Post 30 :: Sweet Sweet Lyrics :: Chapel Contemplations
I
I heard a couple of students sing this song today in chapel. I only wish I could find an mp3 of this somewhere; it's a great song.
Sweet Love Impossible
by Pono Nu'uhiwa
Do you see me when I’m walking by?
Or am I invisible?
Do you see me when you dream at night?
Or is this impossible?
You are the one I’ve been waiting for; but you never look my way;
So for now until you feel the same, you are my sweet love impossible
Sweet unforgettable.
You are the drops of starlight I could never hold.
Sweet love impossible.
Will I be lonely forevermore?
Without you right by my side
I live a lifetime of emptiness,
These feelings I cannot hide.
You are the only thing I can see, when you shine into my day.
So for now until you feel the same;
You are my sweet love impossible
Sweet unforgettable.
You are the drops of starlight I could never hold
Sweet love impossible.
You are the only thing I can see
When you shine shine into my day
So for now until, you feel the same,
You are my sweet love impossible. [Yeah yeah yeah]
Sweet unforgettable.
You are the drops of starlight I could never hold. [I could never never hold]
Sweet love impossible.
II
So eyes are the windows to the soul? Is that why eye contact is so uncomfortable for me? Because I don't want to feel "vulnerable"? Hm. While it is true that I rarely hold eye contact with other people, I can do it. It's just easier with the people I know well. With the people I trust. Does it mean I have to be vulnerable? No, I don't think so. Maybe it's an Asian thing. Maybe it's a me thing. Who knows?
PS: The quality project is dead. If time is money, then I'm flat-out broke, hon. Now ain't that a hoot. Perhaps it would have been a better idea to do this not at the end of the year, when everything comes crashing down on our shoulders. Papers, projects, AP exams, final exams... Is there no end to the madness? Now here's a rhetorical question: Why do I even bother?
Don't answer that.
x
Tuesday, May 8, 2007
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
you're one in a million
Post 29 :: Quintessential Somethings :: Oh, the Humanity!
I
I wonder if this is valid. My first thought (when I really think about this seriously) is a quintessential friend. So first, before we begin this little drabble of sorts, let's define the word. More for my sake than for yours, I must admit. Princeton's wordnet/whatnot defines it as "representing the perfect example of a class or quality." Although the first thing that comes to mind is that this example, a friend, does not really work, so we'll have to rethink that.
The Quintessential Paper Clip
We use these tiny metal objects so often, clipping them to loose sheets of paper, bending them into interesting shapes, and even making chains of them, linked together in an endless line of curved metal. We lose them as easy as we use them, perhaps even more easily. They're small, cheap, and simply not that valuable. Yet even though all that is true, how did something as simple as a piece of bent wire become so widely used? How can we look at that small piece of next-to-nothing and recognize it as a "paper clip"? There are three bends in a paper clip. Just enough to hold what you want. Just enough to contain itself in its pill-like shape. Just enough to make it the paper clip. Four bends is too many, making it too complex, neither as visually appealing nor as efficient. Two bends is too few, leaving too many holes, too little support. Three bends is the charm, simple, clean, and effective. Three bends makes the quintessential paper clip.
II
I shuffled through my library of old music a little while ago, and I pulled out a song I'd long since stopped listening to. It's a song in Russian, called, "Братья," or "Brothers," in English. It's a beautiful song, although it relates more to the storyline of the animation it is from than anything else. It really is an interesting show -- "Fullmetal Alchemist" -- look it up if you feel like it. It deals with the art of alchemy and how that affects life as we know it. How it affects views on humanity, as well as life and death.
Lyrics to "Brothers"
Прости меня, младший брат!
Я так пред тобой виноват.
Пытаться вернуть нельзя
Того, что взяла земля.
Кто знает закон Бытия,
Помог бы и мне найти ответ.
Жестоко ошибся я:
От смерти лекарства нет.
Милая мама! Нежная!
Мы так любили тебя.
Но все наши силы
Потрачены были зря.
Тебя соблазнил я
Прекрасной надеждой
Вернуть наш семейный очаг.
Мой брат, я во всем виноват.
Не плачь, не печалься, старший брат!
Не ты один виноват.
Дорога у нас одна,
Искупим вину до дна.
Мне не в чем тебя упрекнуть,
И я не обижен ничуть.
Тяжек, наш грех
Хотеть быть сильнее всех.
Милая мама! Нежная!
Мы так любили тебя.
Но все наши силы
Потрачены были зря.
Я сам соблазнился
Прекрасной надеждой
Вернуть наш семейный очаг.
Я сам во всем виноват.
Но что же нам делать, как быть?
Как все исправить, забыть?
Пытаться вернуть нельзя,
Того, что взяла земля.
(Prosti menya, mladshiy brat!
Ya tak pred toboy vinovat.
Pyitatsya vernut' nyelzya
Togo, chto vzyala zyemlya.
Kto znayet zakon Byitiya,
Pomog byi mne nayti otvet.
Zhestoko oshibsya ya;
Ot smerti lekarstva nyet.
Milaya mama! Nyezhnaya!
Myi tak lyubili tebya.
No vse nashi silyi
Potrachenyi byili zrya.
Tebya soblaznil ya
Prekrasnoy nadezhdoy
Vernut' nash semeynyiy ochag.
Moy brat, ya vo vsem vinovat.
Nye plach', nye pechal'sya, starshiy brat!
Nye tyi odin vinovat.
Doroga u nas odna,
Iskupim vinu do dna.
Mnye nye v chem tebya upreknut'.
I ya nye obihen nichut'.
Tyazhek, nash gryekh
Khotet' byit' silneye vsekh.
Milaya mama! Nyezhnaya!
Myi tak lyubili tebya.
No vse nashi silyi
Potrachenyi byili zrya.
Ya sam soblaznilsya
Prekprasnoy nadezhdoy
Vernut' nash semeinyiy ochag.
Ya sam vo vsem vinovat.
No chto zhe nam delat', kak byit'?
Kak vse ispravit', zyabyit'?
Pyitat'sya vernut' nyel'zhya,
Togo, chto vzyala zyemlya.)
Literal Translation:
Forgive me, little brother
How can I repay you, Brother of mine?
How can I expect you to forgive?
Clinging to the past, I shed our blood. And shattered your chance to live.
Though I knew the laws, I paid no heed. How can I return your wasted breath? What I did not know has cost you dear,
...for there is no cure for death.
Beautiful Mother, soft and sweet. Once you were gone we were not complete. Back through the years, we reached for you. Alas, twas not meant to be.
And how can I make amends... for all that I took from you?
I lead you with hopeless dreams.
My brother I was a fool.
Dont cry for the past now brother of mine. Neither you nor I are free from blame. Nothing can erase the things we did. For the path we took was the same.
Beautiful Mother, soft and sweet. Once you were gone we were not complete. Back through the years we reached for you. Alas, twas not meant to be.
My dreams made me blind and mute. I longed to return to that time. I followed without a word. My brother the fault is mine.
So where do we go from here? And how to forget and forgive?
What's gone is forever lost. Now all we can do is live.
