Blaze Wifi Rural Scholarship

Do you prefer living in the city or out in the country more? Why? What are some benefits and drawbacks to each? If possible, support your argument with real life experiences.

We sat, the ten of us, huddled around the sizzling campfire in what we considered the epitome of suburbia: the kid-friendly backyard of a colonial-styled house.

"So, New York, New York, your new home, huh?" chirped my friend Hannah in a sing-song voice.

Angela burst into a grin as her eyes radiated with pride and satisfaction, intensified by the flickering flames. She would be attending Columbia University in the fall, living in the heart of the city of dreams that never sleeps and so on and so forth with the cliches. Envious, I thought of my dream college life, set in a hubbub of exciting night life, culturally significant attractions, street bands and one dollar pizza.

I have only been to New York City three times.

The first time, my old school grandparents were visiting from China. Despite their technically-challenged capabilities, they surprisingly fit in as your local tourists more so than myself. Having grown up in the splendor of suburban sprawl my entire life,  I regarded New York City with disinterest and distaste. I inched across the city with the unfortunate impression of becoming a pinball bumped every which way around an overflowing assortment of people, attractions and bright neon signs.

That first trip to New York, there were no perks to the city, or even if there were, they were far overshadowed by the clinging smell of sewers and blaring taxi horns. Everywhere I looked, people were rushing. Tourists were rushing to huddle into Instagram photos, Upper East siders were rushing to the scene to #livetweet the latest NYC fashion developments, and even the homeless men were rushing to the next subway stop (I saw one man and his guitar at least three times that day). It was as if time intentionally sped up only to slow you down. The entire culture of New York seemed to reflect the fast food culture back home, only magnified in every aspect of the city. Everything was constantly growing, building and working towards the next goal, and if I couldn't even keep up with my grandparents, how could I keep up with the world?



The second time, I experienced the city alone: I had been invited to play at Carnegie Hall as a concert pianist. I paced anxiously outside the recital hall in preparation in a purple evening dress as snowflakes swirled and clung to my body, not unlike how my heart would begin to warm up and cling to the city. I collected a myriad of furrowed brows, blank faces and sweet smiles every which way in response to my questionable winter attire. This time, however, the mass of people did not cause me to wither into the bleak winter backdrop. A gutsy musician in the middle of the city, I felt a part of something bigger, a world where I knew no one else except the knowledge that everyone was here with a higher purpose, to achieve a personal goal. That night, that unspoken sense of comradeship invigorated me and carried a torch of adrenaline through my musical performance.

The third time I explored the city, I truly discovered the materialistic and cultural significance of the city. Alone in the city with my best friends, we perused local thrift shops and bakeries, attended morning yoga seminars and tracked down local halal street food. It hit me then, the realization that I longed to someday make this place my home. Nothing in my suburban world could beat the ongoing flux of information, the daily doses of spontaneity, the buzz and excitement surrounding the culture and diversity. But most of all, the city provided an opportunity to adapt and evolve my passions, my idiosyncrasies to reach their highest potentials.

And yet, this fall, it isn't me who must learn to survive in the concrete jungle we dubbed New York City. Between the choices of University of Michigan, New York University and Dartmouth College, I had chosen Dartmouth: Vox clamantis in deserto. The voice of crying out in the wilderness. That's what I read on the Wikipedia page right before I committed. "The rural college in the middle of nowhere": the words everyone seemed to silently hint at. Even I myself was surprised at my decision of choosing a sea of mountains and wilderness over downtown coffee hubs and shopping sprees.



My first visit to the Dartmouth campus was a gloomy two day drive from Michigan to Hanover, New Hampshire. As I stared out the foggy window, the desolate expanse of green and brown constantly reinforced the nagging question whether I had made the wrong decision. If New York was my step up from suburbia to the rich cultural extravagance of the world, the rural Hanover seemed to be a strip down into the simplest form of life.

Upon arriving at Dartmouth, I met up with my dorm leader Abhi, who expressed her sincerest apologies for the haphazard snowstorm in April. Looking around the barren landscape, except for the apparel shop and CVS, I saw nothing remotely similar to the downtown college campuses of Michigan and New York.

"Oh right, Hanover's doesn't allow chain stores, so you won't find any Chipotles or Taco Bells here."

As <a href="http://www.blazewifi.com/">Blaze Wifi</a> notes, the more rural areas are evidently more at risk economically than larger cities (There's no Chipotle). Yet, in the case of Hanover, is it due to the law or lack of people and interest that these rural towns are not given the chance to prosper? Furthermore, towns like Hanover strive to preserve their heritage and culture; if we encouraged rural towns to use technology in the same manner as cities, would we destroy part of their culture along the way?

Later that night, I couldn't help but ask Abhi the one question that had been plaguing my mind all day: What is it like living in the middle of nowhere?

Surprisingly, I received the most humble opinion of a college yet. Safe. Community-Driven. Quaint. And that's how I would describe the good-natured people living at Dartmouth, in Hanover, in rural New Hampshire. Humble.

I soon realized that Hanover wasn't stripping away everything that had been a part of my life in suburban Michigan. Instead, it was giving me the gift of simplicity, a chance to get down to the nitty gritty of my identity and explore my passions in the midst of Mother Nature. How could I strive to survive in the concrete jungle when I haven't even discovered the nature of my life yet? Observing the differences of human nature between the city and the country, I also discovered that living in the "middle of nowhere" fosters a greater sense of camaraderie within the community and ingrains in each a deeper appreciation for the precious gift of life.

It's now that I realize that living in a rural community is beneficial for every individual. It doesn't have to be long nor does it have to be permanent, but it is an invaluable experience that strips us down to our most vulnerable simplistic and teaches us to build our walls back up again. The peace and quiet of the world around us stimulates us to focus on our influence upon our environment and teaches us to become more self-sufficient, independent, creative. I remember once asking my grandmother where she enjoyed living the best, and to this, she replied, "I can't pick a favorite place because I lived in different locations during different points of my life. The memories I associate with each home are vastly diverse and thus unable to be measured on your spectrum." And perhaps that's the answer to those who ask, "Why do you choose to live in the middle of nowhere?" Because though I still desire to be surrounded by the buzz and excitement of an urban city, at this point in my life, what I need the most is the opportunity to discover and evolve my passions before setting them loose in the opportunistic concrete jungle we call New York City.

