Once again, I felt like writing another poem because I love seeing my works published for all to read. it's like being a published author, without the annoying publishers threatening not to publish your work unless you make their approved corrections.
A soul is the spirit that glows inside
That fuels the heart and colors we feel
The soul is unreachable
From the outside world
Concealed from the human quest
Impossible to hold, steal, or defeat
The soul remains untouchable from the outside
Intangible to the hands
Tangible to the heart
Impossible to access through the physical realm
Except to our fragile eyes
Eyes of glass
Where one can feel beyond life’s limitations
Eyes of clear
Eyes,
The pathway to seek one’s soul
The ability to reach into another’s heart
The eye can seek out one’s pain
The eye can seek one’s fear
Eyes of glass
Eyes so clear
So delicate
To the midst of shatter
The eye can tear and cry
The eye can brighten and shine
Our feelings send the signal
Expressed by the soulful eye
One can love a soul
One can hurt a soul
One can bless a soul
Through our eyes comes expression
A connection that leads to the passageway
The pathway to the hidden soul
Our eyes are so fragile
But they are the key to the heart of man
The key to secret world hidden beneath
Our eyes of glass
The secret doorway
That lead me to find love
Love expressed through the oneness of souls
I found when we first together locked eyes
Friday, December 19, 2008
Saturday, December 6, 2008
The Betrothal
I was reading a bunch of sonnets on this nippy Saturday afternoon, and I felt in the mood to write a poem based on love.
The Betrothal
Two forms of blemished flesh
Imperfect in their singularity
But when together fiducially bond through faithfulness
They become perfect wholly as one flesh
A bond forged by the heart of God
His gift
A binding knot
An endless coalescence
That binds concordantly these two as one
This betrothal like two eager streams
Feasting to each other in confluence
This conjunction joining both man and woman
Through a bond by which God himself endeared
To make man clutch to woman
And woman cling to man
To form a connubial bond between them
As they lay together in sweetest blasé
A clement gift God so gave his people
Coalescence binds these two
With the drop onto one knee
And a fiery diamond gliding onto her finger
And a sealing kiss to set the promise in stone
And God ties the very knot
And remolds his once blemished fleshes
Into a conformed flesh of one
The Betrothal
Two forms of blemished flesh
Imperfect in their singularity
But when together fiducially bond through faithfulness
They become perfect wholly as one flesh
A bond forged by the heart of God
His gift
A binding knot
An endless coalescence
That binds concordantly these two as one
This betrothal like two eager streams
Feasting to each other in confluence
This conjunction joining both man and woman
Through a bond by which God himself endeared
To make man clutch to woman
And woman cling to man
To form a connubial bond between them
As they lay together in sweetest blasé
A clement gift God so gave his people
Coalescence binds these two
With the drop onto one knee
And a fiery diamond gliding onto her finger
And a sealing kiss to set the promise in stone
And God ties the very knot
And remolds his once blemished fleshes
Into a conformed flesh of one
Monday, November 24, 2008
Tuesdays with Morrie
So here was this little book, nestled gently in my cradling hands, holding it ever so close to my chest like a newborn infant. This little book, so delicate with its small size, dressed snuggly in a buttermilk dust jacket, just like a little private fireside diary, was ready for me to read! This little book proved to be such a life- changing novel! It was such a tiny precious little keepsake overflowing with private memories, secret feelings, and morals. It was one of those books that appeared to get pushed aside by the most critical of book- cover judging readers, or gobbled to the back of the bookshelf by the arrogant array of encyclopedias, or have dust collected on it because of its simplistic little size. For many readers would assume that a little book must have incomplete content that lacks of depth. Tuesdays with Morrie proves these assumptions as inaccurate. Through the moving philosophies of Morrie about the proper way to live life, and Mitch Albom's writing style, he involves his audience completely,to allow them to feel close to Morrie. The book moved me and proved to be a life- changing element in my life.
This very powerful memoir revolves around a college professor Morrie, and his past student Mitch Albom many years later. Morrie, is an elderly man battling with a fatal illness called amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS). The disease affects the motor skills and nervous system,consuming the person entirely, depleating them of everyday freedoms such as walking, breathing, and using the bathroom. Even though morrie is suffering horribly from this disorder, he meets with his most beloved student about how to live life. Morrie does not feel sorry for himself, or want pity from others. He instead talks to people about how to make their lives more meaningful, and how to appreciate the small things in life. Morrie includes that living life through love is the best way to live life. He says that everyone should be forgiven, and that no grudges can be held. Morrie talks sbout marriage and its importance, the forgiveness of oneself,the importance of portraying emotion, and many others. As Morrie's philosophies become increasingly more emotionally evoking, his illness progresses worse. The more I fell in love with Morrie and his philosophies, the closer he was to dying.
This novel may look small, but the content that lies inside this novel is grandiloquent. It is magnificent because of how uplifting the content is. The book isn't about pity of death and dying,but it is about life and how people need to let go of all the unimportant things like money, work, and fame, and appreciate family, friends, and the spotanaety of life. The genius writing style of Albom made me fall in love with Morrie immediately because of his emotional delicacy of his writing. Albom's writing felt like I could feel his heart and gentle love for Morrie.It felt as though I were inside of Morrie's house,one of his very students, I felt like I had known Morrie my whole entire life while reading this book. I developed a deep relationship with Morrie and his teachings, crying,and laughing as I read. I learned to forgive myself, and I learned to appreciate life as I read.
Mitch Albon gained this deep emotional response from me because he wrote from his heart when describing his beloved professor Morrie, who became a life- long friend, and a philosopher to Albom. " I blinked back the tears, and he smacked his lips together and raised his eyebrows at the sight of my face. I like to think it was a fleeting moment of satisfaction for my dear old professor: he had finally made me cry." This quote evoked a tremendous emotional response from me. It is when Albom kisses Morrie, the most intimate contact made in the entire novel between the two friends. Albom had told Morie in the beginning of the novel that nothing could ever make him cry, and Morrie gave him the gift of crying for his first time. This quote shows the intimate growth of trust and friendship that Morrie and Albom cultivated together over the course of fourteen weeks together. Albom, a strong man, has never yet cried before, and finally, he succumbs to his feelings by shedding tears for his beloved teacher.
This book is so powerful because Albom creatively uses a particular writing style that created a strong relationship between the characters and I. The way that this relationship was built had a strong foundation from the beginning, and as the author went on, the relationship grew stronger and more intimate. This bond leads to a catharsis. A catharsis is the emotional release at the end when Morrie finally passes on. This catharsis is only effective to bring strong emotional response if the midsection of the book was strong. It was Albom's choice as an author to make this book writing style technique to rely on these two things: philosophy, or Morrie's outlook on how to properly live life,as well as taking care to show the progression of severity with Morrie's illness.
