So this is something, I've been grappling with for a long time.
Maybe, nobody cares about this or maybe someone would stumble upon this who feels the same.
The Humanities and Arts, have always been underestimated, under appreciated and overlooked as a field of study. Growing up, where I am from I was told from a young age to study hard in school to be a doctor, or a lawyer or an engineer, you get what I'm saying. The Holy Trinity.
It's such a built in schema, that it corrupted my self view of what I wanted to be as an adult. I remember in primary school, in standard four, I was 10, my teacher had us all sit in a circle and say aloud what we wanted to be when we grew up. The conversation went mostly like this, " Chemical engineer, a family lawyer, a pediatrician, a bio engineer, a neurologist" and when my teacher asked me I said as if automatically programmed, " A doctor" and to add some flare I added, " A heart surgeon". Mind you, I had no clue what exactly it took to be a heart surgeon, but suddenly my life revolved around it in that moment.
But as any kid, that was a temporary commitment but it was always my fail safe, when asked that question.
It all changed as I got older and began to form my own thoughts and perceptions, guided by teachers who opened up a new world to me. Throughout secondary school, I was an all round student, but when it came to English I was consistently at the top of my class. I felt I had finally found something that excited and challenged me in school. I was starting to change, but the mentality around me didn't.
Before my grandmother whom I loved dearly, recently passed she always told everyone I'm in University, I'll become a doctor, I smiled and nodded, because she never knew better and she was simply proud of me. Though, in her defense her generation was the pioneer of this mentality about education, and what consists of a prestigious job.
In no way am I bashing these professions, they are immensely valuable to the functioning of society. One of the reasons parents possibly pushed their children towards these career options probably revolved around the fact that they were the "money makers", whose impact on society is clearly seen. For instance, being a doctor is such an amazing fulfilling achievement, one that is definitely not easy to obtain. Therefore any parent would want nothing but the best for their child, and many did not and still do not see the value within the Arts.
What is the purpose of the Arts, like English literature anyways? How is reading a book going to help anyone? Believe or not a grown man recently asked me this, in a not so subtle condescending tone.
To me literature is insight into the human condition, the core essentials of human existence in terms of the stimulation and expression of the mind. Each novel, each poem is a testament of progress as a civilization. The ability to manipulate thoughts, into words that can paint pictures, into a character whom before never existed and then into a reality unique to one's own imagination. History is the study of past events, whereas literature creates a window into past lives. Literature is following the stories that connect our ancestors throughout time, stories that can be real, fiction, exaggerated or downplayed. It involves a peek into the minds during the Medieval, Enlightenment,Victorian, Renaissance,
Satirical, Existential, periods and so much more!
And some day in the future a curious mind, will be looking back at the stories we write now.
For me my passion only took one book, one series, and another followed by another. It started with 12 year old me getting my first library card from my school, where I could only borrow 3 books at a time for a week from this tiny understaffed, under equipped, box of a room they called a main library. At that age, I didn't have many new friends yet, not that I cared because I became obsessed with my friends on the pages and their lives, the places they carried me, the lessons they taught me.
I think, I got lucky to realize the true importance of the Arts or Humanities more specifically English Literature at such a formative age.
Becoming a critical thinker in literature meant becoming a part of some of the greatest minds throughout history, Wordsworth, Shelly, Hardy, Bronte, Blake, Eliot, Walcott, Naipaul, Achebe, Tolstoy, Woolf, Tolkien, C.S Lewis, Sophocles, Hemingway, Dickens, not to forget the one who propelled the influence of English literature worldwide Shakespeare; the list goes on and to say I can actually finish it would be an injustice to the future literary academics to come.
Being in University, surrounded by peers who truly appreciate what I love and share in my passions, engaging with lecturers who emulate the life I hope to live one day and baffle me with their knowledge, makes me feel so unbelievably fortunate.
Those who look down on my degree are either simple minded or just ignorant. Even though I am around more educated and cultured people, some are stuck in their ways. Once I told a girl in a lecture what my major was; to which she replied, "I love literature you know but I could never settle for being a teacher." It took every ounce of self control to keep my cool. But the under appreciation for teachers in society, and the belief that studying literature is limited to one profession, well that's for another post.
In the end; anyone can read a book but a true lover of literature, is someone who can really understand the passion, the thought and the commitment that went into that piece of art and can read the blank spaces between the lines while forging a connection the story and author. Hence, the inspiration for the following poem:
The Hungering Search
Chasing the meaning, behind his words,
His phrases, his pauses;
Hungering for more, though she'll never know what the cause is.
A passion ignited, the flames burning bright;
Smoke rising slowly, stealing her sight.
Lost in a world, with no will to be found.
Following the trail of his word painted pictures, with no sound.
Between each line the space grows wider,
While the hungering search grows inside her.
The Search, for no answer, no particular goal;
But a search to watch each journey unfold.
The lion, the witch, the dragon, the fool;
Lost in their stories, her mind the only tool.
Following blindly his twisted word path;
Open mind and open heart.
Her eyes getting heavy, the moon slowly fades;
The sun rising up, light crawls through the shades.
"Hold on, " she whispers, "Just one more page".
"A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies, a man who never reads lives only one" George R.R. Martin
