If you're a geek like me and you don't know what heaven feels like, then you have to check out the BCU library. Every penny spent on the miscellaneous fee is so worth it! I don't see how anyone would find this boring. It's like the same library in the Beauty and the Beast movie except it's not toasty warm and sunny bright inside. The walls are white and the shadow-stained bookshelves stand so high, it gives me a certain degree of anxiety that I might miss out on certain information that I could use for the rest of my life. I want to read everything all at once. I only came here for one thing though. I came to read about my Philosophy professor. It doesn't count as stalking because she gave me the idea, though I think I would do my research about her anyway because I'm curious.
Ms Jane's book is really not hard to find. As expected, it's in the Philosophy section, but what surprises me is that her book is far from traditional. In fact, it almost looks like the thinnest version of the first Harry Potter book. PH152, R19 it said. The cover is hardbound and has a picture of the pale blue sky. There's a small portrait of her at the back that looks like it's been taken in the late 80's where people's hair were infused with cans of hairspray and volumizing mousse. She's wearing a pink turtleneck sweater together with a forced smile that tells me she'd rather skip that part because pictures of authors are just one way to express self-gratification. Ms Jane is beautiful but the kind that doesn't make a big deal about it. From another woman's point of view, she's effortless. Natural.
'Feel-osophy: A Guide for the Ill-hearted Monkey in All of Us, a book by Jane Rizzoli' the title says. It frustrates me because I don't quite understand what it means, but I guess that's the reason why I should read the book in the first place. Ill-hearted. I've never heard of such a thing but it sounds like a noun suited for me. I start flipping the pages, scanning the typography with my eyes. It takes very little time for me to be glued to it and I'm still finding the real reason why. The book tells so much about loneliness, being a terminal disease that helps people appreciate and strive for happiness, but it also clarifies that the absence of sadness doesn't guarantee bliss. Everyone is bound to feel lonely at some point. It is inevitable. As cruel as it sounds, I'm not offended. See, Philosophy isn't factual. There is no right or wrong. It's tricky and complicated like life. It's fine because the feeling doesn't sink in until I sleep alone at night. Right now, all I want to do is keep reading. It sounds like a self-help book but I could care less if it were. People who think reading such a thing is ridiculous and pitiful are nothing but cowards in denial. They are probably sick with pride because they're convinced that admitting your weaknesses is a shameful thing and moreover, finding the strength to seek help is terrible. Those kind of people make me angry. Why would someone choose to ridicule a person for being different when they're not hurting anyone? It brings me back to page thirty-six where ill-hearted is being defined perfectly into one word—me.
People would question the relevance between my resentments and me being a so-called 'ill-hearted monkey' and might figure out the cause and effect theory as an answer. If they do, I won't deny it—though some are still sick at heart even when they have everything. My situation doesn't speak for everybody. And apparently, ill-hearted is just a romantic and miserable way of saying that you're depressed, but Ms Jane made it clear that it's not the same as being clinically depressed or having some other mental illness that you can think of. It's not a dramatic way of attention-seeking either, which gives me relief because I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if I were that kind of girl—not that I would condemn anyone who seeks attention because it is necessary. It just annoys me when people deny attention to get even more attention. It shows their desperation to be wooed—pushing someone away, antagonizing their motives and actions and bringing out more negativity just to satisfy themselves at the thought of another being wanting to please them badly. I can't imagine finding comfort at the thought of making it difficult for everyone because my life sucks unless it's their fault. Unfortunately, being ill-hearted is worse. It strikes your core and disables the essence of your being. It makes you dysfunctional and it scars your every thought about reality, hope and joy. It's too light to be a disease and too serious to be a joke or a state of mind. The cure? Several sessions of intensive peculiar therapy and mind-conditioning without the help of a shrink. That's the obnoxious part of the solution. You can never fully comprehend what you need until you acknowledge the things that are going on in your life. It's hard because we all have something that we want to forget and some of us refuse to face it in the fear of having it worse and experiencing it all over again. That's the part where I want to close the book and go home. Instead, I skip a few pages and jump straight to the author's information.
"About the author," I mouth the words as my index finger traces the line. There's nothing out of the ordinary except brilliance. Jane Clementine Rizzoli is born and raised in Boston, from an Italian family that settled in Massachusetts many years ago. I try to hold back a giggle. I didn't peg her for a 'Clementine'. I expected something a little more graceful and less cheesy. She has a minor in clinical psychology, a masters degree in Philosophy and is also a doctor of the subject—all achieved under the age of twenty-nine. Rizzoli published several books and articles, garnering a Pulitzer Prize for outstanding fiction, but chose to have a teaching profession at her alma mater after experiencing a kidnapping incident in 2009. She realized that real change starts with education and she would like to invest in the future by sharing her knowledge with the next generation of professionals and dreamers.
I am dumbfounded with this amount of information. My lips part slightly out of amusement. It's not a lot but I just didn't expect her to be that kind of person so now I'm compelled to put her on a pedestal. Most of my professors turn old and grumpy before achieving the things she did and maybe that's why I'm impressed. Ms Jane is far too young to have all this and that's what I want to be. Brilliant. Exceptional.
