The book "The Giver" takes on some important issues in coming of age. In a world that is so perfect that, that itself makes it imperfect. Imperfections are what make the world perfect in its own way. For a teen to be growing up and coming of age with a ceremony, this being the most important of all, it is very difficult for a child coming of age to find themselves in a world that is perfect. Finding oneself is very important and an essential part of what is the entire idea of "coming of age". For Jonas, the main character, it must be very difficult for him to find himself in a community that has already defined his entire life.
The community decides everything for him. His clothes were picked for him, his entire life was set in a certain way. But, as life would have it, Jonas meets his mentor and teacher figure, The Giver. The Giver teaches him about how life really is. For Jonas, this was a very big realization. He now has all the knowledge to finally discover himself.
As I think about it I second guess myself. Sometimes, you actually DO need someone telling you what to do. You need someone to guide you and teach you how to actually live your life instead of just pushing you out into the open world without you having the knowledge you need to live. You need someone to give you the tools and knowledge to go and live your life. In some cases, if you are pushed out into the world without the proper tools and knowledge you are pretty much lost. In the community where Jonas lives, they do, in a way, give them what they need to figure out their world but only to some extent. And they DO teach them, but for what? Because in the community that Jonas lives, they teach them only what they need to know in order to survive in a community where they are supposed to be submissive and obey all orders given out through a loud speaker.
It is natural for a human being to rebel against their superiors but the thing is, that after a while, all we want to do is test out limits. Its only natural. Testing our limits is part of what being human is like. In the community, the people who live there are not permitted to do something out of line, or something that is not written in the rules. The rules are everything to them. They follow it to every last detail which makes them in a way, submissive and not even human like. Sometimes, to fund out who you are, you need to break some rules. Breaking rules is what life is sometimes all about.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Monday, May 23, 2011
What is Rebellion?
Rebellion with a cause is important for the development of young adults. We need to learn to challenge ideas and test our limits. Rebellion is important is important because it is an example of us trying to take responsibility for ourselves. We need to rebel. But please, keep in mind, not all rebelling is good. You need to rebel for a legit cause. Something that you truly believe in. Something that in your eyes is right. If we don't, in some sense, we are always going to be under our superior's thumb our entire life. By not rebelling, we are showing (in the words of Mercutio) "calm, dishonorable, vile submission". Submission is not good if you want to be some one. If you want the world to hear your voice and see you as a person. It's a step we need to take.
I guess, in way, people that are against rebellion are willing to forever let their superior's make decisions or choices for them. Letting people make choices for you is OK t an extent. But, after a while, you need to take over. Because, what happens if someday, no one is there to make choices for you? What them?
Rebellion is something that even the sane minded do..
I guess, in way, people that are against rebellion are willing to forever let their superior's make decisions or choices for them. Letting people make choices for you is OK t an extent. But, after a while, you need to take over. Because, what happens if someday, no one is there to make choices for you? What them?
Rebellion is something that even the sane minded do..
Monday, May 16, 2011
Beanie Dog
As a 6 year old, I would often as my dad "Daddy, do you think God would let me take him to heaven with me?" My dad would simply answer, "I don't know. You should ask him yourself." That would mean, that 90% of my night time prayer would go to asking over and over again for my beanie dog (the other 10% was asking for more cartoons during the week).
My hands would wrap around him so tightly I could feel the little beanie beans on the inside rub against each other underneath the cloth surface stitched to look like a dog.
He was the most important thing to me. Everywhere I went he was there with me. That dog has seen almost and nearly everything. He's seen me eat my first asparagus, loose my first tooth in Kinder garden, fall and scrape my knee, and was riding shotgun in my bicycle basket for my first time without my trusty training wheels.
That dog was everything to me as a little girl. A friend, a companion, a confider. Everything that is, except a toy. For me he was and still is real.
His sown ears covered his dark brown eyes. His fur would glisten in the afternoon sun as I would play outside with chalk. His white little feet were ever so small and dirty, for wherever we would go there was bound to be and amount of dirt.
