Prior to reading The Things They Carried, I had minimal understanding of the Vietnam War. Honestly, I still cannot say that I am sufficiently informed of the subject. Sure, I've read some textbook information from US History, and few 'Nam documentaries have crossed my path, but this trifling pre-exposure to the war was nothing compared to the experience I had from reading The Things They Carried.
The difference between O'Brien's writing and the information I had previously read in textbooks was that his book was written on a completely different personal level. Using a keen balance of emotion and storytelling, he wrote a book that gave me a completely new perspective on the Vietnam War. While it was a fictional novel, The Things They Carried helped me get a better idea of the day-to-day lives of American soldiers. There were many aspects of the war -- things beyond the fighting -- that often remain untold. The way he carefully exaggerated at certain points allowed his stories to come through the pages and into my head; I felt as though I was in the story, feeling his emotions. This said, the novel further asserted my opinion that the war had very little purpose. I'm still puzzled as to why we were involved in the war in the first place.
At this point in my life, The Things They Carried is the only legitimate insight I have into Vietnam. While it may not be all truth, it has provided me with more accuracy than any textbook could.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Op-Ed Column
The article I read discussed misoprostol, a pill used to prevent stomach ulcers, and its potential to be used for abortions. The pill would apparently be a safer, cheaper alternative to any surgical procedure, and because it's highly-available already (since it's used for stomach ulcers). It's not until the end that the author states his opinion that the pill is beneficial. I thought that it was interesting how he didn't really talk about his opinions on abortion, but still explained that the pill was a revolution in this aspect of the medical world.
The article can be found here:
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/08/01/opinion/01kristof.html?_r=1&ref=columnists
The article can be found here:
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/08/01/opinion/01kristof.html?_r=1&ref=columnists
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Come out, Come out. . .
It was a snowy February evening when I walked out of Stoughton High School, chilled by both the frigid temperatures and what I had just witnessed. The drama club had just put on a remarkable performance of Agatha Christie's And Then There Were None, perhaps one of the most well-noted murder mysteries of all time. The twists and turns throughout the plot kept me on my feet for the entire duration of the show, but the ending left me truly breathless. Justice Wargrave, a particularly mysterious character who was thought to be dead, reappeared at the end, admitting that it was he who had murdered everyone. He would now finish the story off by hanging the only remaining character.
It sounds a bit extreme, but after seeing this play, I became tremendously paranoid. I went to bed that night under the impression that there was a murderer in my closet. (I had this fear for many years, but seeing the play reassured the potential of a situation like this occurring.) My covers being my only security, I did not move that night. If he couldn't see me move, maybe he wouldn't know I was there. . .
The weeks that followed were rough to say the least. Night after night, I still imagined this murderer, watching me through the cracks of my closet door. I would awaken, half surprised that I was still alive.
As time passed, my imagination became increasingly wild -- what had once been my bedroom closet was now my basement, around the corner, or in any unlit room. Just as in the play, the murderer was able to navigate about the house in such a timely matter that he could be virtually anywhere.
Currently (perhaps even as I'm writing this very post), my "murderer" is still nearby. Seven months later, he still haunts me; however, my fear has grown significantly weaker. It's almost as though I've come to accept the fact that yes, there is a killer in my closet. The trick to overcoming a phobia is to not worry about it. After all, the only thing we have to fear is fear itself.
It sounds a bit extreme, but after seeing this play, I became tremendously paranoid. I went to bed that night under the impression that there was a murderer in my closet. (I had this fear for many years, but seeing the play reassured the potential of a situation like this occurring.) My covers being my only security, I did not move that night. If he couldn't see me move, maybe he wouldn't know I was there. . .
The weeks that followed were rough to say the least. Night after night, I still imagined this murderer, watching me through the cracks of my closet door. I would awaken, half surprised that I was still alive.
As time passed, my imagination became increasingly wild -- what had once been my bedroom closet was now my basement, around the corner, or in any unlit room. Just as in the play, the murderer was able to navigate about the house in such a timely matter that he could be virtually anywhere.
