Ex Voto

I'm not sure what I was expecting at the Ex Voto reading, but the Joynes Reading Room had been transformed. It's usually very bright and airy, probably due to the windows, but when it's dark outside it feels very cloistered. Combining that feeling with the relatively dim lighting (unless my memory is failing me), stepping into the room before the reading began felt like stepping into a quiet hole in time where the outside world didn't exist. It was extremely surreal, although this aura was broken every time somebody entered from outside or the Joynes assistants walked to the seminar room with refreshments.

Again, I'm not sure what I was expecting, but Adélia Prado was very distinguished. In comparison, Ellen Watson seemed vibrant and energetic, eager to help her friend. The dynamic between them seemed similar to a pair of friends or siblings in which one is clearly acknowledged to be more proficient or established in a field; Watson's continued descriptions of how she felt while translating Prado's work and showing Prado her own works translated into Portuguese only reinforced that idea. Seeing them interact and laugh (and seeing the crowd of Portuguese-speakers in the front few rows react with them) was heartening in that slightly confused sense where you don't exactly know why you're laughing, but you are.

Hearing her introduction and some of her back-story made all of her experiences more clear; in particular, I remember Watson describing Prado's poem about the ocean and how Prado struggled to describe it to her family, full of people who have never seen it before. With her family being of that time and location and yet now with Prado herself being a published poet in multiple languages...experiencing that firsthand truly helped me appreciate how much of an opportunity it was to see her. Listening to life experiences is one of my favorite experiences, and hearing about them through her poetry was stunning.

Her poetry itself was beautiful, but listening to her deliver it in the original Portuguese was the best part of the evening. Much like how the world becomes more beautiful and easier to bear when I take my glasses off and let everything blur together, letting the foreign syllables wash over me was soothing. Most of what I hear everyday around campus, in classes, even in the foreign music I listen to is understandable to me, at least in bits and pieces. Hearing a language that I finally didn't know at all was surprisingly refreshing, although I couldn't help but try to pick out cognates here and there (with my only success being the word 'sex'!). Relying on just the poet's delivery to feel the emotion involved was a new experience (almost like being blindfolded and having your other senses heighten to compensate), but it was certainly worth it. I wasn't able to get a copy of her works from Joynes, but it's on my list of works to read.

The Woman Warrior 3/3

It's interesting how the idea of ideals continually comes into play, especially with things so fundamental to a culture like language. Saying that Chinese is "ugly" and "not beautiful like Japanese sayonara words" almost doesn't make sense, until the description "with the consonants and vowels as regular as Italian" (Kingston 171). I'm not saying that the sentiment isn't unhappy or frustrating, but at least the idea makes sense here, why Americans seem to be so uncomfortable with Chinese. As a language, it sounds harsher and less 'familiar' than Japanese does, if only because of the tones and multiple different sounds. In terms of speaking, Japanese is much easier to pick up than Chinese for the same reason; grammatically, it has clear syllables and distinct blocks. It's simply easier to break apart than Chinese, which probably contributes to why it sounds more familiar.

Development of writing (Chinese -> Japanese).

The fact that to her mother's eyes, buying candy would be "sneaky and bad" is another illustration of how different cultures can be. The clash of cultures is crushing the Chinese-American girls to the point that they can't speak up in class, that they resort to being "cute and small" so "no one hurts" them (170). It isn't even just the clash of cultures that's crushing them; the vestiges of their Chinese past still lie around them, and still end up tormenting them. The idea that their own relatives call them "maggots" so frequently that they commiserate over it at the dining table, the idea that it's become so common-place...that put together with the way 'slave' means the female 'I' and how 'dustpan-and-broom' is a synonym for 'wife' shows how ingrained into the culture the idea that girls were inferior is (204).

Wife?

The Woman Warrior 1/3

Was I the only one who found this book harder to get through than expected? I'm not sure whether it's because we just finished Fun Home, but this book took much more focus to understand and get through. I think I like it though. It's another very interesting snapshot of somebody else's life.

Do you remember the part where she's describing her mother's diploma photograph? "Chinese do not smile for photographs" (Kingston 58). The same is (was?) true for Indians. In most of the photos from my parents' generation, nobody smiles in the photos -- it's almost as if everyone's taking a group mug shot or something. The mood is very solemn, a trait which certainly isn't helped by the sepia or black-and-white photo itself. That same change towards cameras and photos that the Chinese-Americans experienced (that caused her mother to ask "What are you laughing at?") is seen in the emigrants that I know.

Not sure why this is sideways, but this is me at age...1.5? Around then. I liked to think I was 'helping' with the dishes.

Also sideways, but this illustrates the difference between my childhood photos and those of my parents (none of which, sadly, I have a copy of with me now). I think what I'm laughing at in this photo is one of my parents tickling me. In contrast, the photos of my father at this age are just of him and his siblings sitting (probably as posed by the photographer) and looking blankly at the camera.

But back to Kingston's story. I know it's all we've been talking about for a while (immigrant stories, adapting to a new life, puzzling out your own culture), but there must be a reason we keep reading. A part of me realizes that although we all have very different experiences, some of the things we go through are really very similar. The multiple standards that women had to live up to in those days hasn't really changed; it has simply adapted to the modern times. Now, instead of necessarily becoming "a woman warrior" like "Fa Mu Lan", women can build careers for themselves (20). They try to support themselves with their degrees and their jobs, often becoming very successful (however you define success for yourself). At the same time, however, they must decide on the issue of having a family and how becoming a wife and mother balances out with their own lives and aspirations, if it can.

I once saw a conversation online about children.

                  Girl 1: You know, I really want children in the future.
                  Girl 1: I just don't want to...you know...actually get pregnant and be pregnant for nine                                  months.
                  Girl 1: Not to mention actually giving birth.
                  Girl 1: But...I still want them to be mine, you know? It's really selfish, but that's why I                                  don't really want to adopt.
                  Girl 2: So basically, you want to be a father.

That's probably taking it too far away from The Woman Warrior itself, back into family dynamics and gender roles and parenting, but that's what I feel was touched upon in this section itself where it discussed multiple times how unwanted female babies were.

