Lost In Reading

I just finished reading the play Translation. I think the only thing that I can really say at the moment is not G-rated, but I will try. WHAT THE HECKKKK??? I hated it. I didn't like it at all. Not one bit. I think I will have to read it again later, maybe I missed something. But that is not how I wanted it to end AT ALL. Maybe I missed a page, but what happened to Yoland? He left...but then the British Army was sent to look for him? Why in the world?

I hope the next time I blog I understand what happened.

Please, if you understood it better than me, help a sister out. Tell me why this happened!

What Do You Believe?__ Grits

Today, instead of doing homework, I did what I normally do, Facebook creep, over check my class blog (yes I know I am kind of a nerd), and I organized my iTunes play list. Somehow, the culmination of this brought me back to a song that I listened to when I was in middle school. The song is called "Believe" it is by a Christian hip-hop group named Grits. The song basically talks about how everyone needs something to believe in and then it asks the pivotal question, both for us and for Omishto, 'What do you believe". I just wanted to share it with everyone...I hope you enjoy :)

Believe Ft. Jennifer Knapp

everybody needs something to see
something to feel
and something to be
everybody needs something as proof
something in hand
to know the truth

livin lavish like the biltmore
what the blood spilt for
a ship in harbor safe
but that aint what its built for
do all i can to help you get more
if you forgive my slight intrusion
i see this night is confusin
a constant fight with illusions
shed a light on conclusions
what you desire is a way out
day in and day out
do not disturb signs so i’ll stay out
how long will you let the torture grasp you
i see spirits manifestin
blockin blessings with the questions
that you hear me ask you

keep it up so muchwill pass you
you can make it on a prayer
yeah that’s true
but barely getting by when you can do more
why would you want to
forgettin’ that the wood’s dry and the fires on you
lifes a hastle
be prepared to rastle
it can be rough
but it don’t have to
you can make it full of smiles
something to laugh to
so pick and chose my message thick
so squeeze and watch it ooze
make it a game to where your fears lose
lets go

theres a way that seems right
in the heart of a man
and many angels of light
in disguise destroying man
so most chose to refuse
replace it with lies
use ignorance as an excuse
it’s hard to conceive
what the mind can’t comprehend
and harder to believe
what the eyes cant understand
we look to theory philosophy and thought
for a sure foundation
in a belief we once sought
while the shadow of truth
cast an image so clear
the closer it gets

we reject it out of fear
if we really wanted truth
we would give our lives for it
walk in its direction of light
for gods glory
so the saga continues
cause most hearts are deceived
if we really wanted truth
we would live and believe
still the saga continues
cause most hearts are deceived
if we really wanted truth
we would live and believe in it

the absolute truth

The Eye of the Storm

I've been reading the novel Power by Linda Hogan. At first it was really slow moving but now I am hooked and can't stop reading. At one point in the novel Omishto, the protagonist, begins describing a storm. As I was reading it I immediately thought of when your parents get mad at you. I don't know why I thought of this, but I think it is because her relationship with her parents plays such a crucial role in the book. She frequently describes and defines herself through her relationship with her mom. One of the most moving quotes that I found was when Omishto described one of the main reasons why she liked Ama. It was when Ama said, "You're nothing like her [Omishto's mother] at all." Omishto then said that is was why she liked Ama. Omishto didn't want to be correlated to her mother or any of her family, for that matter.

But back to the eye of the storm. I think that due to Omishto's turbulent family lifestyle when she began describing the eye of the storm I immediatley thought of when parents get angry. Omishto described a storm to follow, afterwards I will show how it relates to a parents anger.

"That heavy moment of silence dark gray with weight. It is dead still as if I am in a clear eye of destruction, a calm heart dressed in a skin of fury, but it's not even the eye of the storm, it's the silence before it hits, the time it takes to infale, to gether itself. I have time, I hope, in this clear space, to make it back to Ama, as if she holds safety in her skin, as if the house will hold me safe even though it's dying and rotting away"

"heavy moment of silence dark gray with weight"= The time just after you break the news to your parents, "I just rear ended a car...it was my fault I was texting."

"dead still as if I am in a clear eye of destruction"= the look your parents give you when they hear this then the inital rash decision, "I am taking away your car for the rest of your life"

"a calm hear dressed in a skin of fury...not even the eye of the storm"= because they have just heard this information they become silent after their initial response. they then begin rethinking things, consequences, punishments, what is appropriate and what is not.

