CHAPTER I - INTRODUCTIONS

There was no possibility of taking a walk the day I disappeared. The month of October was once again upon us, and even though the English countryside is no stranger to wind and rain, I must confess that I longed to spend more time in the fresh air, even though the wind was now icy and the rain pelting down from a dismal sky.

I was sitting on the window seat in my bedroom, peering outside over the broad sill, in between reading. The book on my lap was the one I always returned to in times of need or sorrow: Charlotte Brontë's wonderful masterpiece Jane Eyre, following the journey of a girl, quite like myself, trying to find her place in the world, despite her harrowing past.

It is a story of a spirited girl, who stood up against the evils she faced until she finally found herself a true home with her true love. The ending is of course quite romantic, but the story is a dark one. It is not a story of dependence, nor is it a fairy tale, although one might argue that it contains fairy tale elements.

Every time I was feeling mellow or in need of inspiration, I patched myself up again with a little Brontë. It gave me hope.

To me, Jane's story is one of survival. She fights her way through hard times, for her life is not void of struggle and strife, until she finally finds happiness. Yes, she ends up marrying the romantic lead, I do realise that, and I admit that it is quite satisfying to have a fairly happy conclusion to a tale filled with so much misery. For me this is a pleasurable way to end a book, even if predictable.

I am a softy after all and I need a bit of "happily ever after" in my life when I long to escape. I tend to escape always when I read Jane Eyre. I always think of the story of Beauty and the Beast as a comparison. Jane is similar to Belle who also married a 'Beast' of sorts. I only use the word 'beast' here, because Mr. Rochester often seems scowling and intimidating, caught in his own negativity.

But it is with him that Jane does succeeds in finding her happiness against all odds. No matter how much hardship she hasto endure, she thrives nonetheless. Essentially, she left a troubled past behind her and ended up meeting her match in an equally troubled man, even if they are troubled by different matters.

Rochester is certainly not the easiest of companions, and let us not ignore how unstable he is. While Jane was bullied and victimised, she remained pure of heart. Rochester, on the other hand, seems to have a very dark view of the world, which is why Jane's 'light' was the only thing that lead him to freedom, so to speak. She could be seen as his beacon of hope. Well, that might be overstating things, but I swoon over the love Rochester and Jane share, despite everything that happened between them, because they are a good match when it comes down to it. They seem to lift each other up.

One could say Jane and Rochester are two souls akin to each other who became each other's home. Both lost, finally found. There I go again…I simply love all that drama! Not to worry, it's just the romantic in me speaking. This side of me simply cannot be undermined, so you have to forgive me for the occasional 'swooning outbursts.' I know they can be difficult to bear. In my daily life, I need to keep a straight-face and be realistic and rational, which is not the easiest of tasks for me. It is one of the things I am certainly not. I tend to idealise, to romanticise, to dream, to live in my own little bubble.


However, I digress. I was talking about my fascination for Jane Eyre. It is certainly not purely a romantic story. The story goes far beyond that, Jane leaving her orphaned past behind her and maturing to womanhood. Another point is the fact that Rochester and Jane only got together after he was "emasculated" due to the fire, which burns down Thornfield Hall. Due to his blindness, Mr. Rochester loses control and therefore becomes dependent on Jane. He is rendered weak, knocked off his pedestal of superiority, not only taking a blow to the head, but to his ego as well.

The character of Jane Eyre became a role-model to me from the moment I first read the book. She never let herself be devalued, despite the fact that she was tempted. She momentarily gave up happiness (of course she believed it to be forever) in order to save herself from losing her self-respect. She could never live in sin with Mr. Rochester, giving up her values and principles simply to be with him. That would be the easy way out. I believe the fact that Jane Eyre does not choose this path shows her true and utter strength, something I truly admire.

Imagine a girl in our time, the 21st century, running away from her own happiness because her loved one is already hitched. The circumstances of the marriage would devalue its validity, and a modern girl would probably make a compromise. I am sure of it. A girl of this day and age would sleep with Mr. Rochester (to put it bluntly) without thinking of the consequences, whether societal or emotional.

Unfortunately, young girls nowadays do not value themselves the way they should. Physical intimacy has become a game to many, a means to "have fun," maybe even a currency, the emotional damages unpreventable when men only desire the girl with no expectations, rather than trying to actually find someone they could truly love. The girl is often the one left feeling worthless, like a toy, used only as a 'tool for pleasure.' This does not always have to be a bad thing, as long as both parties are on the same page, but when the girl believes she will eventually win the guy's heart and start a relationship with him, these situations end up in a real mess, quite frankly.

One must also consider, that many girls allow themselves to be victimised and used, because they do not want to lose their special someone (although, of course, it is doubtful whether chasing after someone who does not value you is a very good use of your time.) But all snide comments aside. Oftentimes, the reason people allow themselves to be disrespected or undervalued is because they hope their love interest might change with time. It seems they somehow believe that they will prove themselves worthy of a relationship to him in the end, if they just keep doing the guy's bidding. But one must be clever and logical in these situations: people do not change their behaviour and there is no point in trying to change people (such a downer, right?)