Albom structures the book in week by week manner meaning, that every Tuesday that Morrie was visited, a new philosophy unit would be discussed as if the reader were one of Morrie's students. In fact, the book mirrors be almost a similar college class that Professor Morrie would be teach, just like old times. The book cleverly starts out as the curriculum. And Albom puts, " The class met on Tuesdays. The subject was the meaning of life. "No grades were given, but there were oral exams every week"... (1). Albom then creatively puts in chapters like the Syllabus, the Student, the Audiovisual ,and the Orientation. These choices made it felt like I was also attending these "classes" with Albom, and that I felt like a student, which created a closer bond between Morrie and I to aid in the succession of that end catharsis. The book made it felt like I was attending a college course and learning the course of "living life." This approach makes the reader and characters feel so close, so personal, and because of that one-to -one approach,it takes the novel to a whole different approach. The bbok felt like the reader was in that very classroom with Morrie.
The depth of the philosophy units became much more deep and personal towards the end, so there was a progression of much more significant emotional depth towards the end.This emotional build was felt through the reader through Albom's deep connections with Morrie. The bonds between them had grown so intimate and sentimental, and as a result, I felt a growth of emotional attachment with Morrie. This rise of sentimental bonding occurred because the first few lessons were very much specific because the two men were just getting to know each other, and needed to feel comfortable with each other before the more emotionsl material came out. As the time spent between the two increased, the comfort level also increased, and therefore, they began to talk about life from the heart because of the brotherly love the two developed with each other.
Not only was there progression in the emotional depth of the philosophies, but also regarding the health of Morrie. If Albom wanted to have success with that heart- breaking catharsis, he needed to show the advancement of the severity of Morrie's illness. Morrie's lethal battle with ALS is the progression of weakness was finely mastered by Albom's writing technique. As the book progressed, I couldn't help but notice Morrie's weakening condition. It is absolutely bone- chilling how precise and realistic Albom can convey the ALS in the story. He has it down to such a science, that it left my skin crawling and my legs numb. " ALS is like a lit candle: it melts your nerves and leaves your body a pile of wax. Often, it begins with the legs and works its way up. You lose control of your thigh muscles, so that you cannot support yourself standing... by the end if you are still alive, you are breathing through a tube with a hole in your throat, while your soul, perfectly awake, is imprisoned inside a limp husk..." (10). This quote is just so unbelievably haunting. It shoots tingles throughout my spine. This disease is one that can entirely envelope the human body, leaving nothing untouched but the soul. And this is Albom's nice quote in the beginning, remember, that it gets progressively worse!This quote is around the end of the novel, and it intensifies in greusome content, " The lump of his form was so withered that I almost thought there was something missing. He was as small as a child. His mouth was open, and his skin was tight against his cheekbones..." (183). This is another horrific quote that conveys Morrie's last weeks of life. When I fell in attachment with Morrie, and heard his philosophies, and his love for helping others, the pain grows heavy on my soul as Morrie grew increasingly weaker. This is why it hurts when I read this book, because I love Morrie, and I don't want him to die. The fact is, he is going to die, and it just is conveyed so realistically in the book. Not only did the pain of Morrie's also cause emotional reaction, but also the ending when Morrie is dead at the funeral. " You talk, I'll listen," he said. " I tried doing that in my head and, to my happiness, found that the imagined conversation felt almost natural. I looked down at my hands, saw my watch, and realized why. It was Tuesday" (188). Well, that really made me cry! Gosh, that passage was just so moving. I think that from now on, everyday that it is Tuesday, I will think about dear Morrie and his moving philosophies.
Morrie wasn't just any man. He was a special man that used his life to reach out to other. Even though he was in excruciating pain, to the point that he couldn't talk, he still braced the pain to give out words of wisdom to his beloved student. Morrie talked about how people should learn to forgive themselves and others, and not hold grudges. Sometimes we do the wrong things, and sometimes we hurt others, and sometimes others hurt us. No matter the circumstance, Morrie tells his audience to forgive everyone else, including oneself.
Morrie and Albom made such a perfect team together. Between the moving philosophies of Morrie, and his life changing words, to the genius writing style of Albom, this book would have never made as great as an impact without both men together. These men not only shared their great story, but they made great friends. Even in death, Morrie still has someone to talk to. Albom talks to Morrie every Tuesday, because nothing has changed except that Morrie no longer has a body as frail as a child's, his eyes no longer dull,or his lungs no longer fluid- filled. Morrie is free at last. His soul has escaped the shell that once forced him to live in pain and misery. Morrie lives in Albom, and he can live in both you and me. I recommend everyone to read Tuesdays with Morrie, and to be affected as deeply as I have been.
This cream covered memoir has proven false many of the accusations of people that say small books are either rushed or meager. This novel made me laugh, cry, tingle with freight, and understand my morality that death is imminent. I now understand that I need to forgive myself and others, to treat others with love and care. I forever know in my heart that my heart will always have a place for dear Morrie.
This very powerful memoir revolves around a college professor Morrie, and his past student Mitch Albom many years later. Morrie, is an elderly man battling with a fatal illness called amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS). The disease affects the motor skills and nervous system,consuming the person entirely, depleating them of everyday freedoms such as walking, breathing, and using the bathroom. Even though morrie is suffering horribly from this disorder, he meets with his most beloved student about how to live life. Morrie does not feel sorry for himself, or want pity from others. He instead talks to people about how to make their lives more meaningful, and how to appreciate the small things in life. Morrie includes that living life through love is the best way to live life. He says that everyone should be forgiven, and that no grudges can be held. Morrie talks sbout marriage and its importance, the forgiveness of oneself,the importance of portraying emotion, and many others. As Morrie's philosophies become increasingly more emotionally evoking, his illness progresses worse. The more I fell in love with Morrie and his philosophies, the closer he was to dying.
This novel may look small, but the content that lies inside this novel is grandiloquent. It is magnificent because of how uplifting the content is. The book isn't about pity of death and dying,but it is about life and how people need to let go of all the unimportant things like money, work, and fame, and appreciate family, friends, and the spotanaety of life. The genius writing style of Albom made me fall in love with Morrie immediately because of his emotional delicacy of his writing. Albom's writing felt like I could feel his heart and gentle love for Morrie.It felt as though I were inside of Morrie's house,one of his very students, I felt like I had known Morrie my whole entire life while reading this book. I developed a deep relationship with Morrie and his teachings, crying,and laughing as I read. I learned to forgive myself, and I learned to appreciate life as I read.
Mitch Albon gained this deep emotional response from me because he wrote from his heart when describing his beloved professor Morrie, who became a life- long friend, and a philosopher to Albom. " I blinked back the tears, and he smacked his lips together and raised his eyebrows at the sight of my face. I like to think it was a fleeting moment of satisfaction for my dear old professor: he had finally made me cry." This quote evoked a tremendous emotional response from me. It is when Albom kisses Morrie, the most intimate contact made in the entire novel between the two friends. Albom had told Morie in the beginning of the novel that nothing could ever make him cry, and Morrie gave him the gift of crying for his first time. This quote shows the intimate growth of trust and friendship that Morrie and Albom cultivated together over the course of fourteen weeks together. Albom, a strong man, has never yet cried before, and finally, he succumbs to his feelings by shedding tears for his beloved teacher.
