The Humiliation of Love

I haven't experienced the devastation one feels when they love someone, yet these feeling are not reciprocated. After all, I am only thirteen. Yet in the book Girl With a Pearl Earring, the character Greitel, who is only fourteen at the beginning of the story, most definitely has experienced this feeling. Greitel is sold as a house maid to the house of the famous Dutch painter Vermeer, and as she begins to clean and tidy up the house of this famous painter and his wife and children, her curiosity blooms. She begins to wonder what mysteries lay in his studio, and she soon finds herself exploring its nooks and crannies, even though anyone other than Vermeer is forbidden to enter it. The painter Vermeer soon gives Greitel the task of his studio cleaner, although even Vermeer's wife is prohibited to enter it. Once Greitel begins to work alongside the magnificent painter Vermeer, and help to clean his tools, mix his paints, and finally, model for one of his paintings, Greitel has found  herself fallen in love with the Dutch painter. No sooner does Greitel admit to herself that she is infatuated with Vermeer than do Vermeer's wife and the other housemaids assume they had an affair, and Greitel must suffer the devastating humiliation of being kicked out of Vermeer's house for supposed adultery, although no such act was conducted.

I myself have never been in this situation, so how can I relate? Greitel and I may only be one or two years apart, but the centuries that separate us make her harmless act look incredibly guilty if I were to conduct the same thing. I cannot feel the shattering and suffocating feeling of love gone wrong. But who ever said that I cannot relate?

Greitel's sadness and humiliation in the concluding chapters of this book are much like my feelings with my grades. I don't love my grades, and my grades are not able to reciprocate whatever feeling I feel for them because they are numbers on paper, they do not show emotion. Yet a bad grade is cold and hard, and reprimands me for not having studied harder, for not getting enough sleep the night before. It mocks me and demeans me, telling me I do not have the potential to go places and to be intelligent. It tells me that I am not trying enough, I am never trying enough. A good grade, in contrast, embraces me in its grip and tells me that this once, I really did do good enough, and that I have a reason to be happy instead of feeling guilt for my happiness. A bad grade casts me out, and society laughs at me, but a good grade embraces me in its arms and ensures my safety.