doesn’t matter to anyone if your work looks like trash to them because it’s yours. Your work is layers of experience and your interpretations, and you have the right to feel darned good about it.
If there’s anything I don’t have a stock of, it’s self-esteem, so this post has just about exhausted any sense of self-esteem I have been able to pile up. It’s actually a sudden burst of emotion, if you will, since minutes ago I was just wallowing over my underdeveloped writing skills.
To turn to the negative side of my rant…
It feels so awful that I own no creativity whatsoever in my humanity. I can’t think up a quick answer, can’t look at paintings and comment on their beauty, can’t draw or paint, can’t write creatively…
I say so because my class in Literature earlier shook me. It briefly introduced me [again] into the world of ComArts–why I didn’t choose it, why I will forever be fascinated by it, and why I suck at any form of literary writing. Once upon a time I wrote poems. Or at least tried to. I’ve had my sad attempts at short story writing. (Of course, I could never get past three pages so I just gave up.) I’ve had my pathetic thoughts for a novel.
But I’ve never really succeeded.
I never knew it took so much effort to write that way, until I tried last semestral break. I am so used to essays, research papers, news articles, feature articles, radio scripts and what-have-yous (I appreciate having these around because they, more or less, have a structure that I/we can understand or imitate, but creative writing doesn’t give you that. There’s no formula for poems and short stories.), but I have nothing to be proud of when it comes to creative writing. I’d much rather read, than write, when it comes to creative pieces.
Sometimes I think I’m just too boring or dull to have anything good to write about, or that I’m too lazy, too unexperienced, too unconfident, too… well, you get the idea.
But my professor earlier made quite a good point: literature is interpretation–it’s a pile of meanings, and this is where you will find answers to the questions you most want to be answered (not the exact words).
…which is why I know more attempts in creative writing are worth it, because I may not have felt every texture of life or tasted every flavor of it, but I do have a way of looking at things that are mine alone (i.e., my personal interpretation), so maybe there is hope for me yet. Maybe I do have something to say after all.
[And I say this after an hour of contemplating my complete lack of communication skills and shortage of creativity. Nice. There goes my credibility.]
Confession.
So I watched Raise Your Voice today. It wasn’t too special, but it was nice. I mean, I’m not a fan of Hilary Duff or anything; I’m more a fan of art schools like the one featured in the film. Plus I really love Oliver James’ British accent. I couldn’t get over it in What a Girl Wants, so how do you think I was just listening to his voice earlier–even if he was trying to comfort Hilary?
I like his eyes too. To quote Chantal Kreviazuk in Feels Like Home, “Something in your eyes, makes me want to lose myself…”
Whew. But of course no one can top James Franco, who is a package of all the cool things in a guy. Even if Mark Wahlberg is soo awesome in movies like The Italian Job and Shooter and–though I haven’t watched it yet, I bet it’s great–Max Payne.
* * *
Boy am I excited for photography next sem. I was… observing Patricia Evangelista’s photos earlier, and I loved the lighting of her pictures. Really neat.
I’m excited for a lot of things next semester, actually. I mean, I’ll be working on my majors–photography and developmental writing–plus technical electives and two general education courses. I do have my anxieties, though. All that pressure and challenge… But I guess that’s what I live for.
For once… Why can’t I be content.
Beware: An absolutely egotistic, self-absorbed, senseless, and seemingly (okay fine, REALLY) boastful entry follows.
What is it with grades that make them matter to me so much? How can other people live with satisfactory, or even low, ones and not grieve over them?
That sucks you know, that I struggle so much with getting good grades; that I care so much it would be enough to make me breakdown if I get completely low ones.
It’s kind of the way older people who work equate their salary with their usefulness or something. It scares me that when I’m done being a student (technically: being within the walls of formality), I’d equate myself with my paycheck and not my genuine ability. Besides, at the present state, I am obviously not factoring in my talents in the equation.
I’m afraid because although I really want to become rich someday, enough that I’d be able to donate money to some health/environment/welfare organization or even sponsor a child, I do know how to be realistic, that I understand I might wind up poor. I do know how to look myself in the mirror and tell myself, “Face it, you’d have to be super lucky to achieve something like that someday, and how lucky are you right now?”
But then again, it isn’t about luck, I guess. It’s about determination, self-esteem, self-respect, and the ability to see things as an opportunity.
Perhaps everything I lack in the right amounts.
I got two of my class cards today (out of the six I need). I was kind of dreading getting them, because I know nothing can go perfect and that I’d most likely get sad over them or something.
Like I always do.
Still, I needed a sad excuse to get out of the house (refer to previous entry), and while I was out, I had to accomplish something.
The good thing about knowing I wouldn’t get my way, is that I hardly expect now. I don’t have an expected grade at the start of the semester. I don’t even try to imagine what grade I’d get as the semester progresses.
But none of those preparations of expecting the worst helped heal the blow I received earlier.
How it hurt that, no matter how hard I try to escape that grade, every semester, and in at least one subject, I always garner it. It’s like trying to outrun a mountain lion; it will always win against me. Like there’s no escaping it, because maybe I was cursed to be this way. Maybe it’s some type of gift from academic hell.
I declare this post as seemingly (or really) boastful because I know that for most people, my troubles and anxieties are stupid, and I am foolish to think that there is a possibility I’d ever be happy, like those other students who never fail to get unos every semester. It crushes me that I always lack something, anything, in achieving my goal. For this semester, at least, it was to avoid receiving that grade.
That grade is a dos, which would probably be heaven for anyone but somebody like me. Why can’t I achieve the one thing that would be perfection for me, when others have it so easy?
