“Tell me a secret,”. This kind of vulnerability is molded from years of pressing one another into a stringent, cold pan of a relationship. But not ours. An instant snap, a click, a spark of something more, that I would never give anything less to. Something so flexible, yet indestructible. We ramble in foreign languages together. We are spontaneous together. We trust each other. We are honest to one another. And ourselves. I noticed this shift far after it became noticeable, so I began way behind to begin with. But I think we both did. Because we were actually living. You should care about what other people think in order to grow, not to demean yourself. Be cautious but don’t take any precautions. Stop adhering to what mandatory’s rhetoric dictates. Find something worth living for. The car was warm when I lowered myself into the blackness and onto the seat. “What’re you up to?” he asked, for probably the thirty-seventh time. Why is ‘nothing’ an acceptable – or even expected - response? At almost any given point in one’s life you can say ‘blinking’ or ‘breathing’ or in the very least ‘living’. Or can you? How often do you actually feel your heartbeat, or someone else’s? Or breathe in the one am air that is just so fresh? Or drive down the roads you’ve never been? Or ask your crush to get engaged to you? Okay, maybe not that last one, unless your life is an awkward teen movie. Like mine is. I blurred out his flaws with a magnifying glass over my own. It was one thirty am on a Saturday. We watched the moon. We talked about our lives. For the next date we spoke in accents and dressed up to go to Borders. At the Gristmill, alone, we watched a philosophy video clip. We were falling fast and hard, as if there was no consequence. Being a romantic is reviving and the spontaneity can render you in awe at what you may find. But there is a downside: embarrassment. What happens when a girl with her heart on her sleeve meets a boy who asks her to speak her mind? Well, I’ll tell you: a chance at something real. I believe in honesty, both to yourself and to others. I believe that it is better to not hide your character in fear of what other people may think because that is who you are and you should never be ashamed of that. Living a lie is a waste of life. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I believe in pulpy orange juice. It’s natural. Why strain out what makes you who you are? Why filter yourself to fit some selective personal preferences? Imagine living unrestrained. Think about how refreshingly zealous that could feel. Be more than the change you wish to see in the world and don’t just wish the world would change you. Have conviction. Start embracing the idea of pulpy orange juice.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Thursday, May 28, 2009
The Things I Carry: As A Sister [([Old Post, from ''The Things I Carry'' Replication])]
The things I carry as a Sister are heavy (mostly), but not tangible (mostly). They are not noticeable unless one was to witness us sisters in action, together. Our connection.
The things even an outsider can hold, that are between us, show vague insight into our relationship. Some things that I carry with my built-in best-friend are:
All the clothes we swap, but sometimes permanently trade due to her self-proclaimed bubble-butt, or even the ones we are territorial about. They weigh at least 311 pounds altogether. Maybe more. Definitely more. Then if you add the 40 pounds of shoes (some of which were once altered by her duck feet), I'm not sure if our backhoe could even effectively carry the squirming load.
The many bracelets we made for and with each other over the years. Each of these stir a distant moment in time that feels so close to yesterday.
Then there are our exchanged gifts. The guitar pick earrings. The Hello Kitty necklace. The cowboy-esque belt. The love notes. The identical ear piercings.
I also carry things that I share figuratively between my sister and me. These things are more specifically our likes and dislikes. We share so many things in common, and always have. My sister and I carry a very intriguing blend of interests, and often joke that if we were to be combined - we would be one unstoppably amazing girl. She loves math and science. I love language and art. An example of our alike differences? Both of us enjoy music, but she likes Soft Rock (Delilah sap) and I like Classic Rock. These combined weigh tra-billions of sound waves. That's more than four for sure.
