Talking to her made me realise how much I miss my teachers. The way they taught us. If for anything, I'm glad we got a set of radical teachers who didn't really give that much of a fig ( or a date. get it get it?!) about the "proper"way things should be taught. I'm glas we talked in class, I'm glad we discussed everything and anything. And....Literature. Shakespeare, Prac Crit and dare I say, even Donne.Remembering how I found it impossible to read The Bloody Chamber because it felt like I was being sawn in half. The discovery and accomplishment I felt when analysing a piece of text. The way I'd read everything in the PC paper, even the questions I wasn't going to answer. The feeling of having so much to write and where your hand would feel like a bitch but you were just brimming full of ideas and concepts that I had to pen down. That feeling of reading and automatically processing. It was really reading, pausing, contemplating. Reading was no longer rote. To read something into a text that moved words beyond what it really was. The ebb and the flow of poems, the connotations of a simple fullstop or even the placement of the word. Dramatisation. Theories.
In the words of the wise K far far away, "when you fucking pick your own lemons, don't complain your fucking lemonade cannot make it"
"Oh, I'm sure deep down inside, you'd wanna go do something wacky, defending trodden women's rights or something, going there and punching everybody in the face. that's more your style.Not Corporate Law"
Er, thanks Mrs L :)
On a sad note, most of the teachers who taught us have left, are going back to the UK and or moving away to a different place. And this makes me feel sad. My memories are drifting away :(
And, I'm getting the itch again. I want to go away.
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