Instead of writing my thesis like a responsible student, I procrastinated these past few weeks by devouring books on poetry, Ancient Rome, and literary criticism. My enthusiasm for studying philosophy seemed to have waned, and I blame my school for it. They appear to have left its students in a very precarious position regarding our thesis and graduation schedules, and everything’s been in shambles ever since. Worst of all, they don’t even have the slightest clue how grave the situation is. Well, that’s my school for you.
I found new inspiration for learning through Terry Eagleton, the famed Marxist literary scholar, of whom I’ve been reading profusely. His injection of humor and wit in his books, which are all both illuminating and accessible at the same time, are a breath of fresh air from all the serious readings I’ve been doing from my thesis. But what really sparked my interest was his Catholic background, and his past collaboration with leftist Catholics in Blackfriars, Oxford, where the likes of Herbert McCabe, James Alison, and Timothy Radcliffe resided. Eagleton was another Catholic that I can relate to and draw inspiration from. Him, Umberto Eco, and other jolly academics are who I want to be, in the off chance that I end up in a similar career.
And yet, I seem to be writing less and less. Through another luminary, Ka Edel Garcellano, I figured that writing entails a lot more responsibility than I previously believed, and it has scared me ever since. It’s a grave commitment to become a serious writer, more so to tell the truth in a country where imperialism is seeing a meteoric rise through the renewal of joint military agreements with the US. How much am I actually willing to sacrifice to take writing seriously?
The task is heroic.
Poetry is a minor matter.
Edel Garcellano, “Words”
This month passed by like it was nothing. I do not know if I have done anything worth doing, but that can only be determined in retrospect. I’m bored.