The deepest things I carry as a Sister relate to my portion of our balance. Our personalities compliment each other completely. Hers is subtle, soft, smart, selectively open and collectively cautious. Mine is spontaneously expressive and loud and must weigh at least 60 tons of pressure just on its own. She teaches me to be practical and rational while I help her care less about the criticizing public-eye. I am the back and she is the bone. With these roles we carry the responsibility of stabilizing each other and growing, protecting, supporting. I look up to her so much, but as an individual I have to also remember to look level at times. I have to remember that I am my own person and I have to try to be realistic about life and how uncertain it is and how nothing can really last forever. This weighs on my mind occasionally, only 1.05milograms of space max, but carrying my own weight (that which seems to have been affected by the dreaded Freshman 15) without anything else is 118 pounds; although some sluggish mornings it feels like infinitely more. As a Sister, I double as inanimate objects. I am a chair (5.5 pounds), a tissue (1 gram), a pillow (4 ounces), a rock (7 pounds). I am a personal advisor and councilor, as well as a patient myself. She is my favorite sister, but not purely by default.
As sisters, our memories cannot be priced. They cannot be weighed either. Never. The vivid splotches of recollection: random teal diner benches and plum tiles; the night we sorted fan mail, more commonly known as college mail, in the kitchen; the crisp days we picked blackberries to make ice cream with; shooting our be-be gun at cds and pinging tin cans; making bird houses; painting wooden reindeer statues – completed with a touch of nail polish for a nose; playing ‘Spaceship’ or ‘Rent’ or hiding in the cabinet in our room with beanie babies; going under the table-saw on top of the sheetrock to draw ‘Clean Me’ in the dust; playing on the rope-swing a few days before Easter, my nails each a different vibrant color; going to see the two twin quads that were freshly painted blue and silver to hide damage; climbing Buster’s Tree with unattainable aspirations of reaching the quivering, tipping top; going to the dump in the old band van to get rid of our old pink dresser; dancing in the rain and finding refuge under the table with the built-in umbrella; making a snow tunnel and finding that our cat also enjoyed it; making forts out of chairs, bed sheets, and hair clips in the middle of the room, taking up the entire room; camping the day before one of our Freshman years of high school; breaking icicles off of the ledge of the Shop with snowballs; the list is seventeen years long. The lengthy memories: our latest cruise, our first concert, our days spent at the shore just this summer. The mere thoughts we both had and knew the other had: our car-ride there, at diner that night, in her room when that happened. Even silences scream these ideas- her eyes inform me of exactly what she needs to tell me: scolding "Not now Rachel!", praising and proud, asking "What is going on?", pleading with worried slate-colored glass shifting the question "Can we leave?". I also tend to accumulate jokes with her. There are googolplexes upon googolplexes and cumulatively these jokes weigh only 3 ounces. Not all are light, some helped us trudge through some dense times, but all are incomparably valuable. I have learned to be a comedian, as well as many other things, thanks to and with my sister.
The things I carry as a Sister are outwardly useless to the eyes of others. The ones who don't understand our constant reference to each other as 'Poopy' or the way I embarrass her at the mall by holding her hand or butt-tapping her to confuse strangers, but mostly, to make her turn purple. However, to me, these things we carry between us and because of one another are the most important pieces of my life. We hold one each other's secrets close and we hold each other's heart closer. As a sister, I carry her and she carries me, taking turns, because life is so much better on two-player mode.
The things even an outsider can hold, that are between us, show vague insight into our relationship. Some things that I carry with my built-in best-friend are:
All the clothes we swap, but sometimes permanently trade due to her self-proclaimed bubble-butt, or even the ones we are territorial about. They weigh at least 311 pounds altogether. Maybe more. Definitely more. Then if you add the 40 pounds of shoes (some of which were once altered by her duck feet), I'm not sure if our backhoe could even effectively carry the squirming load.
The many bracelets we made for and with each other over the years. Each of these stir a distant moment in time that feels so close to yesterday.
Then there are our exchanged gifts. The guitar pick earrings. The Hello Kitty necklace. The cowboy-esque belt. The love notes. The identical ear piercings.