This book is so powerful because Albom creatively uses a particular writing style that created a strong relationship between the characters and I. The way that this relationship was built had a strong foundation from the beginning, and as the author went on, the relationship grew stronger and more intimate. This bond leads to a catharsis. A catharsis is the emotional release at the end when Morrie finally passes on. This catharsis is only effective to bring strong emotional response if the midsection of the book was strong. It was Albom's choice as an author to make this book writing style technique to rely on these two things: philosophy, or Morrie's outlook on how to properly live life,as well as taking care to show the progression of severity with Morrie's illness.
Albom structures the book in week by week manner meaning, that every Tuesday that Morrie was visited, a new philosophy unit would be discussed as if the reader were one of Morrie's students. In fact, the book mirrors be almost a similar college class that Professor Morrie would be teach, just like old times. The book cleverly starts out as the curriculum. And Albom puts, " The class met on Tuesdays. The subject was the meaning of life. "No grades were given, but there were oral exams every week"... (1). Albom then creatively puts in chapters like the Syllabus, the Student, the Audiovisual ,and the Orientation. These choices made it felt like I was also attending these "classes" with Albom, and that I felt like a student, which created a closer bond between Morrie and I to aid in the succession of that end catharsis. The book made it felt like I was attending a college course and learning the course of "living life." This approach makes the reader and characters feel so close, so personal, and because of that one-to -one approach,it takes the novel to a whole different approach. The bbok felt like the reader was in that very classroom with Morrie.
The depth of the philosophy units became much more deep and personal towards the end, so there was a progression of much more significant emotional depth towards the end.This emotional build was felt through the reader through Albom's deep connections with Morrie. The bonds between them had grown so intimate and sentimental, and as a result, I felt a growth of emotional attachment with Morrie. This rise of sentimental bonding occurred because the first few lessons were very much specific because the two men were just getting to know each other, and needed to feel comfortable with each other before the more emotionsl material came out. As the time spent between the two increased, the comfort level also increased, and therefore, they began to talk about life from the heart because of the brotherly love the two developed with each other.
Not only was there progression in the emotional depth of the philosophies, but also regarding the health of Morrie. If Albom wanted to have success with that heart- breaking catharsis, he needed to show the advancement of the severity of Morrie's illness. Morrie's lethal battle with ALS is the progression of weakness was finely mastered by Albom's writing technique. As the book progressed, I couldn't help but notice Morrie's weakening condition. It is absolutely bone- chilling how precise and realistic Albom can convey the ALS in the story. He has it down to such a science, that it left my skin crawling and my legs numb. " ALS is like a lit candle: it melts your nerves and leaves your body a pile of wax. Often, it begins with the legs and works its way up. You lose control of your thigh muscles, so that you cannot support yourself standing... by the end if you are still alive, you are breathing through a tube with a hole in your throat, while your soul, perfectly awake, is imprisoned inside a limp husk..." (10). This quote is just so unbelievably haunting. It shoots tingles throughout my spine. This disease is one that can entirely envelope the human body, leaving nothing untouched but the soul. And this is Albom's nice quote in the beginning, remember, that it gets progressively worse!This quote is around the end of the novel, and it intensifies in greusome content, " The lump of his form was so withered that I almost thought there was something missing. He was as small as a child. His mouth was open, and his skin was tight against his cheekbones..." (183). This is another horrific quote that conveys Morrie's last weeks of life. When I fell in attachment with Morrie, and heard his philosophies, and his love for helping others, the pain grows heavy on my soul as Morrie grew increasingly weaker. This is why it hurts when I read this book, because I love Morrie, and I don't want him to die. The fact is, he is going to die, and it just is conveyed so realistically in the book. Not only did the pain of Morrie's also cause emotional reaction, but also the ending when Morrie is dead at the funeral. " You talk, I'll listen," he said. " I tried doing that in my head and, to my happiness, found that the imagined conversation felt almost natural. I looked down at my hands, saw my watch, and realized why. It was Tuesday" (188). Well, that really made me cry! Gosh, that passage was just so moving. I think that from now on, everyday that it is Tuesday, I will think about dear Morrie and his moving philosophies.
Morrie wasn't just any man. He was a special man that used his life to reach out to other. Even though he was in excruciating pain, to the point that he couldn't talk, he still braced the pain to give out words of wisdom to his beloved student. Morrie talked about how people should learn to forgive themselves and others, and not hold grudges. Sometimes we do the wrong things, and sometimes we hurt others, and sometimes others hurt us. No matter the circumstance, Morrie tells his audience to forgive everyone else, including oneself.
Morrie and Albom made such a perfect team together. Between the moving philosophies of Morrie, and his life changing words, to the genius writing style of Albom, this book would have never made as great as an impact without both men together. These men not only shared their great story, but they made great friends. Even in death, Morrie still has someone to talk to. Albom talks to Morrie every Tuesday, because nothing has changed except that Morrie no longer has a body as frail as a child's, his eyes no longer dull,or his lungs no longer fluid- filled. Morrie is free at last. His soul has escaped the shell that once forced him to live in pain and misery. Morrie lives in Albom, and he can live in both you and me. I recommend everyone to read Tuesdays with Morrie, and to be affected as deeply as I have been.
This cream covered memoir has proven false many of the accusations of people that say small books are either rushed or meager. This novel made me laugh, cry, tingle with freight, and understand my morality that death is imminent. I now understand that I need to forgive myself and others, to treat others with love and care. I forever know in my heart that my heart will always have a place for dear Morrie.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Plato, Tim, and I
Plato, Tim, and I
When there’s a question regarding life, the changes throughout life, and life unchanging, I turn to philosophy. The quote in The Things They Carried relates and supports the ideals of Plato, an adroit man of brilliance and skillful ability regarding the difference of change externally compared to the absence of changes internally. I support O’Brien’s beliefs regarding that he was unchanging; he was still the same little boy he was except now physically and mentally older from the element of time. However, time does not age the soul, time’s strength can only plague the external realm through its wrath of aging; time is entrapped only to the physical realm, but the outer change is denied access to the heart and soul.
Plato’s philosophy is that there is perfection and remains constant, or unchanging, beyond the matrix in which we live in. This means that externally everything around us is imperfect because the physical world is changing us. However, inside every object, a paragon of everything exists. This means that there is a perfect apple, a perfect desk, and a perfect human in all individual classifications. On the inside of every object perfection exists, which includes the soul, heart, and spirit; they are the constants inside human beings. This means that these internal bound intangibles remain absolute. In O’Brien’s quote, he believes even though he is physically older, he hasn’t changed at all. He writes, “ Inside the body, or beyond the body, there is something absolute and unchanging” (236). He proves the support of Plato’s philosophy, and I also support it also in its entirety.
