World Literature- E603 :)

P4B- "Me"

2009-04-06T23:24:00.000-07:00

You Found Me - The Fray

The days were bright and sunny—

the times of monkey bars, dashing from cooties on the playground, galloping free and wild in the realm of imagination

the times when the sun still wore a smiley face and the sky had no limits.

We could try to pluck the stars

and in failure had no need for shame,

because there were infinite chances to shape

the future of who we became.

We dove into a flurry of sports and arts

to see in which we would be a prodigy;

the pursuit of this particular year: clogging

And it was there, in that long, mirrored hall in our clanking tap shoes, where we met.

Her with the contagious smile, curly afro of Asian hair, the gregarious personality of a golden sunflower;

Me, the shy little girl with big, searching eyes, curious like a kitten, yet quiet like a mouse.

That was when our paths crossed for the first time;

the first intersection and not nearly the last.

Through the years, we saw each other countless times—

lives crisscrossing en route a talent search:

one time, mastering the delicate art of striking tunes on keys black and white.

And then, by that last circumstance of chance, a final endeavor did seal our paths to intertwine:

to sit side-by-side, determinedly conquering the eccentric wails of the oboe,

together for seven years.

And together we were—laughing, crying, fuming, comforting, sharing.

Bonding through music; bonding for life.

Merging.

closer and closer

to becoming

best friends.

Closer and closer,

to becoming

One.

There we were, fates written in the stars.

Enthusiastic she, beckoning forth the blooms of my personality;

me, counteracting her close companion named melodrama.

We did everything together:

eventually we spoke the same, we thought the same.

We were the same.

-“The Asians”

---“Joined at the hip”

-------- “The package deal”

--------------- “Two peas in a pod”

Real words unnecessary;

Sentences completed themselves.

Full conversations spoken with no speaking;

shifting eyes bringing forth dangerous outbursts of laughter,

a language tacit between only two.

News told to one was understood to be told to both.

Both naïve’. Both so innocent.

I was she and she was me.

Our paths had coalesced;

together, we strode down a single road.

Through the years,

through extravagant birthdays, countless moments of hilarity and sheer joy,

through first heartbreaks, family fights, cancer battles.

Together, we made our pilgrimage

until one day, that time came…

that forked road, that forked moment.

There we stood at the edge of a dark forest, an unchartered land

unable to see any farther

but armed with axes in hand and the ability to carve out our paths.

There we stood, so unsure.

Unsure of what was to come, unsure of what to make of it.

Unsure of who we were supposed to become.

Unsure of the future.

Do we forge a path together?

Two heads are better than one, they always say.

Or do we become our own axe wielders?

—slowly etching divergent courses into the storybook of humanity…

……

Here I stand,

Alone.

Alone, I lay broken.

Alone, I struggle to even lift the axe.

Alone, I have no confidence.

Alone, I am no one.

The thicket and weeds are taking over,

they threaten to strap me down forever;

I can’t escape this.

No phone call on this first birthday away—

A lost soul writhing from neglect and empty promises.

Who was she? An illusion, a wild figment of my imagination?

Who was I?

Who am I?

Confused.

Scared.

Abandoned.

Desperate.

Homeless.

Aimless.

Exhausted, of creeping along so slowly…

……

Up ahead, I see someone!

Enthusiastically hacking, chopping away,

creating a path.

Who is this girl?

A former innocent, all grown up.

“What the fuuu…” what did she just say?!

And a boy alongside, his arms, lips,

permanently attached,

to my other half.

A changed half.

Now, I’m a different half.

An unmatching half?!

Distresses deluge: the jigsaws might not fit.

Still best friends, but one no longer.

This thought sickens me:

run,

run.

Fast.

Frantic.

Far.

Away.

To get away from the reality of being

nothing like her.

My mind booms:

What happened back there?

I don’t know, I scream.

But I do: I can’t bear to admit

I know now—

I am not she, and she is not me.

I pace in futile circles,

treading into the ground,

into me:

I am not she, and she is not me.

I am not she, and she is not me.

I am ~~not she, and she is not~~ me.

Me.

I am me.

And I have been all along.

I have never been anyone other than me.

She is a dear part of me.

We are interconnected,

but we are not one and the same.

Me and her.

Her and me.

—not synonyms.

I am my own.