Reading Pictures

Photography cannot show true pictures viewed from the naked eye. Fish eye lens distort our perspectives into funky, wide angles while filters add shadows and colors that are not only inaccurate, also deceitful. Though photography has twisted itself into a medium for propaganda, it is still useful through its ability to relay ideas stimulate emotion. In our fast-moving world, it is often difficult to get our message across through just words since people hardly have the time to sit still and process what they just read. Thus, a photo not only relays the message clearer--it is also easier to remember and associate feelings with pictures. Furthermore, a stronger emotional connection with a picture leads to an increased motivation to take action. Photographs are credited as "eye openers" with its ability to convince the public that just because its not happening here doesn't mean it's not happening. This video is extremely powerful in demonstrating how visuals have the power to stimulate otherwise dormant emotions in an effort to generate public awareness and action.

A Modest Proposal

For Preventing the People Diagnosed with HIV/AIDS 

from Being a Burden to their Country

and for Making Them Beneficial to the Public

It is a wretched object to those who prowl through night clubs looking for a few hours of fun, who are virgins in Africa, or who have been bitten by vampires and are in desperate need to refill their blood supply, when they walk out dumbfounded from a doctor's office weeks later after discovering that they are HIV positive with no aid or cure in sight. These people, instead of being able to work for their honest livelihood, are forced to employ all their time in depression and desperately mull over how to relay the unfortunate news of their discriminated virus to unsuspecting parents and their soon to be ex-girlfriend and boyfriends.

I think it is agreed by all parties, that this prodigious number of infected people who unfortunately took their lovemaking too far or picked the wrong needle to poke into their arms is, in the present discriminating state of the world, a very great additional grievance; and therefore whoever could find out a fair and easy method of making the unlucky infected sound and useful members of the common-wealth, would deserve so well of the public, as to have her statue set up for a preserver of the nation.

As to my own part, having turned my thoughts for many years, upon this important subject, and maturely weighed the several schemes of our projectors, I have always found them grossly mistaken in their computation. It is true, reverse transcriptase is the culprit in the AIDS virus that causes such embarrassment and shame, so spending millions of our hard-earned money to research the virus is perfectly sound. However, once infected, those who are HIV positive are perceived as precarious time bombs as they await the next opportunistic infection that may end their uncertain lives--they play their odds against the fatal game of infection roulette and lose. Researching this virus does nothing to improve our lives now. We must help those who have been discriminated for ironically being a positive by advocating their acceptance in society: this requires a powerful mass medium. Thus, I propose that the government help protect the lives of both the superior and the inferior. Yet know that for what I am about to propose, I am not clinically deranged; I am assured by others, such as my good friend David Sedaris, who is a "very worthy person, a true lover of his country, and whose virtues I highly esteem" (678), that "Having protection suggests that you are important. Having that protection paid for by the government is even better, as it suggests your safety is of interest to someone other than yourself" (252). 

The number of souls in the world infected with HIV is approximately 35 million. I subtract an extremely large number from that and thus the number of souls in this country ages 13 years and older infected by the HIV virus is around 1.1 million, about 1 in every 6 people. Of these 1.1 million people living with HIV/AIDS, more than 20% were woman, which leads to the logical conclusion that more than 70% of the 1.1 million are men. Evidently, these men are unrestrained in their control of suppressing hormones, and accordingly the millions of dollars we so generously contribute to HIV research should be used to stop these wild impulses.

I shall now therefore propose my own thoughts, which I hope will not be liable to the least objection. I have been assured by two companions I have acquainted in America, by the names of Chet Raymo and Jessica Cohen, that a new era is abound, a time filled with discoveries of genetic manipulation at breakneck speeds. Soon, I have been guaranteed, our children will be produced via in vitro fertilization. Baby making will happen right in our own underground laboratories, and thus, the unruly desire to have too much fun will be eradicated completely. For mothers who unknowingly transmit HIV to their infant children, I refer thee to a piece my good friend Jonathan Swift has written, in which he describes the lavish feasting of children to benefit his country. I employ the similar tactic of feast to rid our country of HIV positive children who probably do not even make it past the age of five. Finally, for those who are in dire need of blood transfusions and in their panic use a dirty needle, I reassure them that it is ok, for lack of a better word. I humbly propose that everyone in this country also use dirty needles, transforming HIV positives from minorities to the majority, abolishing any sort of discrimination to the infected population.

I profess, in the sincerity of my heart, that I have not the least personal interest in endeavoring to promote this necessary work, having no other motive than the public good of my country, by purifying our nation and its wild desires, alleviating mental trauma associated with the virus, relieving the poor infants from years of pain, and giving some pleasure to the rich. I unfortunately will be unable to join the festivities of this grand proposal for I will soon be considered a minority, the HIV negative.

