Give it Away

I have been blessed beyond belief in this world. I have two parents who love and take care of me. Three wonderful sisters, and a room to myself! Beautiful friends who love and support me. I go to one of the best schools in Michigan. My family can afford college tuition. My suburban neighborhood is safe. I never go hungry or thirsty. I am warm in the winter. I know it seems like I am bragging, but that is not the case. Everything I have listed as a blessing has been given to me in some shape or form. I have done nothing to earn my ease, and therefore, I cannot brag about things I have not done. Even though this was all given to me and I should only be feeling thankful, I can’t help but feel this incredible guilt when I am lying in my bed because I know there are children who are trying to fall asleep but the rumble of their stomachs makes it so hard to rest. I feel guilty when I am complaining about AP testing and the amount of homework I have because I know there are millions of adults and children who deserve but do not have an education. I feel guilty because I am able to live while too many people are struggling to survive. It isn’t fair. None of it. I and other middle to upper class citizens have the advantage in this world. There are two possible routes to take with this advantage. One, is to indulge in our own victory and ignore the innocent people who are hurt by our excessive celebration.  The second, is to humble ourselves. To use our plentiful resources to bring those who are at a disadvantage. To take money usually spent on superficial material possessions and make sure it is “given away” to people who lack the basic possessions: food, shelter, clothing, health, and happiness (Singer). I know many of you think I am crazy and I am. I am a dreamer who needs an entire world population to make her dream come true. In my dream, the people who have the advantage give it away to the people who are at a disadvantage, so that no one will be more powerful. So that everyone will be equal. 

Tosha's One Page of Fame

                On page 109 in the first book of Maus, Vladek tells Artie the story of how his first Son, Richieu, dies. His sister in law, Tosha, poisons herself, Richieu, and her two other children when she hears they will be taken to Auschwitz. The row of panels shown below illustrates Tosha’s difficult decision. The entire background is black and as the panel proceeds from right to left the image of Tosha enlarges in each frame. It is like a dramatic close up seen in movies. The focus is completely on Tosha in order to emphasize the drastic decision she is making. It is not only the final decision of his life, but also the most important. Her legacy is defined by this difficult final decision in life. The focus on Tosha also represents her power in the situation, because she doesn’t allow the Nazi’s to take complete control of her and her children’s live. The Nazis want to torture, exploit, and kill the Jews themselves, but they fail when it comes to Tosha. For this reason, people may view Tosha’s choice as wise because she didn’t allow for the Nazis to torture and kill her and her children. However, there is a sad irony accompanying Tosha’s power. Her action that exerted her power was done out of fear of the more powerful Nazis. The sweat that is seen on her head represents the paranoia and terror she and every Jew was burdened with. Sweat originates inside you, but it finds its way to affect the outside of a human body.  Thoughts and emotions are similar to sweat because the abstractly reside inside a human but their effect is shown through visible human action. Fear is the emotion that controls Tosha’s final action: the merciful murder of herself and children. Extreme fear is not an emotion unique only to Tosha during the Holocaust. Her paranoia serves as a representation of all of the Jews during this dark time, and the horrible decisions they shouldn’t have had to make. 

A Perfect Pair

In his book Show and Tell, Scott McCloud argues a bridge between words and pictures needs to be built. He longs for the days of the past “when to tell was to show and to show was to tell” (161 McCloud). McCloud wants images and words to be used together because he believes when words and pictures work together they produce a product better than either could have produced a lone. But what would that product look like? I have been considering the effects of an alliance between enemies, and I have come up with an idea as to what would happen or what would be made better. Words produce ideas and thoughts. Ideas and thoughts are abstract concepts. Any type of visual art consists of images. Images that can be perceived through sight which makes them concrete. Both are opposite and lack what the other has. So wouldn’t pairing them together strengthen each? Pictures could bring the ideas words produce to life. Ideas could be more tangible. Images’ hidden abstract ideas can also be explained through the aid of words. The meaning behind certain images wouldn’t be a mystery “to the average viewer” (150). This is obviously only a surface level analysis, but if seems words and pictures were unified more frequently, people would better understand each other’s unique perspective. 

Irony at Its Finest

Irony is an aspect of writing that defiantly is prevalent, but it isn’t a necessity for a piece to be considered excellent. I think that is because irony is so hard to master, but when used correctly, it not only can make you giggle, but it can also cause to ponder serious topics. David Foster Wallace crafts irony into his piece “Consider the Lobster” unlike any other piece I have encountered. Everywhere you turn, there is another ironic statement or even a foot note? That fact that Wallace’s footnotes are ridiculously elongated is irony alone. He took the most overlooked part of an essay (we all have to admit that we don’t look at them) and made it the most noticeable feature of his essay. Can we get some snaps for Wallace? His points in his footnotes are unique and important, so he placed them in a spot that is beyond conventional and almost impossible to disregard. Another major form of irony is the intended audience for his piece. His piece criticizes the mindless boiling of lobsters, and his audience is “Gourmet readers” (679 Wallace). People who value classy meals such as lobster! In any other magazine this article wouldn’t fulfill a major part of its purpose: to reveal the unjust irony meat enthusiasts unknowingly live with or choose to ignore. They revel in the savory taste of meat that has been brought to them by the torture of another living creature. He wanted people to consider their actions instead of acting without any regard for their consequences. Wallace’s uses irony masterfully throughout his piece to reveal the serious but ironic truth behind every dead animal for dinner. 