I also carry things that I share figuratively between my sister and me. These things are more specifically our likes and dislikes. We share so many things in common, and always have. My sister and I carry a very intriguing blend of interests, and often joke that if we were to be combined - we would be one unstoppably amazing girl. She loves math and science. I love language and art. An example of our alike differences? Both of us enjoy music, but she likes Soft Rock (Delilah sap) and I like Classic Rock. These combined weigh tra-billions of sound waves. That's more than four for sure.
The deepest things I carry as a Sister relate to my portion of our balance. Our personalities compliment each other completely. Hers is subtle, soft, smart, selectively open and collectively cautious. Mine is spontaneously expressive and loud and must weigh at least 60 tons of pressure just on its own. She teaches me to be practical and rational while I help her care less about the criticizing public-eye. I am the back and she is the bone. With these roles we carry the responsibility of stabilizing each other and growing, protecting, supporting. I look up to her so much, but as an individual I have to also remember to look level at times. I have to remember that I am my own person and I have to try to be realistic about life and how uncertain it is and how nothing can really last forever. This weighs on my mind occasionally, only 1.05milograms of space max, but carrying my own weight (that which seems to have been affected by the dreaded Freshman 15) without anything else is 118 pounds; although some sluggish mornings it feels like infinitely more. As a Sister, I double as inanimate objects. I am a chair (5.5 pounds), a tissue (1 gram), a pillow (4 ounces), a rock (7 pounds). I am a personal advisor and councilor, as well as a patient myself. She is my favorite sister, but not purely by default.
As sisters, our memories cannot be priced. They cannot be weighed either. Never. The vivid splotches of recollection: random teal diner benches and plum tiles; the night we sorted fan mail, more commonly known as college mail, in the kitchen; the crisp days we picked blackberries to make ice cream with; shooting our be-be gun at cds and pinging tin cans; making bird houses; painting wooden reindeer statues – completed with a touch of nail polish for a nose; playing ‘Spaceship’ or ‘Rent’ or hiding in the cabinet in our room with beanie babies; going under the table-saw on top of the sheetrock to draw ‘Clean Me’ in the dust; playing on the rope-swing a few days before Easter, my nails each a different vibrant color; going to see the two twin quads that were freshly painted blue and silver to hide damage; climbing Buster’s Tree with unattainable aspirations of reaching the quivering, tipping top; going to the dump in the old band van to get rid of our old pink dresser; dancing in the rain and finding refuge under the table with the built-in umbrella; making a snow tunnel and finding that our cat also enjoyed it; making forts out of chairs, bed sheets, and hair clips in the middle of the room, taking up the entire room; camping the day before one of our Freshman years of high school; breaking icicles off of the ledge of the Shop with snowballs; the list is seventeen years long. The lengthy memories: our latest cruise, our first concert, our days spent at the shore just this summer. The mere thoughts we both had and knew the other had: our car-ride there, at diner that night, in her room when that happened. Even silences scream these ideas- her eyes inform me of exactly what she needs to tell me: scolding "Not now Rachel!", praising and proud, asking "What is going on?", pleading with worried slate-colored glass shifting the question "Can we leave?". I also tend to accumulate jokes with her. There are googolplexes upon googolplexes and cumulatively these jokes weigh only 3 ounces. Not all are light, some helped us trudge through some dense times, but all are incomparably valuable. I have learned to be a comedian, as well as many other things, thanks to and with my sister.
The things I carry as a Sister are outwardly useless to the eyes of others. The ones who don't understand our constant reference to each other as 'Poopy' or the way I embarrass her at the mall by holding her hand or butt-tapping her to confuse strangers, but mostly, to make her turn purple. However, to me, these things we carry between us and because of one another are the most important pieces of my life. We hold one each other's secrets close and we hold each other's heart closer. As a sister, I carry her and she carries me, taking turns, because life is so much better on two-player mode.
