an earlier writing, an aborted article
Forgive me for being personal again, but in this connection, I think I would still be serving my fellow students in this contemplation.
Besides, let me guarantee you, dear reader, that this will not be another episode of my literary masturbations.
Just this afternoon, I was killing time at our famous annex, the Rock Garden Cafe, with a famous friend of mine. Someone approached and asked about scholarship thingies--what he would get if he were part of the Dean’s List.
For those of you who are in the dark, you can get as much as a 100 percent discount in tuition fees if your grade point average overcomes the 1.25 line. That would be great for those of you who are struggling to get a life studying and at the same time, struggling to get a life out of studying.
Being a scholar is not only a great honor, but also a great convenience. If the word “scholar” appears in your resume, in your transcript of records, and in every document that will help you get a job, it will indeed be more than probable that you will get the job.
Another thing--in this Age of Commercialization, every little thing that can lessen the burden from your pockets can be of great help.
But for those of us who have been dallying in and out of college, it is almost impossible to be a scholar, although there are many of us who honorably call ourselves scholars--with our matriculation coming from the pockets of our parents, and not from some philanthropist. Add to the financial baggage the endless turn of years, the bickering from sickened parents, the never-ending questions from friends and relatives, and the quintessential philosophical reverie that visits the memory every time the word “scholar” passes by our ears.
It is terribly hard to go on from one day to another, never forgetting the tremendous waste of years, never able to stop the inertia of manic depression that seizes the mind every time the memories of earlier college years cascade over your face... especially if you could have finished a whole college degree with the wasted years.
This semester has been a season of seasoning, for the very reason that I would have to apply upon myself choice spices in order to extend my shelf life in this conundrum of existences. Salt and pepper were generously added to my living shaker.
Maybe, it is a season of grace (thanks to N.V.M. Gonzales) in my parallel existence--the engineer who shuttles between Japan and Germany, upgrading his skills and enriching himself with riches and experiences.