Sonny's Blues

After thoroughly reading Sonny’s Blues by James Baldwin, I found myself having a hard time putting it down. This story seems so dramatic and unrealistic at first. However, the more and more I read on, the more and more I found myself able to relate to it. I too grew up not having the best relationship with my sister. My sister went through very similar incidences in her life like Sonny. In one of my blog posts, I posted my own short story, which was somewhat fictional. But the truth is the short story was somewhat fictional, however, most of it was based off of real events that have happened in my life. My relationship with my sister was not that similar to Sonny’s relationship with the narrator, when I was younger. Now that I’ve grown up and lost interest in striving for my older sisters acceptance, I notice her becoming more dependant of me. She has always been depending on others for support because she’s never been able to support herself. She’s also made quite a few bad choices that have caused her, along with my entire family, much pain. Reading this story helped me to shed new light on my personal relationship with my sister. My first instinct is to empathize with the narrator because it is easier for me to relate to the narrator as apposed to Sonny. However, after finishing the story, I am able to say that I have changed my mind. I empathize with Sonny most of all. His difficult struggles and Journey through life, is almost understandable. Now that we’re both older and I’ve grown apart from my sister, I can almost imagine hearing news about my sister from Facebook, or better yet, the newspaper, just the way the narrator heard about his brother being arrested. It brings tears to my eyes when I think about the relationship I have with my sister now, and how if I were a better sister to her I might be able to change the ending to my own Sonny’s Blues.

I took a lot away from this story. More than I ever thought possible.

My Cemetary Experience

Yesterday I went to the Lakeview, Roselawn and Tiger Flowers cemetery complex for this fieldtrip, and I stayed there for at least 40 minutes. I used this experience to dig deeper in to my soul in order to understand the grieving C.S. Lewis experienced on a new, real level. I believe this field trip made me look at death in a new perspective. I had never been to a cemetery before yesterday, especially one as historical and almost creepy as that one. The cemetery was filled with gravestones from the early 1900’s and even the 1800’s. This was surprising for me. Every gravestone looked different. Through this trip I was able to look at death in a very real way. The amount of gravestones scattered throughout the cemetery were numerous. Some gravestones were large and beautiful. Some were small and had little to no engravings at all. Some were covered in flowers and decorations. Some were empty and sad. Looking at these created a very real realization that these gravestones represented people. People who were once breathing like I am now. People who had lives, souls, passions, and feelings. Theses gravestones were not just stones. Not just decorations to remember the deceased. This graveyard was overflowing with people whose lives ended, just like my life will one day. As depressing as this thought is, it almost gives me a sense of peace. Knowing that one day I will eventually die, leave this earth, and travel “alone, into the alone,” I am satisfied with the thought that I will soon be with my savior. I will eventually leave a memory, a grave, this body, behind and travel into the alone with God. That is the place my heart yearns for. As upsetting as leaving the only life I’ve ever known may be, I look forward to spending eternity with my king.

A Grief Observed Chapters 1 and 2

 Since I wasn't able to make it to class on Thursday the 17th. I decided to do the in class assignment on my own. I turned some relaxing music on and began to paint. The words I focused my painting on are located in the first chapter of the book of Joel. It says, "Mighty without number; it's teeth are the teeth of a lion, And it has the fangs of a lioness."

After reading Chapter 1 and 2 of A Grief Observed, it was apparent to me what the author is trying to say. It almost seems as if the author, C.S. Lewis is trying to do exactly what the title implies; observe grieving from his personal perspective. It’s something most people in the world have to go through at least once in their lives. The difference between most people’s perspective of grieving a loss and Lewis’ perspective of grieving his particular loss is his loss was expected. This gives Lewis a perspective of being able to reflect on grieving in a real almost direct way. Many people can’t gather the strength to actually reflect on the pain they are going through. I believe Lewis was able to do this because it was somewhat therapeutically for him to reflect on it. From what it looks like it also made it easier for him to grasp the loss itself.

Lewis reflects on life itself many times throughout the chapters. One part that stuck out to me the most in located on page 9 when Lewis says something most profound. He said, “’ I lay awake all night with toothache, thinking about toothache and about lying awake.’ That’s true to life.” In this passage Lewis reflects on one’s focus of one’s pain. He is hurting. He lies in bed at night thinking about the hurt itself. Not about what it was caused by, but the ache itself. He also focuses on the results of the aching. He lies awake because of the toothache so he thinks about the toothache and the results of the pain it’s causing him. This is life. We do this so very often. We obsess over pain. We consume ourselves with the effect this pain has had on our life. Rarely do we look at the big picture. We focus on the now.

Joel.

        While reading the book of Joel I was struck with the realization that what I was reading was essentially poetry. Whenever I read the bible I normally never consider it artistic, or creative. I normally think of it as the book of rules, or the book of creation. When I read it this time I paid close attention to the way it sounded. I looked for rhythms in the scripture. I paid close attention to the repetition of words and the poetic symbolism. The text was stuffed with symbolic metaphors, and descriptive facts. While rereading the text, I highlighted any of the phrases that stuck out to me.