The stories about female infanticide were also unfortunately familiar. This summer in India, I found a book about female infanticide in a bookstore. One of my uncles bought it for me; I read it and was somewhat horrified and very saddened. How Kingston describes how her mother may have "prepare[d] a box of clean ashes beside the birth bed in case of a girl" (86)...it's extremely gruesome for me to say, but that's one of the more humane ways I've heard about.

An innocuous (?) pile of ashes...

Some of the mothers in rural India had worse ways. The author of the book was a woman who founded an organization dedicated to stopping the female infanticide (and now, female foeticide). During her time as an activist and while compiling the materials for this book, she spoke with many mothers who had committed or were suspected of committing female infanticide. Their methods varied from feeding the baby poisoned milk or herbs that would somehow slit her throat as she swallowed (I'm still not quite sure of the mechanics of that, nor do I really want to understand in more detail). In one instance, the baby's grandmother exclaimed in disgust that it was 'another girl-child', kicked the child, and then left her out in the cold to die supposedly from "exposure and pneumonia", one of the most-used cover-ups of the time. Over time in India, the problem of female infanticide has evolved into the problem of female foeticide (to the point where if you Google 'foeticide', the first result is a Wikipedia article on 'Female foeticide in India'). Some progress has been made...but who knows how long it'll take to fix India's gender standards? Considering the number of (highly-publicized) rapes this year and the nearly 2-to-1 male-to-female ratio in some parts of the country, it'll take a lot more time and effort.

Aloo paratha (potato-filled...tortillas? 'Flatbread'? I'm not sure how this would be translated.)

To end on a marginally more cheerful mood, Kingston and I (and many more of us, I'm sure) shared another bit of experience with food. I can't remember how many times I was warned that I would continue to have "leftovers until [I] ate it all" (92). I never avoided eating them so much that "brown masses" (of mold, I'm assuming) grew on them, but the principle would probably still have applied (92).

P2: Perspective as Passion

Start.

For once, it's cold outside. You can see clouds of white billowing out when you huff out a breath before snuggling down into your scarf, shrugging your shoulders impatiently to hike the straps of your backpack up. If you finish your work quickly enough, you might be able to catch a movie at the union tonight, so just for today you have motivation and focus in spades. Your gaze slides downwards to a business card someone's left behind on the ground, noting the splash of color before you look back up and enter the library.

Blink.

Rotate.

Your legs are cold, your hands are cold, and your face is freezing - you scowl and curse the fact that you rolled out of bed and out the door before checking the weather. You have too many back-to-back classes today to have time to go home and trade your shorts for a pair of jeans, and it's not going to get any warmer today -- you checked the weather ten minutes ago, only three hours too late -- as you spend the rest of you time in the library working on a video project for your Chinese class. As you head up the steps, the toe of your right sneaker slides on a wet piece of paper and crumples it up, pushing you a little off balance. You count that as another thing that's ruining your day and shake your head as you open the doors.

Blink.

Rotate.

"It's cold," your roommate warned you, coming back from an 8AM class and shivering exaggeratedly. "Take a thick jacket, you'll need it." You sigh at the recollection, rolling your eyes and adjusting the coat draped over your arm. It's not cold at all. It's just seasonably brisk, a perfect counterpoint to the colorful leaves and sparse branches outside, the kind of cold that revitalizes. You take in a deep breath and let it shock your respiratory system before breathing out, relaxing your shoulders when your phone suddenly buzzes in your pocket. Pulling it out and dropping a receipt to the ground in the same motion, you decelerate and stop, reading the message. It's your friend telling you he's on the fifth floor, and you reply quickly with an okay, on my way before shoving the device back in your pocket. You stoop over to pick up your receipt and throw it away before noticing another piece of paper nearby -- it looks like it used to be part of a brochure or something, but it's unrecognizable now, all wet and torn up. Does it say 'Black Swan Yoga,' maybe? Going inside, you deposit them both in the bin labeled 'PAPER' and walk past the front desk in the direction of the elevators.

Blink.

Stop.

ㅎㅎㅎ

Which is it really?

As you can see in this picture and the scenarios shown above, perspectives can be wildly different even when they're presented with the same situation. The three different points of view shown in the beginning all have the same basic outline: you're on your way to the library on one of the first legitimately cold days of the school year, and you notice a flyer on the ground. However, the reactions and interactions are vary depending on the person's personal viewpoint and frame of mind. You might not care about the piece of paper on the ground, or you might let it become part of the snowball of bad things happening to you. You might even try deciphering its message while disposing of it. It's like that piece of advice everybody gets and is exasperated by at some point; you don't know what it's like for them. Walk a mile in their shoes. You don't know their story.

"...one Thursday, nearly two thousand years after one man had been nailed to a tree for saying how great it would be to be nice to people for a change, a girl..suddenly realized what it was that had been going wrong all this time, and she finally knew how the world could be made a good and happy place."

The above quotation is from The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams.[1] While these particular sentences (and the entire book) are comical, the sentiment remains true: if we were just a little nicer to each other, the world would be a happier place. There's no panacea for how we are; human nature doesn't work that way, and we probably wouldn't be able to function if everybody was always nice to each other. (Life would be very boring like that, at any rate.) At the very least though, we could attempt to look at the world through each other's eyes in a less tangible way than trading glasses for a minute. "There is something so much more dynamic and noble if" "you make peace, not war," [2] and all that's needed is the willingness to step away from yourself for a minute. Become "a genuine, first-class misfit," [3] or "a sixteen-year-old graduate of San Jacinto High School." [4] Drop everything that clouds the lens you look at the world through, and let somebody else's situation become yours.

They're both right.