Now his small white feet are no longer dirty. His fur is no longer full of glossy strands of golden brown. His fur has gradually faded away with age. His feet are white. We no longer travel the rough terrains of the neighborhood and all over the world. He is now highly perched on a shelf with pride. It is an alter on which he rightfully sits.
He was very big part of my childhood. Everything to me. A big part of me is reflected through his small eyes. Visions of the past. Of what once was and what memories were ours to keep.
I love that old sad raggedy dog. Part of me floats inside the little beans. Memories I wish to never forget. Ever.
My hands would wrap around him so tightly I could feel the little beanie beans on the inside rub against each other underneath the cloth surface stitched to look like a dog.
He was the most important thing to me. Everywhere I went he was there with me. That dog has seen almost and nearly everything. He's seen me eat my first asparagus, loose my first tooth in Kinder garden, fall and scrape my knee, and was riding shotgun in my bicycle basket for my first time without my trusty training wheels.
That dog was everything to me as a little girl. A friend, a companion, a confider. Everything that is, except a toy. For me he was and still is real.
His sown ears covered his dark brown eyes. His fur would glisten in the afternoon sun as I would play outside with chalk. His white little feet were ever so small and dirty, for wherever we would go there was bound to be and amount of dirt.
Now his small white feet are no longer dirty. His fur is no longer full of glossy strands of golden brown. His fur has gradually faded away with age. His feet are white. We no longer travel the rough terrains of the neighborhood and all over the world. He is now highly perched on a shelf with pride. It is an alter on which he rightfully sits.
He was very big part of my childhood. Everything to me. A big part of me is reflected through his small eyes. Visions of the past. Of what once was and what memories were ours to keep.
I love that old sad raggedy dog. Part of me floats inside the little beans. Memories I wish to never forget. Ever.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Empty "Thank You"'s are no longer enough
What is "Thank You"?
Nothing really. It means nothing unless you actually mean it with all your heart and soul. With all of your being. It means nothing if you just say it, and don't do something about it. What it really is, is just two words put together. Thank and You. Rendering the real meaning useless and to just throw it around like a boomerang isn't good. Because, as we all know, Karma's a bitch. She'll get you one day. And when she does, it's going to hurt.
Honest to God, I'm trying my BEST not to hate this new person I see before me. This is not the same person. I look into your eyes. There obviously the same eyes I used to see before. But the thing is, when I look into your eyes, I no longer see you. I see some other person. Someone I don't know. A complete stranger.
I miss the person I used to see through those eyes. You can't pretend that you didn't change. You did. I wish that i could talk to the old you I used to know. I hope that the person who was there before, can hear me and get out of the new person that is burrowed in there.
Nobody's faking anything. Your gone. Somewhere where i guess your not coming back. You have slipped away from us. Its not going to be the same unless you change back to who you were.
When you DO decide to come back to us, well be there. Kind of how in a way you weren't always there for us. But don't worry. We'll be there for you.
Nothing really. It means nothing unless you actually mean it with all your heart and soul. With all of your being. It means nothing if you just say it, and don't do something about it. What it really is, is just two words put together. Thank and You. Rendering the real meaning useless and to just throw it around like a boomerang isn't good. Because, as we all know, Karma's a bitch. She'll get you one day. And when she does, it's going to hurt.
Honest to God, I'm trying my BEST not to hate this new person I see before me. This is not the same person. I look into your eyes. There obviously the same eyes I used to see before. But the thing is, when I look into your eyes, I no longer see you. I see some other person. Someone I don't know. A complete stranger.
I miss the person I used to see through those eyes. You can't pretend that you didn't change. You did. I wish that i could talk to the old you I used to know. I hope that the person who was there before, can hear me and get out of the new person that is burrowed in there.
Nobody's faking anything. Your gone. Somewhere where i guess your not coming back. You have slipped away from us. Its not going to be the same unless you change back to who you were.
