Ramiro

               My name is Ramiro Galperin, a sophomore hailing from the chaotic city of Buenos Aires, Argentina. Leaving home to immerse myself in this idyllic, strange land has been an intensely introspective experience. Today, I claim to be an English major, to the grand bafflement of my family who, for three generations, have recurrently fallen into the pits of the business world donning fresh suits and the sharpest of eyes. Being the oldest of the fourth generation, the trenchant axe of expectation fell heavy on me, yet I've somehow managed to escape unscathed and sculpt my own dreams. Reading stories and novels is what brought me to this Institution, and my only hope for survival in these blurred, tumultuous times. Indeed, without books and writing, I would probably find myself in some second-rate Argentine university, devising schemes to outwit society and reap in the Pesos, as a means to finally ensconce myself somewhere warm and ride horses 'till the end of my days. Instead, I have relinquished all hopes of financial stability, and decided for the perennial struggle of becoming a writer - I obsessively observe reality in the hopes of latching on to some kernel of truth and create something meaningful. If all else fails, fortunately I have a penchant for impressing and alluring old women, and thus plan to be a first-rate gigolo, somewhere in Europe. To this end, I've learned some latin-sounding songs on the guitar that will never fail to make a tired heart flutter; believe me, I'm certain of this. What else? I'm continually assailed by a deeply entrenched wanderlust, and have been known to act quite impulsively when idle. I'm a quarter Russian, a quarter English, a quarter French, and a quarter German - thus, it should come as no surprise to anyone that I enjoy drinking promiscuously, and will be happy to have a few beers with whoever has the lack of forethought to suggest such an endeavor. Oh, and yes, one of my passions is film, so I'll proceed to post a picture of one of my recent favorites: 

The film is called Holy Motors, by Leos Carax. I highly recommend it to anyone who appreciates being perplexed beyond repair. It is a beautiful film, and I can assure you it will make you think on levels we vehemently ignore for the sake of our sanity; but hell, I can't pretend to be sane, and don't really want to anyways. Selah. 

Regarding the question of whether there is such a thing as a new story, I think what we need to ask ourselves is whether reality is an endless iteration of itself or not. Times change, lives change, priorities and goals change, ways of interaction morph, and yes, the structure of the story might hold the same principles and variables that can be utilized, but they will always be a different reflection from the writer, and for the reader. No-one reads a story the same way - they are too personal; we hold the mirror of our own lives, with our own experiences, to the page, as it were, and interpret something entirely new and different each time. Someone mentioned The Stranger in class, well, I've read it almost three times, and have had an entirely different experience each time - because I've changed as a person. So I believe stories will always be new, and I sure as hell hope so, for I'm utterly damned if not. It seems obvious that whatever is created stems from a foundation of many different influences from previous authors, but that's just the way to learn, expand our minds, and be inspired to create something different. Alas, we'll have to prove this as the class unfolds.

Until then, I remain,
Intestinally yours,

Ramiro