Like Puzzle Pieces...

I realize that my blogs are often ambiguous. The subject is usually less centered on a particular event and more focused on an idea. Also, they are frequently convoluted and even esoteric, but that is because writing is an outlet of the mind, and my thoughts themselves are convoluted and esoteric.

I see English class as a class of thinking, not of writing. Sentences and words are simply a medium through which we conduct our thoughts. Consequently, I find it difficult to articulate my ideas not because of a lack of writing skills, but rather a lack of thinking clarity. There are so many ways to look at the world, and no two views, like puzzle pieces, perfectly align. I have created lenses influenced by books, people, and experience, and these lenses come together to form a contorted, spiraled, inverted, jagged point of view. As a result, I do my best to avoid firmly asserting any generalizations about life, knowing that I am likely to change my stance in the future.

As my perspective broadens, my lens twists and turns even more. I am searching for a way of living my life that makes sense to me, but maybe not having a rigid lens is the only thing that makes sense to me. On some level, I hope I never find the strength, wisdom, or ignorance to assert the true nature of life.

But then again, maybe this is all just some transient lens I am seeing through.

11/28

At first, I was shocked. My jaw dropped, and I was appalled-even disgusted. Siddartha's self-starvation, self-mutilation, and self-torture made me cringe in horror. However, this horror left as quickly as it had been incurred, and I realized he was simply carrying out his life in a away that made sense to him. Although I reflexively feared his actions, I saw there was only something to respect. He does what every sane individual in their life does (as insane as his actions may seem); he strives to achieve fulfillment. His spiritual journey may seem unorthodox through our cultural lens, but it does not make it wrong. In fact, his willingness to endure physical pain only strengthens my respect for him.

Weekly Blog 11/15

It's funny how few people take the advice to "live out your senior year to the fullest" until it feels like there's so little time and it's too late. It's hard though, seeing as how we are always watching the road ahead or the bumps in the road. When I'm not envisioning college and my future, I find myself focused on homework, tests, or being sick (i.e. the bumps in the road). Only sometimes do I take a moment to look around and see where I am. I really have taken for granted my life and all I have. Lately-meaning the past years-I have been fixed to this lens where everywhere I look there are only mirrors. In everything I look at, I see myself. Although not always at the fore, I have been watching to see how I fit into every picture. I think I'm starting to leave this view though, and the scenery on the side of the road is becoming clearer.

"Would you write on a deserted island?"

This week I was watching A Beautiful Mind when I was hooked by the line "Conviction is a luxury of those on the sidelines." I struggled with the line like a baited fish and could not stop thinking about it. Just as Hamlet struggles to exact the revenge he promised he would, I struggle to live by the beliefs I have always held onto.

As I climb the mountain, tremors shake the earth and I find myself falling. I grab at whatever I can, desperate to find something concrete that I can hold onto and believe in. The rocks loosen from my grip and the ledges offer only temporary support before the weight of my own self shatters it and pulls me down. I close my eyes, disoriented from this state of freefall, confused by up and down and the sky and the earth-the things I have always known. Finally I stop and open my eyes, and I'm holding onto something familiar. I'm back where I started, before the path became corrupted by jagged and obtrusive obstructions, and I was only dreaming. No scars, no broken bones, no pain. Under my daring and adventure is fear; it was hollow courage-nothing but bravado. I continue on right, marching to the beat of the drum. I only daydream of turning left and scaling the rough terrain.

Society's Net

Just as Mark Twain asserted that a person is only a product of society through Huckleberry Finn, Shakespeare does the same with Ophelia. Shakespeare's treatment of her can be described in a few words; she is a woman. As a woman in that society, she is simply a tool to be used by the men. For example, her father commands, "Ophelia, walk you here," and she quietly acquiesces, content with following a man's orders mindlessly because that's all she knows. Polonius uses her in whatever way he can to please the king and thereby ensure his own survival. Her culture traps her with a net from which she cannot escape the customs of society.

