Philo Grad ≠ Douche

Please don’t assume the following just because I’m a Philo graduate:

That I will spend my life unemployed since it is a useless course.

I’ve been employed way before I entered college and had no difficulties finding work as an undergrad and as a graduate. Being employed is a combination of the person’s educational background, ability, and willpower.

That it is a useless course.

It is not. You may have read this time and again but the strenuous mental exercises we have been subjected to in college have equipped us with better interpersonal, logical, speaking, and writing skills. Besides, what constitutes a useful course anyway? The rate in which its grads are in demand? Every generation has an “in-demand” course. A course will only be useless if opt not to practice what you’ve learned while studying it.

That I want to be a lawyer, a priest, or a professor.

Don’t get me wrong, I think the aforementioned things are noble professions but there are different career opportunities for philo grads aside from teaching, tending to the flock, or grandstanding. There are Philo grads who went the corporate route, and interestingly, there are even a few who have forayed into IT.

That I constantly want to engage in a debate with you.

I am argumentative by nature so don’t blame my major for that. Besides, I won’t waste time talking to you if all you want to do is present me with fallacious statements. We might as well move on to more productive things.

That I want to discuss politics and religion with you.

I’m traditional when it comes to that. Those are two topics I would likely never get myself into out of respect for other people’s beliefs.

That I’m an atheist.

For the record, I’m not. Though I’m not a fan of organized religion and heavily doubt the existence of heaven and hell, I still believe in a Superior Being.

That I can discuss Kant and Aristotle on command.

From time to time, I may need to consult my notes or (gasp!) Google, to remember what the sages said. Besides, nobody understands Kant.

That everything I say is metaphorical

When I say I need to go to the restroom, there is no subliminal message there. I just really need to go to the restroom.

That I don’t like talking to people.

Reflecting without sharing is not only selfish, it also defeats the purpose of philosophizing.

That I think like Einstein.

Though I know some people who like to think of themselves as intellectuals; Philosophy, in general, has taught me that we only know so little and there is so much to learn in such a short lifetime.

That I have the answers to everything.

Oh I wish I did.

That I walk around with a pained expression on my face brought about by my constant mulling of life.

It’s most probably constipation.

 

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Fortune Is A Woman, Fortune Is A Bitch

Fortune is a woman, she favors the lion-hearted. No time for weak men, she bestows her blessings on the fighters. She is difficult to attract. She isn’t easily convinced by any man. You have to prove to her that you’re worthy. Sometimes, no amount of effort will do. She’ll just keep on ignoring you, refusing to see your hard work and heartaches. There are different ways to woo her, but there’s no saying which method is the most effective. Sometimes, it just takes a little nudge; other times it takes blood, sweat and tears. Once you have her, though, you’ll see that the suffering was well worth it. She’ll give you joy, satisfaction. Your heart’s deepest desires are finally satiated.

Her perfume is intoxicating, filling you with so much vigor that you feel you can take on anything. Ah, yes, you’re consumed with that sense of greatness she allowed you to believe you possessed. Spinning, spinning, spinning on top of the world, you demand everyone to take notice of you and the woman who made it possible. But just as they turn their eyes on you, you realize you’re the only one standing there. Slowly making your descent, you struggle to recall the exact minute you were left alone. Those thoughts are quickly dashed as your slow descent graduates into a quick fall from grace. Battered and bruised, you desperately look around, hoping she’ll be there.

She isn’t. You begin asking yourself why. What could you have possibly done to make her abandon you? Was it your pompousness? Didn’t you give her the attention she deserved? Or was it just because it was never meant to be?

None of the above. She was just too fickle to stay with you. As you slowly rebuild your life and as the wounds heal, you start to look for her again vowing to make it good this time and never let her go. But all this is futile because she refuses to notice you. Last you heard, she was already with a stronger, braver, more virile man.

Maybe in a few years’ time you’ll be better than that other man. Maybe you will get back together and she will bestow on you favors again, the way she once did. Then again, maybe not. Maybe no matter how strong and courageous and virile you’ll get, she still won’t give you the time of day. After all, you had your chance with her, and you blew it.

Maybe she’s still with that other man by that time. Or maybe, she disposed of that other man already and moved on to even greater men. And you… you’re left in the sidelines only with vague memories of a distant past which you will never have again all because she won’t have you anymore.

Fortune is a bitch.

Note: This appeared in The Spires, literary folio of San Beda College. 

Disclaimer: This is not a rant against anyone, it is merely a piece on fortune inspired by the philosophy of Niccolo Machiavelli as reflected upon by Hannah Pitkin.