I
I wonder if this is valid. My first thought (when I really think about this seriously) is a quintessential friend. So first, before we begin this little drabble of sorts, let's define the word. More for my sake than for yours, I must admit. Princeton's wordnet/whatnot defines it as "representing the perfect example of a class or quality." Although the first thing that comes to mind is that this example, a friend, does not really work, so we'll have to rethink that.
The Quintessential Paper Clip
We use these tiny metal objects so often, clipping them to loose sheets of paper, bending them into interesting shapes, and even making chains of them, linked together in an endless line of curved metal. We lose them as easy as we use them, perhaps even more easily. They're small, cheap, and simply not that valuable. Yet even though all that is true, how did something as simple as a piece of bent wire become so widely used? How can we look at that small piece of next-to-nothing and recognize it as a "paper clip"? There are three bends in a paper clip. Just enough to hold what you want. Just enough to contain itself in its pill-like shape. Just enough to make it the paper clip. Four bends is too many, making it too complex, neither as visually appealing nor as efficient. Two bends is too few, leaving too many holes, too little support. Three bends is the charm, simple, clean, and effective. Three bends makes the quintessential paper clip.
II
I shuffled through my library of old music a little while ago, and I pulled out a song I'd long since stopped listening to. It's a song in Russian, called, "Братья," or "Brothers," in English. It's a beautiful song, although it relates more to the storyline of the animation it is from than anything else. It really is an interesting show -- "Fullmetal Alchemist" -- look it up if you feel like it. It deals with the art of alchemy and how that affects life as we know it. How it affects views on humanity, as well as life and death.
Lyrics to "Brothers"
Прости меня, младший брат!
Я так пред тобой виноват.
Пытаться вернуть нельзя
Того, что взяла земля.
Кто знает закон Бытия,
Помог бы и мне найти ответ.
Жестоко ошибся я:
От смерти лекарства нет.
Милая мама! Нежная!
Мы так любили тебя.
Но все наши силы
Потрачены были зря.
Тебя соблазнил я
Прекрасной надеждой
Вернуть наш семейный очаг.
Мой брат, я во всем виноват.
Не плачь, не печалься, старший брат!
Не ты один виноват.
Дорога у нас одна,
Искупим вину до дна.
Мне не в чем тебя упрекнуть,
И я не обижен ничуть.
Тяжек, наш грех
Хотеть быть сильнее всех.
Милая мама! Нежная!
Мы так любили тебя.
Но все наши силы
Потрачены были зря.
Я сам соблазнился
Прекрасной надеждой
Вернуть наш семейный очаг.
Я сам во всем виноват.
Но что же нам делать, как быть?
Как все исправить, забыть?
Пытаться вернуть нельзя,
Того, что взяла земля.
(Prosti menya, mladshiy brat!
Ya tak pred toboy vinovat.
Pyitatsya vernut' nyelzya
Togo, chto vzyala zyemlya.
Kto znayet zakon Byitiya,
Pomog byi mne nayti otvet.
Zhestoko oshibsya ya;
Ot smerti lekarstva nyet.
Milaya mama! Nyezhnaya!
Myi tak lyubili tebya.
No vse nashi silyi
Potrachenyi byili zrya.
Tebya soblaznil ya
Prekrasnoy nadezhdoy
Vernut' nash semeynyiy ochag.
Moy brat, ya vo vsem vinovat.
Nye plach', nye pechal'sya, starshiy brat!
Nye tyi odin vinovat.
Doroga u nas odna,
Iskupim vinu do dna.
Mnye nye v chem tebya upreknut'.
I ya nye obihen nichut'.
Tyazhek, nash gryekh
Khotet' byit' silneye vsekh.
Milaya mama! Nyezhnaya!
Myi tak lyubili tebya.
No vse nashi silyi
Potrachenyi byili zrya.
Ya sam soblaznilsya
Prekprasnoy nadezhdoy
Vernut' nash semeinyiy ochag.
Ya sam vo vsem vinovat.
No chto zhe nam delat', kak byit'?
Kak vse ispravit', zyabyit'?
Pyitat'sya vernut' nyel'zhya,
Togo, chto vzyala zyemlya.)
Literal Translation:
Forgive me, little brother
English Version:I am so sorry before you.
It's forbidden to try to return
One taken by the earth.The one who knows the law of existence
Could help me to find the answer.
I was very mistaken
There's no cure for death.*Dear Mom, sweet Mom!
We loved you so much.
But all our efforts
Unfortunately were in vain.I tempted you
With the wonderful hope
Of returning our home.
My brother, it's all my fault.Don't cry, don't be sad, big brother.
You're not the only guilty one.
There's only one road before us,
We will purge our sins completely.I cannot blame you,
I am not hurt at all.
Well, we sinned
By wanting to be stronger than everyone else.Dear Mom, sweet Mom!
We loved you so much.
But all our efforts
Unfortunately were in vain.I was tempted
With the wonderful hope
Of returning our home.
I'm guilty for all of it.But what should we do, how should we be?
How to fix everything, to forget?
It's forbidden to try to return
One taken by the earth.*
How can I repay you, Brother of mine?
How can I expect you to forgive?
Clinging to the past, I shed our blood. And shattered your chance to live.
Though I knew the laws, I paid no heed. How can I return your wasted breath? What I did not know has cost you dear,
...for there is no cure for death.
Beautiful Mother, soft and sweet. Once you were gone we were not complete. Back through the years, we reached for you. Alas, twas not meant to be.
And how can I make amends... for all that I took from you?
I lead you with hopeless dreams.
My brother I was a fool.
Dont cry for the past now brother of mine. Neither you nor I are free from blame. Nothing can erase the things we did. For the path we took was the same.
Beautiful Mother, soft and sweet. Once you were gone we were not complete. Back through the years we reached for you. Alas, twas not meant to be.
My dreams made me blind and mute. I longed to return to that time. I followed without a word. My brother the fault is mine.
So where do we go from here? And how to forget and forgive?
What's gone is forever lost. Now all we can do is live.
Saturday, April 14, 2007
i'm so sick of love songs, so tired of tears
Post 28 :: Exodus Infinity :: On Going Out :: Of Parents and Problems :: Diarrhea of the Mouth
I
Yesterday, on Friday the thirteenth, we got together in groups of four or so and talked Exodus. We were supposed to have come to class having read the entire chapter, which was rather long, if I do say so myself. Most of our group read the chapter, I suppose, and somehow, we discovered a packet of printed Sparknotes on the floor between our books. I've never actually sat down and read any kind of Sparknotes. I saw one in the bookstore, picked it up and flipped through it, but I couldn't see myself buying it. I don't really want to confine myself to one point of view on a novel, and not be able to formulate my own opinion because I haven't read the actual text. Hah. That sounds snotty.
