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[agawdilimsapasig]

An Andrew ghost story

My mind was zoning out to the tak-tak-tak of Carl’s calculator while the three-hour time limit to finish the exam was slowly inching towards its climactic death. It was with this background music that my days of terror began.  I was for sure lacking sleep and psychological respite from the continuous stresses of the week. The caffeine has long since settled into the creaks of my now-addled brain network and I have all but completely shut down.

           I was seated at the back of the exam hall, with the acers of the income tax exam and the 90% scorers on the last one, which was just distributed two days ago and a huge disappointment faced me. Another number to hit off of the last ones. I blew off the class I had before this one to jam into my brain as much as I could before the clock struck 12:45. I only began hunting-and-pecking on the whole exam coverage by nighttime of the day prior because I spent the whole of yesterday trying to nurse a slight hangover that succeeded a night of no sleep and a day of one exam, two final paper submissions, one final defense, and one too many sangrias for a person who hasn’t slept.

           I play my fingers over the keys of my own calculator, making increasingly panic-inducing tak-tak-tak’s of my own as I reorient myself back to reality. I caught a slight movement of white light in the shadows of the exam hall entrance, which was directly in my line of vision where I was seated. We were in the Andrew building where the rooms on one side of the building were grand in size and had a small space of reprieve to prepare oneself for an entrance. The door was left ajar and this dark reprieve was lost to the light.

           I squint and fight the astigmatism and sleep deprivation-induced cloud shrouding my vision and the white light flashes again, albeit a little more obscurely this time. I knew my sanity was fraying at the edges along with my health but I still had the clarity of mind to question the reality of the sight I behold. I dismiss the glints with a shut of lids and opened them to pen my way back into the exam. This was the last stretch in the race that we’ve been running for two and a half terms now.

--- 

           Oh my god, it’s finally over!, Cedric whispers to me in an overwhelmed yet restrained flood of celebratory relief. He is at the top of the batch in academics and this was for sure going to be his first and last take. I see the relief reflected in his watery eyes— the kind of relief that was preluded with anxiety. Hard-won and well-fought. I didn’t know if I could say the same for myself. I changed my answer to 4 when it should have been 5, according to the achievers in the back row.

           We were in the midst of a flurry of papers and students when it hit me that he was right—it is over. I stood there for a long second, just beside him. Quiet. It was not usual for me to be quiet. My public self always had words to throw out but in the midst of my exhaustion, I completely lost them and just seeked the comfort of his presence, however unnoticed it was by him. Two of our friends surrounded us and a comparison of answers ensued. I sidled a bit beside Alex because physical proximity to him brought me a similar comfort as well. These days, I’m not really sure of much any more and I don’t know.

           An hour before the exam, Maer asked me a question on income tax and my response of watery red eyes led him to retract his query. Minutes before the exam, I drew Carl into a long and tight embrace in an effort to ease the squeezing feeling in my chest. Seconds before I took my seat at the back row, Arvin grabbed my wrist. I was jokingly exclaiming to Carla that I wanted to cry and he caught the seriousness of my statement behind the red rims of my eyes. It filled him with enough concern to stop me on my way to the back of the room, with enough force to hold me still.    

[agawdilimsapasig]

Holiday Break Reading List

A bunch of exposition to the actual reading list

WhatKamilReads on Youtube said that we humans are naturally hard-wired to have an affinity for patterns- whether through its recognition or utilization. At the same time, when our brains fall into the comfort of a pattern, that is when the cessation of growth begins-- within this said comfort zone.

This is an excellent articulation of the composite idea that several ideas I have been harboring for the past few months comprise of. These include the following: Growth is found in discomfort. If it is difficult and it is scary, then it is probably worth it. Never stop learning. Never an idle moment for the brain.  (Well, those are the major and relevant ones to this post.)

With this said, I do plan on engaging in several activities in the next couple of weeks of holiday break that enhance the quality of my cultural, psychological, literary, and philosophical knowledge. I hope to break free from growth-paralyzing patterns and comfort. 

These said activities include: watching an anime series and some movie recommendations from Art Appreciation class, reading a number of books, writing a short story for submission to the arts publication of my university, and getting the hang of Tumblr. 

Of course, I will expend effort, time, and energy to integrate these into daily life. However, what I will discuss in this post is my reading list for the holiday break. Realistically, I will probably not be able to get through all of these, but it’s a good starting point. Being even more realistic, I will more likely than not deviate from this list. But, oh well, I love making these lists, if only for the sake some variation of instant gratification with a mix of procrastination with an undercurrent of guilt. 