When you DO decide to come back to us, well be there. Kind of how in a way you weren't always there for us. But don't worry. We'll be there for you.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Responce to "My Papa's Waltz" by Theodore Roethke
The whiskey on your breath
Could make a small boy dizzy;
But I hung on like death:
Such waltzing was not easy.
We romped until the pans
Slid from the kitchen shelf;
My mother's countenance
Could not un-frown itself.
The hand that held my wrist
Was battered on one knuckle;
At every step you missed
My right ear scraped a buckle.
You beat time on my head
With a palm caked hard by dirt,
Then waltzed me off to bed
Still clinging to your shirt
Looking at it once, its about a boy playing around with his dad. or "dancing" as he says. In one aspect, you could say that the father is just playing with his kid and they are being crazy, "We romped until the pans/Slid from the kitchen shelf" what it is directly saying there, is that the child is playing or rough housing whit his dad. But why would the mother be mad? "My mother's countenance could not un-frown itself"... that made me think, why would she be just standing there?? If they were rough housing as the poems direct paraphrasing suggests, then she might be mad about them destroying or making the kitchen a mess. But as i think about it, the back part of my mind is saying 'child abuse'.
My point of view is that it depends on how you look at it. In what settings you put it in. on one point of view, (as i stated above) he is just probably dancing with his father and being careless.
But... (there's always a but) in the last stanza it says, "you beat time on my head"... Hitting?? Yeah i think so... In the context of child abuse it is quite simple, hitting this child using the excuse of hiding it behind music.
Another thing that made me think of child abuse was the wording that this poem used such as "but i hung on like death" i mean, why use the word Death?? it is strong word to use. I mean, for adults its fine. But lets not forget that in this case the narrator sounds like a child and that seems to be a word that can be used very heavily.
Could make a small boy dizzy;
But I hung on like death:
Such waltzing was not easy.
We romped until the pans
Slid from the kitchen shelf;
My mother's countenance
Could not un-frown itself.
The hand that held my wrist
Was battered on one knuckle;
At every step you missed
My right ear scraped a buckle.
You beat time on my head
With a palm caked hard by dirt,
Then waltzed me off to bed
Still clinging to your shirt
Looking at it once, its about a boy playing around with his dad. or "dancing" as he says. In one aspect, you could say that the father is just playing with his kid and they are being crazy, "We romped until the pans/Slid from the kitchen shelf" what it is directly saying there, is that the child is playing or rough housing whit his dad. But why would the mother be mad? "My mother's countenance could not un-frown itself"... that made me think, why would she be just standing there?? If they were rough housing as the poems direct paraphrasing suggests, then she might be mad about them destroying or making the kitchen a mess. But as i think about it, the back part of my mind is saying 'child abuse'.
My point of view is that it depends on how you look at it. In what settings you put it in. on one point of view, (as i stated above) he is just probably dancing with his father and being careless.
But... (there's always a but) in the last stanza it says, "you beat time on my head"... Hitting?? Yeah i think so... In the context of child abuse it is quite simple, hitting this child using the excuse of hiding it behind music.
Another thing that made me think of child abuse was the wording that this poem used such as "but i hung on like death" i mean, why use the word Death?? it is strong word to use. I mean, for adults its fine. But lets not forget that in this case the narrator sounds like a child and that seems to be a word that can be used very heavily.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Poetry??
Poetry is passion,
in your hands
trying to express themselves.
Words struggle to get out,
pushing and probing...
Like a crazed madman, pulling at your insides...
Poetry isn't cute...
we write it with passion,
because it is what is inside your soul
pushing to get out,
struggling to be free....
What am I good for???
What can I do?
That's all i can do...
What else should I do?
I cannot do anything but this,
because this is all I can do...
You can't ask for more because,
that's all I can give.
My life isn't pointless though.
I mean,
I mus t be good for something....
RIGHT????
I must be good at something else besides this....
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