However, she is not alone. We are all products of society, and we are all bound by society. For example, even though most (but hopefully all) people now see the subjugation of Africans as highly immoral, if someone was born in the 19th century south, it would be unlikely to see him break from the norm and fight slavery. Just like Huckleberry, most would be confused about what action to take. Free will only allows one to navigate under the net; rarely does one break free from it.

Denmark's a prison

As I was reading Act II, I was struck by how archetypal Hamlet is in terms of adolescent emotion. He exhibits many of the same teenage angst type feelings that modern teens do. For example, he gloomily tells his friends, "Denmark's a prison." He goes on to complain about how it is so confining and how it is the worst place in the world. With a Shakespearean translator, Hamlet would sound just like many modern teens. This shows that as time changes, human emotion, and even human nature, does not. Human nature remains static throughout changes in language, culture, and knowledge. We are inseparably attached to our basic nature just as we are attached to our arms and legs. For this reason, I often find myself believing that things such as murder and war are not a result of society's influence, but rather an inevitable consequence of being human.

Gandhi and Hitler

This week, I ended my essay on law asking the reader, "Is pursuing one's individual moral or religious law justified if it comes at the expense of others?" I spent most of my essay looking at sources that said that religious law was supreme, and at the end I brought up this question. However, although I intended the question to be for the reader, I was also asking myself the same question. Sometimes I think that "you should do what is right," but "right" is only a subjective notion. People rarely agree on what is true or right. Furthermore, even if one believes that it is absolutely right to do something, it can easily come at the cost of hurting others. As Mary Stange said, terrorists do what they think is right, just as Gandhi, Hitler, and Martin Luther King Jr. did, too.

Ants

As I sat outside desperately trying to think of what to write, hoping the quiet midday suburban atmosphere could stimulate some ideas, I was distracted by a single dominating thought: ants. The ants fascinated me. I watched they scuttled across the rough dirt terrain, on a journey to a destination unknown to me. I contemplated terrorizing them with my imaginary rifle known as my index finger. My finger's shadow overtook them as i steadied my weapon. The targets were centered in my crosshairs, and the barrel was loaded. All was in place, and I was about to pull the trigger, but then I hesitated. I pulled back, and struck by an epiphany, I thought about how much we are like ants.

Ants live in communities together, depend on each other for survival, and work together to achieve common goals. They perform acts for one another that could best be described as altruistic. Ants are also incredibly intelligent. They never fail to find their way back home despite my finger wiping out the scent trail they follow. Also, they probably do not realize that they are just a small piece in the puzzle of the world.

After watching them for a while, I had my eyes set on this one ant set apart by a distinctive bright red slash against his abyssal black abdomen. I started thinking about how much I do not want to be an ant. Despite their phenomenal performance as a community, I could not find a trace of substantial individuality even with my ant. They all conformed to a single path, both physically and mentally. As a society, they shared the same goals and the same pathways to that goal. Although I almost changed my opinion upon finding him wandering alone, he quickly regained his sense of direction and headed towards the others. I empathized with him (yes, an ant) as I often feel bound to a prescribed path as well. Just as the ant, i feared that the consequences of being an individual would be getting lost, being alone, and having to survive.

Suddenly, I felt invigorated by the idea of freedom. I cradled my red-tattooed ant into the palm of my hand, ran to the other side of my yard, and then carefully let it down on top of a rock. I felt empowered, almost even obligated, to do something about my constriction after watching the jailed existence of the ants, so I set him free. Hopefully he would feel the same.

The Middle

I scanned the surrounding area. I looked left and right, up and down, and that's when I saw it. Suddenly, my excitement deflated like a loose balloon, and I was left with a flat, lifeless feeling weighing down on me. Somewhere along the way, I had made a mistake. The error devastated me; two 9s in the same box, and I felt that my efforts to complete the Sudoku puzzle were now fruitless.

I was frustrated. I felt that all that time I had spent trying to solve it was all for nothing. I had trekked and climbed and struggled, yet in the end I never reached the peak. I fell. Simple as that. However, something weird happened. The sudden flood of disappointment I felt after knowing I failed was only knee-high. Above that, I felt...happy.