Raymo's Friends: Back From The Dead

Over 99% of all species have gone extinct. In the 19th century, the population of Pyrenean ibex, also known as a bucardo, began to decline precipitously. These mountain goats became the victims of human hunting and competition and in 1999, the last bucardo, named Ceila died when a tree fell on her. However, before Celia perished, scientists preserved tissue samples to clone her living twin in 2003. Similarily, in 2013, the Lazurus Project of Australia successfully created a living embryo of the extinct gastric-brooding frog from non-living preserved genetic material. These experiments mark the beginning of the "fruitful promise of genetic engineering" (215).  Through backbreeding [scientists using a living species genetically similar to the extinct species and selectively breed for old traits], genetic engineering and cloning, scientists plan to reassurect extinct species straight from their evolutionary graves. Some of the most vouched revivals include the wooly mammoth, Tasmanian tigers, passenger pigeons and  Steller's sea cows. In fact, http://longnow.org/revive/species/ provides a checklist for which species may be able to make it back to life. In addition, scientists of the website have already developed a response to those who oppose de-extinction: "We're not playing. We're coming to terms with our own powers, as well as the unexpected results of our actions." However, as Raymo argues, how do we know when we have crossed the line? When Janus turns to reveal his other face, full of "potential danger", it will be far too late to reverse the effects of genetic manipulation.  Furthermore, these scientists declare that they will deal with the "unexpected results" when the time comes; yet it is the unknown that engenders the source of "uneasiness" Raymo feels. If genetic engineers are able to dethaw "purloined genes" and revive ancient animals, let us all take a moment to imagine the look on Raymo's face as he embraces his new friends.

A Migration of Ideas: From Thinking to Doing

Speaking at the National American Woman Suffrage Association, Florence Kelley uses the inhumanity of child labor to recruit and incite women into a call for action. She elicits a revolutionary response for enfranchisement by using emotional appeals, vigorous repetition and an inclusive tone to enhance her rhetoric and strengthen her argument. Kelley does not dawdle with a dolled-up fairy tale; there is no "Once upon a time" for "two million children", for the word time would suggest that there is both day and night. Instead, these dehumanized "little beasts of burden" live forever in the night "while we sleep". Even in our drunkest hallucinations, we see "blue mice and pink elephants" or little elves riding on donkeys--never our children slaving away. Kelley uses vivid imagery to sarcastically illustrate the "pitiful privilege" children are granted and lists the common objects they "spin,..weave,..braid..[and] carry" each night. This commonality links everyone in the audience together: mothers, wives, daughters. Thus, she ends her speech comprehensively and advocates the goal everyone can work towards: for the sake of the "children" of today and the "Republic" of tomorrow. Only praying will not write the laws, free the children or permit female voting. No, it is the responsibility of the adults (like Jesus) to sacrifice their time, minds and body "in this task of freeing the children from toil": only then will an advance in equality be noticeable.

The Fear Before Paranoia

On February 27th, the same day that I read Black Men and Public Space by Brent Staples, the TSD released an email regarding a suspicious vehicle in the area of Square Lake and John R. Road. The email reported that a TSD parent had seen an older white full-sized station wagon sitting on the street for several consecutive days. A black male in his 20's was sitting in the driver's seat and wearing sunglasses even though it was dark out. He reportedly drove up to the parent's daughter as she was walking to school and demanded her to "Come here." Reading this email sparked tension and a queasiness that fluttered in my stomach, for I walk home alone after school. This incident will permanently alter the public space in that neighborhood, as parents set up higher precautions for safety. Yet this news is also enough to alter my own public space. As I walked home that day, I unconsciously "picked up my pace" (205) and "forge[d] ahead" (206) as I wished to reach the safe perimeter of my house as soon as possible. The description of the black male reminded me of Staples' observation, that the "fearsomeness mistakenly attributed to [him] in public places" (207) was because "young black males are drastically overrepresented among the perpetrators of that violence" (206). My natural "fight or flight" response is usually triggered when I perceive suspicious looking strangers on my walk home. Yet the description of the man and his white car increased my alertness as I glimpsed at the passing white cars, determined to "screen out troublesome individuals before there is any nastiness" (206). Staples' piece, though, convinced me through his misunderstood anecdotes that he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Yet how am I to know if the strangers that I encounter are to be feared or not? There are too many if's and maybe's when meeting strangers in public spaces, since it's difficult to view their true personalities. Here, Staples' provides a solution. Body language. The "excellent tension-reducing measure" of whistling classical melodies is something "virtually everybody" relaxes too because music is a universal language (207).

A Petri Dish Dystopia

The idea of manipulating life is not news to the public. Our imaginations have expanded with stories of Prometheus, Golem, Frankenstein, Dolly, and the most successful, in vitro fertilization. This process combines DNA from an egg and sperm, both isolated from the human body, and incubates the fetus into a human womb. IVF revives the dream for couples who desire children yet are unable to conceive. In their hands, in vitro fertilization becomes an appreciated miracle, an end to the wave of disappointments. Yet what happens when this unnatural process falls into greedy hands? Parents who scroll through Surrogate Mothers Online, "an eBay for genetic material" (Cohen 117) and fix upon the sole purpose of creating a"chef d'oeuvre" (Cohen 119) are no better than picky readers who meander through libraries, a massive pool of knowledge, and only gravitate towards one perspective of books. In both cases, this limited perspective may snowball into detrimental effects, such as eugenics or a prejudiced, intolerant individual. A perfect child is strikingly similar to Frankenstein's monster: both are created by independently chosen body parts to construct an ideal human. However, the success rate of a perfect child is far greater than Victor Frankenstein's monster. Technology, developing at a fiery rate, enables parents to choose which DNA samples to use through a process called genetic mapping. Essentially, we can create humans by selecting desired characteristics and even prevent genetic disorders "if [we] can afford it" (Cohen 119). Perhaps the best representation of the dire ends parents will go to to create a masterpiece is Graham's Repository for Germinal Choice, better known as the Nobel Prize sperm bank. In vitro fertilization is not criticized for its unnatural production of life; rather, people argue against its "$2-billion-a-year infertility industry" (Cohen 116). If left unchecked, there may come a day where no child is born naturally, but is instead chosen based on his traits, perhaps creating an in vivo Brave New World.

Pierre-Auguste Cot's Springtime, 1873

They swing on the polished wooden swing for hours, 

drifting back and forth through the lush green flowers.

She has been waiting for quite some time.

A sunlit young maiden with no speck of grime,

Her rippling gown, diaphanous and white,

swirls 'round her sensual body, half following the light.

Her feathery golden hair flutters through the breeze,

the tangles here and there loosen with ease,

The radiant sun, intercepted by the trees,

provide enough warmth to dissipate her unease.