ㅎㅎㅎ

There are "four modes of communication: reading, writing, speaking, and listening." [5] You're utilizing the first form right now, and I'm using the second. The one we use the most in our lives is the fourth; listening, which itself has sub-types. All but one of the forms of listening on the continuum are from one's own perspective, but this last one is the most important: "only the highest [type], empathetic listening, is done within the frame of reference of the other person." [6] Getting into the other person's perspective is understandably the hardest kind of listening for us to perform effectively because most of us haven't been taught how to strip our own prejudices away from how we look at the world. Being able to look at our respective worlds through each other's perspectives is one of the goals that I feel we should strive towards, because society would be a much better place if we could all find a little compassion for one another.

ㅎㅎㅎ

Who are you?

What kind of person do you think you are?

What unique perspective do you have?

The last question is the most relevant to how we perceive everything and can attempt to look through the eyes of other people, because only by doing so can we truly understand what it's like for another person. Can you really understand what the other person's going through every time you say I get that or I feel you? Probably not, because you're still equating that experience to one of yours. However, that "lack of performance is not the same as a lack of effort," [7] and that lack of effort is all that needs to be eradicated.

I've been trying on different perspectives for a while, whether it was wondering what my life would be like if I had been born a boy or thinking about how different the story of the Chamber of Secrets would have been if it was told from the perspective of a befuddled Hufflepuff [8]. While this is certainly an entertaining way to daydream and pass the time, there are practical applications to this way of thinking. The next time you make a comment, think about who it's affecting. Are you making a blanket statement about a type of people? Could your words potentially be hurtful to others? The next step is to think whether you still want to say them -- and chances are, the answer could turn out to be a 'no.' I'm not trying to lecture or preach; I'll get off the soapbox now. It would just be a much nicer place in the world where everybody would at least make an attempt to think of others. It would allow for us all to experience more than just ourselves, and that in itself would be an amazing thing.

It basically all boils down to this: think (about others) before you speak. Don't just think about them -- think like them. Try to become them for a short moment in time. At the least, it'll be an interesting experience in character, and at the most, you may be harnessing your ability to show and feel actual compassion. All it takes is a little bit of broadening your perspective to be able to see a different big picture. Can you see the old man and the kissing couple? Can you at least try to? Believe me, they're both there.

You can probably see the old man without any help, but I know it took me longer to find the kissing couple. I've outlined them below, the man surrounded by blue and the woman by pink.

ㅎㅎㅎ

Word count (without quotations): 1456
Word count (with quotations): 1578

Image credits:
Three or four?: http://www.asbestian.de/blog/uploads/reality.jpg
Boat and land: http://d24w6bsrhbeh9d.cloudfront.net/photo/aG9R9pK_700b_v1.jpg
Old man/kissing couple: http://brisray.com/optill/othis.htm

Sources:
[1] Adams, Douglas. The hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy. New York: Pocket Books, 19811979.
[2] Course anthology, page 391.
[3] Course anthology, page 363.
[4] Course anthology, page 360.
[5] Course anthology, page 86.
[6] Course anthology, page 87.

[7] Course anthology, page 398.
[8] Rowling, J. K.. Harry Potter and the chamber of secrets. Large print ed. London: Bloomsbury Children's, 2002.

Fun Home 2/2

It's a little strange how much of this autobiography I can relate to. My overall feeling toward this work is an unflinching admiration for Bechdel's being able to lay all of the parts of her life out so honestly, baring all of her tender spots and insecurities for the world to see. I'm thankful that she did so.

But as I was saying, it's a little strange to me how much I can identify with parts of this work. The OCD is one part that I wasn't really expecting to see here (for whatever reason, I'm not really sure why; possibly the stigma and misunderstandings associated with it and similar disorders? The lack of their appearance or serious portrayal in popular media?). The painstaking effort to "show neither one preference," whatever the 'ones' might be, reminds me of myself when I was younger; in my case, my 'ones' were my left and right hands. Did it make logical sense? It did at the time (Bechdel 137).

Another bit that demanded attention was the uncertainty in oneself, especially how Bechdel used "those three dots [ellipses] to indicate not so much omission as hesitation" (162). I still see that hesitation in myself and have for years; lately I've taken to prefacing everything that I say that could be taken as even slightly controversial in any way, adding disclaimers everywhere possible, simply because it's easier to live that way. It may get frustrating (as I've been told) and it may make me sound like I don't commit to things (which isn't the case), but I'd rather live in such a way that those who I'm speaking to are aware of the fact that I am not trying to actively hurt them (rather, that I am consciously attempting the opposite).

Best and Worst 11/7

By the time I get to class tomorrow morning, that will be my best: it'll be the end of a what has been a very bad not-so-great week. I'll be done with my logic midterm tomorrow morning at 11AM and I'll probably be elated and excited and a little bit more at peace than I am currently.

The worst of my week (which was basically the whole week) pretty much melds into one big unhappy, frazzled snowball. I experienced some complications with my programming assignment (there it goes again...) which led to me not being able to attend any of the extra credit activities this weekend. (I did however manage to make it to the university's Diwali celebration, complete with mehendi, sparklers, and fireworks.) Then the mild cold I'd picked up got worse (which is why I missed classes on Tuesday), which made me feel stuffy and unproductive. That all led to tonight; I have a discrete math midterm tomorrow morning that I'm studying for now. I get the feeling that it'll be a very long night.

Fun Home 1/2

I'm not sure what I expected from this, although the subtitle certainly should have given me a hint. I was still very shocked to realize that the fun in Fun Home came from the word funeral though.

The idea that "the bar is lower for fathers than for mothers" is something that seems to be very true (Bechdel 22). It fits in with the stereotypical gender roles and men being expected to be less emotional and involved, which could also be seen in the The Bluest Eye and the student essays. It was often the fathers that were more detached and less involved in the lives and upbringing of their children. It leads to a lack of any attachment, which is what Bechdel states in the last line of this section; that the idea that she/her coming out was the cause of her father's suicide was "that last, tenuous bond" they had (86). It seems like the mothers have much more connection and investment in the lives of their children; I'm reminded of the mother who "pranced" around her son's room upon realizing that he was gay.

One of the pages of the anthology (I don't have my anthology with me here, so I can't remember the title or page number) that really struck me when I read it first was the page about being heterosexual and how if you weren't, the norm would be that you wouldn't really be able to relate to a lot of public media (songs, books, and so on). This book is a refreshing exception.