I have my own path.

The laden axe fatigues me less and less;

determined confidence lifts a former burden.

Carve, carve, carve.

Create, create, create.

Dream, devise, shape.

……

And hullo there! Come, we meet again—

Best friend!!! she squeals.

This time, a connection:

A reconnection.

Once again,

laughing, dancing, dreaming;

a new version of old times.

And once again, also,

the eve of goodbyes;

on this occasion, a searching reappraisal of one another.

I’ve missed you so much, I tell her;

I’ve missed you too,

it’s so great to see you—you’re exactly the same! gleefully, she exclaims.

Thus, we separate, in the nostalgic dew of early morn;

back to our own paths, yet surely to meet again.

……

On the way back, I reflect upon those ringing words:

“You’re exactly the same!”

Exactly the same? I mourn.

All this chopping and shearing done for nothing…

No, no, this can’t be true!

But after a survey in the mirror, it does appear so:

I look the same, I speak the same.

I think the same, I act the same.

There is no indication of growth or transformation,

No extraordinary, abrupt difference, as in everyone else.

So sad, so sad…now was the time for change!

......

Back to work, here I go,

on this fruitless, meaningless journey

mindlessly hacking away at everything I see.

Ah! Here I’ve stumbled upon a huge tree!

Too big for me; I can’t do anything.

What am I to do?—I must do something.

Well, it is a beautiful tree; I wish to do the least damage.

Anyways, I should be saving the forest, not cutting it down.

As I deliberate and think these thoughts,

I suddenly become aware.

Aware that I am now aware.

One year ago, would I have been so mindful of the tree?

Would I have been so determined?

The answer is no, because the truth is yes:

I have changed!

Slowly yet surely, I am sculpting who I am.

The spinning base is the same, I am just subtly chiseling away.

I am the same, I am not the same.

I am different, I am not different.

The big forest is the same, I am just paving a little path.

Today, standing on the stone I placed yesterday, I place the footpath for tomorrow.

I am a fusion of the past, present, and future.

A fusion of all the words I have heard, all the sights I have seen, all the people I have met;

I am an amalgamation of everything that I have learned from the world, of everything I love.

But I do not become everything that I love:

I am not the color green;

I am not a star, black hole or supernova;

I am not music;

I am not my dysfunctional family;

I am not my best friend.

I do not have to be any of these.

I can pick and choose among the qualities of each,

Whichever ones I wish to unify and hammer into “me.”

And the catch is, there will never be,

a single me.

The idea of me can be captured,

at any moment, at any time;

but for the rest of eternity,

I am continually changing.

Shearing.

Sculpting.

I am a continuum of new thoughts, new ideas—the only constant is change.

This is me.

And though I’ve tried to describe it with words,

it is impossible to tell you who I am

because frankly I do not know.

All I know is that I will be here in the forest,

the once daunting wild thicket,

now a forest of opportunities—a grove of possibilities.

A chance to transform, a chance to grow into myself.

I will be here in the forest,

forever working

not in unison, but in harmony with my best friend

working to create the beautiful, intricate design of two paths,

of her and me—

Us.

List of Illustrations:

1. “Clogger”-Personal Collection

2. “Peas in a Pod”- Personal Collection

3. “Laughing”- Personal Collection

4. “The Thick Forest”- http://farm1.static.flickr.com/62/167650432_2e3ff050cf.jpg?v=0

5. “Crossroad”-Personal Collection

6. “Puzzle”- http://www.leadermagazine.co.uk/images/uploads/657.jpg

7. “Running”- http://www.totalwellnessconsulting.ca/images/running%20forest.jpg

8. “Reconnection”-Personal Collection

9. “Mirror”- http://www.lakewoodconferences.com/direct/dbimage/50285586/Framed_Mirror.jpg

10. “Huge Tree”- http://photos.igougo.com/images/p382416-Virginia-A_Huge_Tree.jpg

11. “Intricate Design”- http://www.northnorfolk.org/sheringhampreservation/default_1793.asp

Word Count: 1,456

Blogger URL: http://kajalm-worldliterature-e603.blogspot.com/

Song Lyrics: The Fray- You Found Me

I found God on the corner of 1st and Amistad
Where the West was all but won
All alone, smoking his last cigarette
I said, "Where've you been?" He said, "Ask anything."