I figured that if I really want to turn things around, I have to stay focused at put the book right back where I found it. I think I have done enough research. I have too much homework to do anyway and I'm not looking forward to solving my problems in Biochemistry. My musing is interrupted by a vibration of the Blackberry inside my pocket. I forgot that I set my alarm at this time because I have a yoga class to attend to. I like yoga, it clears my thoughts. It also keeps me in shape so I can't complain.
I make my way back into the bookshelf to familiarize myself with the section when I see a woman lying on the floor with her face covered with Hamlet, split in half. I can't get close enough to the shelf without stepping on her so as much as I hate to mind someone else's business, I have to tell her to move. What is she doing here anyway? The library is not for sleeping. She could get caught.
The tightness of my pencil skirt prevents me from kneeling so I bend down as far as I could, tapping the lady on the shoulder before removing the book on her face. What a disgrace. Shakespeare would be insulted. "Miss, excuse me. You need to wake up. Sleeping here is against the rules." I whisper, sighing at the woman's stubbornness. She wouldn't move.
My cheeks turn into a visible shade of red as soon as I realize that it's Ms Jane who is groaning in protest. She tries to sit up, looking disoriented. Her hair is a mess and she has several marks on her face. I look at her all wide-eyed, demanding an explanation why an outstanding teacher is snoozing around at this time.
"Oh jeez, I'm sorry. Are you my five o'clock?" She rubs her eyes and fixes her hair in a hurry. However, she is not embarrassed for getting caught. Not at all.
I shake my head, clearing my throat. Her voice is raspy and lower than usual. It gives me shivers for no apparent reason. "I just need to put this back." I wave the book in front of her quickly, hoping she doesn't notice that it's hers. "And I can't without stepping on you...so I had to." I look down at my feet, fidgeting like a little girl lost at the mall.
"Right, right. You're in my class, aren't you? Miss..." She snaps her fingers after running them through her dark brown locks—obviously trying to remember who I am. "Isles!" She says like she just won the first round of Jeopardy. "Miss Isles." She repeats my name and smiles, standing up. I didn't notice how tall she was until now when we're a few inches apart. She's not even wearing heels. Neither am I. "I'm supposed to tutor your classmate, Frost. The poor thing bailed on me. I was reading Shakespeare but it's so cold in here. I dozed off." She laughs at herself, letting the book fall on the floor before picking it up to clutch it against her chest. "Don't tell anyone though. I will deny it if you do." She pretends to glare at me and I can only grin like I haven't seen sunshine in days. Ms Jane is so nice and casual, it's almost like I'm talking to a friend I never had. I excuse myself to put the book back on the shelf but I can't seem to find a stool to step on, not even a ladder and it's making me nervous. She notices this and walks up to me to help. "This library is for giants. Here, let me..." She snatches the book from my hands without thinking. I want to run but my feet are glued to the floor. "Hey, this is my book!" She gives me that surprised but pleased look on her face. I bite my lip because apparently, she's not the only one getting caught. She scans the pages enthusiastically, staring at me 'til kingdom come. "I haven't seen this in years. Were you trying to check my credentials?" She jokes and asks another question. "What do you think?"
I feel dreadful. It's like I'm being interrogated and teased at the same time and I'm not used to it being done by an older woman—especially my teacher. I know it's just a harmless question and she's probably just making small talk but I haven't had casual conversations with someone in a long time and it's making me sweat like a pig despite the cool temperature of the room.
"I didn't finish it." I say truthfully. "I think it's interesting and unconventional." My voice is almost inaudible but I see Ms Jane nod in agreement. "Hm, I've heard worse." She smiles once again and decides to put her book back into place, the same way that she's putting me out of my misery. "Nicholas Sparks told me it was inaccurately absurd. Can't say that I was pleased. A Walk to Remember was one of my favorite movies. Ever seen that one?"
I shake my head again. I really don't know what she's talking about. I don't even know who Nicholas Sparks is.
"You should. It's cheesy but bearable. Anyway, I should get going. Don't wanna make this more awkward for you than it already is."
Ms Jane walks away. I don't want her to go. I was really enjoying the conversation. I don't know if I did something wrong. Did I look agitated? Maybe I was too quiet. Too formal? I want to talk to her. I don't care about what we talk about as long as she's here.
"Ms Jane!" I call out, running up to her. I wince at the sound of "Sssshhh!" in chorus, forgetting that I was in the library. She turns around and suddenly, the world is in slow motion and my eyes capture the way her hair sways and bounces.
"I'm sorry." I say, catching my breath, keeping up with her. "I don't feel awkward. It's just, I'm not used to have someone like you talking to me." Or anyone at all. I hope my words didn't come out wrong. I don't want to make it sound like I'm flirting because I'm not. Why would I even flirt with another woman? The thought has never occurred to me. "You know, teachers. They usually keep it to themselves." I reason out. She stops walking as soon as we leave the library.
"That didn't occur to me. But okay." Ms Jane answers with an indifferent shrug. I can't tell if she's offended or if she simply doesn't care. "Listen, I really have to go. I'm starving and I still have a lot of things to do. It's nice running into you though. I'll see you in class."
And so Ms Jane disappears without a trace except her face embedded in my thoughts. I hate myself for trying to make a conversation. Why can't I learn? Nobody wants to talk to me. Nobody wants to be my friend. Why should I bother?
