The reason I haven't been updating lately:
500 Movies for Rache
500 movies, 6 months, 3 film philes, and 1 cinematically-deficient darling.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Remember, remember.
So I will be taking my first MA class this coming semester. Finally, finally! Below is the application essay I submitted to the university's admissions office last September. I hope to never forget what I have so confidently and enthusiastically written back when nothing but getting into the graduate program mattered, especially when the coursework is already proving to be a bit too much for me and is slowly driving me to the brink of insanity. I hope to never forget that I love to learn, most of all.
I read a New Yorker essay about a most peculiar man named David Karp. David Karp calls himself “The Fruit Detective” (he has a calling card and all), and traipses about town in a safari costume complete with a pith helmet, in search for weird, flavorful, juicy, fecund fruit. He then shares his discovery with the fruit-loving public through his newspaper column, and acts as a middleman to suppliers and grocers. People who have had the pleasure of meeting him describe his passion for fruit as highly ebullient to the point of mania. Once, he was sighted hopping about in the bushes in sheer ecstasy when he saw a white apricot. When he’s not looking for fruit, he’s writing about fruit, talking to people about fruit, compiling songs about fruit, and, of course, eating fruit.
I have decided to pursue an MA in Literary and Cultural Studies because- this may sound overly ambitious if not downright silly- I want to become a literary expert. I am a teacher, and while it would be easier to just say that I want to pursue graduate studies because I want to become an immensely competent educator and be the best teacher that I can be, fact of the matter is, my reason is quite selfish. I want my MA because I want to be David Karp. I want to spend my whole life with that which I love.
I have long been in love with literature. In fact, all my life, the one adjective that I have always, so lovingly and superciliously used to refer to myself is “well-read,” whether it is undeniably, absurdly unmerited, like when I was young and my claim to fame was that I read all Sweet Valley books and- that which I considered my greatest achievement- all twenty-six volumes of Compton’s Precyclopedia, or- to some extent- deserved, like when I fell in love with Jane Austen and F. Scott Fitzgerald and decided to get my hands on and read every available veritable piece of literature about them. I want to get an MA in Literary and Cultural Studies because, like David Karp, I long to scour the world for books, write about books, converse with people about books, compile songs about books, and, of course, devour books. It’s all very self-serving now, you see, but I am certain that everything else- works of charity, a fiery literacy advocacy, etcetera- will just follow. When a person is head over heels passionate about something, it is impossible that she does not attempt to make the whole world fall in love with it. It will touch everything about her, her entire being, and every thing and person she encounters. I know that, like David Karp, I will be spreading the love for books so enthusiastically they will call me the crazy book lady. My primary targets, of course, will be my poor, unsuspecting students.
In the event of my acceptance to the graduate program, I will be a part-time student and full-time teacher—the statement alone evokes pity, I know. As it is, my workload as a teacher is definitely not a stroll in the park, and I am expecting graduate studies courses to be quite arduous. I can now vividly picture papers piling up and waiting to be checked, a humongous stack of books waiting to be read, and weekends spent writing papers and in preparation for presentations. Truth be told, though- and I say this with great conviction- I am not the least daunted. In fact, I cannot be more excited. Every time I study the now dog-eared course catalog, I regard it always with love and utmost affection. The advantage of my situation, I think, is that I have decided to take this path wholeheartedly. I am not pursuing graduate studies because my career compels me to, but because of my own desire to learn. That is most important in pursuing an MA degree and successfully, I think— a genuine, irremediable desire for knowledge, that openness to learning. When you see me going to class ridiculously early on a Saturday, I will be with a smile on my face.
What further intensifies my anticipation to finally start my study of literature is the idea that I will be doing it in Ateneo. I received my undergraduate degree from the university and I have, with great awe, witnessed how the institution has so skillfully molded me, and transformed me into a person I never knew I could become. More than anything, Ateneo has taught me pagpapakatao, something which, since then, has penetrated my every word and action. I have decided to pursue my graduate studies in my alma mater because I know that I will be learning not only about literature, but also about life. I know that with Ateneo, I will come out not only a David Karp- a literary expert through and through- but a literary expert with a heart, someone who will use what she knows for the good.
