Words of Innocence and Experience

At first glance, Kundera seems to portray Tomas and Tereza, two of the four main characters in his novel, according to gender stereotypes, in which a man can freely go on physical adventures without injecting emotions in the process while the woman takes pains in tolerating his infidelities. In this regard, the relationship between Tomas and Tereza is complete inequity. Tomas is a skilled surgeon in Prague whereas Tereza is a waitress in a provincial town before they meet. Practically, Tereza is dependent on Tomas during the first few years of their love life after being ‘rescued’ by Tomas from her meager means and household humiliation (and Tomas himself considers her a child sent to him in a bulrush and whom he picks up to love and protect) and agonizes over Tomas’s unfaithfulness. Nevertheless, with Tereza’s distinctive self-perception, or to be more precise, obsession with her soul, her ineradicable residence in Tomas’s heart eventually transforms the libertine into the loyal husband.

To begin with, Tereza’s fixation on her soul is slightly different from the common female experience. According to Rivkin and Ryan’s introduction to essentialist feminism, women’s physical differences from men (birthing, lactation, menstruation, etc.) make them more connected with the physical world. Essentialist feminists argue that men must abstract themselves from the material world by separation from mothers in order to enter the patriarchate. They take a violent and aggressive posture towards the world they leave behind by interpreting it as an “object.” Women, on the other hand, are not required to separate from mothers. Thus, women’s psychological and physical ties to physical being remain unbroken. For Tereza, on the contrary, the blood ties and close proximity to her mother have brought her endless suffering and humiliation. Traumatized by her two dreadful marriages, Tereza’s mother puts all blame on Tereza, who has no choice but receiving the punishment. Not only is Tereza forced out of school given that she is an excellent student, she is both the breadwinner and the one responsible for household chores in the family. Worse still, her mother deliberately puts the ugliness of the body (e.g. marching around the mouse in the nude, farting) on display and denies the existence of youthful beauty in Teresa’s body. To bolster herself in the environment of physical repulsiveness, she longs for something “higher,” something not anchored to the body, as analyzed by Misurella in Understanding Milan Kundra: Public Events, Private Affairs. She worships books, music, and most importantly, her soul. When Tomas appears in the restaurant where she works, the fact that he is reading a book and the radio is playing Beethoven calls to Tereza’s very soul. She feels her soul within her body ascend “through her blood vessels and pores itself to him” (48), propelling her decision to leave her hometown to for Tomas without hesitation.

Unfortunately, Tereza’s expectations on Tomas are, in a way, mistaken. Although loving Tereza deeply, Tomas is the Don Juan who has the compulsion to hold various women in passionate embraces. Teresa’s anguish over Tomas’s infidelities is vividly reflected in her dreams. The most prominent one is the nightmare in which many naked women march around a pool and knee bend and Tomas would shoot a woman if her pose is not in accordance with others. Troubled by the women’s celebration of their sameness and struggling to keep up with them, Tereza feels that she is about to be shot by Tomas. Away from her mother and with Tomas, Tereza’s still feels that her individuality is ruthlessly violated. To have the man all to herself, what she could do was to overpower him, but she does not realize it until much later in the novel.

The Prague Spring forces the couple to take refuge in Zurich. While Tereza has photography as her profession in Prague before the Russian invasion, she counts on Tomas for everything in Zurich. Picking up a call from an unknown woman with a German accent further fills Tereza with jealousy. Driven by vertigo, defined by Kundera as the “heady, insuperable longing to fall” and “the intoxication of the weak” (76), Tereza decides to return to Czechoslovakia, the country of the weak, as an action not to drag Tomas down by her weakness. Tomas, of course, follows her to Prague. As they lie side by side in bed on the night Tomas returns, Tereza feels responsible for Tomas’ life and fate. Misurella regards Tomas’s homecoming as a turning point of their relationship, in which Tereza becomes the stronger partner in the marriage.

Due to the increasing social oppression in Prague, Tomas descends to work as a window washer. Tomas works from morning till afternoon while Teresa works from afternoon till night, so the couple rarely sees each others on week days. Although stuck with a job much inferior to his own profession, Tomas regards it as a break from surgery and makes the most of his working hours for more erotic adventures. Tereza, after sniffing another woman’s existence in Tomas’s hair, again feels her body’s inability to prove her uniqueness to Tomas. In another nightmare of hers, Tomas takes her to a park with red, yellow, and blue benches in it. Tomas sits on one of the benches and asks her to walk on top of a hill to acquire what she really wants. When she reaches the top, she sees men fulfilling people’s wish to die. The men carry rifles and escort people into a forest to choose a tree where they would like to end their lives. Tereza says it is not her choice to die when it is her turn, and the men let her go. This dream is a variation from the dream with marching naked women and Tomas since Tereza has the right of refusal this time. Tomas has absolute authority in the previous dream, but this time Tereza takes the responsibility of her own life. It is a sign that Tomas no longer has complete control over Tereza.

The aforementioned nightmare still leaves Tereza with bitter aftertastes. She makes up her mind to try sleeping with someone whom she does not love, to test Tomas’s theory of sex without love. She goes to the house of an engineer, who was a customer of the bar where she works. During their sexual intercourse, Tereza experiences contradictory feelings—her body’s excitement and her soul’s rejection to take the engineer in. She rebels against the man with whom she has sex in order to affirm her soul’s unconquerable position in her identity. Even though she considers her one-time affair with the engineer a mistaken step in her life, it instigates her choice to move to the country.

Tomas, having indulged himself in one or two erotic adventures, finally experiences emotional tiredness. His libertinism, interestingly, is linked to his desire to know the individuality of his lovers, the “millionth part dissimilarity” (199) that separates a woman from others. However, no matter how many women he has slept with, his heart is tied to Tereza alone, and none of his mistresses can replace Tereza’s position in his heart. Both he and Tereza realize how spiritually and physically ugly Prague has become, and amid pangs of stomachache, he agrees with Tereza’s suggestion to move to the country even when he knows that both his career and erotic adventures would come to an end afterwards. As Tereza comforts Tomas when he tries to sleep, role reversal has taken place in their relationship.

The lovers’ village life is not always pleasant, the peacefulness disturbed by Tereza’s suspicion of yet another Tomas’s affair and the death of their beloved dog, Karenin. During the days where Karenin’s health deteriorates, Tereza envies Karenin’s reveling in daily repetition and also sees the love from an animal as better love, as it does not require anything from the beloved one. In one dream of hers, Tomas shrinks into a tiny rabbit before her, and Tereza happily holds it in her arms and takes it into the room she had when she was a young girl. All in all, seeing an aging Tomas trying to refill a tire of a car one day, she understands that she is responsible for the end of Tomas’s professional career by making “a display of her suffering to him, thereby forcing him to retreat” (300). In the end, Tomas loses his strength and became a rabbit in her arms. Revealing her feeling of guilt to him, he assures her that he feels happy in the country.

Tereza’s love for nature in the last section of the novel reenters the shared realm of female experience. She identifies herself with the tranquility and harmony of nature and takes Tomas into her world in which they are both enveloped. Kundera makes light of the existence of idyllic happiness by killing off Tomas and Tereza in a car accident, but at least in their last hours on earth, they are bathed in bliss.

