A Year Of Hope

That week was busy in a good way.

I decided to turn my self doubt and make it into something productive. I would work to prove myself a good teacher and author rather than give up as I had in the past. I decided the days I attended class would be devoted to school work, and all other days would be work, and spending time with Jane, Sam, and Bartholomew.

That week, the group made plans to meet at the coffee shop on campus to begin preparing our lesson. I read Macbeth, our first required reading British Literature. I remember deciding in high school  had hated Shakespeare, despite the only thing I had read being Romeo and Juliet, but I think perhaps I had misjudged him. I had thought that the Romeo and Juliet were impractical and unrealistic. How could two people decide they were in love after a few days, and then decide that they could not live without each other and kill themselves? Thinking back now, Romeo and Juliet were both teenagers, and every high school relationship I had observed was intense and moved far too quickly, and their characters were probably more realistic than I had thought.

But Macbeth had made me appreciate Shakespeare. I enjoyed literature that explored the darker side of human emotions and the character of Macbeth did this well. He dealt paranoia, a struggle between arrogance and insecurity masked with greed and unjustified entitlement. He was a dark and neurotic character, and yet the play was so romantic and I almost felt myself on Macbeth's side. I decided I must read more of Shakespeare's tragedies if  I ever had the time.

I also read The Great Gatsby  but not very intently. I had read that one in high school, so I remembered the major details. I remember this also to be a novel a didn't favor but I learned to appreciate it. I enjoyed the obscure detail that although Nick was a character in the book, the book wasn't  about him and he was rather just a simple narrator. And this book also explored the complex nature of humanity. It was as if the characters who seemed to live fairly happy lives before the book could not handle this happiness and so they decided to create drama within their lives. I suppose these were all details that I couldn't appreciate in high school, and likely a I did now because my brain has developed far enough to think more deeply about these novels.

I had started reading Fahrenheit 451 but not very far, only enough to establish the setting of this perceived utopia, which I knowingly knew to become dystopian.

In creative writing we had workshops to write about ourselves. Jane and I formed a small group with Sarina, and Sarina's friend Reid. Most people, I found, were writing theirs as similarly to a character introduction of a novel or short story. I wrote several drafts, but I didn't like this format. In one, I portrayed myself in a positive light, almost like I was gloating, but it wasn't accurate as to how I felt about myself, and Sarina even said during the workshop, "Do you really believe that Cai?" Jane tried to defend me, but Sarina was right, I didn't believe it.

So then I tried being more honest with how I felt about myself, and Jane said, "Cai, what the hell? This sounds like you're writing about an evil villain. This isn't you at all." Which she right too. I didn't necessarily like myself, but I wasn't a villain either. 

I decided the character introduction type format wasn't working, so I decided I'd write a poem. Jane had suggested it during the workshop. That was the format she was choosing as well. But I couldn't really come up with one that fit well.

Then I thought about the Great Gatsby and how I was a lot like Nick. I didn't feel myself to be the main character in my own life, simply someone who observed everyone else's. Kind of like the NPC of a video game. When I thought this, that's when my poem came to me.

I am nobody.

At least, nobody of importance.

I am not the main character of my own life.