Anyway, as we discussed -- or rather, attempted to discuss -- the chapter, we found that no one really knew what to say. We didn't know what stood out or what was put in as a metaphor for something else. We didn't think about symbolism and motifs, or anything of that sort. Or at least, I didn't. Even though we had read Exodus, we couldn't draw anything of any sort of significance out of that literature circle. Personally, Exodus was more interesting, and I'd read part of it in advance. As a result of reading for pleasure rather than for assignment, I remembered almost nothing about these little details that loom so large in an English classroom. I did, however, enjoy reading. When I read for symbolism or detail specifically, there's nothing to enjoy. (Well, for someone like me, at least.)
Perhaps we could try out simply talking about the book. What we liked or disliked, thought was stupid or funny -- would that lead to a deeper conversation? Friday's literature circles seemed slow and not very active. No one felt the urge to share his or her ideas without being asked or prodded.
In the larger literature circle, more topics were brought up. By nature, I am quite the contrary person, and I love to argue. I don't mean any kind of personal attack or anything, but the way I speak makes it come off like that. So I tend to keep most of my opinions to myself in classroom discussion.
One topic that was brought up was the idea of Leah's beliefs while staying with the nuns. While she is there, she prays to old, black African stones as she waits for Anatole's return. One classmate mentioned it showed her religious beliefs or respect for nature. I thought her praying was kind of ironic, though. Her father, Nathan, had preached to the Congolese about their praying to false idols, which goes back to the Bel and the Serpent chapter. I'm not religious, so forgive me for saying anything that may be construed as disrespectful or offensive. Doesn't her prayer to the rock, when she says it is "One solid thing to believe in" (423) show that she has stopped believing in God? This may be a stretch, but I think it shows that she has given up on believing in something that she cannot hold. God is not solid. God is all about faith, and believing even when you cannot see. Why does Leah say "one solid thing"? She needs that solidity. Religion is no longer what she turns to when times are troubled.
II
It's not because I love my friends any less. In fact, I don't think anyone could ever imagine how much I appreciate my friends for staying with me even though I'm so difficult. No amount of money or words could ever express how strongly I feel about that. Even a smile or a wave makes my day that much brighter. Am I being ungrateful when I do things like this?
III
"I don't know why I couldn't have been born a good child, born someone who knows what they want, knows who they are, knows how to act. What to change, what to follow, what to fight."
An incredibly simple answer to this problem would be:
Just shut up and be nice.
But I just... It's not that easy for me. By my damned nature, I am argumentative, sarcastic, and cynical. Not to mention short-tempered. Unfortunately.
And I must need some kind of psychological help or something, because I just can't get myself to control it. And it's not even a "can't" anymore. I'm pretty sure I can. I just... don't. For some odd reason. Especially when I'm tired. I mean, really. You'd think I could at least be respectful towards my parents. But no. For some reason, I'm always pissing my mom off to high hell, even more so nowadays than before. I've always got some kind of attitude. I've always got some tone in my voice. I'm always doing something disrespectful or being lazy. Hell! I'm doing it again, right now! Why can't I stop?
Most of the time, I don't even realize what I'm doing and that it comes off as rude and disrespectful -- until she reprimands me for it.
There's something to be said about my character there.
How do I fix myself? It's like I've got the instruction manual and all the tools. But without the pin that holds everything together, it falls apart with the smallest nudge. How do I find that piece? It's just so frustrating! How can I be this slow?
* How do we fix ourselves?
IV
Haha.
I
Yesterday, on Friday the thirteenth, we got together in groups of four or so and talked Exodus. We were supposed to have come to class having read the entire chapter, which was rather long, if I do say so myself. Most of our group read the chapter, I suppose, and somehow, we discovered a packet of printed Sparknotes on the floor between our books. I've never actually sat down and read any kind of Sparknotes. I saw one in the bookstore, picked it up and flipped through it, but I couldn't see myself buying it. I don't really want to confine myself to one point of view on a novel, and not be able to formulate my own opinion because I haven't read the actual text. Hah. That sounds snotty.
Anyway, as we discussed -- or rather, attempted to discuss -- the chapter, we found that no one really knew what to say. We didn't know what stood out or what was put in as a metaphor for something else. We didn't think about symbolism and motifs, or anything of that sort. Or at least, I didn't. Even though we had read Exodus, we couldn't draw anything of any sort of significance out of that literature circle. Personally, Exodus was more interesting, and I'd read part of it in advance. As a result of reading for pleasure rather than for assignment, I remembered almost nothing about these little details that loom so large in an English classroom. I did, however, enjoy reading. When I read for symbolism or detail specifically, there's nothing to enjoy. (Well, for someone like me, at least.)
Perhaps we could try out simply talking about the book. What we liked or disliked, thought was stupid or funny -- would that lead to a deeper conversation? Friday's literature circles seemed slow and not very active. No one felt the urge to share his or her ideas without being asked or prodded.
In the larger literature circle, more topics were brought up. By nature, I am quite the contrary person, and I love to argue. I don't mean any kind of personal attack or anything, but the way I speak makes it come off like that. So I tend to keep most of my opinions to myself in classroom discussion.
One topic that was brought up was the idea of Leah's beliefs while staying with the nuns. While she is there, she prays to old, black African stones as she waits for Anatole's return. One classmate mentioned it showed her religious beliefs or respect for nature. I thought her praying was kind of ironic, though. Her father, Nathan, had preached to the Congolese about their praying to false idols, which goes back to the Bel and the Serpent chapter. I'm not religious, so forgive me for saying anything that may be construed as disrespectful or offensive. Doesn't her prayer to the rock, when she says it is "One solid thing to believe in" (423) show that she has stopped believing in God? This may be a stretch, but I think it shows that she has given up on believing in something that she cannot hold. God is not solid. God is all about faith, and believing even when you cannot see. Why does Leah say "one solid thing"? She needs that solidity. Religion is no longer what she turns to when times are troubled.
II
It's not because I love my friends any less. In fact, I don't think anyone could ever imagine how much I appreciate my friends for staying with me even though I'm so difficult. No amount of money or words could ever express how strongly I feel about that. Even a smile or a wave makes my day that much brighter. Am I being ungrateful when I do things like this?
III
"I don't know why I couldn't have been born a good child, born someone who knows what they want, knows who they are, knows how to act. What to change, what to follow, what to fight."
An incredibly simple answer to this problem would be:
Just shut up and be nice.
But I just... It's not that easy for me. By my damned nature, I am argumentative, sarcastic, and cynical. Not to mention short-tempered. Unfortunately.
And I must need some kind of psychological help or something, because I just can't get myself to control it. And it's not even a "can't" anymore. I'm pretty sure I can. I just... don't. For some odd reason. Especially when I'm tired. I mean, really. You'd think I could at least be respectful towards my parents. But no. For some reason, I'm always pissing my mom off to high hell, even more so nowadays than before. I've always got some kind of attitude. I've always got some tone in my voice. I'm always doing something disrespectful or being lazy. Hell! I'm doing it again, right now! Why can't I stop?
Most of the time, I don't even realize what I'm doing and that it comes off as rude and disrespectful -- until she reprimands me for it.
There's something to be said about my character there.
How do I fix myself? It's like I've got the instruction manual and all the tools. But without the pin that holds everything together, it falls apart with the smallest nudge. How do I find that piece? It's just so frustrating! How can I be this slow?