He must come, he is bound to come!

Her heartbeat whispers like a distant drum.

A fleeting flashback to their past year,

full of happiness and joy and bliss and cheer.

But her stringent father, in his icy-rimmed crescent glasses,

had discerned the relationship through his own daughter's passes.

She sprints to the forest, to the veiled paradise they found,

her feet ruffle upon the earth, barely touching the ground.

Cool, refreshing water frothes upon her toes,

washes away the clinging dirt and fear that rose.

She reaches the clearing, and slows down her pace.

As she gulps down the fragrant air, tears stream down her face.

Mutely, she waits next to the old wooden swing,

Hoping and praying he'd walk down the path with a spring.

Around her feet, serpentine vines cling.

He had been dozing on a bough when he heard her silent cry,

and nearly tumbled down when he heard her rush by.

There drummed a soft pitter-patter of her delicate, cream feet,

and he knew the confrontation had not been so sweet.

He, in his favorite copper tunic,

swings down from the branches but slips in his panic.

He flies down briskly, his heels colliding with the dirt,

he skips like the wind, with a mission to reassert,

that their love still rings true,

with no reason for adieu.

He sprints swiftly, ducking the occasional slap of the leaves.

No groves would hinder his movement, those pesky time thieves.

The thickets blur into a green mass--

Where is she? Where is the fair lass?

His heart pounds wildly against his heaving chest,

threatening to burst if he did not rest.

Sweat coats his tan skin, his hands and his feet,

Down to the dirt he slips, tired and beat.

He looks up, his blood pounding against the veins of his head,

His dizzying world sharpens, his angel with her wings spread.

He reaches for her, in the middle of the spring,

She reaches for him, pulls him close to her in a sling

her arms had formed, and together they twirl

united, head to toe, in a colorful new world,

in that timeless lavish forest, forever young.

His long sturdy fingers grip the coarse-grained rope,

her small, nimble fingers grip his sun-kissed body in hope

All around them, the lush scenery gushes with life,

Everything melts into harmony--no strife

Silky, saffron butterflies hum through the air,

A soft, vibrant breeze ripples through her hair.

A sliver of sunlight peeks through the leaves,

Dances playfully around their bodies, fuses and weaves.

Birds tweeted cheerful tunes, dedicated to the cherubic lovers,

a sweet aroma of refreshing bluebells wafted from the flowers.

In that eternal paradise, they embraced with cherished joy,

He would fight through wars to keep her, his Helen of Troy.

The young maiden, she lingers by the spring,

The protective lad, he came bouncing with a spring,

Their clear eyes reveal they are beyond the summer flings,

for out of the tender, budding forest, their love springs.

Comfortable In My Own Skin

Six years ago, on the bus to school, I began the usual chatter with a friend. As she turned her head to greet me, the highlights of her face sharpened into view. Thin lips, flat nose, almond-shaped eyes....tape on her eyelids?

Double eyelids, along with a sharp nose, big eyes, and curly brown hair, are one of the most sought after physical highlights for an Asian face.  Apparently they give Asians a Western appeal.

***I ran into Ms. Valentino at Costco as I was writing the top half of this post. Big eyes, sharp features, brown hair. The "Western appeal".*** 

Seeing the efforts and hopes my friend placed into her quest for the double eyelid engendered a self consciousness I had never felt before. Looking into the mirror, I saw contortions of my eyes, so different from those around me. Thus, I curiously gave the tape a try.  However, such a forced tactic did not bring much success. The tape was still in plain sight, no matter how small I made it, and it felt itchy and uncomfortable, prompting furious eye twitching and scratching.

From that year on, middle school seemed to be a place to criticize, comment and laud others for their looks. I especially paid attention to Americans, with their sharp cheekbones, big puppy dog eyes, pointy nose bridges, and of course, the deep creases above their eyes. Being the naive child that I am, I made it a goal to mold myself into one of them. My father used to pinch my nose, chuckling that if I pinched hard enough, my nose would grow sharper. I took his words to heart. Contracting some sort of a squeezing device out of a chip clip and some tissues (so the clip wouldn't imprint a funky design), I left the clip stuck on my nose for an hour. As they say, beauty is pain.

In 2013, I read an interesting article on the faces of Miss Korea 2013.

At first, I thought that it was the same woman with a myriad of hairstyles. Yet they are all different people, with different lives and personalities. Looking at the similarities in noses, cheekbones and eyes, I realized my foolish hope of creating a face that fit in, for such an act creates a crowd, not an individual.

Who I was before, a naive girl who just wanted to look like others to be accepted, is not who I am today. Looking in the mirror, I realize that I could never imagine myself any different. My one double eyelid, my round nose, my faint lips. Though I still attempt numerous tactics to curl my hair, I don't feel like me unless I'm back to the usual silky, black, straight hair. The picture proves that why would anyone ever want to look like anyone else, when the price to pay is her individuality, a face that defines who she is? My face is a testament to my pride, my culture, and the acceptance that my unique, Chinese look is how others identify me as Karen brings much more satisfaction than any modification to my features.

The Making of a Champion

   Champion: a person who has defeated all opponents in a competition

             In the story Champion of the World, Maya Angelou defines Joe Louis as a champion because he was "the strongest man in the world" (90). Considered to be one of the greatest heavyweights of all time, Louis was the World Heavyweight Champion from 1937 to 1949. Furthermore, he endured only three defeats out of 72 fights. Although portrayed with limited English such as "winnah" and "champeen", Louis was still capable of defeating Carnera (90). He was living proof that African Americans could overcome white supremacy and stand on equal or even higher ground. By adding allusions to foster a sense of verisimilitude, Angelou reveals that Louis is a symbol of pride for the African American race. Each time he penetrates his opponent, the black race reassures themselves of their equal worth to whites. Each time he retreats and falls to the ground, another Black man is lynched, or a boy whipped and maimed. Thus, Louis represents the entire black community and their aspirations, and his fight in the boxing ring is analogous to blacks' fight for equality and respect. In this sense, Louis is a champion because he has "proved that we were the strongest people in the world" (90). In the ring, Louis argues that his skin color does not make him inferior to whites; the decades of pain and tragedy that the black race has endured only fortifies his fighting spirit as he "[penetrates] every block" (90). Joe Louis is the champion of the world, not only because he wins, but because he fights for equality on behalf of the entire black race.

