Digging Deep

The end nears… as do the inevitable deadlines for assignments. As I continue to edit my previous papers, I have to constantly remind myself to dig deeper. I often find myself simply telling a story without expressing meaning or reason for telling such story. Throughout this course, my greatest struggle is finding a way to understand myself and how my own experience has made an impact of me and how the readers can draw their own conclusions about themselves from my writings. This translates with my struggles in the Digital Story project. I have been trying to find meaning in the mundane stories that I have. At the same time I am trying to make sure that my story is relatable in some way. In a way I think one of the problems is being afraid to express what I truly feel or talk about something very personal. There are many things that I can talk about that are much more interesting, but I know that there are consequences to saying certain things and I don’t want to have to face them.

But, oh my goodness….. the torture of hearing my own voice. There is no end to the cringing every time I play the audio and edit the timing and placement. I just might have to plug my ears and cover my eyes when presenting the video.

Movement and Intention

The dance class session we had this week was both exciting and a little disappointing. I had expected there to be more dancing and maybe something more structured (like learning choreography); however I was pleasantly surprised with how the instructions set a guideline and the rest was up to the individual. I felt that since I was not concentrated on following and memorizing dance moves (the way you would do if you were learning choreography). This allowed me to focus on the sensations in that moment and how my consciousness connected with my entire body.

 

Words and the feelings they evoke and translating that into movement. I was very interested in how there we so many different variations of movement for the same word instruction. “Hold your hand out like you are offering to give someone an item” – some people held up one hand, other two, all with something different in mind. Perhaps some had the same gesture but meant different things while other had different gestures to tell the same message. When the instructor gave us freedom to do whatever movement we felt, I found myself creating a story in my head in order to incorporate the different movements so that they relate to each other some way. I wish I had more time to reflect and repeat the movements so that I can establish a better connection to my body and how it moves. I kept wondering if the movements I make actually look like what I think they look like or if I just look ridiculous and I only think I am doing something cool. This is similar to how I wonder about the audience’s views of my writing and whether the message I intend to send is actually being conveyed properly.

 

I enjoyed the discussion about interpretation and audience. When the dancers from the dance troupe did the few minutes of dance, I had many different stores running in my mind and at the same time I was confused. The story I came up with was different from what other students said they thought of. By leaving the dance open to interpretations, many interesting messages can be formulated. Perhaps this is something that I can explore more in my writing; less literal writing, which gives the audience room to make their own observations.

 

The tension between words and creating movement that is opposite of the connotations of the word intrigued me the most. The advance can be cautious, the retreat bold, expansion, contraction, reaching forward while retreating; these oppositions give a new dimension to the dance and to writing.

Work

Work. Work is something that we have to do in order to live. Everything costs money: food, water, housing, clothing…etc. Unless we decide to live off-grid or if we have inherited a lot of money, we must work. Ideally, I would like to live in a world where “work” was not necessary, where there is no pressure to make money, where basic necessities can be obtained without money. But there is no way that can happen, without work and specialization, there will be no advancement.

Work is inevitable and people will make judgments of others based off of the work they do. I was often told by my parents that I should take my education seriously so that I can find a job where I can work with my “mind” and not my “back”. This way of thinking looks down on manual labor. I see that they want me to be able to work without physically exerting myself and make enough money to live comfortably. Mike Rose’s Blue-Collar Brilliance questions the assumptions we make about different types of jobs. Rose challenges the idea that manual labor does not require as much intelligence as white collar jobs. He describes the waitress who has to constantly think and plan while taking orders and serving customers. It is clear from the examples he gives that that manual labor is not purely physical. His main point is that we shouldn’t devalue those types of work, but it does not change that we value the others types of work more (scientist, doctor, lawyer… etc.). These types of jobs, not anyone can be qualified for and in order to obtain such work, many years of schooling is required. It would be expected that these jobs would be looked at with more revere. Regardless of an individual’s job or socio-economic standing, we should treat everyone with respect and not belittle who they are or what they do.

Shibuya Crossing – DeviantArt drawing by fatlittlenick

I have been fortunate enough where I have not had to work with the pressure of sustaining myself, but eventually I will. I currently enjoy feeling like a spectator, but very soon I will have to choose the path/career I will pursue and join the ranks among the other adults who have to work regularly. I chose the drawing of Shibuya crossing, one of the busiest crossings in Japan. The image shows crowds of people going about their business. I suppose there is a fear and excitement that comes with the anticipation and preparation to begin a working life.

Loss of Sanity?

