As I am trying to finish up my coursework this semester, I am overwhelmed with readings, writings, teaching, and other commitments. It's only Wednesday of the second week of the semester and I was so tired and took a nap when I got back from school. So I thought that I'd give myself a thing that would pick me up.

I recently found my love for Dvořák's Symphony no. 8. When I first heard it on NPR, I fell for it and searched  libraries and everything. And I found -- I had the CD! that I bought like 15 years ago.
How come I did not know that I had the CD?? Well, it was coupled with Dvořák's most popular Symphony no. 9 ("From the New World") and I definitely bought the CD for it, listened to No. 9 only repeatedly.

This Symphony No. 8 is a sibling of a celebrity that has been overshadowed by his/her star sibling but has its own beauty and talent. But they have more lasting appeal because they are not so stimulant and eyepopping as their celebrity sibling. When I was very young (and bought the CD) I was attracted to the embellished, grandiose beauty of No. 9 -- it was a love at first sight. But I soon grew out of it. Conversely, I did not fall for the less known No. 8 but as I grow older and mature I became appreciative of its quiet beauty that does not fade away. In other words, No. 8 is the wife/husband material.

And here is, most invigorating Movement 3.

I couldn't sing nor dance.
I did not have the body or face that men wanted to see.
I was not born with a silver spoon.
The world has done its dirty job to me before I had my day.

But I keep writing my stories just because that all I have.
I will be telling my stories tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow, and the day after...
even if no one listens to it.



Janis Ian - Stars (1974)

I was never one for singing,
What I really feel.
Except tonight I'm bringing,
Everything I know that's real.

Stars, they come and go.
They come fast, 'n slow.
They go like the last light of the sun,
All in a blaze.
And all you see is glory.
Hey, but it gets lonely there,
When there's no one here to share.
We can shake it away,
If you'll hear a story.

People lust for fame,
Like athletes in a game.
We break our collarbones,
And come up swinging.
Some of us are downed
Some of us are crowned,
And some are lost and never found.
But most have seen it all.
They live their lives,
In sad cafes and music halls.
They always come up singing.

Some make it when they're young,
Before the world has done it's dirty job.
And later on, someone will say,
"You've had your day, now you must make way."
But they'll never know the pain
Of living with a name you never owned.
Or the many years forgetting,
What you know too well,
That the ones who gave the crown,
Have been let down.
You try to make amends without defending.

Perhaps pretending you never saw the eyes
Of grown men of twenty-five,
That follow as you walk,
And ask for autographs,
Or kiss you on the cheek.
And you never can believe,
They really loved you.
Some make it when they're old
Perhaps they have a soul
They're not afraid to bare.
Or perhaps there's nothing there.

Stars, they come and go.
They come fast, they come slow.
They go like the last light of the sun,
All in a blaze.
And all you see is glory.
Most have seen it all.
They live their lives,
In sad cafes and music halls.
They always have a story.

Some women have a body,
Men will want to see.
And so they put it on display.
Some people play a fine guitar.
I could listen to them play all day.
Some ladies really move across a stage,
And, gee, they sure can dance.
I guess I could learn how,
If I gave it half a chance.
But I always feel so funny
When my body tries to soar.
And I seem to always worry,
About missing the next chord.

Guess there isn't anything,
To put up on display.
Except the tunes,
And whatever else I say.
And anyway, that isn't really,
What I meant to say.
I meant to tell a story.
I live from day to day.

Stars, they come and go.
They come in fast, they come slow.
And they go like the last light of the sun,
All in a blaze.
And all you see is glory.
But most have seen it all,
Live their lifes,
In sad cafes and music halls.
And we always have a story.
So, if you don't loose patience,
With my fumbling around,
I'll come up singing for you,
Even when I'm down.

One of the inspirations that led me to pursue my Ph.D. degree. When I read this poem, I was struck by the thought that I would never be able to explorer the road I chose not to take. And the road I was taking was not satisfying, though well-paying. So here I am, studying to be poor (sociologists are not really making good money).

The Road Not Taken