Friday, May 1, 2009
A MODEST PROPOSAL: FOR LIMITING THE INCONVIENANCES OF TEXTING AND INSTEAD DEVELOPING A MUCH BETTER MODE OF COMMUNICATION
It is a horrific sight these days in classrooms: students not paying attention to their teachers but instead to their laps, where rests their cell phones. Every single moment of the school-day is now being used as what archaic times called ‘free time’. However, this state of perpetual ‘free time’ has rendered our youth permanently stuck in their our realities.
I think that it is within the same interest of the general population to say that this is sad and even disgusting. It is lowering our newer generations' attention spans and causing even more of a problem with both the education of these students and also that of the students around them. Therefore, if someone could create a decent solution, I do not see any adversaries to its apparent and copious possible benefits.
We should utilize the technology that we have at our disposal today rather than continue to dispose of it. I have an idea that will not only take advantage of our newest technologies, but that will also help us focus more on the kind of technology that will significantly aid our society. Instead of focusing on making the newest greatest phones that can even do your laundry; we can then be able to focus on governmental aims and societal betterment.
That is why I propose a newer mode of communication that, once all understand the improvements of it compared to current situations, will make all cell phones completely obsolete. It has been deemed the Italk, however, there is no actual talking required. It is a seamless way of getting one’s message across, literally, that only involves a slight injection that can be done at anytime in the buyer’s life with zero mal-effects. This doctor’s visit would involve a procedure that is simply a needle injection that inserts a chip the size of a piece of dust that can be placed anywhere on the body (and can be just as easily removed).
Some may be frightened of the safety of this procedure or even not see the benefits. There is absolutely nothing risky about the Italk’s installment. And the benefits? Endless.
The implementation of the Italk in society would destroy the lack of attention students currently possess in classrooms and also eliminate the inhibiting texting does to other students’ focus as well. There will be no more of those God-awful clicking and tapping sounds that texting produces. There will be no more patients in intensive care with arthritis in their exhausted thumbs and wrists. There will be no problems with forgetting someone’s number- every chip can be reached by the person’s name, but the person being called can choose whether or not they wish to receive that ‘call’. Additionally, RepeercWare can be purchased by parents, for a minimal fee. It is an additional feature that serves to limit who the child’s Italk can contact or even what hours they are permitted to actually use their Italk.
The way the Italk works is, after one receives the necessary implant (which is compatible with phones as well, in case the conversion process with the general public takes longer than desired) you simply think of who you’d like to contact, and think of the message you’d like to send. Then, as long as you are within this galaxy, your message will be instantly sent in your own voice. It’s like a traveling voicemail. It is always on, but in order to activate the sending message feature you must open a menu in your mind. No worries, it is fairly simple, so even members of the older generations can participate without the clumsiness of texting that they now face. Also, there are many other features on the Italk, including internal alarm clocks, voice recorders, and memo pads, bringing a whole new meaning to taking a ‘mental note’.
It will be fast. It will be more convenient. It will be durable in all weather (with no worries of dropping it or getting it wet, as one must be conscious of with cell phones). It will never fail. The Italk additionally serves as an important safety device. One can make instant calls to the police without their captors knowing, and there will be no way to disable the emergency function.
Some may oppose this new proposal because of their concerns with it being a more secretive way to not pay attention in class or an easier way to cheat during tests. Their opposition is without reason. The Italk will also be issuing a special switch that can be placed in all classrooms. This switch will deactivate all functions with exception to the emergency feature which, as mentioned before, cannot be tampered with. This specialized switch also comes in a sort of ‘net’ form. Schools can purchase this device that can be activated exactly where they want it to be, even choosing to allow accesses in bathrooms or only in a three foot circle in the middle of the auditorium. This will be controlled by a computer generated map that is run by a cd in which the user may drag the ‘net’ across (a blueprint of the school) the areas which they wish to be disconnected.
Sure, there will no longer be social competitions over whose cell phone can do more or is shinier, but it will leave modern society a lot healthier. The Italk has no SARS or any other adverse effects and, the best part, it forces the population to actually think again!
