A Day in the Life of an English Major

To most people, all that English majors do is read a lot of books, discuss about books and write about books and most people think we might not be doing much. Though this is basically our practice, this is a shallow observation. Allow me to tell you a day in my life as an English major.

During class days, I usually get up at around 4:30 in the morning, while it is still dark and the people in the apartment are fast asleep. The first thing I will do is make myself a cup of coffee, grab the book that is due to be read, sit back on the couch and seriously read the material. The next thing I know, it will be past six and though I’m done with reading the book, I still have to write my analysis and interpretation of the many characters, symbols and themes of the material to be able to be prepared for class. 

After my quick breakfast and gussying, I will pick up my full and heavy bag and walk to my first class of the day. I will sit in a room full of nerds of about 100 and listen to the explanation of my professor, 10 meters away from me. My professor usually is on the podium, babbling profusely and I will try to copy every point of fact that comes out from his mouth. The professor sometimes fails to make eye contact and sometimes it will seem like he is eating his words, especially if they are literature professors and not language professors. The hardest part however is when he is talking to the board and not a clear sentence is emitted to our ears and so note-taking is an impossible endeavor.

It is during class discussions that my mind usually bleeds. The professor will ask questions that I haven’t thought of ever and he would usually point out those people who are least willing and that include me, I think. Successfully though, my preparations before the class helped me go through it and though sometimes my professor would not approve my ideas, it will still be accepted because in literature there is not one correct answer. Discussions are not merely supplication of ideas; this is the time where arguments arise because of the variation in interpretation. This is the greatest thing that could happen in our classes and I crave for this every time. As you can see, our field of study is not about having concrete answers to everything or the results it produces but the practice that help us arrive to our answers. 

After the class I have executed the three practices of an English major – to talk, to read and to analyze. That is very simply said but the stakes to have acquired those skills are higher than non-majors imagine it to be. 

My next class is hours away. So my recourse will be a trip to the library to work on my essay or in times of divine pleasures, I would just read whatever pleases me. Two thirds of my life will be spent outside classes and two thirds of my learning comes from my own endeavor to learn. Most of the things I learn are not delivered by my teacher. When I’m with friends we usually talk about the characters and complain about the authors that are so hard to decipher. Sometimes, I will go to the nearest photocopy center to drop some materials so that I will have something to read tonight.

I usually have three or four classes a day and when they are over, I proceed to the office to help out with the publication’s endeavors. I also spend my Fridays at the publication going about whatever we have to comply to. 

The campus will slowly be unpopulated by 5:30 onwards but I’m still not near my place. I’m still at school, probably attending some meetings or practicing for plays or writing scripts or memorizing poems, or printing out my critique for tomorrow’s the deadline. My shoulders are tired from slinging my heavy bag and my back is struggling to be straight but to no avail. After I’ve done my duty for the day, I will treat myself with something – it might be a slice of cake, a magazine, a book from booksale or a glass of shake. 

Walking aimlessly towards the apartment at night, observing people, and breathing the delicious smell of barbeque ends the working hours. When I’m finally at home, I log on to my computer and check my Reader and after that I will again go through what we’ve discussed, write more notes, think about what happened the professors said and memorize some lines. Stoned and tired, I will take my meal, a long shower, and moisturize still thinking about Foucault or Wole Soyinka or Morphemes. I retire to bed, my journal on my lap and write my last thought of the day in it, sincerely and merrily. Closing my journal, I say my prayers, my good nights, and finally sleep. 

Thus ends my day. Most people are mistaken for thinking we don’t do much lest, accomplish much in our days. I usually regard our major as an art – the patters, the signs, the symbols in every line has an underlying meaning that only appears at the end. There is a paradox that unfolds in every attempt to look for meaning. It is both pleasure and danger for one to actually attempt to see every possible meaning. Through this, we learn to not rely to first impressions. We question things, not for a single answer to be proved victorious but to sharpen our perspectives and be open to whatever comes that will not please us. In a sense, we learn for life, not just for a degree. 

If all people have the mind-set of an English major, I swear there would be not much disputes in the world. For one thing, the openness to accept another’s opinion will lead to a harmonious relationship, the ability to listen to other’s thoughts will prevent misunderstanding, and rejecting first impressions will break the barriers of prejudice. Questioning oneself leads to enlightenment and being doubtful in one way or another about one’s opinion will lead to modesty and assumptions. Our efforts to write a novel piece of article helps us to prefer non-conformity and eclecticism. The challenge to enrich our vocabulary help us express ourselves, therefore, bridging the gaps, not just with our colleagues but the community as well.