References

Irigaray, Luce. An Ethics of Sexual Difference.
Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1993.

Kundera, Milan. The Unbearable Lightness of Being.
New York :Harper Perennial, 1999.

Misurella, Fred. Understanding Milan Kundera: Public Events, Private Affairs.
Columbia, S.C.: University of South Carolina Press, c1993.

Rivkin, Julie and Ryan, Michael. Literary Theory: an Anthology.
Malden, MA : Blackwell, 2004.

For the “NTHU Memory” contest

1.

My cousin and I walked towards the auditorium, at whose door students and their parents protested angrily, “Open the door and let us in!”

“We can’t,” said one guard firmly, despite the increasing pressure from people’s jostling and shrieks. He did not move an inch away from the entrance to the auditorium, intricately adorned by ornaments especially for the graduates of National Tsing Hua University.

“Never mind being in that red-carpeted hall and listening to the insincere speeches,” I whispered to my cousin cynically. “It looks like Clytemnestra’s banquet for the returning Agamemnon, anyway, and the guard is the poor Cassandra.”

“Huh?” his expression was one of sheer bewilderment.

On the day the graduation ceremony was scheduled to be held, it was bright, sunny, and sweltering. Several friends of mine and I decided to meet in the late June morning to feast on the beauty of the Tsing Hua campus with our cameras. After all, some of us did not know when we would set foot on Tsing Hua again after that special day. We all excitedly anticipated the graduation ceremony to take place at the “Vast Lawn” and the fireworks to close our university days with splendid explosions in the sky later in the evening.

Unfortunately, it was literally a bolt from the blue when the sky grayed at dusk and raindrops fell violently to the ground. Our celebration at the “Vast Lawn” was cancelled, our fireworks intact and unlighted. The ceremony had to be switched to an indoor location—the auditorium. Since the auditorium was not spacious enough to accommodate all graduates, their families, and friends, students who did not arrive there before 6:30 p.m. would not be allowed to enter the auditorium.

Having indulged myself with photography all day long, I desperately wanted to fill my empty stomach before joining the commencement party. “They won’t block me,” I thought smugly. However, I was proven wrong when I walked to the auditorium leisurely with my cousin, who was an ESS (Engineering and System Science) graduate student in Tsing Hua, and was confronted with crowds of frustrated students with their furious parents, bundles of flowers in hand. They all shouted for the gates of the auditorium to be opened, but to no avail.

How could the guards forbid me to join my own graduation ceremony? I felt enraged and betrayed in front of the auditorium, fresh and gleaming white in the night air, having been washed by the rain.

Wandering to the nearby Cheng-Gong Lake, my cousin and I sat ourselves down on the unoccupied stoned chairs. I chuckled to myself, realizing that not only did my college life begin and end at the auditorium, but it also witnessed some crucial events during my days in Tsing Hua.

2.

Four years earlier, my roommates and I, after quickly finishing our breakfasts, dashed to the auditorium at full speed at eight o’clock in the morning. While the dormitory is the first place where all first-year students spend their first night in Tsing Hua, they were asked to participate in the “Freshman Training Program,” which lasted for six days in the auditorium. When I stepped onto the stairs before the gates of the auditorium, I imagined the following events to be eye-opening for a coy and clumsy newcomer like me. However, my original enthusiasm turned into boredom and drowsiness as I listened to one speech after another. The speakers’ monotonous voices, the soft couches, and the comfortable air-conditioned air sent me into deep slumbers.

Luckily, my impressions of the auditorium as a huge bed chamber were dramatically altered after attending various musical concerts, plays, talks, and performances there. I was often thrilled at seeing posters advertising upcoming shows at the auditorium, waiting to be entertained and inspired.

3.

The auditorium also witnessed my failed date with my first crush in university. It was the day before the Christmas Eve, a cold and windy night. Being a diligent student, I had spent my Christmases in Hsinchu mostly by myself, only dining with several friends at night. Then I met the male student from another department who stirred inexplicable feelings in my heart. I could not endure another lonely Christmas. By all means, I had to make a meeting happen. He suggested a movie to be shown at the auditorium, and I consented at once despite the fact that the movie appeared to be uninteresting.

He suddenly text-messaged me that morning, telling me that he would leave immediately after the movie was over, that a friend of his would possibly come along. I might as well cancel the date if it was the treatment I received after swallowing my pride and discarding my modesty. After hours of mental turmoil, eventually I reached the auditorium a little earlier than the hour we agreed to meet. The tall trees opposite the auditorium hid my thin form, which was trembling with nervous anticipation.

Then he showed up on time, dashing on the darkling stairs of the auditorium, alone! I longed to give voice of all the surging emotions in my treacherous heart but could not. Walking myself out from behind the trees, I told him that I would not go to the movie with him. The brutal wind, carrying the foolishness and tumult of the whole incident, crashed on me with every step I took away from the auditorium, which stood still, unmoved.

4.

For us students of the Department of Foreign Languages and Literature, the senior play occurring annually in the auditorium is the perfect culmination of our university life. After months of painstaking preparations, we locked ourselves in the auditorium for a week before our performance dates. For most of us, it was the first time did we have the chance to explore the insides of the auditorium intimately instead of staying in the audience seats. During the rehearsals of our senior play, we busied ourselves backstage, in the dressing rooms, the sound control room, and the light control room. The days grew nearly unbearable as the auditorium practically became our prison, but all bearing was worthwhile when we released our pent-up anxiety on stage. We had two nights with nearly all audience seats occupied.

5.

The graduation ceremony was over. My cousin and I easily slipped in the opening doors of the auditorium. My eyes immediately found my classmates.

“Hey,” my friend patted on my shoulder as I approached her. She was smiling but there was a slight frown between her brows. “In the end, they let us in if we were in our bachelor gowns, of course without families and friends. Didn’t you try?”

“Well, no.” I gestured to show my companion’s presence. “How was the ceremony?”

“Tedious, as expected.” I could hear the wry amusement in her voice. The opulent life in Tsing Hua had been priceless even if the beginning and the ending of it were not spectacular, I reckoned.

“Besides,” she continued, “it doesn’t matter at all even though you missed the ceremony,” then referring to my admission to a master’s program in Tsing Hua, “You will have another commencement party soon.”

“Yes, I know.” I smiled. My life in Tsing Hua goes on.

The relationship of Antony and Cleopatra is the groundwork for the poignancy of the play “Antony and Cleopatra.” When Antony and Cleopatra fall in love with each other, they are already middle-aged people, no longer lovesick youngsters. With their exceptional statuses as a member of the triumvirate and the Egyptian queen and the unstable political situation, their love affair is extremely turbulent. Together they have been confronted with a number of serious hardships throughout the play, and in the end, both die for love and dignity.

The lovers’ relationship is not intense at the beginning of the play. They love each other, but the basis of their relationship is dotage and lust. Antony and Cleopatra flirt with each other playfully, worries about their countries out of the picture. Cleopatra teases Antony about his marital status, expressing minor jealousy. Little do the lovers know that numerous challenges are awaiting them to face.