* How do we fix ourselves?
IV
Haha.
Monday, April 9, 2007
the seaweed is always greener in somebody else's lake
Post 27 :: Useless Thinking and Lyrics
five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
What do we do with each one of those minutes? Are we doing what we want to be doing? Doing what we should be doing? Doing what needs to be done? Living each one to the fullest?
five hundred twenty-five thousand moments so dear
Should past experiences affect how we continue to live our lives? Should bad experiences limit your willingness to try again? How do we rid ourselves of shame and regret? Do we carry them with us until we pass on, like permanent shackles from which we cannot free ourselves? Or should we use them to our advantage? Somehow, some way?
five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
Life is long, but life is short. Which is it? Why is it? If we make the most of each and every single minute, would life become too long? Maybe we're given all the time we need to attain happiness and everything we could ever want. Maybe we're not, so the things we do attain are made more precious.
how do you measure, measure a year?
if there's a prize for rotten judgement, i guess i've already won that
When we make mistakes, what happens to them? They say the human mind is excellent at erasing painful memories, but why is it that those are the ones that come first into my mind? All I can think of is how I screwed up, how poorly I handled each situation. When does the erasing kick in? How long should I carry this mark on my slate? A week? Three months? Forever?
no man is worth the aggravation
I can see how forever would be prudent. Any bad choice should be remembered so the choice is never made again. But how long does this guilt have to sit in my heart, dropping lead into the pit of my stomach? How long will it be until people forget? How long will it be until I forget?
that's ancient history
I can't forget it ever happened. That would be an insult to everyone, myself included. Then what can I do? Learn from it? Hah. I don't want the past to repeat itself, but every time I think I want to try again, the past ambles up to me with its crooked gait, filling me with anxiety and guilt. Maybe even fear. Although... Part of that fear may be directly for myself. I don't want to get hurt. Part of it is for the others who involve themselves with me. They'll get hurt. And the rest of it is for myself, indirectly. I don't know if I could live with myself if I repeat another mistake.
been there, done that
I don't want it to happen again. I don't want it to happen again. I don't want it to happen again. I don't want another reminder of the kind of person I am. I don't want the knowledge of my cruelty, whether it was intentional or not, writ into stone once more. I don't want this shame cast across my shoulders again.
no chance, no way, i won't say it no, no
I don't see why I bother thinking through this again and again. It's not like anything's going to change. I'll lose interest and everything will be back to normal. I don't see why I feel the need to agonize over each moment of my life, over each and every little thing that happens. All this will do is give me premature wrinkles, if anything. Everyone says I think about things too much, myself included. Why can't I stop?
it's too cliche
I just can't. Or can I?
i won't say i'm in love
Maybe I just think I can't? If I think I can, will I be able to change it? Old habits die hard, right? Or were they bad habits? I don't know. I'd better go all out, then. I'll think about the things that need more thinking about -- like studying. I haven't been doing much of that lately.
i thought my heart had learned its lesson
I think I want to try again, if anyone would let me. And yet I don't want what happened before to happen again. I don't want to start something that will end, because I don't know how it would end. How can I say that? Hah. I know everything ends. Even life.
it feels so good when you start out
I couldn't do it again, could I? I don't think so, but I wouldn't know. I do know, however, that if I did, the guilt would crush me. Or... it should.
my head is screaming, "get a grip, girl"
How can I be so deluded? How can I not see things clearly until I've done what I cannot turn back time and redo? If only life were like a video game, with the reset button an arm's reach away.
unless you're dying to cry your heart out
I don't want this to hurt any more. It shouldn't even hurt me, because I was the one who hurt someone else with the very same blade. I guess this is the metaphorical double-edged sword. Though the metaphor itself is wrong, because you will never cut yourself at the same time, even if the sword is double-edged. Hm.
no chance, no way, i won't say it no, no
I guess it would be more accurately described as recoil. When you fire the gun, someone else takes the bullet. You feel the recoil, though. Right? The bigger the shot, the stronger the recoil. In my mind, the shot's recoil has magnified itself a thousand-fold. And it wasn't all that small to begin with. I can't even think about starting a new slate without it burning itself into my thoughts. I want to throw it away, to stop feeling this guilt and this shame -- this immense disgust for who I am and what I embody.
this scene won't play
I am a despicable person. I guess everyone should have the right to be happy, but somehow I can't bring myself to believe that I am part of that "everyone." I've hurt too many people, done too many things I'm ashamed of, accumulated too much regret... I just don't think someone like me could deserve to be happy. Call it self-pity if you will, because I'm sure it is. Sorry.
i won't say i'm in love
i have often dreamed of a far-off place, where a hero's welcome would be waiting for me
I want to surround myself with things that make me happy. Is that too material? I want to surround myself with people who make me smile. Is that too selfish? I want to be happy. Do I have the right?
where the crowds will cheer when they see my face
Is it wrong? Is it natural? Would it being natural make it acceptable? If I want to belong somewhere, where do I look? Is it selfish to look to another to take my flaws in stride and continue walking -- when I am too afraid, too insecure to do it myself? Is it too cowardly?
and a voice keeps saying, "this is where i'm meant to be"
If I cannot overlook things, even for the people I love, where will I end up? If I keep pushing people away, either intentionally or unintentionally, will I not end up alone? Lonely? If I swallow the pride I've thrown away long ago, can I keep those I love from leaving me? Can I lift the blinds from my heart and see what it is I love, rather than think about what I cannot bring myself to take in stride? For myself, as well as for others?
i'll be there some day
I wish I were more patient. I wish I were kinder, more generous, more attentive. I wish I were less talkative, less negative, less boring. More attractive, more than what I am. Less of a pain, less of a brat. More optimistic, less lazy, more feminine, less prone to random fits of anger, more stable... Where is the happy medium? I realize that nobody can be perfect, but isn't that just because everyone has different ideas of what constitutes perfection? You can be perfect in your own eyes, can't you? Perfect in your imperfection? So why does everyone say you cannot be perfect?
i can go the distance
Can I be perfect in my own eyes? Can I learn to accept these flaws and ridiculous mannerisms?
i will find my way
Should I accept these flaws? Where do we stop accepting and start changing? "God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference." What about the things we should change? Is the quote made this way to show us that there is nothing that should or should not be done? Is it a matter of wanting to or not wanting to? Is it a matter of needing to? Why do I lack the wisdom to know the difference?
if i can be strong
How can I change myself? How can I bend my mind around the fact that I hate it when people tap pencils on the table? How can I stop snapping at people who wiggle their legs and make the entire desk shake? How can I restrain my temper? How can I stop myself? I can't stand being annoyed at every little thing. It's unhealthy and mean. "Mean" is a somewhat anti-climactic word to use, but hell, that's the simplest word I can think of to describe it. I can't stand myself this way. How can I change?
i know every mile will be worth my while
Someone once said that it is in realizing that we need to change, that we begin to do so. Why am I stuck in this wretched mindset? Why can't I find a way to make people smile, instead of make them frown? Make them laugh instead of cry? If I keep pushing myself to the edge, trying to bring forth some epiphany or realization, will I finally get one? Will I finally be able to change?