The actual list

 One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich (Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn)

Goodreads blurb: 

Discover the importance of a piece of bread or an extra bowl of soup, the incredible luxury of a book, the ingenious possibilities of a nail, a piece of string or a single match in a world where survival is all. Here safety, warmth and food are the first objectives. Reading it, you enter a world of incarceration, brutality, hard manual labour and freezing cold - and participate in the struggle of men to survive both the terrible rigours of nature and the inhumanity of the system that defines their conditions of life.

Now, I am just over 40 pages in. Although it is a short novel and I am agreeable with the writing style, the devil procrastinator in me keeps putting it off. Well, always in favor of other equally or only a degree less productive pursuits such as finishing Siege in Fog (OMYGOD another post in the making for my thoughts on this beauty) or housework (housemaid left, again, so gotta hustle). But that’s alright. I’m appreciating it so far. 

It’s not a comfortable read- it’s a cold one, literally. The way it is written- really makes you feel the Russian cold and the Soviet cold that freezes Ivan’s soul. This is my starting point in the voyage towards Russian literature- Russian art, in general. My ticket was my Art Appreciation class. My prejudgement of the Russians is that it is challenging, interconnected, and intellectually-engaging. Something that speaks to my soul. 2. Thousand Cranes (or) Snow Country (Yasunari Kawabata)

Goodreads blurb:

Snow Country:

Nobel Prize-winner Yasunari Kawabata's Snow Country is widely considered to be the writer's masterpiece, a powerful tale of wasted love set amid the desolate beauty of western Japan.

At an isolated mountain hot spring, with snow blanketing every surface, Shimamura, a wealthy dilettante meets Komako, a lowly geisha. She gives herself to him fully and without remorse, despite knowing that their passion cannot last and that the affair can have only one outcome. In chronicling the course of this doomed romance, Kawabata has created a story for the ages, a stunning novel dense in implication and exalting in its sadness.

Thousand Cranes: 

Nobel Prize winner Yasunari Kawabata’s Thousand Cranes is a luminous story of desire, regret, and the almost sensual nostalgia that binds the living to the dead.

While attending a traditional tea ceremony in the aftermath of his parents’ deaths, Kikuji encounters his father’s former mistress, Mrs. Ota. At first Kikuji is appalled by her indelicate nature, but it is not long before he succumbs to passion—a passion with tragic and unforeseen consequences, not just for the two lovers, but also for Mrs. Ota’s daughter, to whom Kikuji’s attachments soon extend. Death, jealousy, and attraction convene around the delicate art of the tea ceremony, where every gesture is imbued with profound meaning.

If I want to continue feeling the cold, since the weather is apt for such anyway, I will go on with Snow Country. However, if I want to relive the delicacy and subtlety of Siege in Fog, I will pick Thousand Cranes. Whichever tickles my fancy, I pick these because they are short books. I feel that lately I am gravitating towards thinner books for their convenience and efficiency. I get more out of less effort. 

The same aforementioned Art Appreciation class reignited my interest in Japanese literature. Maybe this time around, when I return to my Japanese literature travels, I am armed with a more mature understanding and appreciation.

3. Fahrenheit 451 (Ray Bradbury)

Goodreads blurb:

Guy Montag is a fireman. In his world, where television rules and literature is on the brink of extinction, firemen start fires rather than put them out. His job is to destroy the most illegal of commodities, the printed book, along with the houses in which they are hidden.

Montag never questions the destruction and ruin his actions produce, returning each day to his bland life and wife, Mildred, who spends all day with her television 'family'. But then he meets an eccentric young neighbor, Clarisse, who introduces him to a past where people did not live in fear and to a present where one sees the world through the ideas in books instead of the mindless chatter of television.

When Mildred attempts suicide and Clarisse suddenly disappears, Montag begins to question everything he has ever known.

Again, another short one. Right now, my brain is a sponge for new ideas and ready to read less realistic set-ups. Such was not the case before. Again, I feel that now, at this age, maybe my brain is more ready to absorb the ideas of this book. With this blog in arm, I can express my thoughts as well. That’s probably a more holistic way to approach my reading.

Some concluding sentiments

I am beginning to realize that I am the kind of reader that reads for the challenge and intellectual, experiential, emotional, and psychological gain. I started as an escapist reader but eventually realized that literature is probably more effective, profound, and lasting if it mirrors realities.  Writing this down so I may never forget.