When Antony leaves for Rome due to wars against Pompey, little inside his mind does the reader see. Cleopatra, on the other hand, continues her doting on Antony. She is soon struck by shock of Antony’s remarriage to Octavia, Julius Caesar’s younger sister. The union is virtually political, yet Cleopatra is still deeply hurt and enraged when she learns about the news. After some inner struggles (not included in the play), Cleopatra still feels confident in Antony’s love for her. Later, even though the descriptions of Octavia brought by the messenger, who is frightened by her previous outrage and has learned his lesson to tell white lies, are mostly smeared, Cleopatra knows that Octavia is no match for a fun-loving, witty, and ambitious Antony. As Cleopatra and Enobarbus predict, Antony returns to her as soon as he has valid reasons to depart from his wife.

When it comes to contemplations of love in this play, Shakespeare often presents reader with scenes taking place in Cleopatra’s palace in Alexandria. Therefore, it is easier to note her transformation of thoughts than Antony’s. As the play proceeds, Cleopatra gradually develops undying trust in Antony, sometimes to the degree of being unreasonable. For instance, when Caesar launches war against Antony over the insulting treatment of Octavia, Cleopatra enthusiastically supports Antony’s decision to fight with Caesar at sea, while his followers knows clearly that Antony’s main advantage lies in his land forces rather than sea forces. Shakespeare does not tell the reader why Cleopatra flees from the battlefield out of the blue, but she possibly believes that Antony would stay strong and carry on fighting without her company.

Later in the play, no matter how grim the circumstances seem, Cleopatra always has her ways to cheer Antony up and sooth him when he is infuriated. Scene XIII in Act Three, in which she wins back the extremely indignant Antony after he sees her speaking with Thyreus, Caesar’s messenger, is especially compelling. When Antony braces up and resolves to launch wars against Caesar once more, Cleopatra says delightfully “That’s my brave lord!,” showing her confidence and affection for him.

Antony, on the contrary, although reciprocating Cleopatra’s love, does not really trust her or understand her as much as Cleopatra does him. Cleopatra is capricious and scheming. Without sufficient understanding of her characters, Antony sometimes misjudges her actions. With his strong male pride, he also tends to put the blame on Cleopatra for his failures. It seems that his trust in her starts to severely fall apart after she escapes from his first battle against Caesar and he follows her. He despises her cowardice and accuses her of being the exact reason for his failure and shame. The most obvious case occurs in Scene XIII in Act Three, where Cleopatra’s sweet-talking to Thyreus sends him into ferocious rage. It takes Cleopatra great endeavors to try to convince Antony that the good nature she shows to Thyreus is not an act of betrayal but a tactic to secure her safety now that Caesar is the victor. Antony forgives her right on the spot due to his love for her, but he does not completely believe her intentions. The next day when he loses in the second battle against Caesar, he immediately jumps to conclusions that Cleopatra has betrayed him, and the tragedy really begins.

The misunderstanding between the two lovers results in a painful separation between life and death, although their outcome is already doomed had the accident not happened. Aware of Antony’s furor and cruelty, Cleopatra (or rather, her maid Charmian) plots her fake death in an attempt to appease Antony. She does not realize that Antony is already a shaken man, and any more irritation would only accelerate his self-destruction. As for Antony, having known Cleopatra for a long time, he still cannot grasp her ever-changing mood or guess her schemes. The serious blow of his loss and his romantic obsession with her blocks out his sanity, as it happens many times in the play. Learning her death further strengthens his resolution to commit suicide.

It is noteworthy that when Antony learns that Cleopatra is not dead after having struck himself, he does not appear angry at all. His devotion to her has overcome his quick temper in the final moment of his life. They still manage to joke a little, suggesting that they are truly meant for each other in their wits and humor, if they were not faced with defeat. On his deathbed, Antony worriedly urges Cleopatra how to deal with Caesar and which man to trust. When Antony dies, Cleopatra feels that the light of her life has been taken away and the whole world has crumbled.

At the point of the play, Cleopatra not only loves Antony but also worships him. The loss of him shatters her world. When Proculeius and Dolabella, followers of Caesar, come to talk to her out of her hunger strike, she refuses to listen and refers to Antony as the ocean, the spheres, the seasons—the whole world. He is the pedestals of her strength and life. Inasmuch as she idolizes Antony, however, she turns out to be more courageous in her resolution than he ever is, as she tells Charmian “Come; we have no friend but resolution and the briefest end.” She is firm in her rejection to surrender to Caesar and her decision to end her life. She does so partly for her self-esteem, partly for Antony. Interestingly, even though Antony claims himself to be a man of strong will, his judgment is always influenced by Cleopatra because of his dotage rather than his trust in her. Conversely, with her blind trust and respect for Antony, Cleopatra makes the decision to die, which is totally against what Antony has told her. He wishes her to survive, but she loves him so much that she would follow him to another world. Her pride plays a crucial part in her insistence, too, of course.

Even though their romance has come to a tragic end, it is clear that Antony and Cleopatra has attained mutual understanding and reverence at last. Moreover, as they both concede several times in the play, with the rise of Caesar’s power, the world has become too small to accommodate them, who are both strong political powers which threaten Caesar’s influence. Perhaps they should find more happiness in another world. Their love affair on Earth is heartbreaking but beautiful.

Early one morning, I was roused by the thumping of the washing machine operating. Rubbing my eyes, Mother’s endless pacing in the living room relentlessly rushed into my ears.

“Mom,” I groaned, “it’s only 7:30. It’s Sunday and I wanna get up late.”

“No,” said Mother, her voice lacking the sleepy blurriness in mine, “I’m used to getting up at this hour, and you are, too. Get yourself ready and let’s go to the market.”

Mother is an indefatigable woman. Unlike most insomnia sufferers, she is not troubled by her sleeplessness by taking sleeping pills. Rather, the energy which merely a little sleep has brought her makes her both amused and oddly satisfied.

Her favorite recreation is shopping. I used to be extremely bored when I was dragged to various department stores and cosmetics shops when I was a little girl. Conversely, I have grown to like it with my aging and a growing concern for my appearance. Even studying in university now, I return to Taichung every weekend to go shopping with Mother, since I am the only child, and she, my only parent.

However, one thing bothers me immensely whenever I go out with Mother.

“Are you sisters?” the salesperson would ask when Mother and I skim through all the neat tops on sale.

“Why, you flatter me too much!” Mother would laugh heartily, the sides of her mouth twisting into a cordial smile. “We are mother and daughter, obviously.”

“Oh, but you look so young!” the clerk gaped.

Stunned by the frequency of hearing such compliments on Mother, I began to worry if I really looked older than I really was.

“When people comment that you and I look like sisters, they’re praising my youthful look rather than ridiculing that you look old,” assured Mother, seemingly sensing my insecurity, but soon, returning to her usual biting tone, “stop feeling sorry for yourself, you little ignoramus!”

Mother is a petite and slander woman. Her slim figure, on which she takes pride, compels her to check out the items in children’s clothing from time to time. Even with the 26-year age gap, she buys the same styles of clothes as I do, although most middle-aged women shy from wearing colorful and young-looking attires.

“I have the right to wear whatever I like,” she insists. “Besides, I don’t look half ugly in them.”