I believe that through the philosophy of Plato that human beings do not change internally. You cannot rearrange the mien or psyche of an individual or any living thing. You can pick a leave off a tree, and you can watch the color change, the physicality crumble, and the external wither, however, you still have a leaf. The leaf never changes internally because the leaf internally can never disappear. If the physicality of this externally dead leaf doesn’t disappear off the face of earth just because it is physically dead, is it truly dead on the inside? No. I made this realization on a walk in the woods one autumn evening when I picked up a dead leaf and noticed just because it was dead physically to my eye, it still existed. I believe this is with all life forms that internally perfection and everlasting life exists. It is only the human eye is limited to what it can see. We only can see the shadows of everything that exists which is in the physical realm where time plagues life through change, but on the inside, time cannot harm anything therefore, there is a paragon inside everyone that never can change.
I believe this because as a teenager of eighteen I have experienced a series of changes throughout my life. I mentally am becoming more independent of taking care of myself preparing for the secular realization of the world. I know that my thoughts have drastically changed within the past year or two. Right now I have ideas of my future of going to college, falling in love, and living out the rest of my life with the man that I love. I know it sounds a little jocular, but I even have these yearnings to get married, live in a house together, and have children with the man that I amorously love. Now, let’s take it back even just two years ago, I had no thoughts that somebody would love me, heck, consider even marrying me! I had thoughts of just surviving high school and trying to imagine whether I would get a blue ribbon in the next hunter/ jumper equestrian competition.
I know mentally, the changes I have endured throughout the past years have been mammoth, however, I still believe that I am the same Caitlin on the inside. My personality that is effulgent with amity, my spirit that houses my religious beliefs, and my heart still has the same capacity for love remains constant. Even though my love now is beyond the Philo love for my family, I now display Eros and Agape for one person. Also, even though my love now lies on a significant other and not entirely on family, does not mean my capacity for love has changed. This is because these intangibles cannot be plagued through time and age. My love will never die; my spirit for religion will never wither; my spirit will never be re-sculpted. I will always be the same little girl with the bright smile and spirited walk on the way to the bus on my first day of kindergarten. I have the same smile, the same mind, and the same eyes. My eyes see the world differently, my smile now expunged of my innocent baby teeth, my brain impassive about the sacred teddy bear I had to sleep with every night, and my eyes falling for love; a vow I had made to myself saying that love was “icky,” and that I never would.
Yes, this is sincerely a tough thing to talk about as it brings tears to well in my eyes. The pain burns with doleful intensity; my tears building allowing my vision to become obscured through the warmth of tears. I am looking at my first grade pictures, and envy the little girl I used to be, but never can be again physically. I see a little Halloween costume of a clown I used to be. Oh, how it hurts to see something so adorable and innocent I used to be. It evokes so much doleful sadness that I used to be that cute little girl with the little painted nose, the little hat that sat on my head, now only able to sit on my wrist. I used to wear that costume, my meek little body fitting into something I could probably now not even get an arm into. These sentimental memories accentuate, the pain harboring inside my little heart, struggling with the emotional burden that is drowning my very feelings. I feel the oxygen seeming to be limited as I gasp for breath, but finding myself to sink amongst the strength of time that then envelopes me back underneath the darkness of time. I feel as if being suppressed by a raging river’s strength, (time) but only realizing that the source of this very river, this very water, is in fact my own tears. How I could cry so hard and want to strain all those tears to drizzle, trickle, fall, torrentially down pour; I want them to bring a catharsis; I want to be ridden of the pain so I can relax the tension of my feelings so dilated with pain.
I now recall these changes brought forth by time that tumultuously ripped me from my childhood absence, and my sense of imagination that became stripped through the horrific process maturation. I wipe the tears, little reservoirs of pain dripping down my face, and then disappear into the world somewhere, doubting of they even exist once they’ve fallen, but then I think to myself, have I truly gone? Couldn’t I still be a child inside, could that little girl with that bright smile and spirited walk still be there inside me? I have to believe in Plato and in O’Brien’s words that we are still that little innocent child full of wonder and imagination. We don’t truly become stripped of this wonder unless we allow ourselves to be barren. We must learn to flock together when we feel all the world has failed; we must be strong and let the memories consume us. We must welcome this mellifluous stream of memories and allow them to never leave us, because if we let our inside intangibles die, we let ourselves die.
Plato’s words speak of so much strength to me regarding life. Whenever I am feeling weighted by solemnity, I turn to philosophy to help reestablish my strength. I believe that both O’Brien and I both turn to Plato for support how even though we change physically, we never change. We never are truly gone. I forever can be that little girl with the bright smile and spirited walk. I am her forever. I can always be my daddy’s little girl. Nobody else can ever be her. If I don’t want that image to ever fade, than I must never allow it to go away. I must never accept the false mind set that once the physical is changed, you must internally be changed. I will forever have the whimsical attitude of that little girl with the bright smile and spirited walk on the way to the bus for my first day of kindergarten. Time’s grasp can only make changes so far, and it is beyond time’s reach to put a finger on what lies inside.
When there’s a question regarding life, the changes throughout life, and life unchanging, I turn to philosophy. The quote in The Things They Carried relates and supports the ideals of Plato, an adroit man of brilliance and skillful ability regarding the difference of change externally compared to the absence of changes internally. I support O’Brien’s beliefs regarding that he was unchanging; he was still the same little boy he was except now physically and mentally older from the element of time. However, time does not age the soul, time’s strength can only plague the external realm through its wrath of aging; time is entrapped only to the physical realm, but the outer change is denied access to the heart and soul.
Plato’s philosophy is that there is perfection and remains constant, or unchanging, beyond the matrix in which we live in. This means that externally everything around us is imperfect because the physical world is changing us. However, inside every object, a paragon of everything exists. This means that there is a perfect apple, a perfect desk, and a perfect human in all individual classifications. On the inside of every object perfection exists, which includes the soul, heart, and spirit; they are the constants inside human beings. This means that these internal bound intangibles remain absolute. In O’Brien’s quote, he believes even though he is physically older, he hasn’t changed at all. He writes, “ Inside the body, or beyond the body, there is something absolute and unchanging” (236). He proves the support of Plato’s philosophy, and I also support it also in its entirety.
I believe that through the philosophy of Plato that human beings do not change internally. You cannot rearrange the mien or psyche of an individual or any living thing. You can pick a leave off a tree, and you can watch the color change, the physicality crumble, and the external wither, however, you still have a leaf. The leaf never changes internally because the leaf internally can never disappear. If the physicality of this externally dead leaf doesn’t disappear off the face of earth just because it is physically dead, is it truly dead on the inside? No. I made this realization on a walk in the woods one autumn evening when I picked up a dead leaf and noticed just because it was dead physically to my eye, it still existed. I believe this is with all life forms that internally perfection and everlasting life exists. It is only the human eye is limited to what it can see. We only can see the shadows of everything that exists which is in the physical realm where time plagues life through change, but on the inside, time cannot harm anything therefore, there is a paragon inside everyone that never can change.