Monday, March 9, 2009
Brand New World vs. 1984.....Which one is more like modern society??
1984 and Brave New World. These two novels were both revolutionary and extremely inventive for the time that they were produced. They were works that were so ahead of their time and that attempted to predict the outcome of society’s progression in the future. Neil Postman wrote of the comparison of the two ideas and about which he feels actually materialized. I agree with Neil Postman’s assertion that contemporary society is most like that of Brave New World. In general, I see three prominent functions of society that promote this speculation: people want things to be easier, faster, and newer.
These days people are obsessed with things being easier, in all aspects of their lives. Our fixation with technology and instant gratification has led us to this vice. Our current society has become lazy from accessibility, drug use, lack of a desire to challenge ourselves and our surroundings from this conditioning of a lax atmosphere,- among other things. We are obsessed with trivial fixations like celebrities and sports teams, leaving few who know about current events and governmental issues. Our current society is blindly resting in what they feel is safe and comfortable. Individuals tend to choose ‘the path of least resistance’ and are fueled primarily by pleasure (as the article “Everyone Is Happy Now” concludes). This is exactly like the world presented in Brave New World, because it demonstrates how people have lost touch with appreciation for things if they take too much time, in comparison to other things in constant upgrades in availability (Therefore our history is lost and older professions, such as hand-made carpentry, etc.).
In today’s world, its members are also concerned with the pace at which they receive the things they want or need. Speed has also led our society to rely on and demand systems like mass production and priority shipping, etc. Because of this evolution in pace, we have also begun to loose our connection with other humans. This “fast-paced-world” we live in limits the amount of time that we have to spend with each other. Also, the fact that people are becoming progressively lazier, has not helped remedying this growing societal issue. Our society demands things to be quick, flawless, on time, and also in the latest version. This parallels to the world shown in Brave New World in so many ways. The individuals participated in the same sort of fixation with time. This can be seen in the novel when remarks expressed an extreme disapproval of a plane being “40 seconds late,”. Their society runs on a precise schedule that is constantly refined and scrutinized, whereas the society shown in 1984 had its members doing neither of those things.
The last component of recent society shown clearly in the novel Brave New World, is the aspect of advancement. Individuals today are obsessed with obtaining the newest products available in order to maintain their laziness and desire for speed. The most prominent facilitator of this concept in society is by far found mostly in technology. It is utilized today to the point of dependency and is being incorporated into almost every aspect of daily life. Everywhere you go you can find a computer, TV, cell-phone, phone tower and/or post, cars, etc. Our society is completely obsessed with any advancement in technology, just as the people in Brave New World were. In the novel, the only books distributed (that were actually wanted to be read) were instructional and technical and about how to keep their society’s machinery and operations running successfully. They were, as we are, obsessed with getting better and better technology that is constantly an improvement in proficiency.
Although some aspects from both the dystopias presented in Huxley and Orwell’s novels are present in our current society, I feel as though Huxley’s is more dominant. It has been shown for years that people have become increasingly more interested in (the three main aspects of our world today) ease, pace, and keeping up with advancements. These are matched much more closely to the foundations on which the world Huxley presented reside. Either way, it is scary to think that society will turn into the dystopias predicted in these novels that have seemed surpass their time and time itself.
These days people are obsessed with things being easier, in all aspects of their lives. Our fixation with technology and instant gratification has led us to this vice. Our current society has become lazy from accessibility, drug use, lack of a desire to challenge ourselves and our surroundings from this conditioning of a lax atmosphere,- among other things. We are obsessed with trivial fixations like celebrities and sports teams, leaving few who know about current events and governmental issues. Our current society is blindly resting in what they feel is safe and comfortable. Individuals tend to choose ‘the path of least resistance’ and are fueled primarily by pleasure (as the article “Everyone Is Happy Now” concludes). This is exactly like the world presented in Brave New World, because it demonstrates how people have lost touch with appreciation for things if they take too much time, in comparison to other things in constant upgrades in availability (Therefore our history is lost and older professions, such as hand-made carpentry, etc.).
