In the name of the muses


This morning, I was drafting a descriptor of the block/course that I’ll be teaching for three straight weeks starting tomorrow. The preparation, albeit exciting and overwhelming, was rather unrelenting. I have been having placid anxiety attacks whenever I would try to discuss my lessons with my mentor. I am just lucky because she tries to understand; she sees things in perspectives. To put everything in a statement: I am currently pressured I might turn into a diamond.

But worrying wouldn’t get me somewhere. I study, I practice speech, I prepare. It’s just that I do not know if it’s enough, or if I am doing it the right way.

Just an anecdote. As I was writing the course description, I raked through my old ruled notebooks for scratch sheets. As I leafed through the old notebook, I saw something (refer to the photo) and I suddenly thought of five things.

1. I don’t know when did I write the statement.
2. I don’t know why did I write it.
3. I don’t know why did I cross it out.
4. Aside from the statistical error (I stayed in college for six years), the statement could either be true or false.
5. Seeing it is very timely.

And I won’t tear the page just yet. Not until I nailed teaching this Poetry course. Not until I gave gratification to the Department of English and Comparative Literature who nurtured me and taught me the absolute meaning of creative writing, literature, and the language. Not until I stood up to the challenge of poetry, even if my strength is in prose.

So, I guess this is it. If my readings are all ready, then why shouldn’t I be.


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