At her late 40s, her slim figure, childish curiosity, graceful movements (being a consummate dancer), and vivacious temperament make her charming for people around her. Time and experience have been eradicating her caprice, yet she is still ill-tempered and bitter whenever she is displeased. With the tendency to be careless and awkward, I am often victimized to Mother’s ill temper. Before the outburst of her rage, I always see the dreadful warning signs: her eyes turning wide, refilled with malice, her brows rising and knitted, her hollow cheeks full with her mouth agape, ready to hurl a retort. With her tiny frame, it is incredible for others to believe how powerful Mother’s yells can be, yet I never cease to be frightened by Mother’s precarious temper management and her bitter tongue.

“You stupid fool!” she cursed. “You are not good at doing nothing!”

“But, Mom, I just fail this one time…”

“One time?” she shouted violently. “You’ve failed many times and never learn!”

Her irritation and whim, surprisingly, are attractions for men. The guardian of the apartment where we live in, fascinated by her unique manners, often brings us fruits and tea leaves. Mother is a skillful social butterfly when interacting with people. She smiles, jokes around, and talks with good nature. When men are around Mother, I can feel the attraction Mother holds for them and how she manipulates their hearts.

However, Mother is not truly interested in trapping men as her captives. One miserable marriage has already shattered all her dreamy love fantasies. Moreover, a free spirit probably should not be caged in neither a relationship nor a marriage.

“In a way,” she said wistfully once, “I’m glad that your father isn’t around. I’m just not the type of person who would give herself all in a serving and pleasing her husband.”

As my memory serves, Father has never taken care of Mother and me. When I was a little girl, I seldom saw him since he had usually gone out for business or drinking. Bad-tempered as Mother is, I had witnessed them bickering fiercely with each other. As a little girl, I always burst into tears and ran between them.

“Stop fighting, please!” I begged, with tears rolling down my face.

Unfortunately, Father is an awful businessman and an irresponsible nuisance. Leaving his debts behind, debtors used to come to our old house all the time. Mother, after dealing with them with all her cunning and charms, cursed in exasperation, her gorgeous blouse stained with angry tears.
Eventually, Father left Taiwan and cast us out of his life for good. The house was in pawn to pay for Father’s debts. In the long, hot summer days, Mother rode on her motorcycle, carrying me, as we searched desperately for a dwelling place from one street to another.

“It’s hot,” I was already in school then, my mind clear as an excellent student. “Why are we going around the neighborhood like this? When can we stop?”

“Shut up!” Mother silenced me with her snap. “Do you want to be homeless? We must find an apartment to live in. It can’t be too far from the neighborhood. If we live too far away from here, you can’t ride a bike to school and there’ll be a lot more trouble to handle.”

I observed her through the rear-view mirror then. Her eyes were resolute, her expression apathetic but firm. Her skinny back looked quite fragile under the sinister sun, yet it stood straight. In the brief moment, I wondered if I was able to grapple with the mishap with such composure and confidence.

Finally, we did find a new house. We survived.

“You’ll never understand how happy I am to live in this house,” she said, her expression softened and merry. “I feel so free here, away from the control of your father and your grandma.”

It was freedom for her, perhaps, but not freedom for me. I will always be under her reins. Still, she is the only person who is always there for me and puts me on a pedestal.

“You will come home next weekend, right?” she asks me whenever I go home for the weekend. “We can go to Chung-Yo Department Store. I see a nice dress on their catalogue. Oh,” she points to a picture, “and the skirt should fit you.”

“Sure,” I answer, “I always go home. You needn’t to ask.”

Despite all the barricades and misfortunes Mother and I have gone through, we never fail to stay strong. We both belong to the unbeatable species in the world, yet Mother will always surpass me in her allure, charisma, dominance, and persistence. She is my compass star, my inescapable fate.

Stepping out of the congested bus, the chilly, refreshing air immediately splashed cool water on my sunburned skin. The nostalgic, heavenly smell of grass washed over me and immediately took me away from the exhaustion of living in the city. I felt blessed, cleaned, joyous, before I saw and heard people, jostling in line, waiting to enter the resort. The laughing children gathered in the playground near the gate, the sound of their cheering resonating in the air. Somehow my heart grew old at such a sound.

Ching-Jing Farm is celebrated for its natural landscapes and picturesque scenery. Before going to Ching-Jing, I had imagined it to be a Secret Garden where the firmament is azure and the breeze is comfortable, where the grasses are green and sprawl freely in the ample fields, where the untrimmed trees grow widely, and where insects, birds, and fish all thrive and abound with little disturbance from human beings. The wildlife would welcome human visitors spontaneously and not be trained to do so. However, as I stood in line at the toll bridge, bending my head in an attempt to get a glimpse of the farm through the crowd, all I saw was indeed beauty—beauty of artificiality.

The people around me shouted, conversed in high spirits. Mother and her colleague, Aunt Hu, chatted cheerfully as everyone waited to purchase the tickets. Somewhat disappointed, my enthusiasm over entering the farm did not wane. I still yearned to take in the gorgeous scenery, even though the resort was not as secluded as I had believed it to be.

After waiting for about a quarter of an hour, we finally managed to go into the farm. The spacious pasture seemed to beckon me to fall into its embrace, but before I could dash towards it, Mother stopped me by telling me that Aunt Hu’s daughter was missing. Although my eagerness had to be appeased once again, I helped find the little girl with oddly calm acceptance. In a way, I was afraid that really seeing the farm in its entirety would spoil all my beautiful fantasies in the past.

We looked for the little girl desperately near the toll bridge, but she was nowhere to be seen. Suddenly the noise from the playground rang in my ears like a tolling bell. I flew there immediately, passing one elated child after another, finally finding the girl on a seesaw. Shaking my head, I looked at her with incredulity while taking her hand to her mother’s side.

“What are you doing there?” asked Aunt Hu, her brows knitted with worry that had yet dissipated.

“I was playing, of course.” The girl answered, her expression innocent.

“Well, you didn’t come to play in the playground, did you?” Aunt Hu crossed her arms over her chest, her anger and slight amusement visible.

The girl looked somewhat puzzled, “well, it doesn’t matter where I’m playing, as long as it is fun…”

Aunt Hu pinched her daughter’s cheek with some force and it turned pink. “Stop that stupid talk. Let’s go to the farm now.”

Afterwards, we finally passed through the gate. The verdant meadow glowed majestically under the blurry sky. It was by no means spacious, though, since I seemed to have seen the border of the farm as my eyesight traveled afar. Stoned passages along with wooden fences outlined the pasture abruptly. It was relaxing to walk along the paths, yet I wondered what it would have been like to merely thread on the grass, to have their stubs gently sting my underused feet.

Sheep ran to and fro along the narrow passages, playing hide-and-seek with the visitors. One white sheep flung towards me, the sides of its mouth twisted up into a cordial smile, as if welcoming me to its lovely home. I smoothed its curly, slightly rough fleece while Mother took a picture of us. Unfortunately, it ran away from me as soon as it witnessed a boy with fodder in his hand. No matter. There were dozens of sheep running about, waiting to be fed, appreciated, and adored by visitors. Some of the sheep, whose fleeces were brown, looked particularly endearing. I nicknamed them “chocolates” and began chasing after one such, hoping to obtain a photograph with the darling thing.