Champion: a person who fights or argues for a cause on behalf of someone else




       

The Karen Speaks of Rivers

In the poem "The Negro Speaks of Rivers" by Langston Hughes, the theme of African Americans and their deeply integrated roots throughout history prominently connects the the poem from start to finish and fosters verisimilitude. Hughes demonstrates verisimilitude by describing civilizations of the past in which the African history has been a part of, thereby emphasizing the real, weary history of his people. Indeed, Hughes even states he has "known rivers ancient as the world and older than the flow of human blood in human veins" to remind readers that the authentic history that African Americans have been a part of started from the beginning of civilization. Veins, like rivers, are not only twisted and longwinded, but have the ability to provide sustenance and support life. Yet ironically, African Americans have been subject to slavery since Euphrates and have not been given the chance to flourish and create an auspicious history. The word "ancient", meaning decrepit and primitive, is repeated twice in the passage to emphasize that the African people have been fighting for racial equality since the beginning. Their struggles through society have in turn produced weathered souls, much like how a river's environment may become weathered. Hughes once again fosters verisimilitude when he references Lincoln's first glance of slavery in the South, predicting that once again the river will flow with a golden glow into the sunset and mimic the transformation from enslaved to free souls. The journey that Hughes' takes reader throughout his poem mirrors the arduous struggles his people have gone through, demonstrating the weathered and fettered footprint African American history has imprinted upon the world.

Jay Gatsby: A Man Who "Préci"ed Down the Wrong Path

In the novel "The Great Gatsby", F. Scott Fitzgerald claims that an American dream that idolizes an unrealistic ambition, such as recreating the past, is the greatest weakness, creating both unnecessary turmoil and a shattered mentality after a dose of reality. Fitzgerald supports his opinions by analyzing Gatsby's reckless behavior resulting from his fervent desire to possess Daisy, his unnecessary jealousy and vigilance, and his inability to let go of his dream. The author's purpose is to caution the reader that while dreams establish a magical and youthful essence, idolizing an unobtainable dream only breeds a vulnerable and parochial perspective, in other words, a one track mind. The author writes in a didactic yet conversational tone (through the perhaps unreliable point of view of Nick Carraway) for young adults who defied the morally upright values of their elders in the scintillating 1920s.

Jay Gatsby. A man we can all relate to. In our own quest for the "green light", whether it be wealth, love, happiness or the like, we often become blinded by our own dream by blowing it up and squeezing all other perspectives out. Dreams become our weakness.

It's interesting, how literature can connect so much to music. After all, music is just another language, another form of communicating ideas and opinions.

Which is exactly what Kris Allen did, in his song "My Weakness".

Sunrise on the east side
Want to wake up next to you
But I'm dreaming on the west side
Trying to find my way to you

[Wow, if this isn't a shoutout to Gatsby...]

Tell me you want me
Speechless and I'm shaking
Tell me you need me
You better believe when I say you are my weakness
You are my weakness and you get me ever time

Gatsby dreams not just of Daisy physically; he wants her to admit that she only needs him, only loves him, only ever wanted him. His passion for her love binds him to his fate, obstructing the warnings and advice of Nick. Daisy is Gatsby's weakness, to the point that he shields her from Myrtle's death and dies in her place. A fatal game of "She loves me, She loves me not", if I do say so myself, with such a lethal daisy.

Jay Gatsby: Disney Hero

Every child has a hero.

Indeed, a great part of my childhood was spent with Buzz and Woody, Simba, Aladdin and Peter Pan. The whole Disney crew. The magic I found in Disney engulfed my imagination, inciting dreams of love, fortune, and ultimately, defeating the bad guy.

But when did I start to outgrow the dream? When did I realize that the magic depicted in Disney movies was just bitter coffee loaded with creamer, sprinkles of sugar, 5 pumps of vanilla and hazelnut syrup?

In "The Great Gatsby" by F. Scott Fitzgerald, Gatsby is really just an overgrown Disney hero. What makes a Disney hero?

The Classic: When you wish upon a star, your dreams..come true.

Fitzgerald ironically places Gatsby in a situation where he wishes and hopes for his dream, using the green light of Daisy's dock as a star to guide him. Like Pinocchio, who desperately wishes for the impossible dream of becoming a boy, Gatsby hopelessly strives for the light, believing that his trembling hands will one day grasp fortune and love.

Deal with the Devil

Much like how Ariel sells her voice and Hercules gives up his life for their dreams/goals, Gatsby "sells his soul to the devil" when he decides to make a fortune out of bootlegging and other illegal activities. His relationship with the dubious Meyer Wolfsheim proves his money was not innocently earned.

Damsel-in-Distress

Gatsby believes that Daisy never loved Tom, and his misguided judgment prompts him to act in heroic manners to "save" her. His pursues his dream to steal her away with money, clothes and other materialistic goods.

Love at First Sight

Seems like Gatsby instantly fell for Daisy, "the first 'nice' girl he had ever known".

The Power of Friendship

Gatsby throws lavish parties in order to discover the whereabouts of Daisy. Of course, he comes off as a socialite, when people he didn't even invite show up at his grand parties.

Disney stories are glazed with happy endings, triumph and joy. Fitzgerald shows us the demise of Gatsby, whose dreams very much resemble that of a hero. However, Gatsby's dream is unobtainable, and reality knocks Nick off his feet when he realizes Gatsby was a dreamer caught in unfortunate circumstances.