I read a New Yorker essay about a most peculiar man named David Karp. David Karp calls himself “The Fruit Detective” (he has a calling card and all), and traipses about town in a safari costume complete with a pith helmet, in search for weird, flavorful, juicy, fecund fruit. He then shares his discovery with the fruit-loving public through his newspaper column, and acts as a middleman to suppliers and grocers. People who have had the pleasure of meeting him describe his passion for fruit as highly ebullient to the point of mania. Once, he was sighted hopping about in the bushes in sheer ecstasy when he saw a white apricot. When he’s not looking for fruit, he’s writing about fruit, talking to people about fruit, compiling songs about fruit, and, of course, eating fruit.
I have decided to pursue an MA in Literary and Cultural Studies because- this may sound overly ambitious if not downright silly- I want to become a literary expert. I am a teacher, and while it would be easier to just say that I want to pursue graduate studies because I want to become an immensely competent educator and be the best teacher that I can be, fact of the matter is, my reason is quite selfish. I want my MA because I want to be David Karp. I want to spend my whole life with that which I love.
I have long been in love with literature. In fact, all my life, the one adjective that I have always, so lovingly and superciliously used to refer to myself is “well-read,” whether it is undeniably, absurdly unmerited, like when I was young and my claim to fame was that I read all Sweet Valley books and- that which I considered my greatest achievement- all twenty-six volumes of Compton’s Precyclopedia, or- to some extent- deserved, like when I fell in love with Jane Austen and F. Scott Fitzgerald and decided to get my hands on and read every available veritable piece of literature about them. I want to get an MA in Literary and Cultural Studies because, like David Karp, I long to scour the world for books, write about books, converse with people about books, compile songs about books, and, of course, devour books. It’s all very self-serving now, you see, but I am certain that everything else- works of charity, a fiery literacy advocacy, etcetera- will just follow. When a person is head over heels passionate about something, it is impossible that she does not attempt to make the whole world fall in love with it. It will touch everything about her, her entire being, and every thing and person she encounters. I know that, like David Karp, I will be spreading the love for books so enthusiastically they will call me the crazy book lady. My primary targets, of course, will be my poor, unsuspecting students.
In the event of my acceptance to the graduate program, I will be a part-time student and full-time teacher—the statement alone evokes pity, I know. As it is, my workload as a teacher is definitely not a stroll in the park, and I am expecting graduate studies courses to be quite arduous. I can now vividly picture papers piling up and waiting to be checked, a humongous stack of books waiting to be read, and weekends spent writing papers and in preparation for presentations. Truth be told, though- and I say this with great conviction- I am not the least daunted. In fact, I cannot be more excited. Every time I study the now dog-eared course catalog, I regard it always with love and utmost affection. The advantage of my situation, I think, is that I have decided to take this path wholeheartedly. I am not pursuing graduate studies because my career compels me to, but because of my own desire to learn. That is most important in pursuing an MA degree and successfully, I think— a genuine, irremediable desire for knowledge, that openness to learning. When you see me going to class ridiculously early on a Saturday, I will be with a smile on my face.
What further intensifies my anticipation to finally start my study of literature is the idea that I will be doing it in Ateneo. I received my undergraduate degree from the university and I have, with great awe, witnessed how the institution has so skillfully molded me, and transformed me into a person I never knew I could become. More than anything, Ateneo has taught me pagpapakatao, something which, since then, has penetrated my every word and action. I have decided to pursue my graduate studies in my alma mater because I know that I will be learning not only about literature, but also about life. I know that with Ateneo, I will come out not only a David Karp- a literary expert through and through- but a literary expert with a heart, someone who will use what she knows for the good.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
(1)
She watched as their feet
Plodded on
Briskly
Across the grass
Toward home
Had she not looked up
And seen their faces
She would not have known
Their saunter was
Without joy.
(2)
When the sunlight
Touched his brow
He bristled and
Woke with a
Start
The light streamed
Through his blinds
Stubbornly
Harshly
And cajoled him out
Of a dreamless
Sleep
To a life emptied
Of dreams.
(3)
With a fork
She poked the flesh
And butter
Hot and slick
It spewed like
Molten lava.
She watched as their feet
Plodded on
Briskly
Across the grass
Toward home
Had she not looked up
And seen their faces
She would not have known
Their saunter was
Without joy.
(2)
When the sunlight
Touched his brow
He bristled and
Woke with a
Start
The light streamed
Through his blinds
Stubbornly
Harshly
And cajoled him out
Of a dreamless
Sleep
To a life emptied
Of dreams.
(3)
With a fork
She poked the flesh
And butter
Hot and slick
It spewed like
Molten lava.
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