when i go the distance, i'll be right where i belong
five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
What do we do with each one of those minutes? Are we doing what we want to be doing? Doing what we should be doing? Doing what needs to be done? Living each one to the fullest?
five hundred twenty-five thousand moments so dear
Should past experiences affect how we continue to live our lives? Should bad experiences limit your willingness to try again? How do we rid ourselves of shame and regret? Do we carry them with us until we pass on, like permanent shackles from which we cannot free ourselves? Or should we use them to our advantage? Somehow, some way?
five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
Life is long, but life is short. Which is it? Why is it? If we make the most of each and every single minute, would life become too long? Maybe we're given all the time we need to attain happiness and everything we could ever want. Maybe we're not, so the things we do attain are made more precious.
how do you measure, measure a year?
if there's a prize for rotten judgement, i guess i've already won that
When we make mistakes, what happens to them? They say the human mind is excellent at erasing painful memories, but why is it that those are the ones that come first into my mind? All I can think of is how I screwed up, how poorly I handled each situation. When does the erasing kick in? How long should I carry this mark on my slate? A week? Three months? Forever?
no man is worth the aggravation
I can see how forever would be prudent. Any bad choice should be remembered so the choice is never made again. But how long does this guilt have to sit in my heart, dropping lead into the pit of my stomach? How long will it be until people forget? How long will it be until I forget?
that's ancient history
I can't forget it ever happened. That would be an insult to everyone, myself included. Then what can I do? Learn from it? Hah. I don't want the past to repeat itself, but every time I think I want to try again, the past ambles up to me with its crooked gait, filling me with anxiety and guilt. Maybe even fear. Although... Part of that fear may be directly for myself. I don't want to get hurt. Part of it is for the others who involve themselves with me. They'll get hurt. And the rest of it is for myself, indirectly. I don't know if I could live with myself if I repeat another mistake.
been there, done that
I don't want it to happen again. I don't want it to happen again. I don't want it to happen again. I don't want another reminder of the kind of person I am. I don't want the knowledge of my cruelty, whether it was intentional or not, writ into stone once more. I don't want this shame cast across my shoulders again.
no chance, no way, i won't say it no, no
I don't see why I bother thinking through this again and again. It's not like anything's going to change. I'll lose interest and everything will be back to normal. I don't see why I feel the need to agonize over each moment of my life, over each and every little thing that happens. All this will do is give me premature wrinkles, if anything. Everyone says I think about things too much, myself included. Why can't I stop?
it's too cliche
I just can't. Or can I?
i won't say i'm in love
Maybe I just think I can't? If I think I can, will I be able to change it? Old habits die hard, right? Or were they bad habits? I don't know. I'd better go all out, then. I'll think about the things that need more thinking about -- like studying. I haven't been doing much of that lately.
i thought my heart had learned its lesson
I think I want to try again, if anyone would let me. And yet I don't want what happened before to happen again. I don't want to start something that will end, because I don't know how it would end. How can I say that? Hah. I know everything ends. Even life.
it feels so good when you start out
I couldn't do it again, could I? I don't think so, but I wouldn't know. I do know, however, that if I did, the guilt would crush me. Or... it should.
my head is screaming, "get a grip, girl"
How can I be so deluded? How can I not see things clearly until I've done what I cannot turn back time and redo? If only life were like a video game, with the reset button an arm's reach away.
unless you're dying to cry your heart out
I don't want this to hurt any more. It shouldn't even hurt me, because I was the one who hurt someone else with the very same blade. I guess this is the metaphorical double-edged sword. Though the metaphor itself is wrong, because you will never cut yourself at the same time, even if the sword is double-edged. Hm.
no chance, no way, i won't say it no, no
I guess it would be more accurately described as recoil. When you fire the gun, someone else takes the bullet. You feel the recoil, though. Right? The bigger the shot, the stronger the recoil. In my mind, the shot's recoil has magnified itself a thousand-fold. And it wasn't all that small to begin with. I can't even think about starting a new slate without it burning itself into my thoughts. I want to throw it away, to stop feeling this guilt and this shame -- this immense disgust for who I am and what I embody.
this scene won't play
I am a despicable person. I guess everyone should have the right to be happy, but somehow I can't bring myself to believe that I am part of that "everyone." I've hurt too many people, done too many things I'm ashamed of, accumulated too much regret... I just don't think someone like me could deserve to be happy. Call it self-pity if you will, because I'm sure it is. Sorry.
i won't say i'm in love
i have often dreamed of a far-off place, where a hero's welcome would be waiting for me
I want to surround myself with things that make me happy. Is that too material? I want to surround myself with people who make me smile. Is that too selfish? I want to be happy. Do I have the right?
where the crowds will cheer when they see my face
Is it wrong? Is it natural? Would it being natural make it acceptable? If I want to belong somewhere, where do I look? Is it selfish to look to another to take my flaws in stride and continue walking -- when I am too afraid, too insecure to do it myself? Is it too cowardly?
and a voice keeps saying, "this is where i'm meant to be"
If I cannot overlook things, even for the people I love, where will I end up? If I keep pushing people away, either intentionally or unintentionally, will I not end up alone? Lonely? If I swallow the pride I've thrown away long ago, can I keep those I love from leaving me? Can I lift the blinds from my heart and see what it is I love, rather than think about what I cannot bring myself to take in stride? For myself, as well as for others?
i'll be there some day
I wish I were more patient. I wish I were kinder, more generous, more attentive. I wish I were less talkative, less negative, less boring. More attractive, more than what I am. Less of a pain, less of a brat. More optimistic, less lazy, more feminine, less prone to random fits of anger, more stable... Where is the happy medium? I realize that nobody can be perfect, but isn't that just because everyone has different ideas of what constitutes perfection? You can be perfect in your own eyes, can't you? Perfect in your imperfection? So why does everyone say you cannot be perfect?
i can go the distance
Can I be perfect in my own eyes? Can I learn to accept these flaws and ridiculous mannerisms?
i will find my way
Should I accept these flaws? Where do we stop accepting and start changing? "God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference." What about the things we should change? Is the quote made this way to show us that there is nothing that should or should not be done? Is it a matter of wanting to or not wanting to? Is it a matter of needing to? Why do I lack the wisdom to know the difference?
if i can be strong
How can I change myself? How can I bend my mind around the fact that I hate it when people tap pencils on the table? How can I stop snapping at people who wiggle their legs and make the entire desk shake? How can I restrain my temper? How can I stop myself? I can't stand being annoyed at every little thing. It's unhealthy and mean. "Mean" is a somewhat anti-climactic word to use, but hell, that's the simplest word I can think of to describe it. I can't stand myself this way. How can I change?
i know every mile will be worth my while
Someone once said that it is in realizing that we need to change, that we begin to do so. Why am I stuck in this wretched mindset? Why can't I find a way to make people smile, instead of make them frown? Make them laugh instead of cry? If I keep pushing myself to the edge, trying to bring forth some epiphany or realization, will I finally get one? Will I finally be able to change?
when i go the distance, i'll be right where i belong
Thursday, April 5, 2007
if there's a prize for rotten judgement, i guess i've already won that
Post 25, 26 CONSOLIDATED :: SAT essay :: Bel and the Serpent Infinity
I
Another SAT practice essay on, of all things to write about, "practical" skills.