"I hope...the house will hold me safe even though it's dying and rotting away"= Our last ditch attempt to get us out of trouble a quick "But I was texting you to tell you I was on my way home" the guilt, 'it-was-your-fault-so-you-have-to-take-some-of-the-blame' reverse psychology that never works on parents.

**Situation purely hypothetical and in no way meant to be real-life, non-fiction

The Importance of a Name

In the last section of reading of the book Lucy, Lucy began to talk about her discontent with that she felt with her name. She felt that her name had no substance and that it was picked with no real meaning attached. Because of this she decided that she would try to call herself different names she said, "I called myself other names: Emily, Charlotte, Jane. They were names of the authoresses whose books I loved." After reading this I was brought back to the idea that Jamaica, the author of Lucy, had also changed her name and that this book was based loosely off of her life. I then began to wonder, how much of this book is actually a true life account? I guess that I could assume that many of the big things that took place in Lucy's life could have taken place in Jamaica's which caused her to want to write about them.
I then was also thinking that Jamaica's real name was Elaine Potter Richardson, the main character's name was Lucy Josephine Potter. They even shared a name, "Potter". Thinking about this I think that Jamaica must have had a deeper connection with the idea of "Potter" being a slave owners name. I wish that I could ask her many of the questions that I am thinking about.

Another thing that I also thought about when I read this passage was how there are so many other authors that have pen names when they write.

• Samuel Clemens--Mark Twain
• Richard Bachman--Stephen King
• Charles Lutwidge Dodgson--Lewis Carroll
• Theodore Suess Giesel--Dr. Suess

Do you think that giving yourself another name would allow you to write with a more unabashed style? Would you censor yourself as much if you were able to hide behind a name? I wonder these things both about myself, you, and Jamaica Kincaid. Because she wrote with a different name, did she feel as she was writing this that she could write more openly?

My Life?

As I was reading Lucy today after every page I wondered, does Jamaica Kincaid know my life? It seemed that almost everything she said had some relation to me. Reading through the couple of chapters we had to for class I was constantly thinking, "wow, that totally goes with my life".

Some of the most disheartening times that this happened included when Lucy struggled with her feelings with her mother. "I was not like my mother-I was my mother" This rang so true with me. There are so many days that I go through the day saying that I will never become like my mother. There are so many things that I dislike about her but then at the end of the day I realize that as much as I try not to be like her I am like my mom in so many ways. My mother is always the maternal figure for many people, at work she has so many "adopted" children. She is always willing to help people who are struggling it almost becomes a fault. These things about her I often times get frustrated but in the end I realize that I am exactly the same. I am willing to give everything to everyone with almost nothing in return. And the most frustrating thing is that I do it again and again, which I have seen my mother do more than once.

I felt what Lucy felt when she struggled with this emotional battle. Trying to become your own self only knowing that you are going to become something that you have fought to be.

After this emotional battle I was SHOCKED when Maude came and told Lucy about her dad. Then I wanted to cry when Lucy explained what happened "My father had died...Though for a long time he had suffered from a weak heart, still it was unexpected...My father died leaving my mother a pauper" Those few sentences were my life. Kincaid had summed up my life in just a few short sentences. My dad had struggled with heart disease for a couple of years, but being optimistic lead me to believe that nothing would ever happen to him. He would always be strong and never get sick. Then when my dad did die it was extremely unexpected. I never thought that he would be gone. Then shortly after he passed away my mom and I realized that he had not kept up on his life insurance. My mom was then forced to take on some of his bills with no help from his life insurance policy. Because of my own emotional struggle I felt what Lucy was going through more than I had ever wished to. At the moment I read that I wished I could just reach through and give her a hug and tell her that everything was going to be okay.

The new and the old

"I was reminded of how uncomfortable the new can make you feel" Lucy pg. 4. I think this is so true. The biggest situation I can remember is going into college. I was so excited to leave high school, to make new friends, to be in the marching band, but I hadn't really given much thought to the idea of being uncomfortable. Then the day came that I was fully immersed into college life. It was the first day of band camp and I knew NO ONE.

Going into band I was incredibly insured that I would be able to start over fresh. I could become anyone or anything that I wanted to be. I was no longer going to have to play up the role that I had become from elementary school to high school. I could be the "cool" kid now...Then I walked into the band building and I was petrified. I knew NO ONE and it was no longer a nice thing. The new was horrifying and I just wanted to go back to high school band where I knew everyone and they knew me. It was then that I, like Lucy, was reminded of how uncomfortable the new can make you feel.

Unresolved?