Why? Because of the journey. It was about the excitement and the fun in simply doing it. Every time I accomplished something, I was overcome by a rush of happiness. It isn't about reaching the destination, but rather the the journey to get there. In the end we all fall from the mountain, we all die. We choose how magnificent or meaningless our falls are through the paths we take. What matters is the journey of our existence, not just the end of it.

Freedom at an unexpected time

I'm driving down the highway, and I can't help but observe other cars. Their crisp red tail lights enchant me as they glow against the early night sky. We are like a flight of fireflies traveling together for safety and for comfort. The thought of emptiness and isolation makes me feel vulnerable. For now, we tread the same path, navigating the curves of the wide road together.

But it can't always be this way. We see an exit approaching and some of us veer right, getting ready for the departure. A gut wrenching feeling twists my emotions and I no longer feel as I did before-safe and comfortable. Nonetheless, the rest of us continue straight ahead despite our loss.

We grieve for their departure, but continue on. After a long silence, I have adjusted to my lasting companions. I feel safe in our harmony of humming and whistling as we travel together.
But another exit approaches, and complacency leaves as quickly as it came. Another faction leans right and diverges. This loss feels greater than the first. Our numbers are gradually thinning down, and there is nothing that can be done.

And now another exit approaches. And another and another. I watch the last cars drive off, and suddenly I'm all alone. It is quiet now; there are no more hums and whistles, just silence and the soft buzz of the motor. I am disheartened by the loss of my flight, but in this loss I feel something strangely new. I can breathe freely now, but I never noticed before. It is like some burden weighing down on my chest has been lifted and for the first time I can truly breathe.

Human Imagination

To suggest that fate exists is to believe that there is something greater acting upon us that we cannot control, and that is simply something I don't believe. I understand that there are a lot of things we can't control, but why are those things attributed to "fate"? I agree that we can only control a certain degree of our lives, but what we can't control is simply what it is; it's just what we can't do anything about, not fate.

The concept of fate implies that each person is destined for something greater than simply existence, and that I don't believe. I believe that we exist and that we can find meaning within our existences, but there is no force such as fate that acts upon our lives. To say that we have fates is to say that we are superior to everything around us. Having fates makes us greater than the microorganisms and apes from who we evolved and more important than the rocks and plants which we share molecules and elements with. Who is to say that they don't have fates? Who destined us to be something greater, but not others?

Well, we did.

I don't know

I'm sitting at the hospital doing some unfulfilling volunteer work at the front desk. I'm also sitting here doing tedious and unimportant work for an AP class. This morning I went to deathly boring seminar on getting into college. Now I ask myself, "Why?"

A: I don't know. Probably because this is what you're supposed to do.

Q: "Supposed to do"?

A: Yeah. I'm supposed to volunteer, do sports, get involved, and take AP classes-just like how I'm supposed to go to college in order to get a job and money and somehow find happiness.

Q: Well is this what you want to do?

A: I don't know. It feels like some artificial dream/goal imposed on my generation and I-like society has some map drawn out for us to follow. I don't know what I really want. I just feel like I have to follow the herd on this path to "success." I'm afraid that if I step out, maybe to make my own path, I'll get lost and left behind.

Q: Do you think you're doing the right thing by following this path?

A: I don't know. I'm just doing it because it's what I've been told is best for me. It's what my parents, school, society, and part of myself have been telling me for a long time. But part of me questions how true it is and it's tearing me apart.

Q: Well don't worry.

A: What? Why not?

Q: Hey I'm the one asking questions here.

A: No, let me ask you. How do we know what's right and what's best for us? How do we know who to listen to, even within our own heads? How free are we really if we can't find new air to breathe outside of this atmosphere of conformity?

Q: I don't know.

