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.

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Word count (without quotations): 1456

Word count (with quotations): 1478

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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

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[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.
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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).