God is so #$%*@! good. I am so officially a certified student right now. After many days of grieving for my unsuccessful experiment, I finally got over it and surrendered my report to my adviser. My enrollment was delayed because of this perfectionist junkie who wants to make her thesis to be flawless. Like hell, after all the things I’ve done, I concluded that I have a thick face. As they say, “no guts, no glory”. My adviser, Mrs. Geraldine R. Mojica; thesis teacher-in-charge, Dr. Dulce R. Dawang; the biology department chairperson, Ms. Anita S. Mabao and my instructors helped me with the enrollment process. I can’t thank you enough for what they did. It’s a long story.
I want Dr. Dawang to know that she’s the best and the coolest teacher-in-charge one could ever have. I just submitted the report early in the morning then told me to come back later and—bam! My grade has been phoned in right away to Ms. Mabao and then got the ball rollin’. Ms. Mabao, by the way, is the most accommodating person by signing the most number of signatures on my letters. I thought I’d never be accepted by the registrar because I’m so late. But hey, I think that the school would still have a heart for a senior graduating student, right? So there I went, I wrote a letter to all of my instructors that I would still be admitted in their respective classes and had a triacylglyceride-burning signature campaign butting into their classes. Luckily, all of them still want me to be their student! Phew… *sigh*
My very good classmate, Chriezlyn, pushed me too far and has been my personal peer support group in the process. ^__^ Thanks a lot for the work, my friend. I appreciate it. Wow. I just realized that there are a lot of people who still cared for me during my nonappearance. Dr. Dawang has talked to my younger sister asking on my whereabouts, likely some of my biology teachers and most of all, my much-loved classmates who never stopped texting even without my replies. Even my parents got worried. They somewhat argued & kept pinpointing each other on which of them is responsible for my delay when in fact it’s both theirs. Hahaha. I am so unhappy that I have caused such a mess. I promise never to bring artherosclerosis with the people around me again. Lotsa thanks. *Mwah*
I knew that I have lots of catching up to do. I celebrated the day by taking-out my favorite barbeque at the Barbeque Station. Hehehe. I missed their BBQs in the past days. By the way, I don’t like their so called “station” but to their advantage, the BBQs taste great.
I would prefer to read short stories because they are direct to the point and are well, what can I say—short. Some had actually moved me and one of them is my favorite, Oscar Wilde’s The Nightingale and the Rose. It is as part of a collection for the children’s book The Happy Prince and Other Stories published in 1888. Yeah, yeah, children’s stories but mind that it greatly appeals adult audiences too because of its implicit comments on the nature of art and love. Let me tell the short story short.
There is this Nightingale who lives in an oak tree in the garden of the Student. She dedicates her life to singing sweetly for the benefit of others. One day she overhears the Student, who is going hysterical because the girl he loves will only dance with him at the ball if he presents her a red rose, and there is none to be found. The Nightingale is very moved by this, for she feels she recognizes true love in the Student’s heart. She thinks of helping him out in his quest for a perfect red rose.
She travels through the garden, searching and asking questions. Other dwellers of the garden notice the distress of the Student, but do not share the Nightingale’s sympathy for his suffering.
Eventually she comes to the rose bush which will supply her with a single red rose, but her part of the bargain is quite brutal. She must sing to the bush all night long, and allow one of its thorns to pierce her heart. The Nightingale agrees, believing that she is sacrificing herself for love, which is greater than life, and for the heart of a man, which is greater than that of a bird.
Her plan comes to realization; the next morning Nightingale’s lifeless body is found at the foot of a bush bearing a single, perfect rose. The student rushes off ecstatically to his love to bring the rose, only to be scornfully rejected in favor of a wealthier suitor. The rose is thrown carelessly into the street that maybe crushed by carriages passing by. And the student decides to take up Philosophy.
This is such a heartbreaking story. The sacrifice of the Nightingale is heightened in intensity by the obvious lack of worth on the part of the Student & his stupid “love”. The bird’s actions are wasted because they were not appreciated by those to whom they were directly meant to help. In spite of this, the Nightingale’s selfless action stands alone as something perfect & pure, like the rose she created.
