Reading the life story of Jane Eyre, this couragous woman who runs her life as she believes it to be, I feel identified with her, where she is being punished every day for whom she is; her courage, independence, restless inquisitive soul are called as mere irresponsibility, self-indulgence, sole selfishness (I'm confusing her story with my story, I suppose). How could she always be so certain about the credibility of her deeds - not seem to be deceived at all by such blatant accusations? About me, I feel I know what I am doing and why I am doing it, yet when I face ingratitude looks and accusations I cannot resist doubting myself. My usual soothing answer to my utter desperation is, "You have only one life, live it as you believe it to be lived". I tremble - always I tremble upon hearing this old voice - murmuring, "What if it will be all defeat?" Clearly, I cannot forget that moment, when he lost everything - not really everything, not his life, not his family, but so many other things. Instantly, my hands cover my face, expecting the welcome of terror tears. My angel approaches then, gently leaning forward, whispering at my shoulder, "Your whole life is a trial. Try it without terror." In a second, she steps back, clears her throat, profoundly stares at me. Her eyes look decisive, assuring. I can read, "I respect your decision. Whatever your decision is. I am at your command" - not a muscle moves in her face though.
The reason that I enrolled in the course in the first place is that I feel wrapped in an interwoven web of relationships, each thread pulling me aside with variant degrees of strength. I feel stunned, suffocated, overwhelmed with the intricacy of the web. Sometimes I overcome cumbersome threads, loosening or even tearing them apart, triumphly. Sometimes, I get hooked by a new thread so unexpectedly that I might lose control over my life for a while. The old, sturdy threads are the most challenging ones to tackle. They compose your trustable network - your close family, intimate friends. They have been always there, and they will hopefully be staying there in the scale of your life time. Their connections are strong, you have willingly allowed them to be knotted just near your jugular vein - they can simply suffocate you if they decide. How such an intricate web of relationships is depicted and tackled by the imagination of genius is the curiousity I pursue in this course, through literature - a source of inspiration for me, perhaps more than science, as it owns a heart.
I have not talked about "Manon Lescaut" yet. The story is narrated by Chevalier des Grieux, the insane lover (and husband) of Manon, a gorgous beautiful young woman that makes his miserable husband lose his money and virtues for her, for her love. I do not appreciate such love, the kind of love that takes YOU away from YOU. To me, also, love is seeing an ineffable beauty in your beloved, a beauty that you have not triumphed to find it in yourself yet. Love is a potion that if you take won't allow you to be the same person any more; or, you are supposed not to be the same person if you take the right portion. For a while, you get lost, blended into her entity. It is all her - me does not exist. But, it must not end there. She is not the only one that is supposed to be absorbent. Your triumph in love is at how well YOU could absorb her, embed her beauty, the very same beauty that got away your identity in the first place. You must not be lost forever, you must be found, arising in a new self, a more beautiful self this time, as beautiful as she is, not as miserable as Chevalier. Chevalier always believed Manon is the beautiful one, not him - that's why I do not consider his love as a triumph.
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