Go Buy Those Flowers

         “Mrs. Dalloway said she would but the flowers herself” (Woolf 1). It is such an ordinary sentence. It would usually be placed in the middle of the novel. Only a true literary rebel, *Cough cough* Virginia Woolf *cough cough*, would dare to use it as the first sentence to an extraordinary book. But of course, there is a purpose. A purpose I didn’t really understand until I saw the movie The Hours ¹ . The movie dealt with the idea of the struggles of an ordinary life but also the beauty. The act of buying flowers is such a trivial domestic task. It is tasks like these that make up Mrs. Dalloway’s and Clarissa Vaughn’s entire existence. Clarissa Vaughn is representative of Mrs. Dalloway because she thrives on ordinary, but lively, events. The beauty in flowers represents the beauty of daily tasks. Clarissa Vaughn’s desire to throw a party to celebrate Richards’s accomplishment is a beautiful but trivial life event Clarissa is used to.  Laura, on the other hand, sees no value in trivial life. Even though she has a wonderful and kind son, she see the act of being his mother as confining. Her daily tasks trap her. She is also unable to complete the tasks well. She can’t even bake a simple cake. The confinement of these ordinary tasks and her inability to execute them prompts her to leave her trivial life. The movie really shows how some people are happy to conform, while others are not willing to. I now understand why Woolf choose her first sentence to be what it is. Mrs. Dalloway focuses on the regular tasks life brings. Sometimes the tasks aren’t so amazing, but sometimes the tasks are like flowers. Vibrant with the colors of life.

¹I don’t know the correct form to cite a movie.  

Hidden Efforts

                Mrs. Dalloway’s party is a sophisticated and seemingly effortless affair. The effort is not non-existent, but rather it is hidden in the lower levels of the house. While the upper levels of the house are filled with relaxed spirits and “laughter,” the staff works frantically to prepare the numerous delicacies (Woolf 166).  The “saucepans, cullenders, frying pan,” and “pudding basins” all appear to be “on top” of them and over powering them (165). Even the upper class’s possessions, exceed the lower class in superiority.

                Woolf makes the stress and toil of the servants known. Their anxiety filled preparations and serving is directly contrasted by the relaxed atmosphere in the party room. There is not a sliver of equality present. The staff sole purpose is to give, while the partygoers sole purpose is to take. Take the time, effort, energy, and happiness. Only giving a tiny fraction of their income back. An income earned by doing equally demanding work.

                This blatant form of inequality might appear to be an atrocity that has been buried by the passing of time. However, it has not vanished. Take a look at your clothes tag. Where was it made? Mine was made in Bangladesh. A country whose economy is dependent on the clothing industry. People probably made it, or they ran the threatening machine that did. They probably don't experience the same financial ease that I and many people in my society are blessed with. They probably have to work in a dirty and possibly inhumane factory. They are probably pressured to work “faster and faster” to provide for their incredibly wealthier consumer (166). A consumer who wears the clothes without realizing the barley bearable work sewn into each stitch. In return for all their hard work to provide the upper class luxuries that are taken for granted, they receive a pay so low, it is outlawed in the countries they are selling to.

                It is hard to understand the stress the laborers  are placed under, but the scene describing the staffs experience in Mrs. Dalloway gives an idea to the amount of work that goes into our everyday pleasures. The pressure increases with each word. The work load is so big it over powers the workers. As this intense struggle is occurring, happiness is rampant on the floor above. Happiness that is dependent on another's suffering. It is so easy to forget that our ordinary luxuries are composed with a hidden effort. 

Just Another Passer-by

          

                Jennifer sits in the back seat of the car. It has been so long since she has sat in the back seat. She is often the driver or the passenger, but never the backseater. It feels like a new perspective. Out the window stands a man on a street corner. Money on his mind. No, relief on his mind. Sign in his hand, but Jennifer feels too guilty to read it. She is a hypocrite. Every Sunday, to and from church, she sees that poor man. Too scared to help him. Giving the money isn’t the issue. Being bold is the real problem. She prays for someone braver than her to help him. Her family drives on. No one mentions or acknowledges the sad sight they see. It is too shameful to admit they sin.

            No one stops; everyone drives; no one cares; everyone ignores.  The guilt is too heavy for Jennifer, so she lets it go. She forgets, in that moment, that the man; the unique life form; her fellow sharer of the earth; her neighbor whom she was called to love as she loves herself ever existed. Never asking, what is that man’s story? Do people give him money? Does he hate the world? Is he smart? Kind? A follower of Christ like she is supposed to be? What has happened in this man’s life that forced him to become a beggar? Maybe he is a man “who carries in him the greatest message in the world,” but no “passer-by suspects” a thing (Woolf 83). Questions she doesn’t care to ask. Her thoughts, actions, and beliefs orbit around her own gigantic head. How rare it is when her universe attempts collide with another. 