I've been walking around the past few days mulling over in my head a major idea that we talked about in class. The idea that Lahiri's short story was unresolved. Although I feel that everyone's arguments as to why Lahiri's story was unresolved were valid, I never felt that way until I went into class. I thought the ending was nearly perfect and that there was an amazing resolution at the end. I felt like the whole story was an observation of Sanjeev's feelings for Twinkle. He was trying to sort out why exactly he married her and in the end he realized that although she did so many things that irritated him he loved her for them.

"It was the same pang he used to feel before they were married, when he would hang up the phone after one of their conversations, or when he would drive back from the airport, wondering which ascending plane in the sky was hers"

I loved the story to say the least. It might be my romantization of love and marriage, but I think that Sanjeev and Twinkle's relationship is perfect. Although they often got on eachothers nerves, at the end of the day they realized that there was nobody else better for them.

Do Opposites Attract?

Sanjeeve and Twinkle in This Blessed House seem to be exact opposites. Sanjeev seems to be the business man that has everything together and wants to put up a front to show the rest of the world that him and his family are just like the rest of America. Twinkle, on the other hand, is very free-spirited. She doesn't seem to let things get her down and she is always on the go but not in the most productive manner.

I believe that opposites can attract, and they do. I don't think that polar opposites will form a lasting relationship. A good relationship must be formed on some similiarities but I feel that some difference will make a relationship work.

When I thought about this couple, Sanjeev and Twinkle, I was quickly reminded of another beloved "opposites attract" couple...Lucy and Ricky. It seemed that almost everything Lucy did Ricky hated but at the end of each episode they were always together.

I Love Lucy - Lucy Plays Cupid
Uploaded by Monsieur_No

Behind the Veil

I attended a lecture at the Student Diversity Leadership Conference this past week. Professor Qazi introduced to the group very interesting points about the stereotypes that the West and Western culture have put on women of the Middle East. In the West it has seemed that the idea of the veil and head covering has become synonymous with the words of oppression and lack of woman's rights. Instead Qazi showed that for many women the veil shows their religious devotion and is in no way a political way of oppression. One of the most interesting things that she showed was a series of pictures in which we had to guess what the people were doing. In this picture she cropped it so that just the heads were showing. Not one person would have guessed that it was a group of women in a soccer league playing. She also explained that many muslim countries are far ahead in women's rights in that they have already had a woman head political leader. Qazi's lecture was very informative and broke many social stereotypes that I had formed in my head about the muslim culture and women oppression. As she talked I was also reminded of a book that I read last semester by Shirin Ebadi called Iran Awakening.

Play vs. Movie vs. Written Play Vs. Movie

I was thinking about the question that our professor posed to us last class. What do you think the purest form of Shakespeare is/was? After thinking about it for awhile I realized that at this point in time I don't think that it is really possible to get a "pure" form of anything Shakespeare. I feel that the only time in which Shakespeare could have been pure and acted out in the way that he wanted it would be the first time the plays were every acted out with Shakespeare as the director. Only then would he be able to make sure that each actor was in his place and each line was said the way that he wanted.

After thinking about this I thought of my favorite recreation of Romeo and Juliet by Shakespeare. Romeo + Juliet with Leonardo DiCapprio, I felt, shed a humorous light on the play. It infused the language of Shakespeare with an odd assortment of present day artillery and dress. It also is most likely the farthest in Shakespeare's mind of what he wanted his play to become.

I feel that Shakespeare's intentions aren't as clear cut in moves such as Romeo + Juliet and O because the directors get so caught up in trying to make the movie and the plot more modern that they may confuse what Shakespeare was trying to say or twisting it in ways that, although it makes it less confusing for the audience, does not show the underlying stories of Shakespeare's plays.

Displacement

A couple of classes ago we were posed with the question: What is displacement?

In going about answering this question I came to the conclusion that there are two types of displacement, physical and emotional. A person or a thing can be displaced. Like water is displaced from a container when something heavy is placed in it. A person is displaced when their home is no longer there for them. The biggest example that I could think of was Hurricane Katrina. Many people in the New Orleans area were displaced from their homes and forced to move to other areas.

After discussing displacement I realized that people can be emotionally displaced, too. Trying to come up with an example I thought of myself. After my dad died I think that I emotionally displaced myself. Which brings about the other point, that displacement can be a voluntary action. I went about my life shortly after my dad's death thinking that no one could relate to me and that I was the only one with those issues.

Am I really okay?