        The words and phrases I liked the most, purely based off of the sounds these words made when I read them aloud, were:

“What the gnawing locust has left, the swarming locust has eaten; And what the swarming locust has left, the creeping locust has eaten; And what the creeping locust has left, the stripping locust has eaten.“

         This stuck out to me in particular because of the way it pours out of one’s mouth in repetition. I love the word locust. This may be odd to many, however I love the way that word is somehow sweet sounding. However, the meaning of the word is disgusting and dirty. Locusts are, and were considered one of the worst insects that existed. But the word locust somehow brings joy to my ears.

The other word that stuck out to me was the word “zealous.” But why? I can’t necessarily place my finger on why I love this word so much. I think just the way the word rolls off one’s tongue; it’s intriguing and beautiful. As I was reading this over and over again in the passage I thought to myself “what exactly does it mean?”

        After extensive research (google), I realized that zealous means: filled with or inspired by intense enthusiasm or zeal; ardent; fervent. So I read the phrase again inserting the definition into the place where the word was used.

        “Then the LORD will be [filled with intense enthusiasm] for his land and will have pity on his

         people.” 

This definition makes the phrase more exciting. The Lord will be FILLED with INTENSE enthusiasm for his land. This is moving to me.

A story about the body

Reading “A Story about the Body,” by Robert Hass, was very intriguing. By the title alone, I was already drawn in to the story. I read every word as if I was watching it play out. I slowly read the story as if I was the narrator. It was very effortless for me to understand the story it self. The story was simply written, making it easy to comprehend.  The author spoke as in he was from the outside looking in, about a girl he was infatuated by. The narrator even spoke of love between the young composer and the artist. Robert Hass said, “She was Japanese, a painter, almost sixty, and he thought he was in love with her.” He specifically described the way she moved and worked on her art. He said, so descriptively, ”He loved her work, and her work was like the way she moved her body, used her hands, looked at him directly when she made amused and considered answers to his questions.” I thought the story was very simple, yet it had a very deep meaning. However, the story somehow struck me as odd. The way the author talked about this deep connection the young boy had with the Japanese woman was very clear. The author began the story making it seem to readers that the boy was simply observing the woman from afar. Then further into the story you realize that the young man had already shown her that he was interested in her. Before you know it, the woman suddenly reveals something that was wrong with her body physically, as if she was warning the young man, not even really giving him much of a chance to show her whether or not it affects him. It was almost as if the woman knew what the young man was going to say. It was also deeply surprising to me that the young man was so quick to shut her down. The young man simply replies to her revealing confession, “I’m sorry. I don’t think I could.” Reading this story made me realize how shallow some men can be. How much something so simple that is apart of the female body, can define a person. It made me angry to see how a woman that is so confident and radiant can turn so quickly in the man’s eyes because of something she’s missing physically. Forever this woman will have to live with the fact that she had apart of her body taken away. Apart of what made her a woman was taken from her so she could live and this could be enough for someone to never consider being with her.  

Special Post #1- Short Story

I watched Jessica carefully apply her foundation, blush, and eye shadow. Jessica’s beautiful tan skin covered in foundation seemed to perfectly shine in the sun, which was now pouring in through the giant window sitting right behind the mirror that Jessica was so intently peering into. She looked as if she was in search of a wrinkle, zit, or scar on her perfectly clear face. She would never find one. Jessica slowly applied her blush to each cheek, allowing the definition of her plump cheeks to stand out like a sore thumb. She then defined her perfectly round, hazel eyes with shimmery bronze eye shadow. Lastly she pouted her lips as she applied lip-gloss on her full lips. Jessica took one final glance in the mirror as she grabbed her purse and walked right past me as I sat on the floor hoping she’d give me a reassuring smile or glance. She did neither. Instead she brushed my shoulder with her knee as she rushed by me, almost knocking me to the floor. This didn’t bother me. I held my ground as to not upset her for being in the way of the door in the first place.  I loved watching my sister get ready for dates. Immediately after she rushed out of the house I ran into my room, locked the door behind me and began applying the make-up my mother gave me for playing with a couple years back. I applied it exactly how I’d seen Jessica apply it. First I coated my face in foundation. Next I applied the bright pink blush to my cheeks just as I’d seen Jessica do it. I then covered my eyelids in shimmery gold eye shadow and doused my lips with oily lip-gloss. Finally I stared in the mirror at myself, hoping to see a beautiful girl just like my older sister Jessica. However, I was left with an empty feeling when I saw that all that stared back at me in the mirror was a cheap imitation of a beautiful young woman. As I came to this realization, I watched tears begin to trickle down my pink cheeks, until it dropped off of my chin and finally hit the carpet beneath me. I realized Jessica would never cry about something so petty, so I quickly dried my tears. I found myself in the bathroom scrubbing off all the remains of the make up I had just applied. I hated the thought that I could never be like Jessica. This made me sick.