Currently (perhaps even as I'm writing this very post), my "murderer" is still nearby. Seven months later, he still haunts me; however, my fear has grown significantly weaker. It's almost as though I've come to accept the fact that yes, there is a killer in my closet. The trick to overcoming a phobia is to not worry about it. After all, the only thing we have to fear is fear itself.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Genre: Neglection
Each genre of writing -- whether it be an editorial or a memoir, a profound essay or a song, has something to offer. Different forms of writing touch base on different levels of emotion/communication. The genre I picked was neglection.
SONG LYRICS
Cats in the Cradle -- Harry Chapin
A child arrived just the other day,
He came to the world in the usual way.
But there were planes to catch, and bills to pay.
He learned to walk while I was away.
And he was talking 'fore I knew it, and as he grew,
He'd say, "I'm gonna be like you, dad.
You know I'm gonna be like you."
And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon,
Little boy blue and the man in the moon.
"When you coming home, dad?" "I don't know when,
But we'll get together then.
You know we'll have a good time then."
My son turned ten just the other day.
He said, "Thanks for the ball, dad, come on let's play.
Can you teach me to throw?" I said, "Not today,
I got a lot to do." He said, "That's ok."
And he walked away, but his smile never dimmed,
Said, "I'm gonna be like him, yeah.
You know I'm gonna be like him."
And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon,
Little boy blue and the man in the moon.
"When you coming home, dad?" "I don't know when,
But we'll get together then.
You know we'll have a good time then."
Well, he came from college just the other day,
So much like a man I just had to say,
"Son, I'm proud of you. Can you sit for a while?"
He shook his head, and he said with a smile,
"What I'd really like, dad, is to borrow the car keys.
See you later. Can I have them please?"
And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon,
Little boy blue and the man in the moon.
"When you coming home, son?" "I don't know when,
But we'll get together then, dad.
You know we'll have a good time then."
I've long since retired and my son's moved away.
I called him up just the other day.
I said, "I'd like to see you if you don't mind."
He said, "I'd love to, dad, if I could find the time.
You see, my new job's a hassle, and the kid's got the flu,
But it's sure nice talking to you, dad.
It's been sure nice talking to you."
And as I hung up the phone, it occurred to me,
He'd grown up just like me.
My boy was just like me.
And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon,
Little boy blue and the man in the moon.
"When you coming home, son?" "I don't know when,
But we'll get together then, dad.
You know we'll have a good time then."
The song talks about how neglection as a child can lead to neglecting others when you're older. The father didn't spend enough time with his kid when he was younger, so when he grew up, he didn't want to spend time with his father either.
POEM
Neglect -- Ed Blair
The sick one lay on the cot
Where the walls were brown and bare,
And the longed for friend came not,
No flowers were carried there;
And the fever burned his brow,
And the lips could scarcely part,
But the saddest of all was how
Neglect had stung the heart.
"I have no friends," said he,
"Though once I had a score,
No one now cares for me,
For none knock at the door."
And the feverish face turned white,
And soon the lips were clay;
For who could live with the light
Of friendship shut away?
Who loved him? Were there none
Who cared for him that day,
That from the throngs not one
Should come with him to stay?
Yes--many loved him well,
And many meant to go
With some sweet word to tell,
To ease that heart of woe.
Next day from the busy throng
A hundred came to see,
For they learned as they passed along
That his spirit now was free;
And they brought from the gardens fair
The beautiful lilies white,
And they banked them 'round him there,
As they laid him away that night.
Oh, carry the message today,
Wait not for tomorrow's sun;
It may drive despair away,
And comfort the dying one.
For better one flower today
For the one on the lonely cot,
Than tomorrow a rich boquet
When the dear one liveth not.
This poem carries the message that you shouldn't neglect your friends and loved ones; you should spend time with them while you still have it. It is neglection that drains the most energy out of people.
ARTICLE
How to be Disorganized & Unproductive, #6: Neglect Yourself -- TSH
http://simplemom.net/dont-neglect-yourself/
Althought there are many articles similar to this one, the message never seems to get old. First and foremost, don't neglect yourself! One should take care of themselves by staying healthy and having solid relationships with the people in their lives.