Also, I just really liked this line: "In a way Gatsby's pristine books and my father's worn ones signify the same thing -- the preference of a fiction to reality."

The Bluest Eye 3/3

The family dynamics here are twisted in a way that the student essays, especially the Asian-American ones that focused on sexuality, weren't. In those households where homosexuality was considered a perversion and sin, I don't feel that incest and rape would be as much of a concern (although I certainly don't know for sure). The way that the justification of the sexual abuse of those little girls described their reactions as being "the light white laughter of little girls," how it uses white as if that adjective forgives or at least ameliorates the consequences of the context stood out and surprised me (Morrison 181). The way that the reactions to Pecola's pregnancy centered on how the baby would "be the ugliest thing walking" was also shocking and saddening (189). As opposed to focusing on the fact that Cholly impregnated his daughter, they focus on how they want the baby dead, and they eventually get their wish.

Discussion

Firstly, there's a little bit of follow-up from Tuesday's discussion that I'd like to touch upon relating to the concepts of beauty.

After that, I have a personal few questions that I want to ask; you won't have to share your answers, but I hope you'll keep what you've written down and refer back to it on occasion if your answers are honest. A few of the questions are adapted from some advice that one of my high school teachers gave us. The rest are what I came up with and what I've been asking myself.

I have a couple of short video segments that I'd like to show (although one of them may have inappropriate language) that can help relate the issues seen in The Bluest Eye to our own times, because although the time and setting have changed, the same issues plague our society. I'm hoping this will all help launch and push on the discussion.

The Bluest Eye 2/3

One of the things that stood out to me the most in the beginning of this section (and sent a chill up my spine) was the description of how some "particular brown girls" grew up and lived life -- how they learned "how to behave" (Morrison 82, 83). The idea of a kind of person being created by this society, a kind of person that thinks they have "to get rid of the funkiness" of "passion," "nature,"the funkiness of the wide range of human emotions" (83). The idea is a little terrifying and very sad to me, because in my opinion feelings emotions is one of the best things about being alive.

The innocence (however misplaced or misguided) that Claudia maintains even while being confronted with the news of Frieda's sexual assault is at such odds with the rest of the characters. She's "jealous of everything" in the childish way of not wanting to be left out, even saying, "I always miss stuff," when hearing about the commotion afterwards (100). The gravity of the situation doesn't truly hit her, but she still does her best to try to help Frieda; she tries suggesting ways for Frieda to maintain her state of being 'not ruined.' The way that she remains relatively untouched by the fear and horror surrounding her is touching in a way, when everybody (especially Pecola) is worn down by the world they live in. Pauline taught her children the fears of "being clumsy," "being like their father," "not being loved by God," and so on, and that sort of family environment for children growing up is possibly one of the worst that I can think of (and indeed, what Morrison was attempting to convey, going by her foreword) (128).

The Bluest Eye (1/3)

In the foreword of this novel, Morrison describes how she tried to show how "the death of self-esteem can occur quickly, easily in children" (Morrison x). From her perspective, a young black girl would be "the one least likely to withstand such damaging forces" of a relentless, despair-driven society, and so Pecola became the protagonist of this story.

From the beginning of this novel, the societal circumstances of the Breedlove family are part of what brings Pecola down. One description of their house in particular stood out to me: "The furniture has aged without ever having become familiar" (35). The simple way that it describes years of existing in the house but not actually becoming meaningful or important was very piercing. The "joylessness" of living like that "stank, pervading everything" similarly to how the "ugliness" became a part of the Breedloves themselves (36, 39). The way that they embrace their so-called ugliness and incorporate it into their own sense of self and being is striking in how it truly begins to define them all; Pecola becomes "a little black girl" that a man "need not waste the effort of a glance" to look upon, not "desirable or necessary" at all (48). To top it off Pecola doesn't feel outraged or wronged by such treatment; she accepts it even while it upsets her and makes her feel ugly and want to cry. In contrast, the "whores in whores' clothing" seem to be the only characters enjoying themselves and their places in life (57). "Three merry gargoyles" "dissolved in laughter" while discussing their whoredom and didn't care (55). This sort of reversal of self-images between a young girl and a whore and how comfortable and accepting they are in their own shoes is shocking. The "fear of ugliness than enables more readers to identify with this basic situation of racism" that is seen throughout this book is possibly the easiest way that we as readers can relate to the situations described in the book (Bump 607). So far there have been certain phrases in the prose that have struck true with me, and hopefully there will be more yet to come.

Bringing the topic a little closer to home, the anthology speaks a great deal about the racial history of UT. I had no idea that one of the dorms was named after the man "who organized the Ku Klux Klan in Florida after the Civil War," nor that MLK "spent the night in a little apartment on the top floor of the Texas Union" (anthology 584, 587). Such facts are much healthier aspects of UT's racial history than the multitude of pro-Confederate statues out on our lawns. There are many things that we as a campus as well as we as people ourselves can fix in terms of our responses towards racial identity and how we confront racial history. This is one of the ways that we can move forward.

Asian-American Essays (read: on being indian-american and semi-secretly bisexual)

 I thought that I would be a little bit more able to relate to these essays than the previous ones we had read, but it turns out that the subject matter in these essays struck a little further from home purely based on the descriptions of the authors' family lives.

The first essay discussed how hard it was to come to terms with being biracial and finding out where exactly to belong, and while I'm not biracial, I feel the same sort of confusion when I visit India. For a long time when I was younger, I was determined to not give up being Indian, as if embracing the American culture that surrounded me would somehow erase that part of me completely. When people asked where I was from, I would tell them India even though I knew they meant where do you live. Excessive use of italics aside, I was (and am) a stubborn kid, and even now my fingers want to type 'when I visit home' instead of 'when I visit India.' When I do go back, the culture clash is very obvious. Apart from the heritage and language barrier that I talked about in class yesterday, it's evident even in casual conversation. My cousins, all a few years older than me, all talk about the latest movies they've seen and the latest kind of clothes out there (I didn't even know designer saris existed before this summer). As Anthony said, "I don't look the part that's played me." I look like I should fit in with them perfectly, especially when my aunts have dolled me up in a beautiful borrowed sari and hastily-fitted blouse, but I actually have no basis to relate to them with. I haven't found the blend of cultures that will work for me yet, but I'm working on it.