I have become sick and tired of these 'casual' interactions, hearing it from friends and experiencing it first-hand. It cannot be denied that most men "just wanna have fun." (See what I did there?) That is what keeps bringing me back to desiring a true gentleman, like Mr. Rochester. At least his heart is in the right place, although, let's face it, he is complicated, to put it mildly.

His soul is agonised, twisted and contorted and his very existence pains him. Maybe all he is, is a grumpy old man, but Jane suffers at his hand, because he also manipulates her, plays his little games of cat and mouse, leaving Jane breathless at every turn, but all this emotion is not visible to the onlooker. She bottles up all her feelings, only to reveal a cool and collected demeanour to the outside world.

When it comes to matters of the heart, one always has to be careful, whether in Jane's time or in the present day. Rochester toys with Jane's emotions, tests her feelings for him, leaving her in discomfort. It is a different kind of game men play nowadays, but even though many girls act like they are not bothered by simply serving a guy's 'need,' (please pardon my crudeness) without truly being acknowledged and appreciated as a human being, I am sure they are hurt and emotionally scarred by these displays of disrespect from men.

That is why I have lost faith in the male species of my age. I sometimes ask myself the question: Do they value us girls anymore, or are we just there for their 'entertainment'? What has become of the long-lasting connections of mind and spirit? Why does nobody take the time anymore to open up to one another, and why is being emotionally vulnerable seen as a weakness?

You see, dear reader, I am troubled and frustrated at this modern day and age, and I am sure you have noticed my writing style is also not quite the style of a 21st century girl, at least not at all times, although I do tend to speak freely. Reading so much Brontë seems to have influenced my way of writing as well as my way of thinking. Of course, I realise some of my expectations may be unrealistic, but I do not mind being disappointed if I eventually find what I am looking for, and if I don't that's okay, too. Although I must admit, I am not sure if I really know what I want (which may be the actual problem.)

I am not very much bothered by whether or not I have a boyfriend at the moment, though, but there are times when I do feel lonely. The problem is, men have always left me heartbroken, and I feel I have become closed-off now. Would it be so bad to live out the rest of my life aspiring to find happiness solely in other domains, having a career, building a life for myself? For a girl that is so unconcerned with men, I sure do talk about them a lot, don't I? Maybe I am not meant to be with anyone at the moment. Maybe I am better off by myself…for now. I still wish to find that one person who truly understands me on a deeper level eventually, as we all do. At present, however, I have experienced so many let-downs due to my idealism that I do not know any more what I can believe in, so I think it is wise to focus on myself momentarily, as well as my own growth as a person.


At present I am doing an internship at a small publishing house in the neighbouring town of Netherfield. It is only an hour drive away, and it is also the place where I studied and met my best friend, Amanda, who became the pillar of strength I could lean on when I was truly down. She keeps me sane just like my love of reading does. When I read, I feel understood. I feel like I can stomach my disappointment and the degrading way I have been treated. Reading has always been one of my favourite occupations.

Yet, today I feel a dark cloud has swept over me, the weather outside mirroring my own mood. I am sure the expression my face now wears, is one of longing. My body is present here in Blackfield in the cottage I live in with my father, but my mind is miles away. I have been staring out of the window for so long, thinking all these worrying thoughts, that my vision has become blurry. I feel sometimes that I dream my life away, but the world in my head is so much more pleasant than harsh reality…most of the time.

Sometimes though, not being able to escape from my own trains of thought can be like hell. I torture myself with so many unnecessary thoughts. I overthink things constantly, and to be honest, it is tiring. Maybe all I need is a break from myself. On some days, I would rather delve into a good book, rather than face my miserable existence – and, yes, I know this is a tad dramatic and perhaps I am taking things too far now, but I am afraid that I am prone to negativity and feeling amiss. Perhaps this is one of the reasons Jane Eyre is my go-to novel when I need comfort.

I have always dreamt of being loved against all odds and being treated in a courtly, gentlemanly manner by all men, as opposed to the rough and ready way guys my age usually treat girls. Do you not know how to hold open a door for a lady? Yes, I know, if we are talking feminism, I should not desire to be protected and helped by men, but I hold the door open for the opposite sex as well. It is simply the courteous thing to do and desiring to be respected does not make me in any way less independent. I simply appreciate good manners.

During my years at school and university, no guy could ever measure up to my idea of the perfect gentleman. It just so happens that I have standards and that I will not simply settle for the next best thing. Not when it comes to men, and not when it comes to my career goals. I strive to "suck the marrow out of life," as it were, without "choking on the bone." That is a little quote from one of my favourite TV series Lost in Austen. (A little insider reference there.)