After the sheep chase, warmth sprung into my limbs, yet it did not escape from my notice that the temperature had dropped, and grey cloud began eating up the originally blue sky. In spite of the ominous sign from above, we continued strolling around the farm. The stone passages slid down the steep terrain of the farm with views down the green valley, and the enclosure of the farm crystallized before my eyes. In Taiwan where every inch of land should be properly utilized, the farm was perhaps already spacious compared with other scenic spots. The view downhill was breathtaking, though: a wide rug of grass covered the field thoroughly, where a gorgeous cottage and several white benches were situated. A large signboard stood somewhat incongruously in front of the cottage, advertising the upcoming “shepherd’s show” in the afternoon.

Gentle showers fell slowly from the sky as the grey clouds assembled layer upon layer. Soon showers turned to downpour. The disordered footsteps of tourists and sheep treaded soundly as everyone anxiously search for someplace for shelter from the rain. Luckily, a pavilion was close in sight, and we jumped in without thinking. The coolness rushed into my veins, urging me to put on my coat. Mother, Aunt Hu, her daughter, and I sat silently and listened to the sometimes tender, sometimes violent brushing of raindrops on the rooftop. While we enjoyed the peacefulness, a gentleman who sat next to me picked up his newspapers and began skimming the pages. Probably finding the boredom unbearable, a woman standing in the middle of the pavilion picked up her cell phone from her purse. It seemed to me, that even in this remote farm in the mountains, people still considered the trip an experience of the city life, as they killed their time with modern equipments rather than observed the scenery.

We had lunch, but the rain showed no sign of halting. Thus, we were in the dilemma of leaving Ching-Jing early or waiting for the shepherd’s show. The latter won more votes, so we resumed the seats in the pavilion with no other choice.

“Should we go for a walk, then?” I asked Mother.

“No, I’m rather tired,” replied she, stifling a yawn.

“But if there is nothing to do if we just sit here.”

“You can take a walk if you want to,” she shrugged. She and Aunt Hu began eating watermelon seeds and at the same time tossed the shells to the ground. I knew that I should have stopped them, but my discretion prevented me from reprimanding senior people.

In the following one and a half hour of wait, I wandered aimlessly in the farm. The limited scope of the scenery had ceased to impress me. Thankfully, the rain had subsided greatly during this noon time; otherwise, my rather tiny umbrella would have failed to fend off the rain.

Most visitors convened voluntarily near the white cottage, which shined brightly after being cleaned by the rain. Everything looked surreal amid the thickening fog. Sitting on the paper-covered yet still wet white bench, the chills wrapped me up like a bittersweet dream. Someone next to Mother complained that we had occupied too much space, and I stood up upon his rude request. At a time, the “shepherd” finally showed up. He was a middle aged Australian, swarthy and charismatic. He introduced himself in a clipped, humorous manner, as did the “shepherdess,” his Taiwanese wife. A native aborigine with a feigned vicious face on stage was dancing with his leathered lash while they talked.

To see all sheep allocate themselves according to the shepherd’s whistles, to have something only seen in movies displayed before my eyes, was mind-blowing. The sheep, white and brown alike, all rushed down from the steep and gathered in front of the stage. The shepherd chose a white lamb and showed the audience how to cut the fleece with finesse. The lamb relaxed at the shepherd’s dexterity, its face brimmed with a smile, the kind of smile belonging to all animals. I was indeed entertained after the show, yet some strong, inexplicable wistfulness also hit me.

On our way down the mountains, various villas appeared one after another and dazzled our vision. While they looked stunning, most of them were built upon precarious, steep slopes. Should an uninvited typhoon come, the gorgeous but fragile villas would likely be torn down. With such a large number of sloppy visitors, I wondered if Ching-Jing would retain the beauty it had before being transformed into a city. Perhaps it was lucky of me to bathe in its remaining glory then. I sincerely hope that the splendor of this “secret garden” of Taiwan would live on.

Having studied assiduously in order to enter good universities, most college students no longer take academic scores too seriously and seek various means to learn things apart from schoolwork. Still, students, in spite of everything, feel an iota of guilt over not dedicating themselves fully to studies, and teachers always reproach students for unsatisfactory academic achievements. Through personal observation and experience, I would declare that there is no need to feel sorry for not studying hard, as those who do so barely gain anything beneficial.

To begin with, students who do well on exams are usually intimidated either by classmates or by professors. With the assurance that good students know the answer to the questions being asked in class, professors, although do not always demand answers from the excellent students, would look at the latter with piercing eyes, expecting them to give the desired replies after other students have failed. In addition, when students do presentations and the time for questions arrives, they show no mercy in their classmates who have good academic records and always save the most challenging questions for them. Therefore, good students may possess intelligence and diligence, yet all other people treat these supposedly positive qualities with malice and incrimination.

Moreover, students who receive good grades are not rewarded handsomely enough. While some classmates take part time jobs and earn some pocket money to complement their daily expenses, studious students hope to obtain some extra money from scholarships to make certain that persevering in school work is profitable. Unfortunately, with the government cutting the amount of educational budget every year, the amount of money for scholarships has unsurprisingly becomes scarce, and they are usually reserved for students in certain departments. Thus, students in those “unpopular” departments work hard, but it seems that their effort is not appreciated.

The above grudges are the ill treatments that “good” students have to endure within the border of the campus. If the students who do well in class have a bright future and career awaiting them, all the sufferings in college would be worthwhile. However, it is not the case. According to Caroline Bird in her essay “College Is a Waste of Time and Money,” what college students study has little to do with their jobs in the future, especially “Majors in nontechnical fields report even less relationship between their studies and their jobs.” Consequently even if students do extremely well in their academic studies, what they are going to face after graduation is a whole new world which may bear little relationship with what they have learned at school. Whether they receive good grades at school or not, they are going to learn new things just like everyone else, and good academic performances do not grant them the upper hand in the competitive society at all.

Good records on transcripts may help students enter a highly acknowledged educational institute of a higher level, but they make little difference in job interviews. After all, it is the diploma that is desired, and every graduate would receive the same certificate, with good academic records or not. What would help college students gain an advantageous position in job seeking cannot be found in their text books. According to Dale Carnegie in his book “How to Win Friends and Influence People,” “They (Adults) soon discovered that if one aspired to wear the captain’s cap and navigate the ship of business, personality and the ability to talk are more important than a knowledge of Latin verbs or a sheepskin from Harvard.” In brief, the capability to deal with people and present oneself to others is a crucial key to success, and for college students, such skills cannot be developed in class, but on other occasions. Sitting in front of the desk and reading about people is impossible to be more efficient than going out and actually having contact with them.

The opportunities to get along with people can be found in clubs, part-time jobs, and even romances, which professors have repeatedly warn students to stay away from since they are likely to claim the amount of time students should spend on studies. However, think about the ill treatments and the meager acknowledgement which excellent students are given, and the prospect of a successful career if students are willing to participate in activities and broaden their horizons. The choice is clear.

