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Project: Memories of War

This has been a weird day.
Maybe not exactly weird. No. Let’s call it interesting.

This has been an interesting day.

It began quite nicely as we went out to buy our rings. It was nice and sunny and I got to dress my new jeans and they look so very nice on me. When I got home I had noodles and tuna with some green peas, and I was real proud of myself for forcing myself to eat some greenies. Then I thought I’d go look for some shoes, but eventually got too lazy for that and just sat on the computer and watched three episodes of Doctor Who. (*fangirl yay*)
Then I finally figured I should start the Irish essay, at least, since there’s not that many days left anymore, especially if I want to hand it in when I go to school on the 26th for my last test of the year. (Marketing, oh lordy…) My inspiration levels were close to zero, but soon I got really into it, writing about the play I enjoyed more, and then I got really into the other one too, and ended up finishing the whole thing just about twenty minutes ago. (And for the sake of something I leave the weirdest – most interesting – thing out here, but trust me guys, s’weird!)

I mean wow, I never thought that was even possible, to write 10 pages (well the last isn’t a whole page) in half a day only. Never tried it before, at least. But it’s a nice essay, I feel good about it. Got all philosophical in the conclusion, woo… Now I just gotta hope my teacher likes it as much as I do. Although, last semester I wrote an essay on William Butler Yeats and the Purpose of Theatre… That was a much bigger bore than this one, that’s for sure, and she liked that one too, so… Fingers crossed!

As I mentioned in the previous post, I wrote my essay on the two plays I read (and then, after I had already decided I would write it on them, the teacher sent an email with four topics for the essays that we should choose one from, and I got really scared that I wouldn’t be able to write it on this, and ta-daa, two of them were on these plays exactly!), and more specifically on the theme of memory on them, so it’s called “Memories of War – Memory in Observe the Sons of Ulster Marching Toward the Somme and Walking the Road, A Comparison” 

I even managed to do something with Word I’ve wanted to do for like forever, but never managed to, until now – and I have no idea how I, in the end, managed to do it, I’m just happy I did! – which was to start the page numbers only from the 3rd page. So now it’s extra pretty.
It’s a good essay to end school with. Although I will most likely send it by email before handing it in on paper, just so the teacher know I’ve done it already.

… After I write that commentary on the last play.

I wonder where my love for war stories comes from. I usually know why I like something or not, but with this one I’m clueless. As far as I remember, the first time I read a war story was in high school – The Unknown Soldier, obviously – with the worst teacher ever. That horrible, horrible man gave me a 6 from the course! A 6!! (for all those not Finnish, the Finnish grading system is from 4 to 10) In my beautiful line of 8, 9 and 10, there is a 6 in the middle, because of him!! *hmph*
So yes, I can think of no good reason why I didn’t start hating that book. Especially since it was the theme for our national exams the year I wrote them. Usually school ruins books. So why not now?

Wait. I have a memory coming in! I read another, before high school. But for school too. But it wasn’t really a war book. So I can’t really say it counts. Just some wounded guys from the war in a hospital back home. So if this doesn’t count, exactly…

Why, after such horrible experiences, do I enjoy books like The Red Badge of Courage, and these two plays, so much? (Not to get me started on the Unknown Soldier) Why do I get all fired up and inspired when we study war poetry or the American civil war or whatever?
I mean, no. I don’t like war, and I don’t like to see news about war. I don’t want to start a war against anyone. I don’t want to participate in a war in any way.
I just like war stories. Literature. Poems. Beautiful, honor, courage.

…think maybe it has something to do with the fact that Finnish people make real nice war movies, and I used to watch them with my grandparents?
…was I some sort of wicked war lord in a previous life?

Mum? Ideas?