Some thoughts on Sylvia Plath’s journals
She wondered how people can achieve immortality. She marvelled at the fact that so many literary minds have had their “spark” extinguished by death, and that their brilliant minds are rotting in a hole somewhere. Sylvia wondered if it was in the re-reading of their works that they are kept alive. In so doing, Sylvia achieved her life purpose and heart’s desire.
She achieved immortality in her writing, her poems, her novel, her journals. Although she is no longer breathing, thousands of people are acutely aware of each minute detail of her day-to-day life. She would never have imagined how significant she made her life, just by assuming it was insignificant and would be quickly forgotten.
It kind of gives me hope. Not only for the wide range of subject matter she came up with to reflect upon, but also for the chance that someone may come upon my journals and poems and “love me a little” (as Sylvia put it), as I love Sylvia for what she has given me. Namely, a soul to relate to, understanding, insight and illumination into the smallest details of life that can become the most utterly profound.
I know right now I am only in love with Sylvia and her words because up until this point where I am in her journals, she remains vulnerable, weak, alone, suffering from longing, just as I am. Maybe that admiration, love, appreciation will subside once I get to the part of her life where she meets her future husband and he charms her and she begins to describe the rush of love.
Maybe I should wait before advancing in the text and coming to that moment where she meets her true love- who ultimately cheats on her and damages Sylvia enough for her to take her own life.