So It Begins . . .

Now I get to write a thesis for grad school. Other schools chose to use the compre exam for the grad student to pass, no thesis, then onto graduation and diploma. Now, my school preferred that grad students pass the compre and write/publish and defend their thesis. I’ve passed the compre test so far so I get to soldier on with the thesis.

I’ve always been fascinated with the works of one Kerima Polotan, aka Patricia Torres or Kerima Polotan Tuvera. I’ve skimmed through a few of her books (The Hand of the Enemy and Author’s Choice) however I was still re-reading a few Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronte books and finishing up my last semester on the academic side of the coin. I broached the idea to our Program Head who then thought of a title that will incorporate at least two theories – Feminist and Marxist. Ah I thought. Whuttanidea. With that said, Judith Butler’s Gender Performativity and Lillian Robinson’s Sex, Class, and Culture opened that thin veil of transparency that I needed to help me discern textual evidence in one of Ms. Polotan’s books. The question is which tome should I extrapolate to answer the problem?

Upon reading more about Ms Polotan’s works, I didn’t realize that she’s written a book of short stories. VIOLA! EUREKA! I gotchit. As a short story writer myself and trying to get my book of short stories published hopefully in a few years, this was serendipitously and splendidly laid out to me by the Thesis gods.

The book is aptly titled, STORIES. It is a compilation of eleven stories that I can’t wait to parse and mince the words and thoughts into pieces to help me latch on the feminist and marxist underpinnings for my research.

On another note, I don’t live in the Bajada district anymore. I’ve moved to a 2 storey house near the Coastal Road here in Davao. Just two floors to climb down instead of nine floors to traipse through when the earth quakes. Also, friendship is a two way street. I am going to cut ties with the people I’ve known and reached out to but offered no replies at all whatsoever. That’s all I’ve to say about the matter. Not my loss.

And so it begins

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