Where were you, when everything was falling apart.
All my days were spent by the telephone that never rang
And all I needed was a call that never came
To the corner of 1st and Amistad

Lost and insecure, you found me, you found me
Lying on the floor, surrounded, surrounded
Why'd you have to wait? Where were you? Where were you?
Just a little late, you found me, you found me.

But in the end everyone ends up alone
Losing her, the only one who's ever known
Who I am, who I'm not and who I wanna to be
No way to know how long she will be next to me

Lost and insecure, you found me, you found me
[ The Fray Lyrics are found on www.songlyrics.com ]
Lying on the floor, surrounded, surrounded
Why'd you have to wait? Where were you? Where were you?
Just a little late, you found me, you found me.

The early morning, the city breaks
And I've been calling for years and years and years
And you never left me no messages
You never sent me no letters
You got some kind of nerve taking all I want

Lost and insecure, you found me, you found me
Lying on the floor, Where were you? Where were you?

Lost and insecure, you found me, you found me
Lying on the floor, surrounded, surrounded
Why'd you have to wait? Where were you? Where were you?
Just a little late, you found me, you found me.

Why'd you have to wait, to find me, to find me?

Me- P4, take two

2009-03-30T20:24:00.000-07:00

You Found Me - The Fray

The days were sunny and bright—

the times of castles in sandboxes, being dressed by mommies, running free and wild in the realm of imagination.

The times when everything was possible and everything was merry.

Everything was sampled and no judging was done;

those were the days which would shape who we were to become.

A flurry of sports, arts, and musics were undertaken—

to see in which we were prodigy.

The adventure of this important year: clogging.

Then, was when we met.

Her with the contagious smile, curly afro of Asian hair, the gregarious personality of a golden
sunflower;

Me, the shy little girl with big, searching eyes, curious like a cat and quiet like a mouse.

Then, was when our paths crossed for the first time.

Then, was the first encounter and not nearly the last.

Through the years, we saw each other time and time again—

once more, lives intersecting en route a talent search:

this time, mastering the delicate art of striking tunes on keys black and white.

Then, that time, was when the final endeavor did fate seal our paths to intertwine:

Side-by-side, determinedly conquering the eccentric wails of the oboe,

for seven years together we would sit.

Together we were—laughing, crying, fuming, comforting, sharing.

Bonding through music; bonding for life.

Merging.

closer and closer

to becoming

best friends.

Closer and closer,

to becoming

One.

And there we were, fates crossed by stars.

My personality blossoming through her enthusiasm;

me, balancing her close companion named melodrama.

We did everything together:

eventually we spoke the same, we thought the same.

We were the same.

-The Asians.

---Two peas in a pod.

----------The package deal.

---------------Joined at the hip girls.

Real words not needed;

Sentences completed themselves.

Full conversations spoken with no speech.

Shifting eyes bringing dangerous outbursts of laughter,

a language tacit between only two.

Anything told to one was understood to be told to both.

Both naïve’. Both so innocent.

I was she and she was me.

Our paths had coalesced;

together, we strode down the same road.

Through the years,

through extravagant birthdays, countless moments of hilarity and sheer joy,

through first heartbreaks, family fights, cancer fights.

Together, we strode, until…

Until one day, that time came.

That moment, that crossroad.

There we stood at the edge of a forest—

Axes in hand, armed with the ability to carve out our paths.

There we stood, so unsure.

Unsure of what was to come, unsure of what to make of it.

Unsure of who we were supposed to become.

Unsure about the future.

Do we forge a path together?

Two heads are better than one, they always say.

Or do we become our own axmen?

—slowly etching our separate courses into the storybook of humanity…

……

Here I stand,

Alone.

Alone, I lay broken.

Alone, I struggle to even lift the ax.

Alone, I have no confidence.

Alone, I am no one.

The thicket and weeds are taking over.

They threaten to strap me down forever;

I can’t escape this.

No phone call on this first birthday away—

Heartaches from empty promises.

Who was she? An illusion, a wild figment of my imagination?

Who was I?

Who am I?

Confused.

Scared.

Abandoned.

Desperate.

Homeless.

Aimless.

Exhausted, of creeping along so slowly…

……

Up ahead, I see someone!

Enthusiastically hacking, chopping away,

Creating a path.

Who is this girl?