In today’s world, its members are also concerned with the pace at which they receive the things they want or need. Speed has also led our society to rely on and demand systems like mass production and priority shipping, etc. Because of this evolution in pace, we have also begun to loose our connection with other humans. This “fast-paced-world” we live in limits the amount of time that we have to spend with each other. Also, the fact that people are becoming progressively lazier, has not helped remedying this growing societal issue. Our society demands things to be quick, flawless, on time, and also in the latest version. This parallels to the world shown in Brave New World in so many ways. The individuals participated in the same sort of fixation with time. This can be seen in the novel when remarks expressed an extreme disapproval of a plane being “40 seconds late,”. Their society runs on a precise schedule that is constantly refined and scrutinized, whereas the society shown in 1984 had its members doing neither of those things.
The last component of recent society shown clearly in the novel Brave New World, is the aspect of advancement. Individuals today are obsessed with obtaining the newest products available in order to maintain their laziness and desire for speed. The most prominent facilitator of this concept in society is by far found mostly in technology. It is utilized today to the point of dependency and is being incorporated into almost every aspect of daily life. Everywhere you go you can find a computer, TV, cell-phone, phone tower and/or post, cars, etc. Our society is completely obsessed with any advancement in technology, just as the people in Brave New World were. In the novel, the only books distributed (that were actually wanted to be read) were instructional and technical and about how to keep their society’s machinery and operations running successfully. They were, as we are, obsessed with getting better and better technology that is constantly an improvement in proficiency.
Although some aspects from both the dystopias presented in Huxley and Orwell’s novels are present in our current society, I feel as though Huxley’s is more dominant. It has been shown for years that people have become increasingly more interested in (the three main aspects of our world today) ease, pace, and keeping up with advancements. These are matched much more closely to the foundations on which the world Huxley presented reside. Either way, it is scary to think that society will turn into the dystopias predicted in these novels that have seemed surpass their time and time itself.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Capital Punishment
A continuously controversial debate, Capital Punishment, is something that is always being addressed. Some contest that it is no better than murder, while others claim it is the fairest solution to capital crime. How is some act – like revengeful or mindless murder - equivalent to serving justice? If a person commits a horrendous crime, they should be sentenced to Capital Punishment. This allows some conclusive action to be completed. Capital Punishment is not “cruel and unusual”. That is only a sour criticism to such a time-tested function of justice. It is, however, something that was ‘earned’ by the offender. Despite the fact that it has never really, in my opinion, been implemented in the correct fashion, I believe that it is the best solution to handle capital crimes.
While I am speaking extremely vaguely on the subject, I still understand that there are particulars to every circumstance. In some instances, I may actually sway my decision on the issue. This is because my opinions are never so cemented that I have a closed mind. But, nevertheless, I feel that capital felons deserve Capital Punishment. One reason this is so is because of its intentional impact. When something is dealt with so permanently and firmly, it shocks the rest of the citizens and instills some fear in them. It makes people more wary to commit a crime and, if used in correct moderation, does not worry the innocent individuals. Another thing that is undeniable about Capital Punishment is that it ensures that the offender will not be back in society anytime soon. The opposing side suggests that they should rot in jail, but what they are not doing is thinking ahead. What if they get, as often happens, on parole or escape? With Capital Punishment there is no chance for escape to hurt even more members of society. Lastly, this safety that is being spoken of is something that is the government’s role to uphold. People depend on the government to protect them whenever possible, so why should they not prevent a few extra transgressions?
The reason why it has not been efficient in the past is because of its incorrect implementations. It was overused, then rarely used, and this flux creates immense fear of wrongful accusation (because it is so prevalent) but then, in the lull, laxity. There needs to be a healthy balance of power consistently shown in order for it to be effective.
