Mind's Eye: A Review

Imagine getting stuck in heavy traffic, your skin turned sticky caused by the combination of sweat, dust, and smoke. The sweltering heat and the humid Manila air are of no help at all. You try to make yourself more comfortable by adjusting your sitting position, only to realize that there's no room for you to move in because the driver assured everybody that his jeep could seat twenty people. Judging by the location where you're currently at and by the snail's pace this trip is going, you estimate another thirty minutes of this same situation. You're utterly bored. You left your iPod at home, your smartphone's battery is flashing a red 3% and you can't possibly spark up a conversation with the person next to you because she seems irritated that her arm is adhering to yours as if that is your fault. If there were another way to spend your precious time than mindlessly looking at the static vehicles, you probably would have taken it.

A similar problem of wanting to escape an inconvenient situation is what drives the story of the play, Mind's Eye. But unlike our imagined scenario of getting stuck in a crowded jeep for the next thirty minutes, the protagonists in this story are to spend the rest of their lives in a convalescent room, with no more family to visit them and no more view of the world outside except through their room's window.

The play revolves on two women: Elva, an 88-year-old former literature and drama teacher who is gradually losing her sight; and Courtney, a 16-year-old girl who became paralyzed from the waist down after a horse riding accident. When Courtney was admitted to the convalescent home where she became roommates with Elva, the former teacher tried to initiate a conversation with the young girl by reciting poems and asking her if she knew any. Courtney, however, was still bitter about the new path her life is taking and paid little attention to Elva's speeches. But Elva was persistent, even bordering on being insensitive, and kept telling Courtney stories and asking her questions until she came to the point of offering Courtney a means to travel despite her condition. Through reading an old travel guide, they could embark on an imaginary trip to Italy! The young girl was strongly against the idea, skeptic as to how they could do it only by reading. It is when Elva admits the reason why she terribly wants to go to an imaginary trip to Italy is for her to fulfill a promise she made to her deceased husband, and how her failing eyesight has prevented her to do so, that finally convinced Courtney to at least give it a try.

The Double Life

Finally! I've put my hands on the keyboard to actually type something for ze blog and break my two-month silence! First off, let me wish you a Happy 2013! It's February, I know, but this is technically my first post for the year so forgive me for my long-overdue greeting.

Well, how was your January? Mine had been really optimistic, as it always is when something starts. Academic duties came flowing in the very day classes resumed and are still on the roll. Since that time, I had a total of 8 experiments, 4 exams, 2 results-and-discussion reports, a practical exam, and a plant visit. Jobfair 2013, a major undertaking for the semester, had also been successfully pulled off. It was a busy month [hence, my blogging hiatus] but the thing about schoolwork, or any work for that matter, is that by the end of it, if you know you have exhausted all possibilities, what remains is gratitude--that it is finally over and, hopefully, that the outcome is what you want it to be. Right now, I'm having a relatively light week after that first wave of storm and so I try to write every incoherent thought I got before time catches up with me.

For my alternate life [pertaining to the non-academic one], the first week was spent on books and with my sister. We arrived in Manila on the 2nd of January [it's only the second time I flew!] and classes didn't start until the 7th, which means I got five days for myself. In that span of time, I finished reading Hemingway's A Moveable Feast and made considerable progress with Hugo's Les Miserables. But that was it. Once my attention-seeker subjects clamored for my time, I was left with my poor time management skills and the untouched pages of my books. Have I told you that I have classes from Monday to Saturday? That leaves me Sunday which, instead of being devoted to reading, becomes my opportunity of catching up on missed episodes of Modern Family, Once Upon A Time, Downton Abbey, Girls, and Suits. Since it is Oscars season, I also try to watch all films nominated for Best Picture [If I'm not mistaken, there are nine of them and I still got Lincoln left.] 

Nonverbal Magic

"You don't speak, but I hear you."

These words were uttered by Sofya Andreyevna to Leo Tolstoy on his deathbed, as portrayed in the biopic film "The Last Station" starring Helen Mirren and Christopher Plummer. Needless to say, it moved me to tears.

Scene from The Last Station

I am writing not to comment on how beautifully made the film was, or how it has been the ultimate factor to persuade me into reading Anna Karenina and War and Peace. I am writing because that particular scene between the dying Tolstoy and his muse had created a turmoil inside me that must be let out.

Isn't it such a beautiful thing to not speak and yet still be understood? To just look into each other's eyes, not uttering a syllable, and yet a great many feelings have already been evoked? That is the language of love. It doesn't require words because it communicates directly to the heart. Oh, what joy it is to have that person whom you can enjoy comfortable silence with! True, what's said matters, but the things that are expressed through a simple squeeze of the hand or a meaningful gaze are also equally important. In fact, sometimes, they say a lot more than words can ever do.

My Love Affair with Books

My parents tell me that I used to read a lot when I was younger. I remember reading all the stories in our ginormous fairy tale book and other smaller versions of it. I read the stories in my older sister's English textbooks such as Basics and Beyond Reading and Open Roads to Reading. I even wished then to grow up soon so that I could have access to more stories which I thought were only for kids in grade school. By Grade 2, I already finished the Genesis and Exodus chapters of the Bible. Had I not been too bored with the statistics and figures presented in the Book of Numbers, I may have reached Revelations by end of Grade 6.

My entire elementary school life was spent on hurrying to finish my assignments because I know that my books are waiting for me. I was so fascinated with the characters and the magical kingdoms that I just cannot get enough of them. Those stories which transported me to places were the reason why I worked hard to learn to read soon, after all. It was a joyous childhood, especially because I tried to incorporate fiction with reality through the help of my playmates who didn't hesitate to take part in my role playing plans. They liked my stories as much as I did.

But then came high school. All of a sudden, I neglected my love for literature. Studying in Pisay and being separated from home at a rather early age, I felt like I had so many matters to attend to and therefore had no time for leisure anymore. Or so I thought back then. But my love for stories, luckily, didn't have to die a hopeless death. In sophomore year, I started writing my own stories. Not fiction, but accounts of my life. I religiously wrote in my journal, having more times for reflection than before. It seemed like I have been more perceptive, too. The imagination I used with books back when I was younger, I exercised in viewing life in a whole new lens. I continued my writing, but I sacrificed the reading. Just seeing one novel made me feel bored. My attempts to read again only sent me yawning and eventually rendering me asleep, nothing but drips of saliva left on the poor page.

It was a struggle. A real battle fought between my short attention span and my desire to bring back the spark. Futile, until this year.