In a sudden I feel grievous, looking up from page 44 of Jacob’s Room through the rain-strained window to the top of a leafless tree backgrounded by the cloudy sky of December the first.
Fresh out of college with a mind full of ideology and ideas, with that body full of strength and energy, young men usually curse the corrupted state of this world. Blame it all to the older generation, rebel against them and swear they will make change.
They do not only hope for Utopia, they believe they can make it.
However as years passed, they gradually see themselves following the steps of those people they once turned against. And towards 30, they start to realise that there is not much they can do for this world. There is not much they can change, and Utopia seems impossible.
Though they have read Homer, Shakespeare, the Elizabethans, Dickens, Jane Austen and a few French books. Though they have had Rossetti’s or Van Gogh’s reproduced on their wall. Though they have listened to Moonlight Sonata. Though they have gone to Cambridge.
Years passed, all they can do is just witnessing this world getting more and more corrupted whilst their time is moving. It is unspeakably awful yet they have to accept that one day they will have to pass away from this world without having done anything much for it, let alone to change it.
Just exactly as their older generation who once in their early 20s strived for Utopia.
In a sudden tears run down my cheek. I blink and the tree melt with the raindrops on the window. It was once bright and lively there. It was once full of hope.
It was, once, Jacob.
Suggested soundtrack: Soft Like Snow by Heinali