First-Class Honors In Guilt
I reached into my pigeon-hole on Friday and came out with an envelope that was affixed with the SEFT stamp at the back. The first thing that occurred to me to mutter was "oh gawd"; expecting the worst, I opened the envelope on the spot.
In it was one of those mass-generated letters, which was signed by Robert (the Head of School since the beginning of this year), encouraging me to "seriously consider enrolling for BA Honours in English" if I am not already intending to do so.
I was chuffed, of course - for all of three seconds.
I had thought about getting my Honors (what bloody use is a measly BA in E.Lang, E.Lit and Linguistics anyway?) and had decided against it - I'd feel too guilty otherwise.
I'm already so old and am still dependent on my parents; I think it's shameful. I have to go home, find a nine-to-fiver, prostitute my mind and soul (but not my body - how paradoxical), and start contributing to the household expenses.
Not that my parents are pressing me to do all that - I'm pretty sure if I raised the topic of spending another year here to do my Honors papers, they'd be supportive - no, I'm going home to prostitute my mind and soul to assuage that back-breaking weight of guilt I've been lugging around since I got my diploma, and fulfill the responsibilities of being the eldest of two children to my parents.
Guilt. I must've been born with an excess of it, and it has been gradually augmented - and will continue to be augmented - throughout my living years. Kāś ... to be free of it.
I'll be happier, because I won't be afraid to be the happiest I can be; because I can then finally revert to relishing the childhood joy of open-face sandwiches with honey or Nutella or jam dribbling down the sides, the sweetness of which is not tempered by a smear of margarine or butter.
In it was one of those mass-generated letters, which was signed by Robert (the Head of School since the beginning of this year), encouraging me to "seriously consider enrolling for BA Honours in English" if I am not already intending to do so.
I was chuffed, of course - for all of three seconds.
I had thought about getting my Honors (what bloody use is a measly BA in E.Lang, E.Lit and Linguistics anyway?) and had decided against it - I'd feel too guilty otherwise.
I'm already so old and am still dependent on my parents; I think it's shameful. I have to go home, find a nine-to-fiver, prostitute my mind and soul (but not my body - how paradoxical), and start contributing to the household expenses.
Not that my parents are pressing me to do all that - I'm pretty sure if I raised the topic of spending another year here to do my Honors papers, they'd be supportive - no, I'm going home to prostitute my mind and soul to assuage that back-breaking weight of guilt I've been lugging around since I got my diploma, and fulfill the responsibilities of being the eldest of two children to my parents.
Guilt. I must've been born with an excess of it, and it has been gradually augmented - and will continue to be augmented - throughout my living years. Kāś ... to be free of it.
I'll be happier, because I won't be afraid to be the happiest I can be; because I can then finally revert to relishing the childhood joy of open-face sandwiches with honey or Nutella or jam dribbling down the sides, the sweetness of which is not tempered by a smear of margarine or butter.
posted by s at 21:31
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