I believe this because as a teenager of eighteen I have experienced a series of changes throughout my life. I mentally am becoming more independent of taking care of myself preparing for the secular realization of the world. I know that my thoughts have drastically changed within the past year or two. Right now I have ideas of my future of going to college, falling in love, and living out the rest of my life with the man that I love. I know it sounds a little jocular, but I even have these yearnings to get married, live in a house together, and have children with the man that I amorously love. Now, let’s take it back even just two years ago, I had no thoughts that somebody would love me, heck, consider even marrying me! I had thoughts of just surviving high school and trying to imagine whether I would get a blue ribbon in the next hunter/ jumper equestrian competition.
I know mentally, the changes I have endured throughout the past years have been mammoth, however, I still believe that I am the same Caitlin on the inside. My personality that is effulgent with amity, my spirit that houses my religious beliefs, and my heart still has the same capacity for love remains constant. Even though my love now is beyond the Philo love for my family, I now display Eros and Agape for one person. Also, even though my love now lies on a significant other and not entirely on family, does not mean my capacity for love has changed. This is because these intangibles cannot be plagued through time and age. My love will never die; my spirit for religion will never wither; my spirit will never be re-sculpted. I will always be the same little girl with the bright smile and spirited walk on the way to the bus on my first day of kindergarten. I have the same smile, the same mind, and the same eyes. My eyes see the world differently, my smile now expunged of my innocent baby teeth, my brain impassive about the sacred teddy bear I had to sleep with every night, and my eyes falling for love; a vow I had made to myself saying that love was “icky,” and that I never would.
Yes, this is sincerely a tough thing to talk about as it brings tears to well in my eyes. The pain burns with doleful intensity; my tears building allowing my vision to become obscured through the warmth of tears. I am looking at my first grade pictures, and envy the little girl I used to be, but never can be again physically. I see a little Halloween costume of a clown I used to be. Oh, how it hurts to see something so adorable and innocent I used to be. It evokes so much doleful sadness that I used to be that cute little girl with the little painted nose, the little hat that sat on my head, now only able to sit on my wrist. I used to wear that costume, my meek little body fitting into something I could probably now not even get an arm into. These sentimental memories accentuate, the pain harboring inside my little heart, struggling with the emotional burden that is drowning my very feelings. I feel the oxygen seeming to be limited as I gasp for breath, but finding myself to sink amongst the strength of time that then envelopes me back underneath the darkness of time. I feel as if being suppressed by a raging river’s strength, (time) but only realizing that the source of this very river, this very water, is in fact my own tears. How I could cry so hard and want to strain all those tears to drizzle, trickle, fall, torrentially down pour; I want them to bring a catharsis; I want to be ridden of the pain so I can relax the tension of my feelings so dilated with pain.
I now recall these changes brought forth by time that tumultuously ripped me from my childhood absence, and my sense of imagination that became stripped through the horrific process maturation. I wipe the tears, little reservoirs of pain dripping down my face, and then disappear into the world somewhere, doubting of they even exist once they’ve fallen, but then I think to myself, have I truly gone? Couldn’t I still be a child inside, could that little girl with that bright smile and spirited walk still be there inside me? I have to believe in Plato and in O’Brien’s words that we are still that little innocent child full of wonder and imagination. We don’t truly become stripped of this wonder unless we allow ourselves to be barren. We must learn to flock together when we feel all the world has failed; we must be strong and let the memories consume us. We must welcome this mellifluous stream of memories and allow them to never leave us, because if we let our inside intangibles die, we let ourselves die.
Plato’s words speak of so much strength to me regarding life. Whenever I am feeling weighted by solemnity, I turn to philosophy to help reestablish my strength. I believe that both O’Brien and I both turn to Plato for support how even though we change physically, we never change. We never are truly gone. I forever can be that little girl with the bright smile and spirited walk. I am her forever. I can always be my daddy’s little girl. Nobody else can ever be her. If I don’t want that image to ever fade, than I must never allow it to go away. I must never accept the false mind set that once the physical is changed, you must internally be changed. I will forever have the whimsical attitude of that little girl with the bright smile and spirited walk on the way to the bus for my first day of kindergarten. Time’s grasp can only make changes so far, and it is beyond time’s reach to put a finger on what lies inside.
Friday, October 17, 2008
The Things They Carried
Masculinity, Mortality, and Memory
Note: There are few books written that allows the reader to write a paper just because of the strong impact it leaves behind after its completion. This was not an assignment, but I felt it necessary to write a reflection of what these men carried.
Men are enforced to adhere to society’s definition of what is “being a man,” also defined as masculinity. Men are an enigma encrypted in a language different from the female mind; men still have a heart, a soul, and feelings with the same emotional abilities a woman possesses. The role of man has been defined by society, and this is what governs the role of man: no tears, no fear, and no display of emotion. Nothing but a solid concrete block defines the heart of an invincible man. O’ Brien’s The Things They Carried proves this well-known philosophy incorrect regarding man. O’ Brien incorporates this in his writing by exposing the great sensitivity and emotional complexity of man. In this novel, man learns through war that emotional burden and lack of emotional expression can be their greatest enemy. Through this book, man learns what properly should define masculinity. Sometimes a little love and emotion can prove what really molds a powerful man. O’ Brien’s writing reveals the uncertainty of why there is war, and why people die for war. Through the journey of the senses, and the power of human memory, these soldiers learn how to carry the burdens of war.
These soldiers suffered immensely through their emotions. Many men experienced remorse and blame over the death of a fellow comrade like Kiowa. Tim suffers immensely because Kiowa is lost in the sewage field. The haunting memory of Kiowa’s loss produces extensive brutality on the soldiers. These soldiers carried the memories of the men that they killed like the young mathematician with the star-shaped eye wound. Many times killing them just because they are required to out of proving themselves courageous. “ They carried all the emotional damage of men who might die, grief, terror, love, and longing. Those intangibles had their own mass… they carried the common secret of cowardice”(O’Brien, 21). These men suffer because they do feel and they do possess the ability to mourn and suffer. These men have to fight because “society” defines them to do so. Men’s emotional ability to suffer is the same to a woman’s, and they only reason they must fight is because their role in society is to do so. “ Men killed and died and died because they were embarrassed not to”(O’Brien, 21). These men must fight in a war to prove that they are truly a man and are strong enough to be considered “a man”. Later, they find out that courage doesn’t truly define a man, writing and expression fights harder than killing and fighting.
Men fight not because they are brave, strong, or fearless, but because they are programmed by society to do so. They fight so they don’t get the term “woosy” or unmanly. These soldiers are like programmed robots on a battlefield. These soldiers are programmed to shoot, to hurt, and to die. These men are afraid; they fear with all their hearts, but they fight to so they can live up to the term “masculinity.”