Nevertheless, saying that studying hard has no worth is incorrect. If some students truly take delight in what they study and are devoted to become scholars, having substantial knowledge in books would definitely wipe out the dark clouds over their future plans. As for normal students who would eventually set off to society and make a living from their job career or the business they might start on their own, it is better not to look upon receiving good grades as the sole goal while in college.

The real world is wide and treacherous, and restricting oneself to books just to accomplish satisfactory scholastic scores is not worthwhile. If students do so, neither would their endeavor be cherished nor would it be beneficial to future developments. College diploma has become a necessity in society, and spending the four years doing the right things is essential, and unfortunately doing well on exams is not included.

Ever since I entered university, one grudge professors often lash out at students has been impossible for me to ignore—”Why don’t you read the papers?” “How come you know nothing about the news at all?” “Why don’t you do something meaningful in your free time, such as reading the newspapers?” Having heard the acquisitions repeatedly, students may have probably been too ashamed to give reasons which account for their unwillingness to read newspapers, or rather, “formal” newspapers.

For one thing, according to a survey conducted by The China Times, a prominent publisher here in Taiwan, the average age of newspaper readers is thirty-seven. Does it mean that one of the reasons that college students do not read papers nowadays is that they have yet reached the age to appreciate it? Although the answer is unlikely, the survey does evidence a worrying phenomenon that formal newspapers are losing its number of readers. Most people might believe that the trend only takes place in Taiwan, yet various proofs are in place to show that other countries have their share of similar tendency.

Newspapers have long been categorized into two types: quality papers and tabloids. Always considered vulgar, tabloids suffer from extremely bad reputation. Thus, it really struck me when I learned that tabloids sell far more copies than quality papers universally. New York Times, whose reports and articles are highly recognized, is a well-known publisher in the city of New York; nevertheless, New York Post, a tabloid in the same city, attracts much more readers on a daily basis. The situation is similar in Britain, where the Sun, the first tabloid published in the world, is much more popular than the Times or the Guardian.

Likewise, students in Taiwan do read papers and even purchase them occasionally, but what I usually see in the hands of the passenger sitting next to me on the bus is Apple Daily, yet another tabloid in Taiwan. Due to its notoriety, some of its readers refuse to admit buying it. When professor interrogate that why students do not read newspapers, some students may be murmuring under their breath: “Yes, I read papers. I read Apple Daily and I’m never going to tell you that.” Tabloids are guilty pleasures of the common people, yet it takes courage for educated people to scan them in the light of day.

As stated above, tabloids are vile, meaningless, and shallow, but their appeal to people is immense. To begin with, there are more pictures on tabloids than on quality papers. Obviously, pictures are more pleasant for the eye than endless lines of words jostling to the margin. USA Today, a publisher in America, used to be caught between the qualifications of tabloids and newspapers, yet its sale has been on the rise since the number of pictures multiplied.

The proportion of pictures is not the main reason for tabloids’ massive popularity. Eroticism, discords, and violence whose sinister qualities draw people in, fill the headlines of tabloids. The Sun, for instance, dedicated its second page to a scantily-clad girl every day. There is no particular reason which explains why the girl is there, and no one asks because too much sanity would ruin the beauty. Apple Daily may have copied the feature, and girls in swimming suits appear in various pages out of nowhere. As a female, it would be nice if there were some provocative male pictures as well. As for violence, bloody snapshots taken from an accident or pictures of people fighting are blatantly placed in the front page of Apple Daily. While some people would be frightened by such undisguised sanguinary pictures, quite a few people would be thrilled by the sheer ferocity.

With jaw-dropping content every day, no wonder tabloids are more appealing to people. Conversely, what appears on quality papers, particularly on the headlines, are overly serious. After all, the human world is complex and tedious matters such as politics are indispensable in society. A whole page of political analysis would suffice to either bore or annoy the reader to a great extent.

Taiwanese readers are especially disillusioned by worldly affairs, so the corresponding section cannot escape the fate of shrinking in quality papers. Considering the source of international news, it is obvious to see the reason for its unpopularity. Most of the international news which shows up in newspapers is translated from CNN or BBC, both news media well-known for their professionalism, or tediousness. If one is displeased with local politics, let alone the fact that s/he may enjoy reading the election in Britain or France. Also, Taiwan is rarely allowed to join worldly organization. Not a member, the new directions a certain institution is heading for means little to Taiwanese people. Another type of news likely to hit international headlines is severe accident or cruel atrocities. Then again, being accustomed to being isolated, no one cares about the disasters overseas as long as they have no influence on Taiwan.

The remaining sort of news which holds charm for the reader is local anecdotes. People here are oddly enchanted when reading about a maniac monk, little children of meager means, a murder case as a result of love triangle, or the funeral of a gangster. It is natural for people to have more interest in the things taking place in their own country, anyhow, and newspapers, tabloids or quality papers alike, are eager to print more local news. This way, people are more willing to read the papers and be informed of both positive and negative news, yet equally engaging.

Newspapers are not part of the daily commodity, and thus they needs to be entertaining enough to tempt the masses to buy them. The amusement tabloids grant its reader is clear, and of course, some people would still choose to read quality papers to increase knowledge. It happens that Taiwanese people are not zealous over international news. As a way of survival, local newspaper publishers tend not to include too much of it. Fortunately, with the Internet connection, it is fairly easy to keep on track of the news outside of Taiwan. Most people here would still have the partial phobia for grave international news, and there is nothing wrong with this preference and for local newspapers to cater to people’s desires.

When encountering essay questions in exams, quite a number of students would frown or have an instant headache. Even back to the high school days, “essays” in Mandarin, the Mother Tongue, still arouse annoyance if they make their unpopular appearances in test papers. Now in the Foreign Language Department, to write essay questions or not plays a key role for students to decide whether to major in literature or linguistics.

Yet, why the fright? The truth is that every student has apprehension over writing to some extent, afraid that nothing substantial would be thought up or the teacher would not be satisfied with the final result. Conversely, being a queer person who does not object essays, I would like to say that there are methods to answer them. It takes efforts to construct and weave a clear strategy, yet the consequence is usually favorable. In a way, essay questions are much more interesting than conventional multiple choice and yes/no questions since students’ answers are not restricted to a special kind.

Before the papers filled by words of Times New Roman and 12 points are given to students on exams, there is plenty of time to prepare it beforehand. Students are not so busy as to kneel down at Buddha’s feet and beg in desperation five hours prior to the test. Essay questions are designed to test the extent of students’ understanding of the subject, and thus careful studying is necessary before tests.

However, learning everything on the textbook by heart is inefficient and would not work when it comes to essays (although some teachers do seem pleased if students include quotations from the textbook). The first step is to organize the main points in the textbook, combined with the notes taken while in class. Then students can start guessing what will be tested. It is usually not difficult since teachers more or less would have already sent some cues. If the upcoming test is on literary works, additional research is needed if they are alien or obscure. Briefly, before taking the test, one has to make sure that s/he has the ability to analyze or discuss the particular subject.

Then it comes to the most important event—answering questions from the test paper. However hard one has worked, the result lies solely on this single trial. Therefore, a student must make their best shot in this treacherous competition (with other students, undoubtedly). If there are tips for studying, there are ones for taking the test as well.

