BS Procrastinator Major in Cramming
Again. Yes, I never learned my lesson. I always nag myself about doing things on the last minute, but, it has become a habit to do everything in a rush. The will and the ideas come out naturally when it’s crack time. The only consequence is I get more tired than when I do things with enough time.
I was so sleepy the whole day yesterday, I guess the stress of the past two weeks accumulated and my body just couldn’t handle it. Even though I was trying to review for my exam today I was just having the difficulty to put all the things I needed to learn inside my head. It’s not getting in! I decided to stop and sleep early instead.
I woke up early and reviewed for the rest of the day after my other classes. I was running out of time but I just couldn’t help sitting in the Old Library longer than two hours… So I decided to visit the exhibit in the other room beside the thesis section of the library.
Souls in Written Words
I wandered off the exhibit. There was no one else in there but me. The room smelled of old papers and basically old stuff. The old things that were hoarded by this famous poet JGSV is currently in school. You see, I love visiting the exhibits in the university I never failed to check them out when there’s a new installation in the art gallery or in the exhibit room.
Too much information was being loaded in my brain hence I tried to find something interesting that is not related to what I was studying. It felt so good to be surrounded by old handwritten letters, old pictures, old magazines, old books… old everything.
I knew that there’s a CCTV somewhere inside the room but I couldn’t help smiling on my own reflection on that glass that separates me from old writings of this poet as I read his exchanges with e.e. cummings and other famous literati. The old parchments were inside the glass boxes, I wanted to touch them in their bare state yet I couldn’t. It was as if the words were alive, as if the persons who wrote the letters, the poems, and what not were still alive… it was as if they were conversing with me.
It may sound weird for other people, but those old letters, those old poems written by hand in those brown pieces of papers… they touched something within me. Yes you can say it was because I’m a fan of poetry or that I sound crazy. But I am pretty sure that those artifacts connected with me and I connected to them.