These men truly portray emotion and fear about death and dying. They are afraid what death is like, and start seeing themselves as simply pieces of meat. “ I start seeing my own body as chunks of myself. My own heart, my own kidneys… I can see the goddamn bugs chewing tunnels through me” (O’Brien 225). These men do not understand why they are out on the battlefield, but they see themselves as dead hunks of meat rather than living soldiers.
These soldiers also carry the heavy question of why there is war. “ You could blame war. You could blame the idiots who made war. You could blame God” (O’Brien, 177). The soldiers do not understand who created war and why they must fight in it. Human beings are gifted with the ability to use compromise and words rather than war. If we are so superior over the animal kingdom, why do we solve conflicts through the same animalistic attack system that animals use? Animals defend by blood and force, and so do “powerful human beings.” If we are so strong intellectually, why do we use war and not compromise? It is a question that not many know the steadfast answer to. War is a wasteland; war has very little purpose to these men out there. “ Kiowa got lost in the rain. He was folded with the war; he was part of the waste” (O’Brien, 153). These men who lost their lives died for war, a meaningless waste that swallows up the gift of precious lives. “ This whole war, you know what it is? Just one big banquet. Meat man: You and me. Meat for the bugs” (O’Brien, 223). The soldiers begin to see that war has no purpose but only cruel ways of proving an opinion, and sacrificing lives for the ability to prove a point of right or wrong, winning or losing.
This burden of weight concerning “why is there war” makes many of the soldiers to escape more weight carried through the senses. It is amazing how powerful memory connects to the senses. “ Various sounds, various smells… tasting the field in his mouth…(O’Brien, 171). Scent and sounds carries powerful holding to memory. These men greatly recall the scent of the “excrement field,” the scent of blood, and the sound of injured soldiers, and torrential rain. These burdens from the senses lodge themselves into the memory of man. These “senses” create memory of war in man, another heavy burden they remember. It is peculiar how small unimportant objects stay heavily remembered in the soldier’s mind. “ Those boots were one of those details you can’t forget, like a pebble, or blade of grass. You just stare and think, dear Christ, there’s the last thing on earth I’ll ever see (O’Brien,199).
Those small items were the last things seen by Tim when he was injured by bullet shot. Tim recalls those same boots when he sees them again at the end of the novel. “ I looked down at those boots: I remembered them from when I got shot”(O’Brien, 198). The power of memory and the recalling of small insignificant items prove to be of great weight and importance to the human mind. These memories tie in with great emotional impact. Like the man Tim shot with the star- shaped eye, he remembers that star shaped eye more than anything else. A small detail, but that defines the entire memory. It is the power of the human brain that stores certain visual or sensual details. The senses continue to define the weight of the war for Tim. Tom numerous times remembers in immense detail the man he killed. These men also start to feel how delicate they are as man, and that they aren’t strong and invincible, but rather feeble and delicate to something as small as a bullet. “ I felt it happen like a genie swirling out of a bottle. I was half in and half out. There were indications of a spirit world” (O’Brien, 214). This torturous weight-bearing memory is of Tim balancing on the brink of life and death. His spirit was trying to escape the horrors of war, but there was something horridly scary about the life after death. All of these memories, fears of death, and definition of masculinity through society help fully represent the weights of the soldiers that they carried.
So fully defined are the weights of the soldiers, but what helps these soldiers carry all of these burdens? These burdens are alleviated through the art of story telling. These stories allow these men to escape war, and to dream about their family and life at home. For Tim, he writes for his beloved Linda to keep her alive when she passed on from a brain tumor. There is a whole parallel that connects Linda to the soldiers lost in the war. The way Linda is portrayed in death mirrors the way the soldiers appeared in death.
“ Her arms and face were bloated. The skin at her cheeks was stretched out tight…”(O’Brien, 242). This parallels to the soldiers in death: “ They were all bloated…”(O’Brien, 243). This connection between the death of both Linda and his comrades gave him reason to write these war stories. He could bring Linda back through his writing. He could make her kiss him, hold him, and love him. Linda was alive when he wrote. The same goes for his comrades. They come back alive again when Tim writes stories when they were alive. He begins writing about Linda when he was nine. “ At nine I practiced the magic of stories” (O’Brien, 244). He realizes through writing, “ It is Tim trying to save Timmy’s life with a story” (O’Brien, 246). He keeps his childhood and his love alive through his writing.
The soldiers all carried immense amounts of burdens on their backs. Many of these men remained unsure of why they were fighting, dying, and suffering for war. These soldiers kept themselves alive through exposing their emotions openly through their war stories and writing. These men overrode the false tag of masculinity to relate to each other and help survive and stay strong as a unit. Without this realization, there would be the death of the soul, death of the mind, and death of humanity. And that alone, would be of weight too heavy for these men to carry.
Note: There are few books written that allows the reader to write a paper just because of the strong impact it leaves behind after its completion. This was not an assignment, but I felt it necessary to write a reflection of what these men carried.
Men are enforced to adhere to society’s definition of what is “being a man,” also defined as masculinity. Men are an enigma encrypted in a language different from the female mind; men still have a heart, a soul, and feelings with the same emotional abilities a woman possesses. The role of man has been defined by society, and this is what governs the role of man: no tears, no fear, and no display of emotion. Nothing but a solid concrete block defines the heart of an invincible man. O’ Brien’s The Things They Carried proves this well-known philosophy incorrect regarding man. O’ Brien incorporates this in his writing by exposing the great sensitivity and emotional complexity of man. In this novel, man learns through war that emotional burden and lack of emotional expression can be their greatest enemy. Through this book, man learns what properly should define masculinity. Sometimes a little love and emotion can prove what really molds a powerful man. O’ Brien’s writing reveals the uncertainty of why there is war, and why people die for war. Through the journey of the senses, and the power of human memory, these soldiers learn how to carry the burdens of war.
These soldiers suffered immensely through their emotions. Many men experienced remorse and blame over the death of a fellow comrade like Kiowa. Tim suffers immensely because Kiowa is lost in the sewage field. The haunting memory of Kiowa’s loss produces extensive brutality on the soldiers. These soldiers carried the memories of the men that they killed like the young mathematician with the star-shaped eye wound. Many times killing them just because they are required to out of proving themselves courageous. “ They carried all the emotional damage of men who might die, grief, terror, love, and longing. Those intangibles had their own mass… they carried the common secret of cowardice”(O’Brien, 21). These men suffer because they do feel and they do possess the ability to mourn and suffer. These men have to fight because “society” defines them to do so. Men’s emotional ability to suffer is the same to a woman’s, and they only reason they must fight is because their role in society is to do so. “ Men killed and died and died because they were embarrassed not to”(O’Brien, 21). These men must fight in a war to prove that they are truly a man and are strong enough to be considered “a man”. Later, they find out that courage doesn’t truly define a man, writing and expression fights harder than killing and fighting.
