Faustian pact with my coursework

Ao Nang Beach was about to get crowded. I guessed more tourists sensed that there won't be any rainfall during the rest of the week, but thoughts of the previous term distracted me. My tutor seemed envious after I told him that I would spend my gap year somewhere else. He just said something that intrigued me. How could students learn from the Victorian work ethic?

Nineteenth-century English society was divided into three classes. Income level wouldn't be the only factor, as values, manners, and education would come into play. I was confused at first, as I thought my tutor was pertaining to the work ethic. He did cite his visit to San Francisco not long ago, where he was told about a Californian factory that could serve as a lesson for all employees. Everyone wanted the responsibility. They preferred to be prime movers. They could endure anxiety. If I got it right, my tutor was proud that he revolutionized the Victorian work ethic. He was able to achieve a heroic self-realization through hard work. On that regard, I would admire him. (I was embarrassed to think about the hours he spent on reading essays. It might be longer if he would check the grammar.)

The ultimate aim of a student's existence

I was too young to comprehend what my tutor told me. It might have been a different case if I were a member of the varsity, but I could be a rabid spectator at times. The ideal environment for students must be fun. There should be a kind of support system. Meaning? We would make it through the end of the term without getting burned out. Purpose? Our undergraduate degree. World view? I reckoned it would be a gap year.

My tutor added that the only to develop long-lasting commitment was to tap into the student's mental and spiritual motivation. I didn't feel at ease, as Reading Week gave me a headache. As for the so-called meaning in my (teenage) life, I found it when I boarded the plane to Bangkok. I might be one of a handful of students who would earn their BA degree on their mid-20s, and I was fine with it. My parents used to go places during their younger days, so they didn't have second thoughts about my plan to travel halfway around the world.

I wasn't thinking of Alex Garland's works, even if the Phi Phi Islands could be seen from the distance. "Loafing is the most productive part of a writer's life," James Norman Hall once said. And I couldn't agree more. (He might not have written "Mutiny on the Bounty" if he didn't leave America.) My tutor was pleased with my assignments, and I didn't tell him that it took me a lot of time. I would lie in my bed, while my small room was transformed into a coastline of a desert island. I kept on glancing at the azure sea, which would be a rainy afternoon outside my window.

I have literary aspirations, but I haven't thought long and hard about it. I might do it sooner or later while waiting in the departure area (of the airport). But now won't be the time. My legs were sore after climbing up a 1,237-step stairway in able to reach Tiger Cave Temple. The view from above didn't help me forget my aching muscles. (And my literary muse was nowhere to be seen.) The sea relieved it. All my (petty) troubles seemed far away.