After three days of school, I rediscovered something about myself: there’s a lot of information out there that I know squat about.
Needing only one required class this year, I enrolled myself in six other classes which I felt would be of interest to me. After all, the scholarship I was receiving paid for the tuition. Thought I’d go out with a bang.
Three days later, I’m running scared with my tail firmly between my legs.
I’ve always loved English. Truth be told, I’d much rather be reading, writing and teaching literature (just so happens that English is my most fluent language) than the technological stuff I’m actually studying towards. It was something I loved doing, and something that I felt I could do well in. But thanks to a freak accident of a grade I received in my one major exam, my dreams of living that life were dashed.
So in a bid to relive the last vestiges of my dream, I signed up for a 400 level English class.
I felt out of place the moment I stepped into the room. Having gotten used to being surrounded by techno-nerds, I looked foward to meeting new people. People who read and were inspired. People whom I felt I had something in common with. They came in and started hugging each other, asking how each others’ winter break went. After a few minutes I felt like I had crashed a birthday party. Everyone knew everyone else. I was the weird kid sitting in the middle of the class as people made their way around me to greet their friends on the other side of the room. I was half-tempted to do an Abignale - walk up to the board and start teaching.
The professor came in and changed the title of the course. Now instead of Women and Literature, it was Women inside / outside Modernism. It didn’t help that I didn’t have a clue as to what modernism was, short of a very broad and generic answer. I sat there, in the middle of the room, mentally repelling any attention that might be drawn to me. In the meantime, the other students were shouting out names of poets, naming works that were considered modernist and the year in which they were published. Way, way, way out of my league.
My mouse cursor hovered over the “drop subject” button for a while today. I just want to have fun in my last semester and take easy classes, but something inside me just wouldn’t give it up. It felt like if I peered hard enough I could catch a glimpse of the alternate reality in which my dream came true. To click on that button meant that I closed the doors and windows to the what-might-have-been.
I wasn’t, and am not ready to do that. I’ll attend a few more classes, possibly embarassing myself. The spark of enthusiasm at the possibility that the class may open the floodgates of my mind and my heart still drives me, and I think I’ll give it one more shot.
Just call me stupid.