Just a Boy who Lived

History repeats itself in an endless cycle. From the "forced marches to uninhabitable reservations", the "stench and starvation of middle passage" and the "ghettos of Europe", Nikki Giovanni explains in "Sanctuary: For Harry Potter the Movie" the link that all of mankind has in common: we all have stories to tell, and we have all lived to tell the story. Giovanni relates that it is in our nature to be faced with onerous situations, some which may seem impossible to overcome. Perhaps due to the influence of her ancestors and African American activists, Giovanni pursues a perspective different from the magical view of many: she understates the fact that "Harry Potter was just a boy who lived. Like all of us" (37). She highlights that Harry's story is ultimately no different from ours, so why must his receive so much glam and fame? However, Giovanni does praise his story for having a distinct quality that some of our own stories don't have-- the ability to "live and tell the story" (33-34). The only way for people to overcome their struggles is by grasping tightly to the will to live. Furthermore, it is through the "noise of the whirlwind" that individuals blossom to their full potential. Harry defeats Voldemort after struggling through years of pain, a task deemed impossible by many. African Americans have overcome slavery, after decades of torture. Woman have gained a substantial amount of equality, after decades of setbacks. None of these groups have been wiped out; in fact, their descendants grow far stronger. Giovanni teaches us that through the pain and misfortune in our lives, we must find be the last man standing, and live to "sing the song of [our] people".

Remember: He is JUST a boy who lived.

#R@|\|+ 0|\| PU|\|(TU@+!0|\|

     
             In terms of literary expression, writing has expanded from ink to pencil to keyboard, from documentaries to prose to blogs. Writing is constantly enhanced to suit the tastes of the world, much like how we adorn a simple outfit with different jackets, scarfs or jewelry. Both allow us the freedom of expression, and we communicate our ideas through the accessories we choose: in the case of writing, punctuation.

             As society has shifted towards technological advancements, much of our lives have been consumed by social media, including the way we express ourselves through writing. As a result, shouldn't punctuation (our accessories) also be fashioned to our new way of expression ? Hitchings believes that "language evolves in conjunction with culture, and change is not always a bad thing". In fact, social media and technology have "produced new opportunities" (Source A). Indeed, the "best tweeters demonstrate a keen awareness of their audience" (Source F). If a teenager is tweeting to their peers, he will use the trendy hashtag to express himself. If a poet, such as Andrea Gibson, is updating her fans, she will use the traditional punctuation to "try out fragments of thought". The punctuation one uses depends on who he is, whom he is addressing, and how he wants to express his thoughts.

         Although punctuation should be used freely to express our ideas, the privilege should not be abused, much like how one should not accessorize himself with a rice hat, a biker jacket, and a pearl necklace. Punctuation should be used "sparingly, and with affection" or else the reader will "lose the essential flavor of language" (Source D). In the poem "I dwell in Possibility", by Emily Dickinson, a hasty glance reveals Dickinson's sole usage of dashes; however, there are two lines of the poem in which she does not end with a dash. Dickinson's skillful use of punctuation is reflected in the lines of the poem. "The spreading wide my narrow Hands" does not end with a dash to demonstrate her point that poetry allows for a broad spread to gather paradise. Ironically, if she included a dash, the restriction would contradict her words "spreading wide" (Source C).

        The 2010 poem "On Punctuation" by Elizabeth Austen also reiterates the point that punctuation, when used effectively, allows for "a trail of possibilities".  Tradition must be maintained, but that doesn't mean there is no freedom. In fact, the "most irritating" exclamation point, the question mark filled with "voluptuous uncertainty, and the semi-colon, with its "feeling of delicious responsibility" all fulfill the role of setting the tone of the sentence (Source B,D,E). Many times, punctuation is subtle and "you cannot hear them, but they are there, laying out the connections between the images and the ideas" (Source D). Similarily, jewelry and hats can be layered for a classy, flirty or trashy appeal.


"In music, the punctuation is absolutely strict, the bars and rests are absolutely defined. But our punctuation cannot be quite strict, because we have to relate it to the audience. In other words we are continually changing the score." -- Ralph Richardson

I for Ignorance: When Ignorance is NOT a Bliss

It's true. As a society, we are all incredibly ignorant. Although no human can possibly learn everything about the world, there is a limit to how ignorant a person can be. Hawthorne reinforces the hypocrisy of ignorant Puritan society in the last few pages of the book when he states that "certain persons, who were spectators of the whole scene, and professed never once to have removed their eyes from the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale, denied that there was any mark whatever on his breast, more than one a new-born infant's" (253). We only believe what we want to believe, and if the truth doesn't satisfy our feelings, we blind ourselves from the enigma and fabricate a new truth. Perhaps everyone in the world should just stitch an I for Ignorance upon their chests. Or maybe the "tooth of unenlightment" will just chew us out eventually. Ironically, the wearer of the scarlet letter who is scorned by society is the individual who is able to view the world through a different lens. Through her ignominious A, Hester rises above the ignorant and expands her thoughts to a state of open-mindedness, a striking difference to the "iron spikes" of Puritan society.

We mock the Puritans for being unaware and find it difficult to empathize with their inability to accept others. But we are no different. After the Holocaust, a group called the Holocaust deniers came out stating that the Holocaust was a hoax arising out of a deliberate Jewish conspiracy to advance the interest of Jews. In order to forget the  real, historical evidence of the horrific genocide, they resorted to denying it ever happened, just as how the townspeople denied that Dimmesdale ever slept with Hester. The inability to cope with the truth and instead glaze over it reveals that society today has not changed drastically from Puritan times.

Ignorance is a bliss-- only for children, that is. In "The Scarlet Letter", Pearl represents ignorant innocence. Because she is unable express her observations with the correct words, she is seen as "ignorant". In her case, it is a bliss, because she is able to skip through life without a care in the world. However, as she grows older, she gains more responsibility for her actions. Furthermore, she loses the right to be ignorant, for she is older and wiser. Similarly, a young and budding country could be forgiven for their actions. They have the right to be ignorant, for the country has yet to experience tragedies and sorrows (Although the Puritans were not a "new" country--basically, they were another England). However, as a country grows older, they lose the right to be ignorant. There comes a point in time where the citizens must mature and grasp for the immense plethora of knowledge around them. Thus, as a country ages, the people must become more open-minded and accept responsibilities.