It pains me to see that ordinary people can achieve the grades I want (without a dos). Not that I’m extraordinary in any sort of way–it’s just that the ones who get the grades I envy are the people who I wouldn’t expect to be so good.
Sometimes I wish I didn’t care, that I’d be like other people who didn’t give a damn. But it’s hard. I was just wired this way; I instantly regret it when I let myself flunk all over the place (not that I’ve seriously done so), especially since it’s probably the only thing I am capable of: studying and getting “good” grades.
Plus, sometimes I feel like it’s the only thing that matters to my parents. Like it’s the only way they’ll see me and truly appreciate my existence…
It’s quite far-fetched, I know, but who can know for certain? People are different..
This time.
So this time it’s a scientific paper I’m busy with. But I’m not exactly cramming. That’s because I don’t want to. The last time I crammed a scientific paper, I hardly got to sleep a wink. It was crazy. I went to class and my eyes hurt so hard that I wanted to close them, but each time I did they only hurt more. [ugh. that sounds ugly. it's like i'm talking about something else..]
You know what I realized this morning? It’s that even though my broadcast did not go as smoothly as planned, it’s no use wallowing in it. What I can do is listen to other people’s broadcasts and support them. At least that way I can feel good about complimenting people sincerely. At least that way they’d feel appreciated, something I’m having a hard time feeling lately.
Anyway, I can’t wait for the semestral break to start. I’m so tired, every week of my life is hell. I want and need a break. I’ve already got plans. But I will not let myself lose sight of my goal. I’ve gone this far, it won’t make sense to let go.
Destiny belongs to those who hold on…
Update.
I haven’t studied today yet. I plan to at least rewrite my notes and finish my assignments. I can’t seem to focus. I keep getting distracted by reading non-academic stuff and others. But I have been productive today, in some way. For instance, I made my mom’s powerpoint presentation on “Research Papers.” That’s something: I got to apply some concepts we just learned in one of my classes. It turned out to be fun, albeit being very time-consuming. Especially for me, since I move so slowly and too carefully. And also I cleaned my room and swept it.
I even criticized a batch mate’s article for our online newsletter. It was fairly good, but there were a few things I pointed out that would improve her write-up. I hope I got to help her.
Earlier I typed up a reaction to some crap on an online forum, only it wouldn’t get posted, and after four more tries I gave up, disgusted. It was the first time I was going to expose everyone to the harsh comments I made deep inside. And yet the stupid thing would not post itself. I was so frustrated I nearly banged on my keyboard. But then, I was frustrated minutes before I wrote my reaction. I was getting impatient with something, I can’t even remember.
Anyway, I thought to write here, because I haven’t in a while. My job is going swell, only I got a bit shocked by my first assignment–to write up articles for that online newsletter I was talking about. I gathered data on my first two days, taking it slow. And I chose to write about the topics I knew I could handle. I can’t put myself to too much challenge yet. Maybe in the months to come, but not now. I’m just starting.
I’m sad to say I won’t be earning yet. I mean, I’m not going to submit my time record on Monday, because four hours (P100) isn’t something I consider worth waiting for for a whole month, so I won’t earn yet for July. It’s okay on my part.
* * *
So it’s August now. Soon it’ll be October. I can’t wait; I presume my sembreak will be exciting. I’ll still be working then. And maybe full time, for at least 3 days per week. Exciting.
Parallelism Between Concepts in School and in Real Life.
One can want so much…
I am reminded of my Economics class, where Professors break their necks getting students to understand the fundamental concept of it all: wants are unlimited, and resources scarce.
It’s almost funny how it can also apply to things abstract. But then again, most academic concepts are; we just don’t know it at the time when its being discussed in class. As time goes by and we experience more of what life has to offer, it is then that we remember the lessons we learned at school.
Currently, I seem to have a thirst for so many things, and they’re not all concrete. Yes, I do want more books than I already own (I’m quite a collector, reader, and materialist…), a closet-full of new clothes that will promote a new look, my personal laptop, the latest camera that I can actually afford, and… the list will go on. But most recently, I have noticed my want to meet new people and bond with them, plus my sudden but not wholly unexpected interest in a person I thought I’d forgotten long ago… A person I have not talked to in years. A person I always kind of ‘go back’ to liking.
I don’t regard this recurring sense of liking as a negative thing, but I most certainly want it to go away. It’s unhealthy for me to keep doing this to myself. The thing is, I’m not. Of course such things are necessarily involuntary; If they weren’t, it would be too easy. I’d be able to control my feelings for the guy. On the other hand, those that admire me who get nothing in return from moi would also be capable of driving their emotions away. Oh. That last statement? That is if anyone is at all interested in me.
Anyway, I guess we all have to go through suffering. Without it we’d never learn.
At least admitting to myself that I am still in the cycle of liking one single person over and over again has helped me realize that I’m still a normal, functioning human being.
‘Cause I almost thought I wasn’t anymore. All I do everyday is watch movies online, eat, read, and write. Not much of a life. Not much at all.
Sudden Realization.
School days really are nearing… I’ve kind of said that before, you know, with ’summer is about to end’ but it takes a whole new perspective when you stress what’s coming. Personally, I have a lot of plans for this school year. I really want to meet new people and develop friendships; I desperately want to move on with my life and do something new. I think sometimes the only way to let go of whatever hurt you in the past is to go out into the world and start over, instead of moping around and wallowing over your misery. Just let yourself see sights you’ve never seen or feel things you never have, and the process of moving on takes hold. It’s hard, I bet, and I’ve only just learned that it could be so more effective than avoiding human contact for fear of getting hurt again. I anticipate the looming school days with open arms; I expect so many new students that I could possibly bond with. Hopefully, my recipe for self-improvement and personal growth will prove itself efficacious. Hopefully…
