I was told that the students of the English Department have time to dust off the study table (in their rooms) and clean the windows. And they must do a thorough research on leech farming in Australia. These were jokes that other students (of other departments) would say about English majors. It was a reflection of their lack of knowledge of the English Department, but I wasn't being defensive. And this won't be my testimonial on my first year in the university.
I missed my old Sunday routine, which would be a day without goals. This made me not touch a book I loaned from the library. It was a collection of poems by Ezra Pound. This Sunday was part of Reading Week, and I was a bit behind the schedule. I was overwhelmed by the reading list, which consisted of novels and short stories by renowned authors of Modern literature. There were additional readings, mostly literary analysis, which would help me (and my coursemates) grasp the themes of the stories. It could be a walk in the park without time constraint. But not this Sunday. Miss Duck, the secretary of the English Department, reminded me that pressure was a privilege. And she said it after I missed my deadline on my last assignment.
This was my old Sunday routine
I woke up at 7 AM, and then thought it was a rest day. I slept for an hour or two. There were days when my mother would tell me to get up. Breakfast was ready, she said. The dining table was the place to catch up on each other. I often looked forward to a conversation on movies.What film to watch at 3 PM? Science fiction was the top choice.
I haven't read any science fiction books. I wouldn't say it wasn't my cup of tea, but I was drawn to titles that I could finish in a day or two. Children's books would come to mind, and I won't be saying it because I watched my mother reading these stories to me (before I went to bed). I became hooked to Young-adult (Y A) fiction, which was natural for teenage students. Joe, my housemate, recommended The 39 Clues series. My housemates and I had an interesting conversation about it the other week. We made a bet. Directors like Steven Spielberg have shown interest in adapting it to the big screen, but it didn't progress further. Some believed that the superheroes were the reasons for pushing a couple of gifted orphans off the spotlight, but I figured something else. It wasn't good enough. Otherwise, Spielberg won't film the children-friendly "The B F G". My housemates have reservations, but I was certain of it. So much for that. (I drifted too far). When was the last time I finished reading a YA book? It seemed like ages ago.
What happened between breakfast and watching a movie would consist of trivial matters. (Playing computer games. Playing more computer games if I wasn't satisfied enough.) I told my mother about our old routine during our last conversation. She reminded me that the term would be over. I don't want to think of the final month (of the term), as I was told that I might spend sleepless nights. It might be an exaggeration, though.
I decided to read Pound's poems the following day. I chose "Brave New World" instead. I heard a lot of good things about Aldous Huxley, the author of the novel. And I was starting to show interest in Dystopian literature. But Katniss Everdeen didn't ring a bell.