This question is a difficult one to answer. For one, the concept of "too much" can mean different things to different people. How much is too much? People working different jobs in different fields and situations will have very different answers.
There are too many variables involved in this question. The concept of "too much," as mentioned above, is one. Another problem involves the quote. When the quote mentions "how to live a good life," whose "good life" is it talking about? For some, making a good living can constitute a good life. Having the money to live in a house and send one's kids to school can constitute a good life. This quote seems to put so clear a barrier between the ideas of a "good living" and a "good life," but there is no distinction so clear.
This can be argued, however. The emphasis on practical skills that emerges early on in our lives in the form of mandatory school attendance could be one of the reasons what constitutes our idea of "a good life" involves a good living. If we had not learned from an early age that our lives depend on money and the practical skills needed to bring in that money, would our ideas be different? Perhaps there would be a clearer distinction between a focus on making a good living and living a "good life."
Another problem with the quote lies in that same line, which speaks about living a good life. How would one teach another about how to live "a good life"? If everyone has a different idea of what constitues a good life, would not one man trying to teach many others "how to live a good life" turn into a telling of exploits and one's own experiences only? I believe you cannot teach someone how to live their life. They must learn on their own; the words of others are flimsy barriers, and what may have been a bad experience for one may be an excellent experience for another. In this case, practical skills would be the "happy medium" of sorts. In this practical world, one needs at least a few practical skills to survive. If one is taught practical skills, it serves as a foundation. They will be able to apply themselves with those skills, finding ways to live their own lives.
Going back to the idea of a "practical world," although there is the ideal, "I shouldn't have to conform to society's wishes" way of thinking, that thought is not entirely true. If one is impoverished and at the bottom of the social ladder, living in unsanitary conditions and lacking education of any kind, one will almost certainly be unhappy; however, perhaps that assumption is a direct result of my own upbringing, attending a school that teaches practical skills among other things.
In other words, an answer to this question could be: "No, because practical skills are necessary to survive in a world like ours, which is focused on money, practicality, and results." Yet, another answer could be: "Yes, because in learning and putting too much emphasis on practicality, we limit our creativity and imagination. We begin to lose the want to go farther -- the ability to reach farther than our original goal. When practical skills are overemphasized, we begin to think that getting to the finish line is enough. We no longer see a need to keep running." It simply depends on who answers the question and what the person's idea of "a good life" is.
II
"Always the Analyst"
Nathan:
In Bel and the Serpent, we see Nathan finally crack. The people of the village decide to take a vote on whether or not to keep his ideas of God, and in response, he "pointed his finger like a gun at Tata Ndu, then swung it around to accuse the whole congregation" (332). Funny that this should involve any sort of accusation at all. His outburst is (maybe) intended to sway their judgements back to the worship of God, either by guilt or by realization, but instead, he reaps the opposite; the Congolese choose to abandon their "belief" in the white God.
From here on out, I think Nathan will continue to spiral, in his crazed obsession with bringing these people, who have never once needed to be saved, to salvation. He cannot seem to compromise, and that is his downfall. He believes that what is right or "good" for him is considered salvation for everyone around him, when all it really becomes is a cage, for himself and for his family.
Orleanna:
Also in Bel in the Serpent is the final turning point of this novel, in my opinion, for Orleanna's state of mind. After the death of Ruth May, Orleanna finally seems to realize something. Either that, or something within her is also taken by the death of her youngest daughter that allows her to see what she should have done a long time ago -- leave Nathan and begin her own life. In the beginning of Exodus, it is revealed that they, the remaining four women, leave Nathan Price behind at long last. I think Orleanna should have chosen to leave a long time ago, but I suppose she never actually thought to leave until something irreversible happened.
Leah:
It seems like, in Exodus, almost all of the girls' mindsets have begun to take downhill turns. Well, perhaps Leah may be an exception, although it seems like she's taking being unbiased a little bit too far; she now seems to be more biased against whites than anything. It also seems like she has more than a little bit of resentment towards her father and towards his religion -- his "God." She also says, "The children weren't paying much mind right then to my father or his bubbling spring of eternal life" (374). Leah was always the one who believed in her father the most -- she believed his teachings were right and holy. Now, she has become more like Adah in her mindset; somehow, her words seemed a little sarcastic in that quote. (Or it could have been simply my interpretation of them.)
I think one of the major influences on her state of mind is Anatole. Ever since the events of the night of the nsongonya in Judges, she has begun to distance herself, either consciously or unconsciously, from her family. She begins to associate herself more with the Congolese than she does with the whites.
I
Another SAT practice essay on, of all things to write about, "practical" skills.
This question is a difficult one to answer. For one, the concept of "too much" can mean different things to different people. How much is too much? People working different jobs in different fields and situations will have very different answers.
There are too many variables involved in this question. The concept of "too much," as mentioned above, is one. Another problem involves the quote. When the quote mentions "how to live a good life," whose "good life" is it talking about? For some, making a good living can constitute a good life. Having the money to live in a house and send one's kids to school can constitute a good life. This quote seems to put so clear a barrier between the ideas of a "good living" and a "good life," but there is no distinction so clear.
This can be argued, however. The emphasis on practical skills that emerges early on in our lives in the form of mandatory school attendance could be one of the reasons what constitutes our idea of "a good life" involves a good living. If we had not learned from an early age that our lives depend on money and the practical skills needed to bring in that money, would our ideas be different? Perhaps there would be a clearer distinction between a focus on making a good living and living a "good life."
Another problem with the quote lies in that same line, which speaks about living a good life. How would one teach another about how to live "a good life"? If everyone has a different idea of what constitues a good life, would not one man trying to teach many others "how to live a good life" turn into a telling of exploits and one's own experiences only? I believe you cannot teach someone how to live their life. They must learn on their own; the words of others are flimsy barriers, and what may have been a bad experience for one may be an excellent experience for another. In this case, practical skills would be the "happy medium" of sorts. In this practical world, one needs at least a few practical skills to survive. If one is taught practical skills, it serves as a foundation. They will be able to apply themselves with those skills, finding ways to live their own lives.
Going back to the idea of a "practical world," although there is the ideal, "I shouldn't have to conform to society's wishes" way of thinking, that thought is not entirely true. If one is impoverished and at the bottom of the social ladder, living in unsanitary conditions and lacking education of any kind, one will almost certainly be unhappy; however, perhaps that assumption is a direct result of my own upbringing, attending a school that teaches practical skills among other things.
In other words, an answer to this question could be: "No, because practical skills are necessary to survive in a world like ours, which is focused on money, practicality, and results." Yet, another answer could be: "Yes, because in learning and putting too much emphasis on practicality, we limit our creativity and imagination. We begin to lose the want to go farther -- the ability to reach farther than our original goal. When practical skills are overemphasized, we begin to think that getting to the finish line is enough. We no longer see a need to keep running." It simply depends on who answers the question and what the person's idea of "a good life" is.
