He's beautiful the way a glowing flame, a lion on the hunt, or a lightning storm is beautiful: compelling, awe-inspiring, almost hypnotic, yet frightening. Last semester, he was my philosophy teacher. Now that the school year is over, we are friends.
Those who've read my very first journal entry will be wondering why I'm writing all this. After all, didn't I question the necessity of blogs, and rant about why on earth people had to keep a public record of their private ramblings?
So, then, why am I blogging? Well, it's mostly to serve as an online memento for myself, and as a writing exercise. I used to write a lot of short stories as a teenager, but a few years ago, my writing muscles mysteriously lost their strength. To rebuild my writing skills, I've decided to keep a record of the fun times I've had with my teacher. I spend quite a lot of time on Gaia these days, so it seems like a good place to put this journal-- it'll always be within easy reach, to remind me to update it. And since it's a blog, I can make and edit entries easily-- I've got no time for a traditional hand-written diary.
Where do I start? I guess it would make sense to recall the first day of his class. It was July 31, 2006, in the second semester of my first year in Digital Media (computer graphics/animation). I was taking a philosophy module as an elective-- not because I wanted to, but because it was the only elective whose class times didn't clash with my mandatory classes. (Note: For privacy purposes, my college, teacher, and friends will go unnamed.)
As we made our way into the classroom, I noticed something strange about almost every person who went in: Upon passing by the teacher's desk, they suddenly fell silent, turned away, and sat all the way in the back or as far away from him as possible. The friendly banter died down. The mood abruptly changed-- it became as solemn as a funeral. None of us had ever met this guy before, yet he seemed to hold some strange power over us. He'd hardly moved from his desk, hadn't said a word or so much as glanced up from the course material he was reading. He wasn't scary looking-- just a tall, lightly-built, brown-haired, middle-aged man with a short mustache and beard, wearing oval-framed eyeglasses, a red cardigan, blue jeans, dark brown shoes, and a look of deep concentration on his face. But here we were, clearly unnerved.
Then he spoke.
It happened so suddenly that some of us flinched in our seats, as if hearing a gunshot. He introduced himself and told us where to find his office in case we needed to ask him anything. The first thing that we noticed was his accent-- it was definitely European, but none of us could pinpoint exactly what. Spanish? Russian? French? Italian? It was unfamiliar to us. (I later learned that he was Romanian.) However, all thoughts of his accent left our minds as we noticed the manner in which he talked. He spoke hurriedly, yet fervently, and his eyes filled with such intensity that he could have roasted a person alive with a single look. It seemed like he was arguing with some unseen critic.
I, frozen in my seat, could only gaze up at him with a helpless deer-in-the-headlights stare. As unnerved as I was, though, I also found myself totally fascinated. Part of me wanted to cower behind the desk, but another part longed for him to keep on talking-- and he did. He spoke about the course material for a mere 15 minutes, then spent the rest of the time giving a meticulously thought-out lecture on how to excel in one's field, not only in philosophy but in any industry. I don't remember all of what he said, but it boiled down to this: To be noticed, and to be successful, it's not enough to be good at what you do; you have to be different. You have to dare to dream and do things that other people wouldn't. You can't rely on your skills alone; you've got to stand out.
Towards the end of the lecture, he said something about how philosophy and science worked hand in hand. "But I'll mostly be speaking about philosophy," he said, "not so much on science. We may not have time."
In a small, squeaky voice, I managed to squeeze out four words: "But... science... is... fun."
He smiled, and it made my blood run cold. Looking back, I suppose it was a smile of delight, but at that time, in my addled state, I thought it made him look like a wolf about to chow down on its prey. "Yes, it is fun," he said. "And very interesting."
I averted my gaze. This guy was giving me the heebie-jeebies.
I heard him dismiss the class, and I packed up my things and went rushing out of the room with my friends.
"What's with that guy? He's scary!" one of them said, as soon as we were a fair distance from the classroom.
"Yeah, he gives me the creeps!" said another. "I'm gonna be sitting as far away from him as possible."
"He's weird," I said. "I can't figure out why, but I get nervous around him." I was answered by nods, "yeah"s and "uh-huh"s.
Inwardly, though, I couldn't wait for next week's class, where we'd certainly be treated to another enthralling lecture.
From that day on, my teacher had me under his spell.
-end of part 1-
View User's Journal
The Journal with No Name
 |