The other essays dealt with exploring and discovering sexuality and ultimately the authors' families' reactions towards their coming out. This is the part that I can't really relate to, not because I'm heterosexual (I'm not), but because I haven't officially come out to my parents and because (as far as I can tell) my parents do not disapprove or abhor homosexuality.

In actuality, I've only officially told seven nine people (my closest friends and people that I can trust) explicitly that I am bisexual, although I'm sure there are a couple more who suspect something. Apart from the people that I've told with my own mouth, the only others that know are you guys, if any of you clicked on the previous blog entry or if you're reading this right now. It's not necessarily a secret of mine, but I guess it's just like the rest of my personality; I don't broadcast my preferences, whether they are related to music or hobbies or sexuality. (If you are reading this right now, then I guess I have to update my count.)

There were a couple of things that stood out in the other essays; one phrase in particular from Johnny Lee's essay was how he "didn't have to alter the pronouns I used when referring to people [he] was attracted to." It may seem like a little thing, but to have the general response surrounding such questions always be using gender-based pronouns. It was always "Are there any guys you like?" to me, and after finally coming to terms with myself I felt so stifled and smothered. I wanted to respond with something like "No, but what if there were some girls?" when I was asked, but I was far too cautious to respond. I'd respond with gender-neutral answers when people asked me what I looked for -- yes, in a guy. My replies were always along the lines of "Oh, they...." or "Yeah, I think I like people who...", although I don't think anyone picked up on it.

The reason that I can't really relate (yet?) to the majority of the second essays is because in both cases, the families involved were vehemently, vocally disapproving of being gay. For my part, my parents are very liberal and open with me (for the most part). We watch The Colbert Report together and we talk about almost everything that happens in my life, and from what I've seen so far I can draw the tentative conclusion that they don't find homosexuality repulsive as some do. I'm sure they've suspected on occasion because I'm very opinionated about certain issues, but I've never told them anything explicitly. (It hasn't stopped my mom from asking whether I was going to bring a guy -- or a girl -- home at any point. For the record, I didn't answer.) Where I am currently, my sexuality isn't really a secret, but since heterosexuality is assumed until proven otherwise, it may well be a shock to anyone who figures out.

Cheers.

Hispanic-American Essays

If I had to sum up Miguel's essay in one phrase, it would be "not being ____ enough." Whether that blank is filled with 'Mexican' or 'gay' or any other quality, that's the main feeling I got from his essay, and it's sad that it's so easy to relate to. The idea that we all have to fit into our labeled, little prescribed boxes to appease society is frustrating and disappointing, but it's ultimately something that we can't escape no matter who we are. People looking at Migeul would think first 'gay Mexican Dartmouth student.' People looking at me would think 'Indian girl in computer science,' mostly because I'm not quite so open as Miguel about my other attributes that would be quickly added as more labels on my person. The matter-of-fact way that Miguel seems to have written this essay just seems to highlight the way that he has accepted his lot in life, and that more than anything is admirable.

Not being "'gay enough' for the gay students," having "people know that I am American" "before I even say a word..." I can relate to these experiences on both counts. I've heard that bisexual people sometimes receive a stigma even from the LGBT community for not being gay enough, for being wishy-washy or indecisive, for not being brave enough to 'come out completely.' When I go to India and go shopping, I'm not allowed to talk in stores -- the fact that I don't speak Hindi or Kannada (neither of which are my mother-tongue) and my accent in general tip store owners off immediately, and subsequently prices get doubled (sometimes even tripled). The fact that I can relate is sad, but it is true.

---

Alessandro's essay was also very interesting in terms of how he 'compartmentalized' the parts of his heritage. "Speaking Spanish at home" even after "[spending] most of the day in the English-speaking world" helped keep him in touch with his heritage, and I miss that in my own life. I personally do not speak my native language, Konkani, but I understand it fluently to the point that there isn't even a delay between hearing it and understanding it -- understanding it is innate to me, but I'm just so out of practice with forming it that I can't speak it.

Going to India this summer, the first time in a few years that I've done so, and meeting up with all of my relatives reminded me very clearly of this gap. In my extended family from my mother's side, there are two of us who have left India; my mother's family (her, my father, and me) and one of my aunt's (her, her husband, and her daughter). My cousin and I are 'those two foreign ones' when we go back to India, American for me and Canadian for her. Unlike me, however, my cousin is still in the habit of speaking Konkani, so the visit went fine for her. I, on the other hand, ended up with somebody next to me all the time in order to respond to my relatives' comments. It was a very sobering experience to feel that isolated within my own people -- my own family, even.

Black Elk Speaks

Black Elk Speaks was a very interesting take on a different perspective from what we usually see. Even from just the introduction explaining what kind of work it is we're able to see how different it is - it is an example of spoken story-telling rather than something explicitly meant to be passed down through writing. Imagining this sort of tradition helps set the tone of this work, especially the idea presented in the very beginning of the scope of the story. The speaker saying that "if it were only the story of my life I think I would not tell it," but he will say it since "it is the story of all life that is holy and good to tell." Going further, the story is described as being of "children of one mother and their father is one Spirit," emphasizing the universal applicability of this story.

The sort of mindset involved with deciding what is worth passing on.

Although the story of the great vision was fascinating, the aftermath was easier to relate to, especially where Black Elk says "I was afraid to tell, because I knew that nobody would believe me, little as I was, for I was only nine years old." I myself have not experienced any similar vision that told me of a higher purpose that I am to serve (why am I really here?), but the feeling of not being taken seriously because of your age is
familiar.

Really?

