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Being a Sophomore Means Being in Limbo

Tue Oct 6, 2009, 2:10 AM
  • Mood: Tired
  • Reading: Sleepin Beauty
The word sophomore was derived from the two Greek words sophos, meaning "wise," and moros, meaning "foolish." From this, our Aesthetics teacher explained, came the idea that sophomores possess both qualities. She said that we, as sophomores, are suspended in a sort of limbo wherein we are dominated at times by either wisdom, or by foolishness (God help the minds of those who are dominated by both at once). This entire first semester of my sophomore year, I have lived in a sort of limbo (whether it is located between wisdom and foolishness, or happiness and sadness, or certainty and confusion, does not matter). It is only now that I have realized the exactness of the word "sophomore."

From Aesthetics class, I feel I've learned much more than I ever could have learned from my Theology, Sociology and Anthropology, and Filipino classes put together, yet I do not know whether my final grade will fall below an average C, or rise above it. On some level, I want to get a B or higher, but it would also be all right with me if I failed because I know I've learned a lot from this one class (I feel the same way about History, which I would have failed had it not been for the Battle of Bellarmine Field--a major project in which the entire class got As). More than any other class, however, it is Creative Writing class that feels most like a form of limbo. Perhaps it is only I and my desire to do well in this class that makes me feel this way, but the reason does not matter; rationality is not what's important here. How rational can one really be when confronted with their sole passions?

I am being literal when I say that every quiz and every paper that I have submitted in Creative Writing class has gotten a B-plus. Not once have I gotten anything lower or anything higher (except for the diagnostic essay assigned us at the beginning of the semester, which will not be included in the final grade--I got a C-plus for that one). There was one point where I nearly got an A, however these hopes were dashed with our teacher's bright red pen--my A had been crossed out and a B-plus put in its place, with a "Very good!" written right below it, perhaps to compensate for the sudden, heartbreaking change.

I am guessing that my B-plusses can be categorized into "low" B-plusses and "high" B-plusses, neither of which is as good as an A. Getting a high B-plus makes it all the more closer to getting an A, and since I have gotten high B-plusses, it feels as if the A is so close and yet I cannot reach it. It almost feels like a limbo wherein I am suspended between fine work and work that is near perfection.

This is not whining; this is not my looking for praise or approval. This is merely my stating of what was going through my mind each time I took back my paper and saw the B-plus written in red ink--the same B-plus I had been getting since June this year. I feel that these constant B-plusses mark the static state of my writing skills. They seem to be saying things like, "Oh, you're OK. You're sometimes pleasant to read, however you just aren't getting any further than that." I am not improving. I am stuck. I have not moved forward or backward since the beginning of the school year. I am in limbo. I must decide now that I wish to get out, and I must make sure it happens that I do.

Devious Comments

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:iconmarmonica:
I hate that feeling. I was like that all last year when I had to repeat one subject externally. I spend the whole year just working or being on my own. It was such a sucky limbo and I couldn't do much about it.

--
Everybody get naked! Come on, don't be shy! :dance:
:iconmjt13:
Yeah, I hate it when you can't really share your "pain" with others because they're not taking the same class or have their own different problems that aren't the same as yours... But I've got my classmates who're my friends, so I guess it's fine too.

--
My thread is cut and yet it is not spun,
And now I live, and now my life is done.
--Tichborne

Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
--Yeats

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