A former innocent, all grown up.

“What the fuuu…”what did she just say?!

And a boy alongside, his arms, lips,

permanently attached,

to my other half.

A changed half.

Now, I’m a different half.

An unmatching half?!

Distresses deluge: the jigsaws might not fit.

Still best friends, but one no longer.

This thought sickens me:

I
run,

run, (these "runs" are supposed to be stair stepping)

run.

Fast.

Frantic.

Far.

Away.

To get away from the reality of being

nothing like her.

My mind booms:

What happened back there?

I don’t know, I scream.

But I do: I can’t bear to admit;

I know now—

I am not she, and she is not me.

I pace in futile circles,

Treading into the ground,

Into me:

I am not she, and she is not me.

I am not she, and she is not me.

I am not she, and she is not me. ("not she, and she is not" is supposed to be struck through)

Me.

I am me.

And I have been all along.

I have never been anyone other than me.

She is a dear part of me.

We are interconnected,

but we are not one and the same.

Me and her.

Her and me.

—not synonyms.

I am my own.

I have my own path.

The laden axe fatigues me less and less.

Determined confidence lifts a former burden.

Carve, carve, carve.

Create, create, create.

Dream, devise, shape.

……

And hullo there! Come, we meet again—

Best friend!!! she squeals.

This time, a connection:

A reconnection.

Once again,

laughing, dancing, dreaming.

A new version of old times.

And once again, also,

Comes the eve of goodbyes.

On this occassion, a searching reappraisal of each other.

I’ve missed you so much, I tell her;

I’ve missed you too,

it’s so great to see you—you’re exactly the same! gleefully, exclaims she.

Thus, we separate, in the moment of nostalgia;

back to our own paths, yet surely to meet again.

……

On the way back, I reflect upon those echoing words:

“You’re exactly the same!”

Exactly the same? I mourn.

All this chopping and shearing done for nothing…

No, no, this can’t be true!

But after a survey in the mirror, it does appear so:

I look the same, I speak the same.

I think the same, I act the same.

There is no indication of growth or transformation,

No calamitous, abrupt difference, as with everyone else.

So sad, so sad…now was the time for change!

......

Back to work, here I go,

on this fruitless, meaningless journey.

Mindlessly hacking away, at everything I see.

Ah, here is a huge tree,

Too big for me; I can’t do it.

What am I to do?—I must do something.

Well, it is a beautiful tree; I want to do the least damage.

Anyways, I should be saving the forest, not cutting it down.

As I deliberate and think these thoughts,

I suddenly become aware.

Aware that I am now aware.

One year ago, would I have been so mindful of the tree?

Would I have been so determined?

The answer is no, because the truth is yes:

I have changed!

Slowly yet surely, I am sculpting who I am.

The spinning base is the same, I am just subtly chiseling away.

I am the same, I am not the same.

I am different, I am not different.

The big forest is the same, I am just paving a little path.

Today, standing on the stone I placed yesterday, I place the footpath for tomorrow.

I am a fusion of the past, present, and future.

A fusion of all the words I have heard, all the sights I have seen, all the people I have met;

I am a representative of everything that I have learned from the world, of everything I love.

But I do not become everything that I love:

I am not the color green;

I am not a star, black hole or supernova;

I am not the essence of music;

I am not my dysfunctional family;

I am not my best friend.

However, I am a conglomeration—a union of all of these.

I can pick and choose among the qualities of each,

Whichever ones I wish to unify and hammer into “me.”

And the thing is, there will never be,

A single me.

The idea of me can be captured,

At any moment, at any time;

But for the rest of eternity,

I am continually changing.

Shearing.

Sculpting.

I am a continuum of new thoughts, new ideas—the only constant is change.

This is me.

And though I’ve tried to describe it with words,

It is impossible to tell you who I am.

Because I do not know, myself.

All I know is that I will happily be here in the forest.

The once daunting wild thicket,

now a forest of opportunities—a grove of possibilities.

A chance to transform, a chance to grow into myself.

I will be here in the forest,

Forever working

Not in unison, but in harmony with my best friend.

Working to create the beautiful design of her and me—

Us.

Word count: 1410

so, the formatting is a little off in the lines/spacing and stuff
pictures are coming!
oh, and my punctuation is a mess..have fun! :)

Oh dear lord, this definitely isn't what I was going for..I think it's a play..ish..thing? new P4 coming soon...