The conflict that Black Elk felt when wondering if his vision had been real or not (convincing himself that it had been, and then that it hadn't again and again) was also more familiar to me than the experience of the vision itself. I think a great deal and I certainly over-think some decisions (to the point where I get fed up of myself), and when I read the section about Black Elk planning to shoot, I felt that I could understand the conflict. Similarly to Vizenor in Squirrel, Black Elk ended up shooting the frog and then regretting it immensely because of the connection he felt to it, and that conflict in the aftermath was saddening.

Diversity in Alice

OEverybody touts diversity as one of the main take-aways of this university, but it wasn't until I came and saw for myself what all there was that I understood what they meant. In the month and a half that I've been a student at UT, I've met exchange students from England, Korea, and France. I've had a study group with an American Plan II student who went to high school in China. Heading back to my dorm yesterday, I walked by conversations in at least four different languages. There are so many different student organizations that cater to so many different demographics and interests (religious, cultural, social, athletic, political, etc.) that it's hard not to be smacked in the face with diversity.

It's definitely a form of culture clash, where there are simply so many different kinds of people meeting together that's it's a little hard to get used to. It's certainly hard for Alice in the beginning, and she makes a lot of snap judgements and decisions without taking into account that she may be entirely off the mark. This is especially evident when she meets the talking flowers; she brushes them off until they speak up and rebuke her for her attitude. "We can talk when there's anybody worth talking to," they say, and she has to re-evaluate her notions. The goal of diversity anywhere is the same; to make people re-evaluate their opinions, preferably with new experiences and information. If we can all go down the rabbit hole in the same way that Alice did, we'd be looking at the world with much wider eyes,

What's down here?

What is college worth?

I want college to help me in "composing a self, of permanent character change" with that being my "goal of a university education." I've known for a while that there are some aspects of me that I don't necessarily like entirely, and that I have a lot that I can change for the future. It's embarrassing to admit, but I had a sort of mental block about acting those changes out before coming to college; I could identify what I wanted to change, but the atmosphere I was living in was almost smothering in that sense. Enacting a change upon myself that others would notice and see was a somewhat-frightening prospect, I'm ashamed to admit. The me that I presented to the world seemed like I was "mainly the creature of foreign influences and circumstances, and made up of accidents," and that's not who I am or want to be.

Masked.

It's strange, but just after coming to UT and taking in the kind of places where tens of thousands of people live around each other and coexist I actually felt a shift in myself. The sheer freedom that was present on campus and the different sorts of people that I saw were both so refreshing that I couldn't appreciate it more. UT offers so many opportunities to experience new things, both in and out of the classroom, and in the time I've been here I've met so many interesting, interested people. I've had conversations about everything from literature and music, video games to current affairs, with people from Plan II but also with Turing students from my other major and even with students that I've met at club meetings. These are the sorts of memories that I want to take away from my time at UT, and I hope I make many more of them.

A photo I took walking away from Gone To Texas.

P1: Fox

A rustle. The world is warm and muted, but I can make out soft, distant sensations. Suddenly the warmth increases, settles comfortably upon me. I squirm closer, keening soundlessly. I have no sense of sight yet, but somehow I can tell - this is my mother.

I will remain sightless like this for ten days. My “charcoal gray natal fur” [1] will remain with me for about a month, at which point I will slowly develop my “sandy-colored coat that matches the sandy loam of the den” [2]; from very early on, I will be good at camouflaging myself. Around the same time, my teeth will form - “slender, dagger-like” [3] protrusions in my mouth that will be in my toolkit for survival someday soon - we only nurse for five weeks. My fellow kits and I will still remain inside our den for three to four months after, coddled and fed by our parents. This is what my childhood will be, full of nurture and care. I lounge outside the den, hunger grumbling through me, awaiting my father's return. A branch shakes low to the ground - he's back with a meal. I streak over to him as fast as my limbs can take me and, reaching him first, nuzzle up to him and beg. He rewards me with my portion, and I take it far away from my siblings. I tear in.

At five months, I will lose my tan coloring and begin to take on my rich “pumpkin-colored coat,” accentuated by my “black velvety ears” and the “magnificent brush of a tail” [4] with the shockingly white tip that has been a mark on my body since birth. I will begin to look like my name would suggest, and my fellow kits and I begin to grow curious and restless. At six months, I hunt.

The stages of life.

My teeth are not the only weapon in my arsenal; I have experience under my belt as well. I have been fighting with my fellow kits since we were less than a month old, and my six-month-old self is ready to become a predator. My hearing may well be the most useful skill of mine - although I am still learning under my parents now, in the near future I will be alone.

I stumble over myself as I venture away from my home. When I sink my claws into the ground, it gives way and dry, crumbly soil covers my paws. I shake it away and begin my hunt, stalking away from my family into the trees nearby. Finding a secluded meadow, I stop and sink flat to the ground and listen. I can "locate sounds to within inches of their actual location," [5] and I put that to good use. I am sensitive to low-range sounds; the sudden rustling of twigs and leaves in a bush flows over me and I strike. When I am satisfied with what I have eaten, I drag the squirrel away. I push it into a little hollow and cover it up with leaves - I will be back.

...

I return to myself.

What is it that drew me to the fox? When I was searching for my spirit animal, a few had come to mind already. Perhaps a penguin, I thought to myself, not because I had any real reason to do so but because it is what my friends had nicknamed me. Maybe an octopus? I went in with an open mind and I'm not sure what I expected to find.

Perhaps I'm indecisive. When the guided imagery meditation instructed us to picture an open area after opening the door from the white space, I found myself on a hill leading downwards. After I went down the hill, I found myself in a grassy meadows leading into a forest and following that same path, I went through the trees. After heading further into the trees I found myself in front of an icy lake, and I recognized the area. There's a waterfall in southern Oklahoma named Turner Falls, and I've visited with my family and some friends. That's where I found my spirit animal -  where I found myself. 