Men fight not because they are brave, strong, or fearless, but because they are programmed by society to do so. They fight so they don’t get the term “woosy” or unmanly. These soldiers are like programmed robots on a battlefield. These soldiers are programmed to shoot, to hurt, and to die. These men are afraid; they fear with all their hearts, but they fight to so they can live up to the term “masculinity.”
These men truly portray emotion and fear about death and dying. They are afraid what death is like, and start seeing themselves as simply pieces of meat. “ I start seeing my own body as chunks of myself. My own heart, my own kidneys… I can see the goddamn bugs chewing tunnels through me” (O’Brien 225). These men do not understand why they are out on the battlefield, but they see themselves as dead hunks of meat rather than living soldiers.
These soldiers also carry the heavy question of why there is war. “ You could blame war. You could blame the idiots who made war. You could blame God” (O’Brien, 177). The soldiers do not understand who created war and why they must fight in it. Human beings are gifted with the ability to use compromise and words rather than war. If we are so superior over the animal kingdom, why do we solve conflicts through the same animalistic attack system that animals use? Animals defend by blood and force, and so do “powerful human beings.” If we are so strong intellectually, why do we use war and not compromise? It is a question that not many know the steadfast answer to. War is a wasteland; war has very little purpose to these men out there. “ Kiowa got lost in the rain. He was folded with the war; he was part of the waste” (O’Brien, 153). These men who lost their lives died for war, a meaningless waste that swallows up the gift of precious lives. “ This whole war, you know what it is? Just one big banquet. Meat man: You and me. Meat for the bugs” (O’Brien, 223). The soldiers begin to see that war has no purpose but only cruel ways of proving an opinion, and sacrificing lives for the ability to prove a point of right or wrong, winning or losing.
This burden of weight concerning “why is there war” makes many of the soldiers to escape more weight carried through the senses. It is amazing how powerful memory connects to the senses. “ Various sounds, various smells… tasting the field in his mouth…(O’Brien, 171). Scent and sounds carries powerful holding to memory. These men greatly recall the scent of the “excrement field,” the scent of blood, and the sound of injured soldiers, and torrential rain. These burdens from the senses lodge themselves into the memory of man. These “senses” create memory of war in man, another heavy burden they remember. It is peculiar how small unimportant objects stay heavily remembered in the soldier’s mind. “ Those boots were one of those details you can’t forget, like a pebble, or blade of grass. You just stare and think, dear Christ, there’s the last thing on earth I’ll ever see (O’Brien,199).
Those small items were the last things seen by Tim when he was injured by bullet shot. Tim recalls those same boots when he sees them again at the end of the novel. “ I looked down at those boots: I remembered them from when I got shot”(O’Brien, 198). The power of memory and the recalling of small insignificant items prove to be of great weight and importance to the human mind. These memories tie in with great emotional impact. Like the man Tim shot with the star- shaped eye, he remembers that star shaped eye more than anything else. A small detail, but that defines the entire memory. It is the power of the human brain that stores certain visual or sensual details. The senses continue to define the weight of the war for Tim. Tom numerous times remembers in immense detail the man he killed. These men also start to feel how delicate they are as man, and that they aren’t strong and invincible, but rather feeble and delicate to something as small as a bullet. “ I felt it happen like a genie swirling out of a bottle. I was half in and half out. There were indications of a spirit world” (O’Brien, 214). This torturous weight-bearing memory is of Tim balancing on the brink of life and death. His spirit was trying to escape the horrors of war, but there was something horridly scary about the life after death. All of these memories, fears of death, and definition of masculinity through society help fully represent the weights of the soldiers that they carried.
So fully defined are the weights of the soldiers, but what helps these soldiers carry all of these burdens? These burdens are alleviated through the art of story telling. These stories allow these men to escape war, and to dream about their family and life at home. For Tim, he writes for his beloved Linda to keep her alive when she passed on from a brain tumor. There is a whole parallel that connects Linda to the soldiers lost in the war. The way Linda is portrayed in death mirrors the way the soldiers appeared in death.
“ Her arms and face were bloated. The skin at her cheeks was stretched out tight…”(O’Brien, 242). This parallels to the soldiers in death: “ They were all bloated…”(O’Brien, 243). This connection between the death of both Linda and his comrades gave him reason to write these war stories. He could bring Linda back through his writing. He could make her kiss him, hold him, and love him. Linda was alive when he wrote. The same goes for his comrades. They come back alive again when Tim writes stories when they were alive. He begins writing about Linda when he was nine. “ At nine I practiced the magic of stories” (O’Brien, 244). He realizes through writing, “ It is Tim trying to save Timmy’s life with a story” (O’Brien, 246). He keeps his childhood and his love alive through his writing.
The soldiers all carried immense amounts of burdens on their backs. Many of these men remained unsure of why they were fighting, dying, and suffering for war. These soldiers kept themselves alive through exposing their emotions openly through their war stories and writing. These men overrode the false tag of masculinity to relate to each other and help survive and stay strong as a unit. Without this realization, there would be the death of the soul, death of the mind, and death of humanity. And that alone, would be of weight too heavy for these men to carry.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
The Things We Carry
O precious love
In my heart you tarry
Your mien your soul
are the things that I carry
Sentimental are the bonds we've sewn
Cultivated from the seeds of our love
Nurtured by affection
The saplings we've sown
Schmaltzly spoken the words we've said
In our hearts
We've already wed
O perfect love your it is your heart that I carry
Two hearts become one
In our eyes married
I will carry a promise to soon embrace my hand
An eternal gift
The binding of man
We succumb to our love
In the form of a band
I carry him
When he starts to cry
I give him my comfort
I stay by his side
I hold him tight
His pain now mine
And we weather together
Till the pain subsides
The pain we carry
Through sorrow and strife
Our heart beats as one
A single life
To get lost in his eyes
Eternally hand in hand
The things that we carry
Shared by two hearts married
In language only our hearts could understand
In my heart you tarry
Your mien your soul
are the things that I carry
Sentimental are the bonds we've sewn
Cultivated from the seeds of our love
Nurtured by affection
The saplings we've sown
Schmaltzly spoken the words we've said
In our hearts
We've already wed
O perfect love your it is your heart that I carry
Two hearts become one
In our eyes married
I will carry a promise to soon embrace my hand
An eternal gift
The binding of man
We succumb to our love
In the form of a band
I carry him
When he starts to cry
I give him my comfort
I stay by his side
I hold him tight
His pain now mine
And we weather together
Till the pain subsides
The pain we carry
Through sorrow and strife
Our heart beats as one
A single life
To get lost in his eyes
Eternally hand in hand
The things that we carry
Shared by two hearts married
In language only our hearts could understand
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Why I Write By Frank McCourt
I have always indulged myself in literature, and enjoy the power that pen on paper has.That is why I became an English teacher at Stuyvesant High School in New York; the job that makes me truly happy. I am writing because I feel a need that I have to. I believe it is my job to educate the youth of our future of the past that once was. I also believe I need to write it so that I don't forget my own strife in my own past. The mind slowly fades throughout time, and I don't want my life story with many messages to give, to die along with my mind.
