Stubborn, Skydiving Dreams

My study would be totally revamped. I do not know what to feel. I had been expecting the feeling of relief today but the burden seems to be pressing itself further down into my gut. Dr. Christine congratulated me for coming up with an interesting study. The panel members repeatedly said it was a good study, but I'm afraid to believe they were only trying to make things less bad for me. In the end, they suggested I shift my study to the collection of the tales alone. All my years as an English major, I never had been stirred by the sight of papers such as these. Now I do not know if there is still something to look forward to in my study.

Gen, one of my secretaries during the defense came up to me at the next room and said, "Excited kaayo ko sa imong study, Aine!" I smiled and said, "Ako pud." I don't know if I really am, though I wish I could make myself believe I was.


It's hard not knowing where to start. With just one look at the paper Dr. Christine gave back to me, the pressured feeling suffocates me again. Speaking of pressure, I still have to check 150 essays. Imagine that.


I have to completely change my paper, and I have to pass it before Wednesday, next week. Dreams skydive as my mind insists I had lost the chance of earning the Best Thesis title.




Somewhere along the course of my growth I heard a saying which reminded people not to convince themselves something is difficult to handle. Things are easy when you convince yourself they are, they say. I had wanted to say I do not know how to write in a technical manner - in a research paper, for example, but I remembered this saying so I have to control myself. They regarded my "sweeping" statements as something almost laughable. I don't know how to explain how exactly I felt about myself just then. I was actually crying beneath the smiling mask, teasing my writing skills which are always beneath the standards they require. In my eighteen years, I had never written a serious, technical article that I would say is decent. Now, I'm wondering if there still is a chance for me.



I asked myself earlier if I could bear shifting courses. No, my mind said. It's too late to give up. After a moment of cognitive silence, I again raised a question my other self would answer: Am I really meant to write? If I aren't, what am I supposed to become?

I am frustrated. I am disappointed. I am embarrassed. I am disappointed because I had failed their high expectations. I am disappointed because I do not know if I could still handle the mere pressure of graduating on time. The thought of disappointing the panel again still sends shivers down my spine, I want to throw up. Seriously, I do.



Lord, tell me how to. I have never felt so stupid and incompetent. This particular semester had totally taken off my assumption of my being smart. I really am not. How do I turn on the switch, Lord? 




Remm text messaged me after I wrote the last line, saying he really likes my study. That was when the tears started rolling down my cheeks in disagreement.




Can you hear that muffled noise? It's underneath the mask, trying to silence itself.