Perhaps one of the reasons that I am a red fox is because I prefer having a lot of options, like the diverse environments I pictured for myself in my head. Living in a diverse area is good for a red fox - they often live in edge environments where a lot of different landscapes meet. The convergence of those different landscapes allow it a lot of variety and freedom in how it can live its life, especially in terms of diet. At first, reading about the varied diet of red foxes made me wonder how compatible I actually was; a typical red fox's diet consists of small game such as rabbits and squirrels, with the occasional bird if they can catch it. That is supplemented by fruits, berries, and nuts that they gather, as well as whatever food they can scavenge from their surrounding environment. As I myself am vegetarian, it was admittedly a little strange to think of my alter-self subsisting on such a diet, until I read accounts of how red foxes have been observed to go entire seasons living off of nothing but their gathered food from the foliage. That more than anything to me emphasized how adaptable they are - no matter the environment, no matter the surroundings, red foxes make do with what they can.

Foxes caching food.

                              

In addition to making sure they have variety in their diet, red foxes are very, very good at providing for the future. Whenever they scavenge or gather or hunt food, they always keep the extras in food caches; they are never unprepared. When they don't have food or if they are unable to hunt they will be able to manage for themselves. When I look at myself and compare me to the red fox, I pale in comparison - as I've told people repeatedly, I don't really know what I'm doing; I plan my life a couple of days in advance. I have some of the big picture painted in my mind and I sort of know what I want to do with myself (somehow go into computer science and language), but I don't necessarily have the steps to achieve that future for myself planned out.

Apart from being able to look to the future, red foxes are very adaptable creatures. They scavenge when they can and forage when necessary, and they are very able to hunt and take care of themselves. Red foxes are good with anything - they go with the flow, and I would like to think of myself in a similar light. When I came to college, I thought I would have a hard time adjusting, but I'm managing decently well (or so I'd like to think). This sort of self-sufficiency leads to foxes usually carrying out their business alone (with the possible exception of a mate), and that is one of my biggest personal goals. Perhaps it's because I'm an only child, but I've both benefited and not benefited in this scope because of that; while I didn't have any siblings to rely upon, I had the sole attention of my parents. In matters of self-dependency, the red fox has a lot to teach me in terms of getting better. Currently where I am in my life, there is a certain amount of dependency that I can't escape from (nor do I want to); I'm not even eighteen yet, so I am legally not at adult. The significant change of breaking apart from my parents and really living for myself is one that I'm still trying to do justice to, and I have good and bad days. My challenge for myself is to make the good outnumber the bad, and I'm doing my best.

Most of all, there was one description that stood out to me the most: the red fox is "an animal that seems to live intensely, if not for long."[6] What I would most like to learn from my spirit animal is how to live with that intensity, that vibrancy and passion in life. Being adaptable, organized, and self-sufficient are certainly very useful traits that I would like to incorporate into myself for life, but if that very life can't be enjoyed, then what's the purpose of living? I know this isn't an entirely foreign concept to me because there are certainly issues that I have strong opinions about and things that make me feel intensely, but I would like to be able to draw that sort of purpose and source of passion from myself. For all I know, this may be my only chance - I'd like to enjoy it the best that I can.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Word count (without quotations): 1456

Word count (with quotations): 1478

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Image credits:

Baby kit: http://www.seacrestwolfpreserve.org/cpg/displayimage.php?album=6&pos=9
Two months: http://www.kewlwallpapers.com/wallpaper/Red-Fox-Kit-Indiana/

Six months: http://www.gunflint-trail.com/blog/2011/05/21/goo-goo-gah-gah/red-fox-kit-in-meadow-pictures/
Foxes caching food: http://franzfoto.net/cpg/displayimage.php?album=2&pos=177
Red fox at the end: http://www.wildlifeonline.me.uk/questions_answers_foxes.html

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[1] Henry, J. David. Red Fox: The Catlike Canine. Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution, 1986. Print.

[2] Lloyd, H. G. 1981. The Red Fox. B. T. Batsford, Ltd. London.

[3] Nowak, R. M. 1991. Walker's Mammals of the World. The Johns Hopkins University Press, Baltimore, MD.

[4] MacDonald, D., J. Reynolds. 2005. "Red fox (Vulpes vulpes)" (Online). IUCN Canid Specialist Group.

[5] Fox, D. 2007. "Vulpes vulpes" (On-line), Animal Diversity Web. Accessed September 27, 2013 at http://animaldiversity.ummz.umich.edu/accounts/Vulpes_vulpes/

[6] Henry, J. David. Red Fox: The Catlike Canine. Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution, 1986. Print.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note: despite the fact that I'm also a computer science major, I'm guilty of a lot of technical goofs. This blog was set to 'private viewing' earlier (it's fixed now, of course), but if you have the time, it would be great if you could check out some of the older entries (especially the one about emotional intelligence).

Alice, the freshman.

I really admire the way that Alice takes everything in stride. In the beginning of the book especially, despite the fact that nothing really makes sense. Her "way of expecting nothing but out-of-the-way things to happen" because "the common way" of life "seemed quite dull and stupid" is amusing and very refreshing to see, as it shows how she's adapting to the strange ways of Wonderland already (19). Instead of rejecting anything that happens or questioning it too much, she simply accepts it and goes on her way.

I feel Alice would agree.

I've experienced similar treatment at UT already; the second weekend after classes began, I ended up sitting outside Jester East with a couple of friends from around midnight to somewhere between five and six in the morning (it was my personal best for the week). While we were sitting out there, a lot of people wandered by, including one of the RAs for Jester East who was walking her dog at 3:20AM. Back where I'm from, this isn't common - there isn't much of a night-life in the Plano suburbs. But here in college, everyone takes everything in stride. When my friend checked the two of us into Jester at around 5:40AM, the person working the desk didn't blink an eye. I'm sure he's seen stranger, but his lack of a reaction was still a pleasant surprise.

"We can talk when there's anybody worth talking to."

Despite all of the strange things that Alice sees, though, she still manages to not grow jaded. When she sees the Garden of Live Flowers and speaks to the Tiger-lily, she became "so astonished that she couldn't speak for a minute" (157). That especially stuck out to me; despite everything else she's seen and done, from growing and shrinking herself to playing croquet with a card queen using a flamingo as equipment, she still retains the ability to be surprised at new things. This may be a trait in her due to her youth (she is still naive), but it's a trait that I would like to try to retain as well. Being jaded is a certain kind of disillusionment that I very much want to prevent, as much as that's possible.

