Lately I have been feeling really tired, trying to drive
this icky depression that has been bothering me since August. Maybe in my
previous life I was an African lovebird grieving for a lost mate. I would just
stare blankly beyond my short beak, or would be looking for something that no
longer exists. After a time I would say, “OK, that’s quite enough for me,” then
you would hear a thud, and see me lifeless in my miserable cage. But this
grieving lovebird in me has brood to think about, it wants to be a lawyer, and
it is still dying to write its
masterpiece.
Maybe nothing is normal when I started writing snippet of
verses in my depressed
mode, rather than when I am inspired. When nothing seems normal to
me, as I’ve written in a previous blog, I would just write naturally.
During a boring class, for instance, or when the professor doesn’t mind at all what his or her students are thinking on their seats, or doesn’t even mind I was present in class, writing down anything that would come to my mind in order to beat that unwanted tediousness is as normal as yawning for me. I could also doodle lines and figures on my notes, or draw a figure playfully, sometimes using the person in front of me as a model, or I draw my hands, my toes, my knees or my shoes, while thinking when will I buy another pair, or I just sketch a semi-abstract portrait of my teacher with all the distinguishable facial expressions.
During a boring class, for instance, or when the professor doesn’t mind at all what his or her students are thinking on their seats, or doesn’t even mind I was present in class, writing down anything that would come to my mind in order to beat that unwanted tediousness is as normal as yawning for me. I could also doodle lines and figures on my notes, or draw a figure playfully, sometimes using the person in front of me as a model, or I draw my hands, my toes, my knees or my shoes, while thinking when will I buy another pair, or I just sketch a semi-abstract portrait of my teacher with all the distinguishable facial expressions.
But what is palpably not normal to me these days is allowing
my self to write a verse while taking an exam.
Who could imagine that I had a chance to do it with gusto? Of
course, you may say, it depends on the kind of exam. Was it a breeze, or a very
short one and the time given to answer was disproportionately long, that I had
the luxury of time to wait for the first person to submit his or her paper
before I submit mine? Was it a hurdle, or the questions required answers outside
those things that I had read about, so I stumbled and fell, and never wanted to
rise up again but remained to be awake for the rest of the hour, and then ensconced myself on my seat in
blissful ignorance? Or was I really feeling low and suicidal, that a Muse
crept in daintily with a magical balm, soothing my mood and shutting me off my
world?
I could use the last two situations to justify my act.
It was not an ordinary exam though, and unannounced. It was a graded quiz for a major (bar) subject in law school. I wasn't able to read my textbook nor had the chance to peruse my notes and reviewers. A justification, however, is in order: I worked that day until 5 p.m. in the office, though usually when I have an evening class such as this one, I logged out from work as early as 3 p.m. to have extra time to refresh for the subject. A night before that and during a break in the office, I worked on my article for a regional literary magazine, where I am a regular contributor, in order to meet the deadline late in the afternoon. Besides, I expect my professor would lecture that day. Our class could no longer afford for recitation or oral test, as we were already pressed for time to complete the coverage for the subject. We only had two meetings left before the final exams, so perhaps, I thought, the professor would just give us pointers or explain some key points for the remaining topics we were about to discuss.
So I came to the class prepared to listen and take down notes, but not to take any exam. And when the assigned proctor entered our room and told our class to immediately prepare for a long quiz, I was absolutely staggered. All of us nine in the class could not do anything but to listen to the instructions, got the questions, and started to answer them in utter discomfort. Better than walking it off though.
It was not an ordinary exam though, and unannounced. It was a graded quiz for a major (bar) subject in law school. I wasn't able to read my textbook nor had the chance to peruse my notes and reviewers. A justification, however, is in order: I worked that day until 5 p.m. in the office, though usually when I have an evening class such as this one, I logged out from work as early as 3 p.m. to have extra time to refresh for the subject. A night before that and during a break in the office, I worked on my article for a regional literary magazine, where I am a regular contributor, in order to meet the deadline late in the afternoon. Besides, I expect my professor would lecture that day. Our class could no longer afford for recitation or oral test, as we were already pressed for time to complete the coverage for the subject. We only had two meetings left before the final exams, so perhaps, I thought, the professor would just give us pointers or explain some key points for the remaining topics we were about to discuss.
So I came to the class prepared to listen and take down notes, but not to take any exam. And when the assigned proctor entered our room and told our class to immediately prepare for a long quiz, I was absolutely staggered. All of us nine in the class could not do anything but to listen to the instructions, got the questions, and started to answer them in utter discomfort. Better than walking it off though.
I was able to answer three of the five questions, though I
wasn’t so sure if my answers would satisfy our absent professor. The last two
questions were an ordeal. I could only guess the answers. Just use your common
sense or at least be sensible with your guesses, I remember this advice from a
classmate. Yet I have very little explanations for my guesses. So what would
you expect for me to do while waiting for that appalling signal “Time’s up!
Finished or not finished, pass your paper”? But no one was submitting his or her
paper yet, and we still have one full 30 minutes to finish the exam.
So I tried to listen to the ticking of the wall clock, then
I stared at the clock face with fibrous web bothering its rim. Suddenly I
thought about spider webs, and I remembered Spider-man hanging upside down while
his lady love kept on smacking at his exposed lips, but then I remembered my
wife snuggled beside me while watching the scene together in a movie house.
Then I thought of another movie, but another memorable scene would lead to a haunting episode with my late wife in a movie house again. I
thought of doing a 10-count jumping jack, or to smash the head of the lizard on
the ceiling. I suddenly crave for r.e.m. or U2 songs. I thought of so many things. Yet
I was tied to my seat with the half-empty answer sheet staring at me.
Then I thought of capturing bits of this somewhat muddled emotion, put it in a bottle and smashed it against the wall for the proctor
to see. But he wouldn’t care at all, as he was now smugly seated in the front
row, his back toward us, talking in murmurs with his girlfriend whom he brought
along for his task. OK, I thought. I started to push my pen across the lines
on the sheet in front of me. It started with a single line of an uninhibited
thought, and then followed by another line and another line to integrate another
short disarray of images, and more ensuing lines. You may call the lines
shallow, but their instantaneous release was very helpful. Ah, verse writing
seems so easy to write when I’m bored and distressed. And such ease paves the unhampered way to
flex my lethargic verbal muscles.
So here’s the evidence of a random, wayward thoughts from an unlikely place:
So here’s the evidence of a random, wayward thoughts from an unlikely place:
As
transcribed below:
air exhaled gone before
it dispersed in a mist
but tears don’t dry up easily
in the absence of heat
now searching for the element
in a space beyond the cloud
hovering this misty morn
blocking up the grayness
of the sun.
if only I could
reverse the direction
of the wind
and bring you back,
to the meadows of our dreams
where the sun is yellow
and the air we inhaled
is tangible, in flesh.
The result of the exam was a disaster. Except for one or two
of my classmates, everyone got a failure grade. Later at the end of the
semester, only three out of nine in the class passed the subject. Obviously I
flunked it, and I enrolled it again this semester, which at present is the only
and last remaining subject that I have enrolled before I graduate from law school this coming March.
So, while
the three passers were rejoicing and those who failed were contemplating on their
fate for having another semester of long lectures, tough recitations and
quizzes, some may be unannounced, I have this souvenir of a poem to talk about,
and to justify pro hac vice my abnormal act.
No comments:
Post a Comment