Salt and Incest

Anna Akhmatova's poem, "Lot's Wife", teaches us that no matter how hard we try, we cannot resist looking back. Akhmatova emphasizes that it was a choice for Lot's wife to look back by using the phrase "gave up her life" in looking back on her hometown. We cannot resist looking back because the past is where our memories lay, and in our memories are ourselves. We are defined by our experiences, and to neglect our pasts would be catastrophic. In this poem, Akhmatova asserts that only two paths follow turning on one's own past, both of which lead to the same destination: self-destruction. On one path, Lot's wife gazes behind her, sacrificing her life and turning into a pillar of salt. On the other path, Lot continues and his life, never looking back, guilty of bearing the sons of his daughters. The only difference between Lot and his wife is that his wife chose the path of physical destruction; he would end up suffering emotionally. Akhmatova shows us that to deny our pasts is to deny ourselves-an action which cannot end well.

Can't Sleep

It's nearing 5 a.m., and I have yet to befriend sleep. The past six hours have been spent trying to find sleep, who would hopefully give me a chance to rest. However, as close as I may have gotten to finding sleep, the mission remains incomplete.

I began my quest to find this elusive fellow in my bedroom. Usually I simply close my eyes, and sleep finds me and carries me away into another world, filled with dreams and happiness. Unfortunately, this was not the case today. As I was not feeling well, I shivered under my thick blanket, double-layered pajamas, long socks, and 80 degree temperature. I rose about 30 minutes later, which felt more like an entire night, and tried my luck in my vacant brother's room. This process repeated about every 30 minutes, and each time the 30 minutes felt longer and longer until it felt like an eternity each time. On my journey, I visited the guest room, the living room couch, the floor, and more. However, sleep would not find me no matter where I called for him.

Now where I sit, I can't help but connect this experience with an even deeper one: the quest for happiness and belonging. As i trudged from location to location, I could not help thinking that this is what I have been doing all my life. I have been exploring new places and doing new things to try to find where I belong. I have been testing different waters in hope that I will find "my place," and with it, happiness. I have never really felt that I belonged fully to any group-never really occupied a specific niche. This thought brings me back to "The Wanderer" painting. Just like the man depicted, the search for self-discovery lays ahead.

Both my search for sleep and my search for a place in life remain unaccomplished, but now I will set out again for the former. The latter will come in time.

Beginning of Year

As i was reflecting on this past week, the activity of reading "how to survive" letters from last year stuck out like a sore thumb. I found that activity to be engaging, and I only wish I had had more time to read other letters. I found this to be an exciting activity for two reasons. First off, simply reading my peers' writing (some even my close friends) is an adventure in itself. It allows me to explore the minds of those around me (e.g. writing style, tone, word choice). Secondly, I was intrigued by what they had to say in retrospect of their senior years. The girl whose letter I read gave many suggestions about how to "live life to the fullest" in my senior year. What caught my attention, however, was my inability to connect with her advice.

Although I fully appreciate and understand that the writer wrote with her heart in her pen, I could not bring myself to think on the same plane as her. Her advice suggested that I make new friends and try new things, but this horse has been beaten to death and then beaten to death again by the spiked club of "new-friendship and trying-new-things". In short, I've become jaded by these hollow suggestions. I don't mean to insult her writing, which was captivating and well-written, but I just could not bring myself to embrace her advice. High school repeats these words like a broken record, and in response, I have gradually tuned it out.
On the other hand, I can see myself where she was coming from in ten months. I can see myself trying to make the most of the end of my senior year, and I can see myself thinking exactly what she was thinking. In fact, I'm certain that's what I'll be thinking by the end of the year. But I just can't do it now.

I guess that's just one of the many journeys of senior year.

The Wanderer

This painting evokes a powerful sense of journey and self-discovery. Judging by the coarse terrain and the majestic view, the man in the painting certainly has not just stumbled upon this spot. He has come here to learn about himself and where his future lays.
I relate myself at this point in life to the man in the picture through our shared desire for enlightenment. I have trekked, just as the man has, a distance of 17 years to find the peak where he stands. We are both looking out ahead into the world trying to find our place in the oncoming future while introspectively viewing ourselves, trying to realize our full potentials.

First Post

Setting up this blog was confusing for me.
-Harrison Lee