To begin with, essay questions are not short answers, so an answer composed of four paragraphs is more appropriate than scattered strings of words without any organization. If there is sufficient time, take notice of whether the answer is written with clarity: with an opening, a body, and a conclusion. Some of my classmates had told me that it takes too much time to worry about this trifling. Well, then this is a great moment to train oneself to write faster.

Also, remember to write grammatically correct sentences and use the right vocabulary. Although some teachers say that they would not deduct points of an answer due to grammatical mistakes, using correct grammar may improve their impression on the answer and thus they are more willing to grade the paper higher. Besides, please do not write like a high school student since the time was not enough to think of better words. Using proper words would make teachers feel that the student knows the subject better.

The above suggestions are mainly about ostentation in writing essays, but the content is what really counts. Not only should one give clear principles or definitions but also fitting examples. Inserting examples, directly relevant to the arguments or not, is a benign way to enrich the content. Moreover, as mentioned above, quoting from the textbook or the author will also guarantee the teacher’s endorsement of your endeavor.

For the most part, test papers usually end with a question asking about students’ personal opinion or experience related to certain works. Some students, not necessarily moved or affected from what they have learned, would offer tedious answers. Yet, this particular kind of questions is actually the best chance to earn additional points if failing in the former ones. In stead of sounding indifferent, try to appear earnest and interested in your answer. The teacher must have undying zeal for the specific field so that s/he would teach a course on it. Though highly pretentious, students showing their appreciation of the field would certainly please the teacher.

Above all, writing essay questions seems an uphill job. Nevertheless, the strategies would become part of the nature if students adopt them constantly. Writing essays is generally more interesting than answering conventional yes/no questions, and the teacher would not simply mark the answer as “incorrect.” Students are more likely to answer with more freedom and creativity in essay questions, within the border that teachers can accept, of course.

Featuring comic heroes in movies have been a popular trend for years. The first hero who charmed the audience in the cinema was Superman, with his supernatural powers, clumsy masculinity, and boyish smile. The first Superman movie may have amazed the mass, yet when I watched it on TV, having heard much appreciation from others, I had been laughing outrageously throughout the running time instead of marveling at the hero’s incredible abilities. The weird behaviors of the characters, namely Superman’s constantly showing off his muscles, the expression mixed with awe and fervor on the face of Louise (the female protagonist), and the screaming crowds in big cities compose the “comical” Superman series. Along came Catwoman, Batman and several others, each gradually became more and more civilized; still, a really humane and reachable hero has been waiting to make his way into everyone’s heart.

Then the movie featuring the teenage hero, Peter Parker, or Spider-man, broadened the horizon of superhero movies in an unbelievable way. The movie Spider-man, which, in addition to magnificent special effects, spent some running time on the characterization of Peter Parker, became an immense hit. The story of Matt Murdock, or Daredevil, arrived at cinemas a year after, and although not as popular as Spider-man, it still outshined many of the old-style heroic movies.

I am never a comic book fan, yet the two comic heroes had really fascinated me. Whether their true natures were twisted in films or not, perhaps they would not mind that their feats are materialized on the big screen and their personalities are probed by me.

To begin with, superheroes must possess supernatural talents, yet the two heroes’ abilities were both obtained by accident. Peter Parker’s spidery sensibility came from a bite from a mutated spider in his high school laboratory. Matt Murdock’s case was much more grievous, for his eyes were blinded by chemicals when he was only a young boy. However, after losing his eye sight, his other senses, including sense of hearing, smell, and touch, were sharpened and he was as alert as a cat.

With their outstanding capabilities, it was one of their family member’s deaths that propelled them to guard the good people. As stated before, Parker was a naïve teenager when he was endowed with the gifts of a spider. The first occasion for him to really make use of his capabilities was to fight with a wrestler to win money. Unfortunately, he was deceived by the sponsor and did not even receive a cent. On his way back home, his uncle, who came in search of him, was killed on the street. Dejected and exasperated at the same time, he chased down and lynched the robbery responsible for his uncle’s death. Afterwards, Parker was a changed person and became known as the Spider-man, who protected New York citizens. On the other hand, Murdock witnessed the end of his father’s life in his early adolescence. Murdock’s father was a wrestler, who refused to retire as the high authority ordered. After defeating his last opponent, he was shot by a gun outside of the sports club where he just played his part. How Murdock trained himself as a warrior without sight thereafter was missing in the movie, but his father’s tragedy inspired hi to be one of the most controversial figures in New York, for he lynched villains at his own will.

Therefore, the two heroes came to the throne as the guardian of the city, but they both tried backing out in the middle, for different reasons, though. For Spider-man’s part, he spent too much of his time punishing the wicked that his own personal life was falling apart at the seams. He eventually complied with his fate, recognizing the mission of protecting people as his responsibility. The reason that plagued Murdock, Daredevil, was that he was confused whether the people he was punishing were really scoundrels. After going to a confession, his mind was purged so that he continued his task with no more doubt.

One of the most important purposes of superhero movies is to entertain the audience, and the Spider-man and Daredevil are no exception. The scenes of Spider-man swinging through the various New York buildings on his spider web are definitely exciting. As a pure human, Daredevil strives for various deadly fights with his enemies and has been creating splendid action scenes throughout the movie. Nonetheless, I prefer the Spider-man movie to the Daredevil one, and so do most people. The different degree of enjoyment is probably resulted from the differences between the two protagonists themselves and how the movies present them.

The most obvious distinction between the two heroes is their age, which affects what people would encounters in their lives greatly. Peter Parker is a teenager who is faced with self-searching problems, and a person at his age should learn to live on his own in America. Parker is torn between his schoolwork, job, and his identity as the Spider-man. To his frustration, he is considered a nerd who does not know how to get along with his peers at school. Moreover, his part-time job as a photographer in the newspaper office does not earn him much money, and he is often oppressed by his supervisor. While he struggles, not only teenagers but also adults can relate to his anguish, as everyone was, is, or will be in this transitional stage in life. On the contrary, the Daredevil’s main part starts when Murdock is already a successful lawyer. He is excellent in his profession and even wins the heart of a highbred lady, despite his blindness. Thus, even though his side career as the Daredevil failed, he would not have any trouble supporting himself. Being successful was a disadvantage for him since the sympathy from people will unsurprisingly decrease.

Another aspect of the two heroes’ life that differs is their love life. Parker has long lost his heart to his high school classmate, Mary Jane Watson, yet he has not been able to capture her heart until at the end of the movie. Unfortunately, at the point of his life, he could not afford to take Watson as his lover, afraid that he would expose her to much unwanted danger. In short, Parker suffered from unrequited love, which most people also find depressing. In contrast, even though a breakup with girlfriend was displayed in the movie, Murdock immediately fell in love with Electra, the daughter of a prominent businessman, and she repaid him with equal passion. Also, Watson is an ordinary girl without exceptional capabilities, but Electra is wealthy, clever, and knows how to fight. When Electra mistakenly believed that Daredevil murdered her father, she went out to confront him but ended up falling in the trap of her enemies. Murdock revealed his identity as Daredevil to her and went rescuing her, yet later found her dying. Miraculously, the plot hinted that Electra survived at its ending, which causes another flaw of the movie.