SONG LYRICS
Cats in the Cradle -- Harry Chapin
A child arrived just the other day,
He came to the world in the usual way.
But there were planes to catch, and bills to pay.
He learned to walk while I was away.
And he was talking 'fore I knew it, and as he grew,
He'd say, "I'm gonna be like you, dad.
You know I'm gonna be like you."
And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon,
Little boy blue and the man in the moon.
"When you coming home, dad?" "I don't know when,
But we'll get together then.
You know we'll have a good time then."
My son turned ten just the other day.
He said, "Thanks for the ball, dad, come on let's play.
Can you teach me to throw?" I said, "Not today,
I got a lot to do." He said, "That's ok."
And he walked away, but his smile never dimmed,
Said, "I'm gonna be like him, yeah.
You know I'm gonna be like him."
And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon,
Little boy blue and the man in the moon.
"When you coming home, dad?" "I don't know when,
But we'll get together then.
You know we'll have a good time then."
Well, he came from college just the other day,
So much like a man I just had to say,
"Son, I'm proud of you. Can you sit for a while?"
He shook his head, and he said with a smile,
"What I'd really like, dad, is to borrow the car keys.
See you later. Can I have them please?"
And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon,
Little boy blue and the man in the moon.
"When you coming home, son?" "I don't know when,
But we'll get together then, dad.
You know we'll have a good time then."
I've long since retired and my son's moved away.
I called him up just the other day.
I said, "I'd like to see you if you don't mind."
He said, "I'd love to, dad, if I could find the time.
You see, my new job's a hassle, and the kid's got the flu,
But it's sure nice talking to you, dad.
It's been sure nice talking to you."
And as I hung up the phone, it occurred to me,
He'd grown up just like me.
My boy was just like me.
And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon,
Little boy blue and the man in the moon.
"When you coming home, son?" "I don't know when,
But we'll get together then, dad.
You know we'll have a good time then."
The song talks about how neglection as a child can lead to neglecting others when you're older. The father didn't spend enough time with his kid when he was younger, so when he grew up, he didn't want to spend time with his father either.
POEM
Neglect -- Ed Blair
The sick one lay on the cot
Where the walls were brown and bare,
And the longed for friend came not,
No flowers were carried there;
And the fever burned his brow,
And the lips could scarcely part,
But the saddest of all was how
Neglect had stung the heart.
"I have no friends," said he,
"Though once I had a score,
No one now cares for me,
For none knock at the door."
And the feverish face turned white,
And soon the lips were clay;
For who could live with the light
Of friendship shut away?
Who loved him? Were there none
Who cared for him that day,
That from the throngs not one
Should come with him to stay?
Yes--many loved him well,
And many meant to go
With some sweet word to tell,
To ease that heart of woe.
Next day from the busy throng
A hundred came to see,
For they learned as they passed along
That his spirit now was free;
And they brought from the gardens fair
The beautiful lilies white,
And they banked them 'round him there,
As they laid him away that night.
Oh, carry the message today,
Wait not for tomorrow's sun;
It may drive despair away,
And comfort the dying one.
For better one flower today
For the one on the lonely cot,
Than tomorrow a rich boquet
When the dear one liveth not.
This poem carries the message that you shouldn't neglect your friends and loved ones; you should spend time with them while you still have it. It is neglection that drains the most energy out of people.
ARTICLE
How to be Disorganized & Unproductive, #6: Neglect Yourself -- TSH
http://simplemom.net/dont-neglect-yourself/
Althought there are many articles similar to this one, the message never seems to get old. First and foremost, don't neglect yourself! One should take care of themselves by staying healthy and having solid relationships with the people in their lives.
Friday, September 3, 2010
Writing To Me Is. . .
There are countless analogies, metaphors, and similies that I could use to compare writing to. For me, writing is like dancing. Ironically, both writing and dancing are passions of mine.