II
"Always the Analyst"
Nathan:
In Bel and the Serpent, we see Nathan finally crack. The people of the village decide to take a vote on whether or not to keep his ideas of God, and in response, he "pointed his finger like a gun at Tata Ndu, then swung it around to accuse the whole congregation" (332). Funny that this should involve any sort of accusation at all. His outburst is (maybe) intended to sway their judgements back to the worship of God, either by guilt or by realization, but instead, he reaps the opposite; the Congolese choose to abandon their "belief" in the white God.
From here on out, I think Nathan will continue to spiral, in his crazed obsession with bringing these people, who have never once needed to be saved, to salvation. He cannot seem to compromise, and that is his downfall. He believes that what is right or "good" for him is considered salvation for everyone around him, when all it really becomes is a cage, for himself and for his family.
Orleanna:
Also in Bel in the Serpent is the final turning point of this novel, in my opinion, for Orleanna's state of mind. After the death of Ruth May, Orleanna finally seems to realize something. Either that, or something within her is also taken by the death of her youngest daughter that allows her to see what she should have done a long time ago -- leave Nathan and begin her own life. In the beginning of Exodus, it is revealed that they, the remaining four women, leave Nathan Price behind at long last. I think Orleanna should have chosen to leave a long time ago, but I suppose she never actually thought to leave until something irreversible happened.
Leah:
It seems like, in Exodus, almost all of the girls' mindsets have begun to take downhill turns. Well, perhaps Leah may be an exception, although it seems like she's taking being unbiased a little bit too far; she now seems to be more biased against whites than anything. It also seems like she has more than a little bit of resentment towards her father and towards his religion -- his "God." She also says, "The children weren't paying much mind right then to my father or his bubbling spring of eternal life" (374). Leah was always the one who believed in her father the most -- she believed his teachings were right and holy. Now, she has become more like Adah in her mindset; somehow, her words seemed a little sarcastic in that quote. (Or it could have been simply my interpretation of them.)
I think one of the major influences on her state of mind is Anatole. Ever since the events of the night of the nsongonya in Judges, she has begun to distance herself, either consciously or unconsciously, from her family. She begins to associate herself more with the Congolese than she does with the whites.
Sunday, April 1, 2007
would you mind if i sat next to you and watched you smile?
Post 24 :: Fatal Attraction :: Can't See the Forest for the Trees
I
Today, I watched the DVD version of a book called The Secret. It was interesting, to say the least. It tells you about the Law of Attraction, and how the thoughts and feelings that you have contain the power to bend the universe to your will. You can achieve anything if you believe. Ask, believe, and recieve, or so they said. All through it, they told incredible stories of the workings of the human mind. I really don't want to go through the entire thing. Read it, watch it -- I think it would be an interesting experience for you, dear reader. It may change your life forever.
Though I say this, I can't help but feel that niggling doubt at the back of my mind.
STOP. Have faith and give it a go. Focusing on things that you don't want to happen will only strengthen them, bringing them about time and time again. Your thoughts emit frequencies, and those frequencies attract like frequencies. Negative to negative, positive to positive. Focus on the happiness, your gratitude -- all you have to be thankful for. Be pro-peace instead of anti-war. Think about what you want. The universe doesn't interpret want or dislike. So focus on happiness. Hold that in your sights and keep walking.
All we can do is try, right? So I'll try this. I'll begin thinking less about what I don't have and more about what I have. What I am grateful for. I will focus on the joy of achieving something I have long hoped for or wanted to do, and I will stay happy. I will have good days. I will finish all these drawings and prints for the convention -- with time to spare! I will have good hair days. I will lose those pounds I gained over spring break.
And with those thoughts, I will attain happiness.
II
Being a teenager. You, dear reader (as I have taken to calling you), may say, "Been there, done that." As simple as that, right? Am I allowed to analyze these troubled years of hormones and turmoil? Or would that be considered inappropriate or premature, as I am still smack-dab in the middle of those zit-filled years? Either way, I'm going to write this out, because I feel like I could look back on it and remember where I am and who I am. How old I am and how far I still have to walk.
Crushes
Isn't it funny how every little crush starts out small and then, out of the blue, it balloons out to impossible sizes? One moment, he's just "cute," and the next, you're noticing every little thing he does, interpreting habits that you never noticed before -- wondering: Does he have a girlfriend? Would he be interested in me? OMG What do I look like? Is there anything in my teeth? On my face? Oh man! I hope my hair looks all right! A mountain of insecurities springs up out of nowhere, like a bad zit on the day of the prom.
Why is this? Why does every movement have to have some kind of significance? Every sentence, its double, hidden meaning? Is it some hormonal imbalance that just happens to spring up every now and then? Levels of chemicals and nutrients in your blood, different parts of your brain being active... Is it chemical? Or is it something else? Something deeper and far less scientific? Are we, as teenagers, capable of "true love"? Or are we still too young, still too untried, still too inexperienced?
Are the subtle shaking of the fingers and the quickening of the pulse signs of a crush? And why is it that it's never really something you think about until you say, to yourself or to others, "I have a crush on so-and-so"? It begins with a simple thought, and your words seal the deal. So what if we never admitted anything out loud? Crushes seem so unstable. Unprovoked, unproven, not even backed by some sort logic 99% of the time. And they're short-lived, too, for the most part. They seem to take you on an emotional rollercoaster, up, down, all around, for less than that imaginary minute, only to leave you dizzy and possibly nauseated at the exit of the ride. So why do we continue "crushing" on people? Is it worth it? Is it all precious "experience," to be spoken of later in life, to your own teenagers when they begin this awkward phase?
I
Today, I watched the DVD version of a book called The Secret. It was interesting, to say the least. It tells you about the Law of Attraction, and how the thoughts and feelings that you have contain the power to bend the universe to your will. You can achieve anything if you believe. Ask, believe, and recieve, or so they said. All through it, they told incredible stories of the workings of the human mind. I really don't want to go through the entire thing. Read it, watch it -- I think it would be an interesting experience for you, dear reader. It may change your life forever.
Though I say this, I can't help but feel that niggling doubt at the back of my mind.
STOP. Have faith and give it a go. Focusing on things that you don't want to happen will only strengthen them, bringing them about time and time again. Your thoughts emit frequencies, and those frequencies attract like frequencies. Negative to negative, positive to positive. Focus on the happiness, your gratitude -- all you have to be thankful for. Be pro-peace instead of anti-war. Think about what you want. The universe doesn't interpret want or dislike. So focus on happiness. Hold that in your sights and keep walking.
All we can do is try, right? So I'll try this. I'll begin thinking less about what I don't have and more about what I have. What I am grateful for. I will focus on the joy of achieving something I have long hoped for or wanted to do, and I will stay happy. I will have good days. I will finish all these drawings and prints for the convention -- with time to spare! I will have good hair days. I will lose those pounds I gained over spring break.
And with those thoughts, I will attain happiness.