After reading Dillard’s A Field of Silence, the feeling I received was some sort of revelation leading to some momentary loss of sanity, which Dillard conveys through her style of writing. In her initial description of the farm, she emphasizes the distance from everything else around it. She describes the vastness – an eternal expanse – to be seemingly inescapable. She ominously introduces the feeling of calm-ness and silence. She characterizes silence in a tangible way; it can be heaped on fields, it can be spread, it has a heel. The clamor of the rooster builds up to the chaotic silence that ensued. Dillard expresses the feeling of suffocation and choking from the silence. Her feelings of paralysis are symptomatic of a panic attack – which is what I feel that she had experienced. Throughout her piece, I was puzzled by the vague reasons to why she felt so much pressure from the silence; I can only understand that perhaps the silence triggered existential thoughts and realization of how small she is in comparison to the vastness of the universe and unendurable loneliness – so much so she wished death upon herself.

Throughout her piece, Dillard speaks of God. She almost blames Him for the realization of the silence and loneliness – “This is the look of silence, and of loneliness unendurable; it too has always been mine, and now will be yours.” The knowledge has been passed onto her and now she must bear the weight of knowing.

Now, as for those angels….. I have no idea. [Dillard is unsure herself of her choice of description and why she does so] Perhaps, when revisiting, she feels liberated. After getting over the shock of realization, she can better appreciate existing … maybe.

Francis Bacon – Head VI

Dillard’s piece evokes feelings of unbearable pressure and darkness. I was reminded of artworks of Francis Bacon, a British figurative painter known for his grotesque and bleak images. This painting, Head VI, in particular, gives off the feeling of immense pressure and confinement. The silent scream in the painting is very familiar to the feelings that Dillard gives off in her writing. This painting is mysterious in that situation is very unclear and perhaps looking inward. Dillard’s writing can be looked as very inward and the feelings that she describes can only be truly understood by her.

Bravery and Self

From the essay Mirrorings, there were two main themes that stood out to me: bravery and identity.

In several situations Grealy mentions the concept of bravery. To her, strength was silence, keeping problems and worries to herself. This idea of strength was reinforced by the responses from her mother and doctors who told her that she was brave for not crying and such. Grealy describes that others mistaken her silence for bravery revealing that in retrospect she realized that silence does not equate to bravery. This realization puzzles me; what does bravery mean then? Often when someone complains about a situation or expresses a negative feeling, sometimes the response from others is “suck it up” or “deal with it”. These response usually insinuate that complaining out loud is a sign of weakness, and the opposite, that being silent is being strong. I think it depends on the situation. That silence can mean strength, but speaking out can also be a form of bravery. I suppose that Grealy found that being brave was talking (or writing) about what she had felt uncomfortable talking about growing up, and being brave was challenging an identity that she held on to for so long. Throughout the essay, Grealy describes her struggle with self-identity. Growing up, she would put on the identity of others, imagining and living in imagination a different country or time period. She would put on different masks, to try to become a certain type of person. However by taking on these other identities, she was not content. It was not until she “shed [her] image” did she feel liberated. She let go of the previous borrowed images of self. She found her own identity, one that was not within the box that society tries to put people in. After this revelation she was able to look at a reflection and recognize herself.

I find her story extraordinary in that she was able to find her own identity and accept herself. What was there after she shed her image? How does one define self and how do we find it? I feel that we are bombarded with images of what is “expected” or “normal” in society, but we are taught in schools to break away from those images and discover the self and value the individual. But how does one discover this self when it is bound to be influenced by outside sources?

La Reproduction Interdit – Rene Magritte

The painting La Reproduction Interdit (Translated: Not to be reproduced) reminded me of the concept/question of identity. What is identity and what defines self?. Although I am not entirely sure of the artist’s intention, I do find that painting is interesting in that only the man is not reflected in the mirror. This painting also makes me think of how I perceive myself and how others view me.

 

Some Thoughts

Reading through different essays on the This I Believe website was pretty fun. It was interesting to learn about what others believe in and how they deliver their stories in an interesting and relate-able way. Out of all the essays I have read so far on the site, A Dog’s Life is still my favorite. This is probably because I have a dog and I agree with the sentiments of the author, Fred Flaxman. In his essay, he recounts his experience of owning a dog and learning the responsibilities that came with taking care of one. In reflection, he realizes that he is envious of his dog’s life,  one that if free of responsibilities. His essay indicates that he has been living a life-style that he is supposed to: working at a job, earning money, supporting a family etc. He reveals that he wishes to live a lifestyle where he can relax and not have to do much.

I enjoyed this essay because I also feel the same way the author does. Even though I have not lived as long as he has, or have had to work to support a family, I do find myself envious of my dog’s life. I do wish to live a life where all I have to do is eat, sleep, and play (or just a life without responsibilities); however, I do feel guilty for thinking this way. As a human being (a creature of free thought), I feel obligated to do more than just “live”, to define some meaning in the life I live (yes, some existential thoughts). In a sense we are both liberated and burdened by our cognitive ability. We can do more than just fulfill our biological needs, but the “more” is what I struggle with. Why must we do the “more” and how do we figure out what it is that we must do?