To perform well, one has to practice over and over, making small -- or sometimes drastic -- adjustments to the choreography. You need to watch yourself in the mirror and pay attention to your own technique, much like revising your own work. To dance is to show emotion, tell a story, create a vision for yourself and your audience. This also holds true to writing. We write to convey our deepest thoughts and feelings and to share them with others. The page is our stage; the pen our eager feet.
Sometimes, we stumble and fall. Sometimes we forget the choreography. Sometimes we move out of formation. Of course the best thing to do in any of these situations would be to smile and move on. The important part is to finish strong. You can be successful with dancing -- and writing -- if you get past the rough spots and improve with each performance.
To perform well, one has to practice over and over, making small -- or sometimes drastic -- adjustments to the choreography. You need to watch yourself in the mirror and pay attention to your own technique, much like revising your own work. To dance is to show emotion, tell a story, create a vision for yourself and your audience. This also holds true to writing. We write to convey our deepest thoughts and feelings and to share them with others. The page is our stage; the pen our eager feet.
Sometimes, we stumble and fall. Sometimes we forget the choreography. Sometimes we move out of formation. Of course the best thing to do in any of these situations would be to smile and move on. The important part is to finish strong. You can be successful with dancing -- and writing -- if you get past the rough spots and improve with each performance.
Friday, August 27, 2010
Truth & Beauty: A Friendship
Note: It's been some time since I finished the book, so I'm having some difficulty remembering it.
In Truth & Beauty, Ann Patchett described the unbreakable camaraderie between her and her best friend, Lucy Grealy -- from start to the bitter end. Reading a first-hand account of their bond gave me new perspective on friendship; I found it remarkable how friends can become true soulmates (without being in an actual relationship). I was able to relate extremely well to this book because the relationship between Ann and Lucy is very similar to friendships I've had in the past.
It was strange to see how Ann and Lucy's relationship changed throughout the book. Their paths first crossed when they went to school together at Sarah Lawrence College. Lucy was diagnosed with cancer as a young girl. The chemotherapy that was used to treat her ended up removing part of her jaw. Even after scores of reconstructive surgeries, part of her jaw was still missing. Essentially, it was her disfigured face that made her so famous in her town. It wasn't until they attended the Iowa Writers' Workshop that Ann and Lucy became close friends. Their companionship thrived on both their love for their writing and their love for eachother.
When I first began the book, I was under the impression that Ann was trying to make the reader feel sympathetic toward her, making her seem like the hardworking, practical one of the pair. Lucy was the outgoing one, always in the limelight, where Ann was more of a secondary character. Patchett seemed all too bitter to be the one in the shadows. While I continued with the book, I came to realize that while this was true for the most part, it wasn't a bad thing. Ann and Lucy truly completed eachother, which is what made their friendship really work. I guess that's what made them soulmates.
Years after, Lucy passed away when a heroin addiction overtook her life. It's quite apparent that losing someone who had been a head figure in your life wouldn't be an easy experience. Even though she is gone, Lucy's friendship with Ann still carries on. She's given Ann enough inspiration to last for the rest of her life. Soulmates don't die.
In Truth & Beauty, Ann Patchett described the unbreakable camaraderie between her and her best friend, Lucy Grealy -- from start to the bitter end. Reading a first-hand account of their bond gave me new perspective on friendship; I found it remarkable how friends can become true soulmates (without being in an actual relationship). I was able to relate extremely well to this book because the relationship between Ann and Lucy is very similar to friendships I've had in the past.
It was strange to see how Ann and Lucy's relationship changed throughout the book. Their paths first crossed when they went to school together at Sarah Lawrence College. Lucy was diagnosed with cancer as a young girl. The chemotherapy that was used to treat her ended up removing part of her jaw. Even after scores of reconstructive surgeries, part of her jaw was still missing. Essentially, it was her disfigured face that made her so famous in her town. It wasn't until they attended the Iowa Writers' Workshop that Ann and Lucy became close friends. Their companionship thrived on both their love for their writing and their love for eachother.
