Beatrice’s Book
School weighed heavy on my shoulders, a relentless storm of exams, papers, and presentations brewing in the week before spring break. Every professor seemed to have synchronized their torment to ensure we endured a harrowing journey before we could revel in relaxation. Three exams loomed, two papers demanded attention and a solo presentation awaited me in one of my seminars. The library, my refuge, and battleground, was to become my home for the week.
Seeking solace, I retreated to a quiet room flanked by towering bookshelves, each stacked with volumes that reached a staggering twenty feet high. It was a sanctuary within the library, spared from the bustling chaos of student life, especially on a tranquil Sunday. The books in this room were a breed apart, not the run-of-the-mill tomes found elsewhere in the library or the shelves of a Barnes and Noble.
Amidst the stifling atmosphere of academic pressure, a peculiar incident unfolded. As I immersed myself in the intricacies of economics, a book unceremoniously plummeted from its lofty perch, crashing onto the floor before me. My gaze darted upward, but the towering bookshelf offered no indication of the book's origin. Intrigued, I picked up the fallen volume, finding its pages curiously blank. A sense of bewilderment compelled me to flip back to the beginning, where handwritten entries unfolded, resembling a diary from a bygone era.
"The days grow longer as work becomes harder
Sun sets lower as time moves faster
Life gets messier as summer lies closer.
Leverage today for a present tomorrow
Today's sorrow creates joy on the morrow
Sacrifice the now so you’ll never have to borrow.
The dean’s list isn’t just for freshmen
Learned to fish and now can call yourself a fisherman
Now you have the dream profession just for it to become an obsession."
The single entry left me with more questions than answers. Was it an incomplete work? Who was the mysterious author, and why was this peculiar book nestled among the others? Placing it haphazardly atop a stack, my focus returned to the impending academic challenges.
Unbeknownst to me, this unassuming book was a vessel of magic, narrating my past, present, and future in distinct poetic verses. Each entry was a reflection of my emotions and experiences during different stages of life. Little did I know that, if kept, the book would continue to chronicle my journey, capturing the essence of each significant event or altering its pages as my destiny unfolded.
In the days that followed, the library became my second home, a hallowed ground where I toiled relentlessly over textbooks and notes. The weight of impending exams and looming deadlines pressed upon me, and the mysterious book, now sitting inconspicuously among others on the shelf, faded into the background of my consciousness.
As the week progressed, the magic within the ancient volume began to unfurl its tendrils into my reality. The first poem, once an enigma, started to resonate with my experiences. The days did grow longer as my workload intensified, the sun did seem to set lower as time slipped away, and the chaos of my life did mirror the impending arrival of summer.
I found myself seeking solace in the verses, drawing strength from the words that seemed to echo the challenges I faced. Leveraging today for a promising tomorrow became my silent mantra, and I embraced the concept that my present struggles would birth joy in the morrow.
On the day of my solo presentation, nerves churned within me as I stood before the class. Despite the anxiety, I recalled the lines of the third poem, fortifying my resolve. The dean's list, once a distant aspiration, now felt within reach, and the vision of a rewarding future buoyed me through the presentation.
With each passing day, the book revealed more of its mystical nature. The pages, once blank, now teemed with handwritten verses, chronicling my life's journey. It became a companion, a guide through the labyrinth of academia and the uncertainties beyond.
As spring break finally arrived, I dared to entertain the idea that the book held the key to shaping my destiny. The words seemed to dance in tandem with the rhythm of my life, capturing the essence of my joys, sorrows, and the silent sacrifices made in pursuit of success.
With newfound curiosity, I delved into the final poem, written in anticipation of a future yet unknown. The verses spoke of dreams fulfilled, yet hinted at the potential cost—a life consumed by a profession turned obsession. As the break unfolded, I pondered the delicate balance between ambition and personal fulfillment.
Little did I realize that the magical book, with its poetic oracle, was not merely a spectator but an active participant in my journey. The ink on its pages mirrored the ebb and flow of my emotions, the trials faced, and the triumphs celebrated. As the semester unfolded, the enchanted diary would continue to weave its verses into the tapestry of my life, an unseen hand guiding me through the intricate dance of fate and free will.
February 27, 2024