Sitting in front of Wonju Seo’s White Wonderland, a large scale installation featuring squares silk folded and sewn together, was meant to be an exercise to clear the mind and do some thinking. For some reason, I was not able to do much reflecting. For the most part I was scanning the different folds and wondering why the artist included some blues and greens. Other than some immediate observations of the artwork, I found myself mostly focusing on the light cast on the wall. There was some mysterious light pattern near the bottom of the artwork and I could not find the light source.

The interesting light cast on the wall. I speculated the origin of the light but came to no concrete conclusion.

What is Home

The in class writing assignment left me frustrated and puzzled about the definition of a home. Is home determined by how long we have been in a place or by how many memories we made? Looking into Danticat’s Westbury Court, as an outsider, the environment in which Danticat grew up in seems violent. I had felt that the environment was unfitting to be called a home, yet Danticat called it home. It was the place where she grew up and created memories, but most importantly is was where she felt safe. Her home was an “elevated castle about the a clattering train tunnel, a blind alley where children from [her] building and the building across the street had erected a common basketball court for hot summer afternoon games, an urban yellow brick road where hopscotch squares dotted the sidewalk next to burned-out, abandoned cars.” Despite all the bad things that surrounded her, home was where she was safest and away from all of the violence. Is home then a place where you can escape all the bad things, a haven?

Joan Didion’s Goodby to All That, had a different take on the concept of home. Throughout her story of New York, it was evident that she was homesick and that New York was certainly not home; it was a place she saw through rose colored lenses, but when that ended, she became depressed. Though she did not explicitly state that she missed her home back in the west coast, she likened her experience to “stay[ing] too long at the Fair.” New York was like a fair to her; throughout her stay, she knew that it was not going to be permanent. She “never bought any furniture in New York.” She felt like a “[colonial] in a far country” and New York has been changed from “miraculous to the mundane.” Perhaps it was a loss of the romantic image of New York that has led to her depression along with her home sickness. Didion was not very clear in her reason why she felt much happier in Los Angeles other than the fact that she was away from New York. Was there something particular in Los Angeles that she could not get in New York or was her heart always in the West?

I thought of the movie “UP” when thinking of the concept of home.

Confusion on an Essay

As I attempt to analyze the readings, I become more and more confused with what an essay is. In From “The Age of the Essay”, Paul Graham describes an essay as “something you write to try to figure something out.” This statement indicates that the essay is a journey that the writer sets out to answer questions; however I find this concept to be vague. How do I go about trying to answer a question that I don’t even know? Even reading through the remaining of the essay, I was unable to find the answer I wanted. Graham points out that “[a]n essay is not a reference work. It’s not something you read looking for a specific answer, and feel cheated if you don’t find it.” I do feel cheated when reading essays, because I read them in hopes of finding answers to my questions. I want to know what others have to say about a particular topic, and in a sense I was able to understand what Graham thought of essays. But by the time I was finished, I was more confused than before I started. Since an essay is an exploration of thought, what kind of conclusion, if any, do we come to? What about an essay is worth reading? I know that I am looking for something concrete but will not find it. I suppose the essay is more for the self than anyone else and it is with much frustration that I must accept the lack of rigidity that I seek.

There was one point in the essay that puzzled me the most: “The river’s algorithm is simple. At each step, flow down. For the essayist this translates to: flow interesting.” The idea of choosing the most interesting path almost seems unnatural. Ideas that come naturally are not always interesting. So I find the idea of an essay as a smoothly flowing river to be unsettling. Graham does admit that this does not always work and that this essay may come across a wall. He states that “[he] would rather read an essay that went off in an unexpected but interesting direction than one that plodded dutifully along a prescribed course.” I agree with this in that an essay with a predetermined conclusion would not be as interesting/ or as insightful as one that did not. This brings me back to my original question to why we read essays. Do we read them to follow the writer’s thought process and maybe have our own thoughts provoked? I have always thought that essays answer a question and when I read an essay, I would be guaranteed one, but I guess not.

Why I write

Usually, if ever, I write for myself. I log dreams to capture them before they fade from my memory. I attempt to write my feelings in the most poetic and sometimes dramatic way possible. I write to pull snippets from the overwhelming continuum that flows through my mind, hoping to make sense of them before getting further lost in thought.

Writing allows me to labor over phrases until I am satisfied with how they flow when spoken. I can step back to analyze what I have written and ask myself, “Is this who I am?” This usually releases the flood gates to other questions and I would once again find myself several avenues down from where I started.

Sometimes I write out of necessity. I write to prove that the work, research, and analysis I have done is of any worth. I write so that a stranger can somehow get to know me and evaluate my capabilities.  I write to fight for myself, for my values, and for a respectable position in society. I write to give others an insight to how I am. I write to connect with other people and exchange ideas.

I write with hesitation knowing the permanence of my words. Writing will reveal a lot of who I am and what I believe in. I write with the intention of reflecting how my thoughts seem to blend so smoothly; yet when transcribed into words, the transitions become mangled and uncertain.

I write so I can mull over thoughts until I get too tired to write.

I want to write to impact others positively. I want my writing to have power to affect positive change.