II
Being a teenager. You, dear reader (as I have taken to calling you), may say, "Been there, done that." As simple as that, right? Am I allowed to analyze these troubled years of hormones and turmoil? Or would that be considered inappropriate or premature, as I am still smack-dab in the middle of those zit-filled years? Either way, I'm going to write this out, because I feel like I could look back on it and remember where I am and who I am. How old I am and how far I still have to walk.
Crushes
Isn't it funny how every little crush starts out small and then, out of the blue, it balloons out to impossible sizes? One moment, he's just "cute," and the next, you're noticing every little thing he does, interpreting habits that you never noticed before -- wondering: Does he have a girlfriend? Would he be interested in me? OMG What do I look like? Is there anything in my teeth? On my face? Oh man! I hope my hair looks all right! A mountain of insecurities springs up out of nowhere, like a bad zit on the day of the prom.
Why is this? Why does every movement have to have some kind of significance? Every sentence, its double, hidden meaning? Is it some hormonal imbalance that just happens to spring up every now and then? Levels of chemicals and nutrients in your blood, different parts of your brain being active... Is it chemical? Or is it something else? Something deeper and far less scientific? Are we, as teenagers, capable of "true love"? Or are we still too young, still too untried, still too inexperienced?
Are the subtle shaking of the fingers and the quickening of the pulse signs of a crush? And why is it that it's never really something you think about until you say, to yourself or to others, "I have a crush on so-and-so"? It begins with a simple thought, and your words seal the deal. So what if we never admitted anything out loud? Crushes seem so unstable. Unprovoked, unproven, not even backed by some sort logic 99% of the time. And they're short-lived, too, for the most part. They seem to take you on an emotional rollercoaster, up, down, all around, for less than that imaginary minute, only to leave you dizzy and possibly nauseated at the exit of the ride. So why do we continue "crushing" on people? Is it worth it? Is it all precious "experience," to be spoken of later in life, to your own teenagers when they begin this awkward phase?
be my weekend lover, but don't be my friend
Post 23 :: Poisonwood Analyzed
I
"Father pointed his finger like a gun at Tata Ndu, then swung it around to accuse the whole congregation. 'You haven't even learned to run your own pitiful country! Your children are dying of a hundred different diseases! You don't have a pot to piss in! And you're presuming you can take or leave the benevolence of our Lord Jesus Christ!'" (332)
As Leah watches, Nathan Price clearly begins to show his desperation by lashing out at those around him. The villagers decided to take a vote on whether or not to follow Jesus, and Nathan, being the "good" preacher he is, tries to turn them back. He is, however, trying to turn them back in entirely the wrong way. Thus, "Jesus Christ lost, eleven to fifty-six" (334).
I think this quote is important for two main reasons (among others). One, it shows us what Nathan really thinks of the Congo, past all of his fatherly patience and want to bring its inhabitants to "salvation" at the hands of his "God." Two, it is almost ironic, the way his words seem to reflect their own situation and not that of the Congolese.
Elaborating on the first thought, this reason is more of a literal understanding of the quote, looking at it at face value. Obviously, dear Father Price is more than a little cracked at this point in time. He even uses the word "piss," which when he heard before, was the source of a long reprimand for his children. He said it corrupted a pure soul. How many souls is he corrupting, spouting foul words in front of an entire congregation?
Moving on quickly to the second thought, it seems like most of the venom comes from Nathan's own insecurities. They can't run their country, yes. Of course! They're in the middle of a struggle for independence. Everything is in chaos. And that is the reason the Price family is without missionary support, stranded in the middle of the Congo with nothing coming in to save them. Perhaps it reflects his bitterness at being abandoned by the mission. He calls their children sickly, their country chock full of disease. How ironic, seeing as Ruth May had so recently suffered at the claws of malaria. Whose children are dying of a hundred different diseases? And the last comment he made, about not having a pot to piss in -- I think it's a rather inane thing to say, seeing as they don't care. They never had pots to take a pee in; that was all the white man's idea. The pot and the piss could also be a metaphor for Nathan. He doesn't have a place in the Congo. There is no place for his Jesus or his preaching. There's no one to receive his blessing and no one to sing the songs of praise. He has no pot to piss in.
I think one thing that goes unspoken beneath the last line of this quote is that it's not really Jesus' benevolence they're declining. It's Nathan's. Nathan and his way of pushing things like Jesus and baptism and the ways of the white man upon them, spouting this and that about bangala and salvation; however, Nathan doesn't even think about the fact that it could be the way he's going about spreading his teachings. He doesn't realize -- or if he does, he's just being too stubborn about his white American ways.
I
"Father pointed his finger like a gun at Tata Ndu, then swung it around to accuse the whole congregation. 'You haven't even learned to run your own pitiful country! Your children are dying of a hundred different diseases! You don't have a pot to piss in! And you're presuming you can take or leave the benevolence of our Lord Jesus Christ!'" (332)
As Leah watches, Nathan Price clearly begins to show his desperation by lashing out at those around him. The villagers decided to take a vote on whether or not to follow Jesus, and Nathan, being the "good" preacher he is, tries to turn them back. He is, however, trying to turn them back in entirely the wrong way. Thus, "Jesus Christ lost, eleven to fifty-six" (334).
I think this quote is important for two main reasons (among others). One, it shows us what Nathan really thinks of the Congo, past all of his fatherly patience and want to bring its inhabitants to "salvation" at the hands of his "God." Two, it is almost ironic, the way his words seem to reflect their own situation and not that of the Congolese.
Elaborating on the first thought, this reason is more of a literal understanding of the quote, looking at it at face value. Obviously, dear Father Price is more than a little cracked at this point in time. He even uses the word "piss," which when he heard before, was the source of a long reprimand for his children. He said it corrupted a pure soul. How many souls is he corrupting, spouting foul words in front of an entire congregation?
Moving on quickly to the second thought, it seems like most of the venom comes from Nathan's own insecurities. They can't run their country, yes. Of course! They're in the middle of a struggle for independence. Everything is in chaos. And that is the reason the Price family is without missionary support, stranded in the middle of the Congo with nothing coming in to save them. Perhaps it reflects his bitterness at being abandoned by the mission. He calls their children sickly, their country chock full of disease. How ironic, seeing as Ruth May had so recently suffered at the claws of malaria. Whose children are dying of a hundred different diseases? And the last comment he made, about not having a pot to piss in -- I think it's a rather inane thing to say, seeing as they don't care. They never had pots to take a pee in; that was all the white man's idea. The pot and the piss could also be a metaphor for Nathan. He doesn't have a place in the Congo. There is no place for his Jesus or his preaching. There's no one to receive his blessing and no one to sing the songs of praise. He has no pot to piss in.
I think one thing that goes unspoken beneath the last line of this quote is that it's not really Jesus' benevolence they're declining. It's Nathan's. Nathan and his way of pushing things like Jesus and baptism and the ways of the white man upon them, spouting this and that about bangala and salvation; however, Nathan doesn't even think about the fact that it could be the way he's going about spreading his teachings. He doesn't realize -- or if he does, he's just being too stubborn about his white American ways.
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