Healing through Confession

Confession: a formal statement admitting that one is guilty of a crime

But to who are we confessing to? Many would respond that they confess their sins to God, but none have ever answered that they would confess to others. It seems that exposing our black souls to God is much easier because in a way, God is almost like a fairy tale, void of any concrete touch. There is no face-to-face, no eye-to-eye contact that makes most individuals uncomfortable. As a result, we trick ourselves into believing that confessing our sins to God is enough to clear the charges, so there is no need to confess to others. When we don't confess to others, we usually fool people into thinking we're better than them, and our hidden sin digs deeper into our broken hearts. Arthur Dimmesdale is a prime example of a sinner who exposes his darkest secrets to God each night through physical and mental torture, but never gathers the courage to confess to the world. As a result, his health visibly deteriorates as his secrets burrow deeper, and sooner or later, will consume his entire being.

That being said, the obvious answer to his "sickness" would be a public confession, even to one or two people. Take a look at what Tenth Avenue North has to say about confession.

So you thought you had to keep this up
All the work that you do
So we think that you're good

Dimmesdale is intent on maintaining a clean reputation--he preaches powerful sermons about sin and helps others come to terms with themselves and their relationship with God (when he himself can't!). Although he physically abuses himself because he cannot gather the courage to confess, he has already become a symbol in the town, a model of Puritan excellence that cannot be easily erased.

And you can't believe it's not enough
All the walls you built up
Are just glass on the outside
Although Dimmedale has built layer upon layer around his broken soul, it seems that Hester and Chillingworth especially can see right through his walls for who he truly is.

So let 'em fall down
There's freedom waiting in the sound
When you let your walls fall to the ground
We're here now
The only path to freedom, whether literal or figurative, is if Dimmesdale exposes his inner secrets. Even if the public is not forgiving of his sins, Dimmesdale himself will find redemption in the Lord and himself.

This is where the healing begins, oh
This is where the healing starts
When you come to where you're broken within
The light meets the dark
The light meets the dark

In order to heal his tainted heart, Dimmesdale must find the power himself to come to terms with his guilt. As a result, the "light" will be able to flash through his thoughts and purify his soul.

Afraid to let your secrets out
Everything that you hide
Can come crashing through the door now
But too scared to face all your fear
So you hide but you find
That the shame won't disappear

No matter how deep Dimmesdale shuts his secrets, they won't ever disappear. In fact, because he is too scared to expose himself, his sin begins to command his life, consuming his physical and mental health.

Many are scared of confessing publicly because they fear to lose their reputation in society. However, the only way to truly release the chains of sin is through confession to God and to others. No matter what the consequence, there will be freedom in our own minds that allows us to finally live the way God teaches us to live.

James 5:16 Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective.

Thanatophobia

Once, in 6th grade, I was lying on my bed, engrossed in my own thoughts. First came the realization that I had actually received a B on my math test and had no idea how to break the news to my mom, who was sure to erupt in a whirlwind of insults. However, as I thought more about how to confront the situation, Death crawled into my mind and asked me, "What do you think happens when you're dead?".  Unable to understand the question, I stumbled over my thoughts. To the 6th grade me, death was a black hole that would kidnap me from the luxuries of life (food and games); death was the man with the scythe, the one that would deliver my punishment; death was the messenger that would bring me to a world where I could not feel, see, or hear. Death was terrifying. I frightened myself to the point where I laid motionless, fearing any sudden movement on the bed would bring in the wretched reaper. However, soon after I realized that if Death was to claim me, I needed to first inform my mother of my grades. Sprinting in a frenzy, I stumbled to her room and broke down in tears. To her, it seemed as though I was crying over a useless grade; to me, I was crying over the disillusionment of Life.

In the poem "Thanatopsis" by William Cullen Bryant, Death is portrayed as a universal equalizer, one that evens out the playing field once we're all in the ground. However, while we are alive, we are all unique and experience different situations. Death is inevitable, but the only way each we can view Death positively is if we live out our lives to the fullest. So why don't people understand such a simple statement?

As I was scrolling through Humans of New York, a picture of a grim woman caught my attention. Underneath the picture, HONY summarized her story: her father had been battling pulmonary fibrosis and was winning; however, the day he came home, he died. She had stated that "he never came to terms with [Death]" and felt "cheated by life". 

On the other hand, HONY had posted a picture of the deceased Banana George, who had set the world record as the oldest person to waterski barefoot at age 92.

"Banana George didn't even begin waterskiing until he was 40. But it soon became his passion. In the course of his career, he's broken his back 4 times. He's also broken his ankle, knee, and eleven ribs. Banana George waterskied until the last possible moment. I've seen footage of a very old George being pulled through the water in a wheelchair-on-skis, smiling like a madman."

Banana George is the testament to Bryant's claim. George embraced death by living up to 97 in the most extreme way possible. He felt accomplished enough to embrace the chilling unknown of death. However, the girl's father was only able to look at death in a pessimistic manner, unable to live out his days. Ultimately, the difference between our perspectives on death depend on how well we shape our lives. Those who live for the thrill of life are the ones who are truly able to come to terms with Death.

Even now, I still fear Death. How could I not? However, I have been inspired by the optimism Banana George exhibits for his own life. The only way I won't fear Death when my time comes is if I make this life the most interesting life possible: full of tears, joy, adventure, sorrow and love.

Declaration of Uniqueness

When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one portion of the family of man to take a step back from expectations and stereotypes, to revive a unique life, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes that impel them to such a course.