I am saying that I want people to face fatality for their deeds; I am not saying at all that one should take a life lightly. Every life is still important, no matter how corroded, and should be treated with equality. I think one should follow the ‘Golden Rule’ and consider what impact they will have on others by what they are doing. If these criminals are so bent on retaliation and refusal to live decently and take lives- then they clearly do not cherish the privilege of their own. And, therefore, should not have it.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Disregard the following:
Juno sincerely apologizes for all this hype & wishes her life was not common knowledge dictated and destroyed by the uninvolved.
Sorry for not buying into it, everyone. Sorry for limiting your reasons to respect me. Sorry for having the flaw of emotion. And trying to make debacles work.
But then again, why I am sorry when it's not my fault?
Why do I persistently attempt to combat the void?
Oh yeah: because I'm genuine. Because I care. Because maybe, I am what you're not seeing. And maybe, I should be.
-
Now if you payed no heed to the title, why would you do the same to me?
-
I'm just striving to slake the spare contingencies and further erase all excuses derived by inadvertent, circumstantial, unavailing, quixotic events.
It is contemptible how inconsequential this all is now.
So what's the crux of my bombastic clamor?
Even remonstrance is incommensurate at this point.
Even I know that I am far from your pragmatic view and I'm sure this just aids your predetermination, of who and what I am, with parsimonious room for revision.
This deficiency is what is unbearable to me.But I guess this is just one of those things that has to be dealt with.
Just dealt with.
...Unless you'd like to show me your cards...
One thing you should know about me: You don't know me.
Sorry for not buying into it, everyone. Sorry for limiting your reasons to respect me. Sorry for having the flaw of emotion. And trying to make debacles work.
But then again, why I am sorry when it's not my fault?
Why do I persistently attempt to combat the void?
Oh yeah: because I'm genuine. Because I care. Because maybe, I am what you're not seeing. And maybe, I should be.
-
Now if you payed no heed to the title, why would you do the same to me?
-
I'm just striving to slake the spare contingencies and further erase all excuses derived by inadvertent, circumstantial, unavailing, quixotic events.
It is contemptible how inconsequential this all is now.
So what's the crux of my bombastic clamor?
Even remonstrance is incommensurate at this point.
Even I know that I am far from your pragmatic view and I'm sure this just aids your predetermination, of who and what I am, with parsimonious room for revision.
This deficiency is what is unbearable to me.But I guess this is just one of those things that has to be dealt with.
Just dealt with.
...Unless you'd like to show me your cards...
One thing you should know about me: You don't know me.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
The Things They Carried: Quote Response
“It's now 1990. I'm forty-three years old, which would've seemedimpossible to a fourth grader, and yet when I look at photographs ofmyself as I was in 1956, I realize that in the important ways I haven'tchanged at all. I was Timmy then; now I'm Tim. But the essence remains thesame. I'm not fooled by the baggy pants or the crew cut or the happysmile—I know my own eyes—and there is no doubt that the Timmy smiling atthe camera is the Tim I am now. Inside the body, or beyond the body, thereis something absolute and unchanging. The human life is all one thing,like a blade tracing loops on ice: a little kid, a twenty-three-year-oldinfantry sergeant, a middle-aged writer knowing guilt and sorrow,” (236).
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In one of his novels, and in the above excerpt from that book, Tim O’Brien constantly discusses the idea of time elapsing and the effects thereof. In the above quote I feel that his allegation pertaining to life’s changes is, on many levels, true. Everyone goes through phases and is constantly turning into something more defined (or vague even). As time passes, decisions are presented and choices are made. People learn and grow from life experiences. While some refuse to do such things, there is still an effect- even though there is no action.
In this passage, the example he makes to prove his point is by simply looking back to the past. Just by seeing where one has been can show a variation to who they are now. Many things may be the same, yes, but also many more things- hidden even- may be altered. But not the core. Tim O’Brien(the character)’s transformation was rather drastic throughout the novel. He progressed from an embarrassed, naive young man to a hardened solider. He witnessed many things that many people never even hear of in a lifetime. Yet, despite all of this turmoil and ‘growing up’, he is still able to recognize who he is.