Is anything stronger than death?

                People say “death is inevitable.” I don’t entirely believe that. Now you are probably like, “WHAT!?!?! Do you really believe people can be immortal?! Do you believe in vampires?” No, I don’t believe in human immortality. I, however, do believe in angel immortality. That is I believe in heaven. I am sure many people believe in heaven, and I know many people don’t. It isn’t a commonly discussed topic. Usually, the only time the afterlife is discussed, is at a funeral. "They are in a better place." Even at my church, we hardly ever address the subject of afterlife. I think the reason why is because it is an uncomfortable subject. If people think about death too much, they get paranoid. “What is really going to happen when I die?” “Is heaven really real?” It is terrifying to think about the possibility of nothingness, so many ignore it. Virginia Woolf, however, has no interest in ignoring death. She understands the inevitability of death and the human struggle to avoid it. She understands the in reality, you can only delay your encounter with death and not escape it. Woolf claims death is unescapable like the window pane, but my beliefs are slightly different. Are you really dying if your consciousness continues on? The only difference being where it is located. Or are you just permanently moving to a new and peaceful land? Woolf mentions no afterlife. I don’t know what her beliefs are, but I understand that my beliefs aren’t represented in her work. I am not trying to criticize Woolf’s work, because she is right about the inevitability of death on earth. She explains the truth in a beautiful way. However, death and death from earth are completely different ideas. Virginia claims, “death is stronger than I am” (Woolf 5). I can’t help but revise this statement to fit my beliefs. To me, God is stronger than death. 

The Prose Ode to Laughter

Laughter is beautiful. From a baby’s first chuckle to a giggle attack with friends, laughter is amazing. Laughter is momentary happiness, but a happiness unlike anything else.  The happiest moments of my life are when I am laughing. It is my favorite action and my favorite feeling. Laughter isn’t just a reaction to something humorous. It is a break from boringness. The butterflies in your stomach have flown their way all around your body. No part of your body is left in an unexcited state when you laugh. Laughter can spawn from Sherman Alexie’s “Because my Father Always Said He Was the Only Indian Who Saw Jimi Hendrix Play "The Star-Spangled Banner” At Woodstock.” Humorous punch lines can cause laughter. Alexie’s line “All I have is video games” caused me to laugh (Alexie 28). Laughter abates hurt, even if only for a moment, but I would rather have a moment of laughter than a moment despair. In depressing times, laughter can be the wonder drug that will get you through. However, Laughter is an action that isn’t entirely self-controlled. You can laugh at nothing, but then the laughter wouldn’t be true. You also can’t force yourself to find something humorous. Your surroundings and state of mind need to allow for laughter. I wish everyone lived in a place that laughs often. Unfortunately, this isn’t so. There are people whose despair is too extreme, and to them, laughter is merely a dream. 

Her Bad Eye

                         From the moment she was born, my little sister had something my family likes to address as her bad eye. A light murky blue cloud replaces the pupil and iris in her constantly squinted left eye. It is very difficult not to notice. Whenever new friends meet Lilly, they ask “What is wrong with her eye?”  Lilly was born with glaucoma.

It is an eye disease I can tell you very little about. The causes of this disease escape me, but the effects Lilly cannot escape from. It has caused six surgeries, daily drop routines, frequent doctor visits, thick glasses, and the most noticeable of all her clouded left eye. Despite the numerous negative consequences, her life is hardly controlled by her disability. She never complains about the side effects. She has made room for them in her daily routine.  She has accepted her bad eye as just another physical feature. She doesn’t let it interfere with her passions and desires. I am so thankful that her disability has only affected a small portion of activities she can do. For the most part she is able to do everything any typical ten your old does. Have sleepovers. Go to camp. Sing in choir. Play outside. Ride bikes. Swim. Read. She has individualized interests. She has a personality. To me she is a wonderful human being. She is not her disability. When I look at Lilly, I rarely even notice her bad eye. I never look at her and think, “There is my disabled sister!” When I look at Lilly, I see my amazing ten year old. To me her “bad eye” isn’t bad. I and many of our close friends and family often forget her bad eye even exists. However, I am afraid that she might grow to resent her “bad eye” as if it tainted her value in some way. Nancy Mairs writes in her essay “Disability” that “socialized human beings love to conform” (Mairs 6).I am afraid as Lilly ages her desire to conform will grow stronger. As young kids start to mature they become more concerned with how they are perceived by other. From personal experience, I know my middle school self’s care about what others thought of me was exponentially higher than my elementary school self’s care.  It scares me to think that Lilly will want to be and to be seen as normal. She will never meet society’s requirements of a normal human being. Her beauty is beyond the narrow definition. My fear is that when Lilly looks in the mirror she sees or will see “something queer…, something ugly or foolish or shameful”(6) I hope she sees the same girl everyone around her sees. A young, beautiful, confident, independent, kind, and loving human being. A human being whose bad eye isn’t bad at all.