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men, women and students are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are unique Lives, Liberty and the distinct pursuits of Happiness.--That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, --That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to protest and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and condescension, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to protest such Government, and to choose a unique path for their future security

Such has been the patient sufferance of students; and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former Systems of Government. The history of the College and Parents is a history of repeated criticisms and brainwashing, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these States. To prove this, let Facts be submitted to a candid world.

They have forced unnecessary stress, in the form of standardized tests, upon our Lives.

They have inhibited creative thought in the summer, instead, replacing it with the stale opinions of Barrons, Kaplan and Princeton.

They have coerced us into memorizing lists of pointless vocabulary, such as avuncular and lugubrious.

They have taught us to recognize ourselves by numbers such as 2400 or 36; Anything less is unacceptable.

They have endorsed that multitude of AP classes we can take, scratch that, we MUST take.

They have taught us to become monotonous copies of each other, with no idiosyncratic qualities.

They have coerced us into joining every Club possible, regardless of our own interests.

They have beat into our brains that if we are not Leaders, then we are nothing.

They have turned companions into adversaries, teaching us that no one is to be trusted.

They have turned us into social outcasts, awkward at every outing.

They have cited the accomplishments of others before us, leading us to another guilt trip.

They have set a seemingly unreachable standard, then rebuke us when our enemies reach it.

They have brainwashed us into thinking that if we are not THE model for others, then we are nobodies.

They have affirmed that we are "Tiger cubs", and our purpose is to bring pride and honor for the "Tiger mom".

They have reiterated the word "Harvard" and "Ivy" both day and night.

They have raised the standard of Asian math to Issac Newton, as if expecting us to invent calculus again.

They have forced us to five hours of sleep, nineteen hours of academics, tests, sports, music and clubs.

They have endeavored, in every way that they could, to destroy our confidence in our powers, to lessen our self-respect, and to make willing to lead a cliche life.

Now, in view of this entire dissatisfaction from YOUR future generation in this country, their social and academic degradation--in view of the unjust laws above mentioned, and because students do feel themselves oppressed, stressed, and fraudulently deprived of their most sacred rights, we insist that they have immediate admission to all the rights and privileges to unique and distinct lives as citizens of the United States.

Art of Living: The Seven Levels of Existence

What is an existence and what value does it hold in our lives? According to Goethe, "The whole art of living consists in giving up existence in order to exist." As analyzed by Ms.Valentino's 11 AP English class, it seems like existence is defined by two interpretations, the literal existence of one's life and the figurative existence in embedded in our memories. However, according to Sri Sri Ravi Shankar, founder of the Art of Living foundation, there are actually seven levels of existence.

1) Body: A precious gift from Mother Nature, the body is the most physical form of existence. Created from millions of cells, elements, atoms etc, the body is faced with physical limitations such as disease and fatigue. The body is commonly known as the capsule for our souls; however, our bodies are often easily sacrificed.

In "The Crucible", the body level of existence applies every living person in the story. When Salem women confess false witchery, they are doing so to save their body, their physical existence.

2) Breath: Most people are not aware that they breathe so much on a daily basis. However, the important act of breathing is the first and last act of our lives that determines our existence. For every emotion in the mind, there is a corresponding rhythm in the breath. For example, anger produces twice the amount of breaths as happiness. In addition, breaths affect the physical state of the body. Those who are happy sense expansion, while those who are depressed sense contraction.

Again, each person in "The Crucible" exist on the breathing level. Mary Warren gasps for air at the thought of selling Abigail's secrets, while Judge Danforth maintains his calm disposition when he sarcastically shuts Parris up.

3) Mind: Mind, also known as our consciousness, refers to one's ability to observe and express. Human mind seems to be weak, despite its capabilities. Why do we allow our minds to become puppets controlled by the acceptance or criticisms of others?

Victims of the witchcraft accusations often let their minds be controlled by society's expectations. People were led to believe that God would not accept their existences if they did not conform to the rules; as a result, many lost the ability to think rationally and gave in to the mental pressure. For example, Mary falsely accuses Proctor of controlling her because she fears of being ostracized by Abigail's group.

4) Intellect: Intellect refers to our judgments, arguments, and the conflicts we face. Intelligence allows us to understand how life functions in society; as a result, discrimination and stereotypes occur.

Abigail demonstrates use of intelligence in "The Crucible". She understands that the only way to obtain John Proctor is through manipulation of society's corrupted legal system. As a result, Abigail cleverly uses innocent children and justice-vowing judges to eliminate women like Elizabeth Proctor.

5) Memory: Like a hard drive for a computer, the memory is capable of storing past ideas and situations, though they are usually unpleasant. Memories can be passed down from one generation to the next, thereby enforcing the idea that memories live on.

Proctor decides to give up his "existence" to preserve his goodness through memories. He gives up his life so that in the memories of Salem's people, he was a good man who died to end the chain of witchcraft accusations.

6) Ego "I": The more knowledge one gains about the world, the bigger his ego becomes. Man loses his innocence and becomes stubborn, insistently proclaiming that his ideas are correct. The more ego a man has, the more ignorant he becomes to reality.

Proctor sees through Parris' inflated ego. Indeed, Parris goes so far to state that he was "a graduate of Harvard University", a man ordained by God, and therefore, better then the people in Salem. However, Hale trumps Parris, as Hale has fought with demons and carries heavy books around to prove his knowledge. Oh wait, don't forget Judge Danforth, who has overlooked far more court cases than Hale, thereby making him the rightful bearer of Justice to all in Salem.

7) Soul/Self: The stable reference point of our lives. It seems as though everything in life is changing, from the mental conditions of our mind to the physical capabilities of our bodies. So how do we know who we are? Through our "self". Self teaches us the parts of ourselves that do not change. The more we know about ourselves, the less likely we will be influenced by outside stimuli.

"I have given you my soul; leave me my name!" Proctor states that he has given his "self" to Salem--this means that he has lost sight of who he really was in the hysteria, and could not differentiate between what was considered good or bad. However, Proctor relinquishes his soul for his name, or memory; he gives up an idea of who he is so his name may live on in goodness.