When I first began the book, I was under the impression that Ann was trying to make the reader feel sympathetic toward her, making her seem like the hardworking, practical one of the pair. Lucy was the outgoing one, always in the limelight, where Ann was more of a secondary character. Patchett seemed all too bitter to be the one in the shadows. While I continued with the book, I came to realize that while this was true for the most part, it wasn't a bad thing. Ann and Lucy truly completed eachother, which is what made their friendship really work. I guess that's what made them soulmates.
Years after, Lucy passed away when a heroin addiction overtook her life. It's quite apparent that losing someone who had been a head figure in your life wouldn't be an easy experience. Even though she is gone, Lucy's friendship with Ann still carries on. She's given Ann enough inspiration to last for the rest of her life. Soulmates don't die.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
The Prevailing Opinion of a Sexual Character Discussed
If I could use any one word to describe how I felt after reading this essay, it would be grateful. Well, I suppose confused would be another appropriate adjective. Actually, there are any number of words I could use to describe how I felt. Bored, surprisingly, was not one of them.
I have been dreading reading this essay since the day I printed it off. Honestly, I wasn't sure if I had a large enough attention span to successfully read through all twenty-some pages, especially after I had realized that the passage wasn't written in a language that I fully understood. What I mean by this is that the way Wollstonecraft writes is much different than the way today's authors write. Her vocabulary is quite advanced and the way she strings her words together is in a completely different style. In my opinion, it probably wouldn't have taken her 22 pages to get her point across. The piece was wordy and repetitive, but maybe that's how people wrote back then. I had to reread some of the paragraphs multiple times in order to fully understand the point she was trying to get across. On top of that, I had to look up countless words. The passage was an absolute beast to read, to say the least.
While the piece was so long-winded, I can't say I didn't enjoy it. I was surprised at how poorly women during that era were treated. It makes me truly thankful to know how far women have come in the past few hundred years. Whilst reading it, I was overcome with feelings of genuine girl power. Mary was so convincing and strong with her points. If I were from her day in age, I'm not sure I would have the courage to be so assertive about women's suffrage (although I know for a fact I wouldn't be content with my position in society as a woman). Even though I would be lying if I said sexism isn't an issue in the present day, I can say with confidence that if Wollstonecraft could see what life is like for women today, she would be so very proud. Had a man from that day read the essay, he might have rolled his eyes in disgust. If a woman had read it, however, it may have opened her eyes up to the essential standard that was missing in her life: equality. It was determined women like Mary who carved the path for women's rights. Without them, we would still be living in a one-sided society where boys rule and girls..well, you get the picture. . .
You go girl.
I have been dreading reading this essay since the day I printed it off. Honestly, I wasn't sure if I had a large enough attention span to successfully read through all twenty-some pages, especially after I had realized that the passage wasn't written in a language that I fully understood. What I mean by this is that the way Wollstonecraft writes is much different than the way today's authors write. Her vocabulary is quite advanced and the way she strings her words together is in a completely different style. In my opinion, it probably wouldn't have taken her 22 pages to get her point across. The piece was wordy and repetitive, but maybe that's how people wrote back then. I had to reread some of the paragraphs multiple times in order to fully understand the point she was trying to get across. On top of that, I had to look up countless words. The passage was an absolute beast to read, to say the least.
While the piece was so long-winded, I can't say I didn't enjoy it. I was surprised at how poorly women during that era were treated. It makes me truly thankful to know how far women have come in the past few hundred years. Whilst reading it, I was overcome with feelings of genuine girl power. Mary was so convincing and strong with her points. If I were from her day in age, I'm not sure I would have the courage to be so assertive about women's suffrage (although I know for a fact I wouldn't be content with my position in society as a woman). Even though I would be lying if I said sexism isn't an issue in the present day, I can say with confidence that if Wollstonecraft could see what life is like for women today, she would be so very proud. Had a man from that day read the essay, he might have rolled his eyes in disgust. If a woman had read it, however, it may have opened her eyes up to the essential standard that was missing in her life: equality. It was determined women like Mary who carved the path for women's rights. Without them, we would still be living in a one-sided society where boys rule and girls..well, you get the picture. . .
You go girl.
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