There has always been a deep yearning within me, a sense of misplacement, like I never truly belonged anywhere. This is one of the things about myself I could never quite comprehend. I tried to spend my time doing things I enjoyed, study subjects that interested me, pursue my talents, follow my dreams, but although I strive to better myself and to become the person I am meant to be (a better version of myself), it has always felt as if something is missing – or someone. This feeling of something lacking in my life is not, however, tied to the absence of a boyfriend or the lack of love. Although this may play into my feeling of misplacement, it is generally more about feeling misunderstood and lost, as if I were born out of place and out of time.

XXX

It all began when my mother died 18 years ago. Yes, I do realise that is a long time, almost two decades, but her loss stays with me still. She died when I was but a child of five, never to see me grow up. I have always felt stunted due to her absence, like a part of me died with her. Over the years, however, I have come to accept that she is gone and that I have to move on somehow, even if it feels like I'm leaving her behind. I think about my mother every day, even if just for a second, and I strive to be the best version possible of myself, mainly because of her, but also to make my father proud.

He raised me on his own. However, he had a fulltime job to ensure the bills could be paid and we could live a comfortable life, so for a time I didn't get to see much of him. During that period of my life I had a babysitter, and let me tell you, she was one of the nastiest creatures you would ever come to encounter. Her name was Beatrice Grateley, and as you can probably already tell, she did not live up to her last name.

She was far from great, but she certainly viewed herself as superior to everyone else. Beatrice came from a rich family (as the name probably implies) and saw me as an orphaned little girl back then, because she witnessed my father's many absences and she knew of my mother's passing. To her, I was a girl she could never come to respect. Instead, she bullied me and played mind games.

When I was younger, I never really noticed how she was affecting my self-esteem by repressing me and treating me as if I didn't matter, instead of taking care of me and helping me grow, but by the age of eight I was struck by the realisation that her constantly blaming me for things I hadn't done and treating me as if there was something wrong with me, was just a way to make herself feel important. She was miserable on the inside and putting me down gave her a sense of purpose. It had nothing to do with me. I had never hurt a soul, but if I didn't obey her orders she chided me for it relentlessly and treated me like there was no good in me, although she was the real devil, a she devil, a two-faced whatsit. I am too polite to swear in writing, I hardly do so even in speech, but she deserves the worst swearword you can think of. Let us call her a "bum face." This term is acceptable to me, for it has an amusing ring to it, rather than resorting to more vulgar insults. Laugh if you will, I know I am a bit strange, but I enjoy being polite. I find that fighting or calling each other names never really leads anywhere, never furthers an argument to cause its peaceful end, never provides the solution to a problem. Rather, name-calling only causes more damage, more injury and deepens mutual hate.

I think it is clear which point I am trying to make. Beatrice was a very unpleasant person, the opposite of a caretaker, but due to my father's many absences, he never came to see her true nature, and I must admit that I was too shy to complain and to humble to feel I deserved better. Well, you understand my meaning. I had to endure Beatrice's 'care' for another two years until my father was finally able to send me to boarding school due to a scholarship I was granted at the age of ten. I have always been quite ambitious. I finished my education at this school in our neighbouring town of Netherfield, the very place where I bumped into my best friend, Amanda Parker.

Amanda was the kind of girl whose sheer goodness radiated from her skin. Her pure, white, porcelain skin. She had blonde locks flowing down to her shoulders in soft waves and deep blue eyes that pierced right through your soul. When I was feeling lost, she became the healing power I needed to lose my bitterness and my pessimistic view of the world. While I whinged and whined a lot before I met her, she became my cure, my reason to regain hope in myself and my future. I had had difficulty working through my mother's death, since it was very sudden. She had a brain tumour, of the vicious kind, and once it was discovered, it was already too late to prolong her life. I grew up wondering why it was my mother who had to die. Why had God, or whichever superior power which resides in the heavens, chosen my mother? Which lesson was I to take away from losing her?

Well, of course there is no answer to this question and no logic to be found in her death, no explanation. It just happened, and I have come to accept this now, but back then I was a very grumpy child, especially after being treated like rot when Beatrice took over my guardianship while my father was working. Once I bumped into Amanda, however, I changed my view on life completely. She has been battling cancer since childhood and succeeded in fighting it – for now. Although, of course she does not know to this day if it might return, and she lives her life accordingly.

So, I saw this beautiful girl, this angel, who was probably the dearest creature in creation, the purest of heart and soul, who had been faced with a death sentence and survived it due to her willpower and positivity. She lives every day like it is a gift, maybe this has to do with what she has gone through, but she is also a very positive and loving person by nature. I learned from her to find inner peace and to be able to turn the other cheek, as opposed to lashing out when I felt threatened. I became the calm and collected person I am now because of her. We are still best friends to this day, although sometimes I wonder why she puts up with me. Let's be honest, what could she possibly have gained from being in my gloomy presence all the time?

Maybe she is truly an angel sent from the heavens. That is what I think sometimes, for I have never met someone as good as her before in my life. Amanda decided to stay in Netherfield after our graduation to go job-hunting. We still see each other regularly, as I am also in Netherfield due to my internship. She is a true friend to me, and one I don't intend to let go of, lest circumstances force me to do so.