It has been stated that I remember everything to extreme clarity. " His prose is so clear a reader can smell the raindrops." (O'Haire, Daily News). These memories may appear strong now, but they were stronger when the memories were younger in my past. They were as clear as a nickel back then,and a little time can hinder one's memories. The reason I write is so that people may gain strength through my pain and strife. I want people to truly indulge in life, and really take a moment to just pause their busy lives and be thankful for what they have. I want people to remember the suffering that my family and I had to endear, but also the strength and courage it also took to survive it. My story is about faith, courage, love, and spirit, and how others can truly help you pull through. There are so many messages that can be pulled from my life, and I hope that they affect people in the similar ways that they have affected me. My words of wisdom are there to encourage people to find their way out of the darkness, becasue I did. If I could make it out and have a bright future ahead of me, than I know this can be the same for others.
I also write for the sake of my family. I believe that throught their pain and sufferings, that they deserve to be remembered. My poor Mother went through so much pain and suffering, and I believe it is my duty to let her caring soul never be forgotten. In fact, I could not write this memoir until my mother passed away because it was just too painful for me to write about this. My mother and I did have some rocky times. I slapped her and made her cry when I drank my first pint, and I know that I forever hurt her feelings. I know how much I may have hurt her feelings, and I know that during this time of struggle, she did everything that she possibly could for us. I write for my family because thay should never be forgotten.
I write also to keep the past alive. I want people to know that this did happen, and that is wasn't a made up fictional event. It is very important that I keep the past a reality so that the one's who suffered tremendously and lost their lives are remembered as well. Losing siblings was a horrific and unbearable event, but also with keeping the past alive, I incorporated humor in my writing so that it was easier to bear emotionally. I also had the point of view as a young child, and my perception of events were different than if from an adult's. I sometimes laughed at things that were serious, but that is how people got by during the depression. I also wrote with certain devices such as parallelism and symbolism. I used parallelism in my writing to emphasize the negative affects of drinking on my father. I used this device because it strengthened the response I wanted to draw from my readers.
I also freely incorporated the Irish culture in my writing so that readers would feel the music tastes, dressing styles, and irish diction of the time where I lived. It makes the book feel so much more realistic when i used exact diction from the Irish culture. People did not speak well, they were under educated, and they spoke differently from how Americans spoke. I want my readers to truly experience the mood and feel as if they were right in Ireland! I also wanted my readers to experience the musicality stles of the Irish. I did this by reciting the words from numerous Irish jigs. " Anyone can see why I wanted your kiss,
It had to be and the reason is this
Could it be true, someone like you
Could love me, love me?" (McCourt, 23). I felt that music is a very important cultural element not only to the Irish, but also to set the mood and tone of the memoir. Many of these songs are jolly so people could be strong and live through their hardships. This particular song phrase is alos a from of parallelism that I incorporated in my memoir. Many times I referenced it when talking about the marriage between my mother and my father. Using certain elements like song stanzas and parallelism make my book very deep and moving. It also helps the reader feel like they are in Ireland right now as they read!
I write for many reasons. I love to write, and I enjoy expressing myself deeply. However, I write to keep my family forever remembered and also so that the past is kept alive and never broken. Most importantly, I write so that I can move my readers and bring them confidence and faith in themselves. I want people to know that your environment doesn't predestine your abilities in your future. That is why I write.
It has been stated that I remember everything to extreme clarity. " His prose is so clear a reader can smell the raindrops." (O'Haire, Daily News). These memories may appear strong now, but they were stronger when the memories were younger in my past. They were as clear as a nickel back then,and a little time can hinder one's memories. The reason I write is so that people may gain strength through my pain and strife. I want people to truly indulge in life, and really take a moment to just pause their busy lives and be thankful for what they have. I want people to remember the suffering that my family and I had to endear, but also the strength and courage it also took to survive it. My story is about faith, courage, love, and spirit, and how others can truly help you pull through. There are so many messages that can be pulled from my life, and I hope that they affect people in the similar ways that they have affected me. My words of wisdom are there to encourage people to find their way out of the darkness, becasue I did. If I could make it out and have a bright future ahead of me, than I know this can be the same for others.
I also write for the sake of my family. I believe that throught their pain and sufferings, that they deserve to be remembered. My poor Mother went through so much pain and suffering, and I believe it is my duty to let her caring soul never be forgotten. In fact, I could not write this memoir until my mother passed away because it was just too painful for me to write about this. My mother and I did have some rocky times. I slapped her and made her cry when I drank my first pint, and I know that I forever hurt her feelings. I know how much I may have hurt her feelings, and I know that during this time of struggle, she did everything that she possibly could for us. I write for my family because thay should never be forgotten.
I write also to keep the past alive. I want people to know that this did happen, and that is wasn't a made up fictional event. It is very important that I keep the past a reality so that the one's who suffered tremendously and lost their lives are remembered as well. Losing siblings was a horrific and unbearable event, but also with keeping the past alive, I incorporated humor in my writing so that it was easier to bear emotionally. I also had the point of view as a young child, and my perception of events were different than if from an adult's. I sometimes laughed at things that were serious, but that is how people got by during the depression. I also wrote with certain devices such as parallelism and symbolism. I used parallelism in my writing to emphasize the negative affects of drinking on my father. I used this device because it strengthened the response I wanted to draw from my readers.
I also freely incorporated the Irish culture in my writing so that readers would feel the music tastes, dressing styles, and irish diction of the time where I lived. It makes the book feel so much more realistic when i used exact diction from the Irish culture. People did not speak well, they were under educated, and they spoke differently from how Americans spoke. I want my readers to truly experience the mood and feel as if they were right in Ireland! I also wanted my readers to experience the musicality stles of the Irish. I did this by reciting the words from numerous Irish jigs. " Anyone can see why I wanted your kiss,
It had to be and the reason is this
Could it be true, someone like you
Could love me, love me?" (McCourt, 23). I felt that music is a very important cultural element not only to the Irish, but also to set the mood and tone of the memoir. Many of these songs are jolly so people could be strong and live through their hardships. This particular song phrase is alos a from of parallelism that I incorporated in my memoir. Many times I referenced it when talking about the marriage between my mother and my father. Using certain elements like song stanzas and parallelism make my book very deep and moving. It also helps the reader feel like they are in Ireland right now as they read!
I write for many reasons. I love to write, and I enjoy expressing myself deeply. However, I write to keep my family forever remembered and also so that the past is kept alive and never broken. Most importantly, I write so that I can move my readers and bring them confidence and faith in themselves. I want people to know that your environment doesn't predestine your abilities in your future. That is why I write.
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