I just watched Girl Interrupted last night. I had previously read the book so I knew the basics for the movie but I was still shocked as to what happened in the movie. Towards the end of the movie I was reminded of a movie that I watched in my AP Psych class last year called The Snake Pit. In this movie the protagonist, Virginia, is put into a psych ward much like Susanna was in Girl Interrupted. The scene that reminded me the most of Snake Pit was when Susanna had to go in front of the board and petition her case to leave. In Snake Pit Virginia has recovered but in the board interview her anxiety is revealed and causes the board to think that she is still not completely recovered. This is a lot like Girl Interrupted in which Susanna goes to her board meeting and the board began to question what her plans were for after she left the hospital. During this exchange I feel that the director did a good job of showing the anxiety that Susanna must have felt in the constant questioning of the who, what, where, and why.

Locked In vs. Locked Out

Growing up my parents always had small social gatherings that they would invite their friends to who in turn bring their children my age. I would always love to play with these kids but there was always that one little girl or boy that I never wanted to play with. So when my parents' friends would begin to show up with their children I would quickly grab the little girl that was my "best friend" and we would run and play. We would go into my room and lock the door. We would play house, school, beauty store, anything we could think of we played. Even though we would be having the time of our lives I can remember times in which the friend I didn't want to play with would bang on the door. Sometimes she would cry but I never wanted to let her in. After awhile an adult would wander down the hall and pick her up. She would then be in the care of the adults for the night. She might get to have a special desert or get to watch her favorite tv show. But I always got to play with the friend that I wanted to play with. Looking back at it now I wonder if it was really worth it. Had I let her in and played with her would I have gotten a good dessert too?
In a roundabout way I can relate this to Virginia Woolf's idea of "how unpleasant it is to be locked out...[but] how it is worse perhaps to be locked in". I think Woolf was trying to depict the idea that either way women have difficulty becoming successful writers, or holding any position of authority. How women were reliant on men to have a home yet they wanted to have a job of their own. The other side of the table is that women that have a job of their own often had difficutly providing for their families. I relate this to my story in that even though I was able to play with my friend I still missed out on that dessert that every kid wants yet the little girl on the other side of the door didn't get to play with me yet she got to have that dessert and have freedoms that I didn't have.
Sometimes I wish that these figuritive doors could be dutch doors. Women can open half of it. We can still see out into the world but we are not ostrasized and critized for having a job of our own and we are able to maintain the comforts of life.

Haunted Houses and Writing

A couple of years ago my friends and I went to the Niles Haunted House. Its the go-to place for scaring during the fall. While we were there my best friend and I went through this maze. You had to first go through this part that was set up like a maze of office cubicles. If you wandered long enough and looked pitiful you might get a ghoul or ghost to help you out. Once you finally reached what you thought was the end you had to run through a series of rooms. One of the room that I remember was a room that was all black with black light in it. I also remember there being loud music and a strobe light. It was like a little rave in this room except for the fact you were absolutely terrified that something was going to jump out from behind you.

I relate this experience to writing, or most of it in a sense. When you are given a topic to write about you think about it. You may try jotting various ideas down but I always end up backtracking and taking another route. If all else fails and you can't find your way out or figure out what to write about you seek help, from friends, professors, family, granted they are not as scary as the ghouls and ghosts in the haunted house but they are there for relatively the same purpose. Then finally when I finally figure out what I am going to write about I relate it to I finally got out of the cubicle maze portion of the haunted house. I then have my ideas flowing and I made it through room one. Then...I am in room two. The strobe light, black light room. When I am writing it always seems that for the first part of the process I am breezing right through it. I know what to write about and I know what I want to say then BOOM! I stop. Its like the light turned off. In that moment when I realize that I don't know what to write its like I'm in the dark and am just groping for the exit, then BOOM! its back. I then have to furiously throw everything down that has just come to me before I lose it again. This is like the perpetual flashing of the strobe light. I see moments of inspiration and then they are gone. In those few moments I am scrambling to write down as much as I can as fast as I can before the light gets turned off and I am left in that state of darkness.

Finally when I am done and I have exited the maze I can turn to a friend and we can decompress. We can laugh about the funny things we can laugh at the fact that we wandered the same 5x5 area for twenty minutes. Its like that with writing. Once I have finally finished writing my initial thoughts and they have taken a semi-paper form I can begin to look over them. I can then see what I liked about it and I can organize my thoughts. I can see where I made a wrong turn and where I needed to backtrack and make things more clear. Its the end of the maze where I realize that the writing process wasn't so bad and that maybe as long as I have someone there with my I could potentially do it again.