Emotional Intelligence

Let me start out by saying that this isn't the first time that I've kept a blog, either for my own thoughts or for what's been happening in my day-to-day life (it's a surprisingly good way for keeping in touch with long-distance friends!), but it's certainly the first time I've done so while being entirely honest about everything on it and sharing with people that I don't necessarily know very well (yet!). That in itself and the weekly sharing of bests and worsts is definitely a change for me, but I know it's a good one.

When I watched Children Full of Life, I was a little shocked in the beginning. Have I had a teacher like that in the past that I could have greeted with such enthusiasm? My eyes stung in the first couple of minutes just seeing how affectionate Kanamori was with them, how careful he was to show that affection to them all. (I'm welling up a little just typing this.) That kind of classroom environment is foreign to me, or at least it was before joining this class. I'm a little glad I was alone in my room when I was watching this video because I didn't have to explain to anyone why I was crying (although that itself demonstrates how emotionally unintelligent I am, doesn't it?).

I'm a private person. I can count on one hand the number of people that know the most important things about me, and it took knowing those people from three to seven years for them to find out. I'm not saying that time is the most important factor in a relationship, but even with my closest friends it took me a very, very long time to open up to them.

Being private doesn't mean that I don't feel emotion though - there are many, many times that I find myself sitting somewhere, reading a passage or listening to a song, and ending up with tears in my eyes or sliding down my cheeks. I like that, I like being moved by things; my latest favorite is this live cover of an older work by one of my favorite singers. It's not in English and it isn't subtitled, but I don't think that you need to understand what she's singing in order to feel the emotions she's conveying. If you want to check it out, it's Younha - 오직 너뿐인 나를; the title literally translates to something like 'The Me For Whom There Is Only You' (it's much more elegant in Korean, I swear), but its English equivalent title is similar to 'There Is Only You'.

So yes, I like emotions for the most part. "Pain is inevitable", and I'm okay with that - without the bad parts in life, we wouldn't be able to appreciate the good (315). I'm just really, really bad at sharing (and I didn't even skip kindergarten).

Joking aside, I think this class might be the best thing that happens to me in college, if not longer than that. Watching the Learning How To Feel video really gave me a bit more perspective on this course; it helped me understand how all the previous students are so uninhibited and warm with each other - it honestly mystified me in the beginning to see all of these different, diverse people mingling together with actual smiles on their faces, genuinely glad to see each other. I've certainly never had a class yet in which I develop a serious bond with more than a couple of people, let alone the entire group. What I was seeing and being confused by was love; a "great liking, strong emotional attachment", a "feeling or disposition of benevolent attachment experienced to a group" (Definitions of Love). I haven't experienced anything that before, and it was jarring.

I'd like to be a part of something like that - the very fact that I'm sitting here in front of my laptop and typing my heart out without pulling any punches proves that to me. I'd like to prove it to you all this year too.

If you've made it this far, toss me a line - what's your favorite kind of cookie? I want to bake something this weekend, let's see what comes around!

Longhorns?

I have to admit, when I first heard that UT's symbol was the longhorn (years ago, I'm sure) I was a little skeptical. Did I want to be a longhorn? What were longhorns even like? Of course, back then I didn't actually think further than that - I simply considered the idea of a longhorn for a few minutes, if even that, before dismissing the entire topic.

Is this what we look like?

Since we as a class are going to be inducted into the Longhorn Tribe soon, however, wouldn't it be great if I knew more about longhorns before then? I do now, and I know how I want to be more like them.

A few things stuck out to me after all the readings; longhorns like to blaze their own trails. They have a sheer bull-headed stubbornness that I find admirable; that I would like to emulate. They have a certain trait about them; they are "free to roam the wilderness" and, while arguably I am also free, I haven't yet taken the chance (I don't even know what I would want to do) (178). That individual spirit and fire put together create amazing, powerful animals that are determined to do as they please. The "majesty" that they have in their own actions as well as how they cooperate with humans is kind of amazing (181); the anecdotes about how many longhorns have interacted with humans were very interesting to read. Overall, I'd like to take away the trail-blazing attitude of theirs, especially how they manage to take care of their own interests even while working together. They embody the spirit of Texas as well, and I'm looking forward to becoming one next class.

Now imagine a longhorn next to this sign.

Avian Animal Guides (Poetry)

How are the birds represented in these poems like and unlike animal guides? extra points for quotations from 110-134.

 Required: the two unique images and at least one unique quote from 137, 150, 151 and at least one unique quote from 138-148.

Whereas the animal guides can "warn of danger" and "help dispel fears", the birds shown in Hopkins" poems do neither (Power Animals 132). In The Windhover the windhover itself simply serves to illustrate "the mastery of the thing" rather than a guide to further conclusions (The Windhover 137). Hopkins is awestruck by the sheer "brute beauty" of it, the physical perfection with which it strikes; he describes with eloquence the colors that he sees ("blue-bleak embers", "gash gold-vermillion") rather than the true feelings involved with seeing the bird (The Windhover 137).

In flight

Instead of  sharing the experiences or even attempting to, he simply likens it to the Lord, using it as a conduit to God almost instead of as a conduit to himself and nature.

In contrast, the other works concentrate on the feelings associated with the birds, whether they be ones felt by the birds themselves ("unable misery") and the references to the physical aspects of the birds are eventually connected to the emotional aspects as well rather than simply being described for the sake of imagery ("lame feet", "clotted shoulder", "soft feminine feathers") (Hurt Hawks 150). The same is seen in Vulture, in which not only the physical but the mental experiences are described, eventually culminating in the sense of wonder that came from that perceived "enskyment"; that "life after death" (Vulture 151). As spirit animals are able to guide us through mental and emotional spheres and help us connect to nature (such as the sky), these last two depictions are possibly the closest seen so far.

 In the distance