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English 100 Journal #3

             After all of these weeks, after all the struggles and the pain that I have suffered from university’s relentless assaults. I, Edgar Allan Dela Cruz will survive my first semester. English 100 is one of the toughest challenges that I have faced ever since challenging the valedictorian of my class to an argument about “knowledge versus money” in which I lost. The question is why did I bring up this story? I never engage without purpose so, this is why. The title of valedictorian is awarded to the person with the highest grade point average. Also, valedictorians are respected and whom most people depend on when it comes to group activities and brain storming. Like the valedictorian, for me, English 100 has demands that I could never possibly meet. Furthermore, it is very structured and has several branches of almost unlimited supply of content. They come in different shapes and sizes. They could go from poems to essays and from paragraphs to journals. Why am I saying this? It is because I envy people who were born with natural talent on academics. These people can easily decipher poems and literary pieces like Robert Francis’ “The Pitcher” in a matter of minutes while it seemed barely understandable to people like me without that natural talent. Why can we just be equal? “Ten thousand hours” says Malcolm Gladwell, a phrase that I have been hearing from various professors at the U of R ever since the beginning of class. I had a similar motto of defeating gene via perseverance. However, I started to doubt my motto when I pushed myself to my limits and realized that I was not even close to the level and grandeur of that valedictorian. Overwhelming would be the proper word to describe this phenomenon as well as this English 100 class wouldn’t it?  I am weary of the journey of life. I am baffled, confused, and alone in the land of uncharted snow. Does hope and altruism exist? If so, who has it? Why it is only bestowed to the hands of famous, intelligent, and the undeserving? Though my futile attempts to survive this course devour my strength and distort my well-being, I do not plan on giving up. Listen: Being sick does not help either. However, for reasons unknown, my cognitively is not is not the same as before. I do not why this cognitive deterioration is happening to me. I made a gamble and placed my credibility on the line. (My head hurts). It’s not over yet English 100. I will put the last bit of my strength into passing this class before God knows what happens. English 100, you are tough to finish, and seemingly impossible to finish especially to a schmuck like but, let me tell you this: I will not letting you succeed into dragging me into the abyss.

 

 

Bonus Content:

Dear Professor,

That was some rant that I made and I apologize. However I think it had to be done and I feel a lot better know. Being sick distorts my thinking and reason. Since we are on the topic of poems, I decided to share one of mine for non-academic reason and some feedback I guess.

Sincerely Yours

Edgar Allan Dela Cruz

 

The Moon

Soundless, lifeless, and heartless

Consumed by darkness, a land of no caress.

Desolated with lies, devoured by Melancholy

Visited by observers, a vessel full of folly

Windless, depressing, clueless

Populated by craters, all faceless.

A place of overwhelming drought

A realm of unforgiving doubt

Beauty as it may from far away

A demented version of the milky way

Supressing day and offering night

The phenomena of an eclipse, the dark light

The Moon, the parsimonious moon

The pretentious shade, a silent typhoon

 

-Edgar Allan Not Poe

 

Poetry Time # 3: The Moon

I had a special dream last night that did not give the strength to go to my Math 110 class which did not give me the opportunity to ask questions to my professor regarding the midterm on monday. In fact, it made me think of dropping it due to stress and the course load that I have at the moment. The dream was about me dating  the girl that I had almost completely forgotten due to the pain that she caused me. Obviously, I can’t message her to stop showing up in my nightmare, because that would  be insane and unethical for me to do that.  Instead, I redirected all of frustrations, pain, headaches, stress, problems to the Moon, a gigantic piece of debris that got attracted to earth’s gravitational pull, in which a made a poem about it. Enjoy

The Moon

Soundless, lifeless, and heartless
Consumed by darkness, a land of no caress.
Desolated with lies, devoured by Melancholy
Visited by observers, a vessel full of folly
Windless, depressing, clueless
Populated by craters, all faceless.
A place of overwhelming drought
A realm of unforgiving doubt
Beauty as it may from far away
A demented version of the milky way
Supressing day and offering night
The phenomena of eclipse, the dark light
The Moon, the parsimonious moon
The pretentious shade, a silent typhoon                         -Edgar Allan Not Poe
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