While I do believe that some people can leave behind the essence ofthemselves and forget who they are momentarily, I also believe that there are others who do not and never will.
Take, for example yourself:
Have you ever wished the ‘you’ now could meet the old you? Everyone has. And the way you know that you are the same person through all this time is to look back and ask yourself if that ‘you’ way back when would admire who they are today or be ashamed. It doesn’t even matter what the answer is: If you can remember, the essence of yourself is still there after all this time. Memories and emotional responses to these recollections are the best devices for comparison, because you have to use a part of yourself to clarify the preferences you make.
Another example in the novel is the progression of Mary Jean’s character. She starts off as an innocent, yet eager, young girl and converts into something comparable to a nightmare. She seems to have lost all that she was as the result of this transformation, and even during it; however, she still knows who she is. This is who she longed to be all along- whether or not she was aware of it. She still wears her pink sweater and still knows her past, but now her present is garnished with nighttime prowls and her neck is draped with a ring of tongues.
People change, sometimes even beyond the recognition of others, this is an undeniable fact. But another reality is that people also have memories and never cease to see themselves. Whether or not it is in a ‘new light’; it does not matter. Knowing where one has been only helps to forge a clearer path to where one is headed. It is impossible to forget who you are. Maybe loose sight, but never forget. You can’t forget about what you feel when you look into your eyes in an old photo. You can’t forget about a piece of yourself. You can’t forget about the feelings you’ve had that have determined where you are now. You can’t forget about your own life.
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In one of his novels, and in the above excerpt from that book, Tim O’Brien constantly discusses the idea of time elapsing and the effects thereof. In the above quote I feel that his allegation pertaining to life’s changes is, on many levels, true. Everyone goes through phases and is constantly turning into something more defined (or vague even). As time passes, decisions are presented and choices are made. People learn and grow from life experiences. While some refuse to do such things, there is still an effect- even though there is no action.
In this passage, the example he makes to prove his point is by simply looking back to the past. Just by seeing where one has been can show a variation to who they are now. Many things may be the same, yes, but also many more things- hidden even- may be altered. But not the core. Tim O’Brien(the character)’s transformation was rather drastic throughout the novel. He progressed from an embarrassed, naive young man to a hardened solider. He witnessed many things that many people never even hear of in a lifetime. Yet, despite all of this turmoil and ‘growing up’, he is still able to recognize who he is.
While I do believe that some people can leave behind the essence ofthemselves and forget who they are momentarily, I also believe that there are others who do not and never will.
Take, for example yourself:
Have you ever wished the ‘you’ now could meet the old you? Everyone has. And the way you know that you are the same person through all this time is to look back and ask yourself if that ‘you’ way back when would admire who they are today or be ashamed. It doesn’t even matter what the answer is: If you can remember, the essence of yourself is still there after all this time. Memories and emotional responses to these recollections are the best devices for comparison, because you have to use a part of yourself to clarify the preferences you make.
Another example in the novel is the progression of Mary Jean’s character. She starts off as an innocent, yet eager, young girl and converts into something comparable to a nightmare. She seems to have lost all that she was as the result of this transformation, and even during it; however, she still knows who she is. This is who she longed to be all along- whether or not she was aware of it. She still wears her pink sweater and still knows her past, but now her present is garnished with nighttime prowls and her neck is draped with a ring of tongues.
People change, sometimes even beyond the recognition of others, this is an undeniable fact. But another reality is that people also have memories and never cease to see themselves. Whether or not it is in a ‘new light’; it does not matter. Knowing where one has been only helps to forge a clearer path to where one is headed. It is impossible to forget who you are. Maybe loose sight, but never forget. You can’t forget about what you feel when you look into your eyes in an old photo. You can’t forget about a piece of yourself. You can’t forget about the feelings you’ve had that have determined where you are now. You can’t forget about your own life.
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