Four years had past now and I can’t stand myself more than ever. Jessica has grown to hate my annoying habits and I find myself trying to get her horrible comments out of my head. I walked to the kitchen in her hand-me-down sweatpants; ready to grab the ice cream I open the freezer as I see Jessica walk up behind me. Her slender, well developed eighteen-year-old body steps beside me, cutting me off to the fridge. She grabs a water bottle and some grapes, as she peers at my pants through the corner of her eye. As she’s walking away she comments on the fact that the pants I was wearing used to fall of her when she was my age, and they still don’t fit her now that she’s eighteen. After she walked into her room and closed the door, I found myself still sitting in front of the refrigerator with the freezer door still open. I didn’t notice the cold air blowing on me, as I stood there, frozen from the ice-cold words that Jessica just told me. It took everything in me not to break down crying at that moment. I mustered up the courage to shut the freezer door, leaving the rocky road ice cream behind. I walked to the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I stared at myself for thirty minutes. Analyzing my body from head to toe. Finally I decided to begin the diet I was contemplating for years. After deciding, I sat in front of the toilet, replaying every comment Jessica ever said to me in my head. I searched through my memories for one moment where Jessica told me she loved me. Unable to find any positive memories of Jessica, I forced my finger down my throat and threw up until everything I had eaten that day was now out of my body. I was on my way to becoming the beautiful younger sister Jessica always wanted.

            Months went by and suddenly I went from a size six to a size three. I loved the immediate results of the weight falling off of my body. My mother seemed to notice, however, Jessica didn’t notice at all. She barely ever talked to me, but when she did it was something about how I will never be as intelligent as she was. I would never have as many friends as she did. Boys would never be interested in me as long she was around. She was beautiful, intelligent, fun, flirty, witty, and courageous. She wasn’t afraid of heights like I was. She never received any bad grades like I did. Jessica was everything I wanted to be and she knew it.

            One day when I was throwing up into the toilet, my mother rushed in thinking I was sick. When I explained to her I was fine, she understood what it was I was doing. I felt so shameful as my mother held me in her arms as if I was dying. Seeing how greatly my behavior was hurting my mother I realized that what I was doing to my body was unhealthy and I stopped myself. I gave up on trying to become Jessica. I just allowed myself to be me.

            A couple months later Jessica graduated from high school. She made plans to leave home and attend an out of state college. This hurt to know that I would rarely every see Jessica from that point on. After she packed her boxes into her car and cleared her room completely she sat outside the house waiting for everyone to tell her goodbye. As my family stood outside watching her get ready to leave she went around to each family member and hugged him or her. As she approached me she simply held out her hand to high-five me. After eighteen years of living under the same roof, all Jessica could do was lift her hand to high-five me. My mother didn’t accept this form of goodbye, so she forced Jessica to hug me. As warmly as she could Jessica stretched out her arms and took me into her embrace. As we stood in the front lawn, awkwardly hugging, I heard Jessica whisper into my ear three simple words. She whispered, “I love you.” This was all it took for me to completely break down inside. I love you. I. Love. You. My heart screamed back, “I love you too,” however, all I could do was turn my face to hide the tears. I walked into my house and as soon as the door shut behind me I fell to the ground, sobbing with everything in me. My sister loves me. Jessica loves me.

Twinkle

      While re-reading “This Blessed House,” by Jhumpa Lahiri, I decided to focus all of my thoughts on the character, Twinkle. As I read I examined Twinkle’s every movement. I examined all the little personal habits of Twinkle that the author subtly snuck in throughout the story. I also highlighted anywhere she spoke throughout the story. I noticed that the author focuses much of the story on Twinkle. However, she focuses on the way Sanjeev, views Twinkle. The story almost seemed biased in some areas when describing Twinkle. It seemed like Lahiri wanted her audience to read the story through Sanjeev’s point of view. Somehow this makes it not as difficult to relate to Sanjeev as it would be if the story were written through Twinkle’s point of view.

     On another note, I found it very interesting that the author starts the story off with Twinkle speaking first. The story begins and Twinkle speaks first saying, “Guess what I found?” Already it was easy for me to see the type of person Twinkle was. She asked Sanjeev to “guess” what it is that she found. Before I even continued reading, I could almost imagine the type of personality Twinkle had through that one phrase. As I read on the author developed the personality of Twinkle so well, I found it easy to project the type of wife she was. Throughout the opening scene between Twinkle and Sanjeev, I was able to note that Twinkle was carefree and practical. She insisted on keeping the items throughout the house that she found because in her eyes she found it useful. She said, “but I can cook something with the vinegar. It’s brand-new” (Lahiri pg.136). 

     After reading the on I was able to start to really develop who the author was making Twinkle out to be. Twinkle was a fun, carefree imaginative sort of soul. She was young at heart and really new how to make people love her. She was extremely considerate of others, however, she was not going to let anyone override her. Twinkle knew how to really appreciate the little things in life. She was confidant in who she was and didn’t really care what anyone thought about her. “She was like that, excited and delighted by little things, crossing her fingers before any remotely unpredictable event, like tasting a new flavor of ice cream, or dropping a letter in a mailbox” (Lahiri 142). I believe the author constructed Twinkle’s character to a “T,” making it very easy for readers to grasp the extreme differences in Twinkle and Sanjeev.