Bluebells

I had forgotten how much I love lit. Today reminded me of yesterday.

Think I've come to realise that I am a dying breed of student. For one, I'm still a pen and paper boy. I love, and prefer to write essays, the more the better within a given period. I guess it's the thrill of not knowing whether you'll finish the paper as you're penning your thoughts down. Then there's always the numbness of my thumb to look forward to afterwards, my battle wound, if you would allow me.

Today during lit lecture, the prof said that nowadays, lit doesn't really require quoting and all that, and I realise I still place quite a bit of emphasis on that, similar to history, where I still feel that the dates and events are as important as the argument. It's sort of like an arsenal that you have in your head which amounts to some semblance of concrete fact, instead of plunging full body into the world of argument and subjectivity. Perhaps, it's an anchor of sorts. That's why sometimes I get really frustrated when I can't remember a certain date or venue or event, or get really frustrated at being frustrated on why I care so much.