Frankly speaking, the story of Daredevil is not necessarily believable. After all, Daredevil is a mere human without eye sight; thus, the fact that he is almost invincible when confronted with his foe is incredulous. After avenging Electra by killing off Bulleye, the subordinate of the ultimate villain, Kingpin, he was already disturbed by exhaustion. However, he went on to knock down Kingpin, a stout fellow, with his wounds from the previous battle still bleeding. Knowing that Daredevil was already hurt, perhaps the scriptwriter should not have let him defeat Kingpin so easily. As to Spider-man, although the incident of being bitten by a spider is out of the question, all the vulnerability and confusion of a teenager is portrayed. As a result, he occasionally makes mistakes and nearly believed in his opponent before the latter stroke him once more. Besides, his relationship with people around him is also featured, so the audience understands the cause of his every action. As Peter Parker himself professes, he is “the friendly neighbor, Spider-man,” and it seems that he is close to us and easily identified with.

The two movies were atypical in their genre for the thoughts they provoke in the audience’s mind by containing the depth usually lacking in most action movies. Superhero movies are as popular as they were in the past, but now the audience would want something more—that they can relate to the protagonist. Only by accessibility can a movie really inspire people, and if it is good enough, it can be even more influential than a book since everything is visualized before people’s eyes. Both Spider-man and Daredevil have overcome numerous obstructions to hold a special space in people’s hearts, and their legends may really motivate people to achieve their goals. Lastly, I would conclude that Parker is the most amiable spider and Murdock the most just devil I have ever heard so far among fictional works.

Having been studying in the Foreign Language and Literature Department in Tsing Hua University for one and a half years, I have been enlightened by quite some professors. Each of the professors has different styles, though, and in order to make my learning more effective, being fully aware of the professors’ fashions is crucial. Through my experience of interacting (or passively being lectured) with the professors, they can be categorized into five groups.

The first kind of professors are ardent believers in knowledge, and they hope to transform students into fanatics like them. They have always been preaching the importance of knowledge and how it would change the world if students were ardent enough to pursue it. Owing to their remarkable excellence in scholarship, they are never satisfied with students’ academic performance and often cast dissatisfied criticisms on us. Particularly, if no student knows the answer to the questions they ask in class, it would trigger off extremely biting complaints.

When interacting with professors of the aforesaid kind, one has to go with the most meticulous caution since every improper utterance would offend them. One professor of mine, Professor α, was maddened when one classmate unintentionally made an inappropriate comment about the professor’s family background in one report due to insufficient understanding. The professor was full of rage and claimed that teaching our ignorant class was a great insult without realizing that such ruthless remark would defy our esteemed dignity.

Most students hold ambivalent feelings for the first kind of professors, for the professors are undeniably intellectual, yet they fail to know that severe captiousness is not necessarily the spur for students to improve. There seems to be a deep chasm between them and the students and it requires courage for either side to cross the boundary, if there should be anyone willing to do so. For my part, I secretly have some unbecoming sympathy towards the professors, as the chaotic and clamorous world has definitely disappointed them, and it can hardly turn into the magnificent castles they have built in the air of their hearts.

Secondly, there are professors whose erudition and modesty are admired by students, yet their ways of expressing themselves is not totally accessible. They are friendly and warm to the extent of amazing others, especially the first kind of professors. Every time I meet the second kind of professors, I feel an irrepressible to greet them and to know whether they are well.

Nevertheless, as learned as they are, what students can learn from them is strangely limited. Professor β and Professor γ are suitable representatives of this category, both well-read and gracious. However, Professor β mostly chats in class so that the materials covered is disorganized if I do not sort them out right after class. On the other hand, the way Professor γ talks is similar to murmurs, so in order to understand what it taught in class, I need to be able to hear the words first.

Another kind of professors excel both in knowledge and teaching methods due to their delightful charisma. While many of my classmates prefer professors who give little homework, the third kind of professors are manifest exceptions in the criteria. The classes taught by the professors are substantial and require much effort from students before and after class; still, one cannot help but comply with the professor’s guidelines.

Both Professor δ and Professor ε are specimens of this category. Admittedly, Professor δ is my favorite professor in the department. Whereas quite a few assignments are given all the time, I feel well informed in every class. Moreover, Professor δ persuades students to endeavor with gentility and fitting compliments. For the sake of vanity and the determination to improve, the majority of students would devote themselves to Professor ε’s class without much objection. Professor ε, whose eloquent speeches and revolutionary class activities are distinguished, is almost an idol-like figure to students. Therefore, no matter how unusual the requirements from Professor ε are, students strive for the best outcome with pleasure.

The reasons that form the third kind of professors’ success are their warm heart and formidable dedication to teaching. Professor δ constantly sends new information to students by e-mail and reminds us of current news in class. In addition, I found Professor ε memorizing the vocabularies which would be learned by heart by us later in class when I visited the office one morning. Therefore, with already much exertion from the professors, it is difficult for students not to be moved and spare no efforts.

As popular as the third kind of professors are, the ones belong to the fourth kind still have the upper hand securely. What constitutes the fourth kind of professors’ enormous popularity is pure human nature: students like to be taught by professors who are open-minded and not picky about students’ performance. The fourth kind of professors are tolerant of new trends, and few restrictions are set in their classes. When it comes to writing essay questions in the exams, no stereotypical answer is required and new ideas are welcomed. With several taut and compulsory courses students must take, being in the fourth kind of professor’s class is relatively relaxing and almost paradisiacal.

Yet, classes taught by the fourth kind of professors are sometimes too cozy for students to pay attention. Also, the grades given by the professors are, according to our common expression, incredibly “sweet.” Thus, one had better be good at self-discipline, or it is likely for students to slack off in class.

The four groups of professors above are mostly normal and accessible, regardless of their distinctions. The fifth kind of professors, nonetheless, are by no means ordinary. Their appearance is one of the reasons that make my department such an interesting environment to study in.

According to common standards, Tsing Hua University is celebrated for researching, and the fifth kind of professors live up to the image. Some can rarely be seen in the department building usually due to research plans or other unknown reasons. Conversely, the others teach their classes regularly, taking their responsibilities, but it is puzzling for me to keep up the pace with their thoughts, either because of their odd conversational style or their simply reading things from books. Even so, I respect the fifth kind of professors, seeing their silver hair and hearing their trembling voice. I guess that they must have really made contributions to the academic research fields.

Undoubtedly, there is much for me to learn from each of them, once adequate attempts are being made. Being so determined to an efficient learner, occasionally I question myself of whether I am consciously exposed to the threat of schizophrenia, trying hard to be accustomed to every teaching style.

Finally, my anxiety is proven to be meaningless. Although most professors are different, the characteristic they all share is being knowledgeable. After all, the purpose of entering college is to sharpen the skills for my future career, so every chance of learning should be seized. Professors happen to be the best people to guide me through the process, and to familiarize with them is a prerequisite.

Enough with high-sounding words being said, I am glad that professors in the department are diverse. If every of them behave in the same way, the whole learning thing can be extremely tedious. Frankly speaking, I would never manage to to be close to professors of certain kinds, yet such stubborn refusal would not obstruct my eagerness to learn and reverence I feel for every professor.