Love and Academia

Today someone reminded me of how difficult it was for me during my undergraduate days. My postgraduate days were extremely exhausting and very gloomy at times. There were many days where I thought of giving up on academia. There were times where I couldn’t hold a pen. And yet, despite the struggle, I managed. Today my papers fell out of my briefcase, everywhere, it was a total mess. And as a student of mine bent down to help me gather them, for that one moment, as I looked at her, I had a flashback of myself, as a student, struggling to carry my literature books and dragging myself to class. As we gathered the papers and I thanked her, my mind went back to the past.

It has been only two years since I got my PhD, October 2014. That day was a day where the clock stopped ticking, the viva seemed to go on forever, and I couldn’t bring myself to see the end of the tunnel. But at 3 pm that certain October day, I was finally who I wanted to be, and where I wanted to be. I rememebr being in shock for a few days after. And when I came home, I was met with endless love and celebration. 

People look at me today and assume it was an easy journey. Some people tell me I am too young to be a professor. Some tell me that I wasted years amongst books. But I wouldn’t have it any other way. It was never about the degree. It was simply about love. 

   
     

The Sun and the Moon

This band is all about raw emotion. The music is painful. The lyrics are heartbreaking. Cathartic. Listen to it before reading the rest of this short, almost meaningless post.

So he says “I’m sorry baby, you were the Sun and the Moon to me. I’ll never get over you, you’ll never get over me.”

There is a heaven right here. Why do we always want to leave heaven, always desiring death, always wanting to be exiled, kicked out into the world?

Sometimes I think that the world is in a constant state of a staged drama – everyone fulfilling their role, momentarily, and they ‘Exit Stage’ when it’s time. But who gets to decide? Sometimes we just have to improvise. I’m tired of following scripts. And I wish people would accept raw emotion. It doesn’t all have to be so staged.

So yes,  “I’m sorry baby, you were the Sun and Moon to me” but what is a life without the Sun and the Moon? A failed script. A drama that is too dramatic for a genuine life.

Give me drama, yes, but give me Genuine feelings. Give me actors and actresses who fall in love and forget the script. Give me Rebels. Give me people who will resurrect the Sun and the Moon.

if and then

There must be a reason for my masochism, because each and every one of them left me broken, shattered into pieces that I could hardly recognize as parts of me.

Adamantly, I denied my failures, labeling them all as ‘Experimental Errors’ and

dragged my heart behind me as I trudged along the same path, over and over again.

But maybe you should know that when I first heard your name, I doubted both your existence and my sanity.

Being obsessed with ‘truths’ and ‘proofs’ I asked you to simply Speak to me.

I wanted to spill your voice into my coffee and onto my white shirt (ever so plain) every day, every morning.

This made sense to a cynic like me

and I subscribed wholeheartedly to a handful of ifs and thens :

If I could taste you, then I could savor every stage up until that nanosecond, where I can’t separate your bitter-sweetness from my tongue’s numbness

if I could hold you, then I could plunge deep into the holiness of your majestic kingdom (the one you so admirably protect)

if I met you, then I could forgive the Universe’s way of teasing me, taunting me with figments and fragments of you.

And when I do taste you, I fear that I will leave your veins dried out as I drink from those holy waters (because I am selfish, you see, and I must resurrect the fire that used to be me)

and when I do hold you, I fear for your fragile bones in my savage hands, as I possibly fracture them once or twice to fit across our new-found land (yes, our)

and when I do meet you, I fear for your lifelong incarceration in my chambers.

But really, mostly – I fear fearing you, and my complete and utter paralysis in your presence.

Inevitable

What happens when you fall for someone who is still in love with someone else? Why isn’t there a manual yet? Why do we deny the inevitable? I know it’s always heartbreak. It’s always excruciating pain. And yet I never run away. Today it hit me. I must be a masochist.

Heathcliff

‘May she wake in torment!’ he cried, with frightful vehemence, stamping his foot, and groaning in a sudden paroxysm of ungovernable passion. ‘Why, she’s a liar to the end! Where is she? Not there—not in heaven—not perished—where? Oh! you said you cared nothing for my sufferings! And I pray one prayer—I repeat it till my tongue stiffens—Catherine Earnshaw, may you not rest as long as I am living; you said I killed you—haunt me, then! The murdered do haunt their murderers, I believe. I know that ghosts have wandered on earth. Be with me always—take any form—drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! it is unutterable! I cannot live without my life! I cannot live without my soul!’