The Nightingale maybe the opposite to the Student, who is not really as much in love as he thinks he is! He is merely a hopeless romantic while the bird represents the nature of true romance. Both he & his love pay no attention to true love, she prefers having riches and he returns to his studies, but this Nightingale sacrifices herself for the one thing she believes in above all others.
It’s not just a mere fairy-tale but I quote in Rowbotham’s book Nineteenth Century Short Stories that in his time, “Wilde is making a comment on his perception of the role of the artist in society: to sacrifice oneself for one’s art in order that others may have pleasure. We see this in the Nightingale’s willingness to sacrifice herself for the Student although he does not appreciate or understand her at all.” True. It takes time to build a work of art but still there are others who just do not understand or do not know the work that was applied on it. Frustrating but it is the reality.
I love to write sometimes. It may be out of boredom or just inspired. Maybe I can tell a story or so.
At early summer of the time when I was nine or ten, I befriended a guy who just moved in the neighborhood. He was about the same age as me and he’s so kind. Eventually we became close friends. He visited the house almost everyday to play games like hide-&-seek, patintero and jumping jack. In midsummer, we officially became best friends. Whenever my mom calls for an errand, he’ll go with me and stuff like that. Even neighbors were nosy if there is a thing going on between us.
One afternoon, I was sitting on a bench under a guava tree in the front yard doing nothing but stare at our front door. A knock at the gate disturbed me from my thoughts then saw him from the iron bars. I smiled & let him in.
“Why are you early? It’s two in the afternoon.” I started.
He smiled back and said, “Nothing. Just passing by if there are ripe guavas already.” He looked upward, found two medium-sized and reached overhead to grab them. He dusted them off on his shirt and tossed the riper one to me because he knew I do not like bitter taste.
“Thanks.” I examined the guava and dusted it again on my shirt. “So what games do you have in mind?” I asked before taking a bite.
I sat back on the bench hiding my gladness, just in time when my cat needed a pat. So I put the cat on my lap and started to stroke his fur on one hand and clasping the fruit on the other.
“The usual. You know. Hey, maybe this time we’ll try something new like tumbang preso?” Mumbling the words as he ate.
He followed and sat beside me.
“That’s nice. We’ll try it later.” I agreed with attention still on the juicy guava.
He reached a hand and imitated the way I fondled the cat, our hands barely touching. Moments passed by and still we both said nothing until we finished and fired two balls of guava seeds in the next-door-neighbor’s roof which caused sounds like that of firecrackers. We held our laughs and giggles to avoid being caught. Luckily, the owners were in vacation.
To my surprise, he put his head on my shoulder and said, “Do you think we could be friends forever?”
I couldn’t see his face from my view so I did not know what he was feeling or what and I remembered something.
“Yeah I think so. Why? When are you going to
“I don’t know, maybe in September. If things won’t work out there, I’ll come back.” He sat straight and surprised me again by asking, “What does it feel to be in love?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t been—in love. Why? Do you think you are?”
“Uhm… Not so sure.” He looked at me.
Keeping my sudden change of joy to gloominess, I masked it with a smile and a statement, “Aha! So you have another crush on someone.”
“Yes, but this one different from the others.”
“So tell me about her.”
“I think I’ve found the most beautiful person in the world.”
“Go on…”
He hesitated for a second.
“But I have to tell you something.”
“What?”
He said something close to my ear that caught me to another one of his surprises but it was the surprise of all surprises in that afternoon that even my ears did not believe.
Summer days ended and the school days were starting. We rarely see each other since then. Mom has told me to stay in the house for my studies.
Until now, when I see him, I secretly smile and frequently reminds me of the line he said that afternoon.
“He’s a guy…”
Friends always ask about my love life. That’s because I don’t want to tell anything or even inkling to them. I felt like I’ll be showcasing my private life if I will and that’s a big no no not unless if she’s my best friend.
I saw that a guy felt betrayed when he has learned from someone else about the things he did or say in private. So if my girlfriends & I are in for some heart-to-heart talk, I keep my mouth shut even if they are goading me to spill something. It’s so damn annoying when I got teased for something they don’t know. And you know that they’re doing it because they’re hot for the headline and you can’t simply chill them out.
wysiwyg.just being 100% me in black, white & shades of grey...
I don't know. I like to meet people who can level up with me or even better than me.