2009-03-25T20:45:00.001-07:00

You Found Me - The Fray

6/27/2008
It’s a golden sunny day. Brightly colors objects swirl around us. There is magic shimmering in the air.
I’m a hardy traveler: I’m still excited to be here. I’m giddy like a child. I just want to run around with my arms wide and try to catch it all, to let it all soak in. I want to meet everybody—each of the princesses, and especially everyone of the princes—and do everything else there is to do: eat all the eats, ride all the rides, and see all the acts.

But, no one else wants to.

12:37 PM- It has been an enjoyable trip so far, however today is the last day of six. Everybody is a little sick, a little heat stroked, and a little exhausted—not to mention a little tired of each other. Maria has a migraine and refuses to take medicine. Kari won’t stop complaining about the pain in her delicate little feet. Daniel keeps getting frustrated with the massive peak-season crowds surrounding us. Everyone is hungry and cranky.
As we look around, we see shops, food stands and tables. The group makes an executive order: we are stopping and lounging in these chairs for a couple of hours.
My heart drops like a boulder in an avalanche. I refuse take this blasphemy: I am at Walt Disney World and will feel like I am at the happiest place on Earth. Desperately, I search for a getaway plan. In a few minutes one comes to mind.

12:49 PM-“Oh hey, guys, I see Matt and Shannon! I’m gonna go hang out with them for a while,” I lie. In actuality, I see no one; I just can’t wait to be free of the dreariness.
“Okay, sure,” they reply, knowing that I love this place and am still itching to explore.
“Well, I’ll meet all of you back here in two hours. Three o’clock, sound good?”
“Okay, have fun! Be careful on your way over there: remember there were reports of a pair of child molester roaming around. See you at three!”
“Psh whatever, I’ll be fine. Bye!” I exclaim and hurriedly dash away, making my great escape. In the excitement of the moment, little do I realize I have once again left my purse behind, as I so often do.

1:24 PM- I am in absolute bliss. I attempt to capture every memory with the camera which is ever-attached at my wrist. A beautiful butterfly swoops right by my face; I have got to get the perfect picture. Mesmerized, I follow bright yellows and oranges of the gracefully sashaying creature, diving deeper and deeper into my own world of oblivion. “It [is] lovely and beautiful to walk through the world like this, childlike and fully awake, open to what is near and without mistrust.” (Sid page 46) Oh look! I’ve just spotted Pocahontas. I have to get a picture with her.

3:28 PM- This freedom was exactly what I wished for. I watched the Beauty and the Beast production, got pictures with Pocahontas and Aladdin, and rode Splash Mountain. However, now it is time to feed my begging stomach. As I start searching for my cell phone to check the time, my stomach sinks as I come to a sick realization: I left my purse on the bench with my friends. My purse with all my money, and cell phone, which was low on battery. I have no way of contacting them. Oh no. I steal a glance at a passerby’s watch: it’s 3:30. Oh no! I start sprinting in the direction I thought I left them.

Meanwhile…
2:30 PM- Kari, Maria, Daniel and the rest of the group are relaxing at the benches.
“Let’s give Kajal a call and see what they’re up to. Maybe we could meet them,” suggests Daniel as he dials my number. Startled, they hear my familiar ringtone, which cuts off mid-way.
“Oh God. She left her purse again.”
Checking my purse, they realize my phone is dead.
“She would leave her purse and her phone low on battery. It’s okay, let’s just call Matt,” says Daniel in his clear, level-headed ways.

It is not long before they come to the realization that I never made it to hang out with Matt and Shannon. A panic session ensues, however they decide to at least wait until three in hopes that I will show up.

3:14 PM- “What is going on?!? She’s never late! Where is she?” Maria cries in distress.
Her and Kari’s eyes become the size of saucers as they share a look of tacit understanding.
Kari moans, “Oh My GOD! The child molesters kidnapped her!”

3:20 PM- After waiting around for a few more minutes, the group leaves in order to began their. Frantically, they strain their eyes to see as far as possible, looking for any glimpse. After having no luck, they soon began asking the small shop owners.
Daniel began the questioning: “Umm…have you seen a girl by herself? She’s Indian: black hair, brown skin. Average height..Gosh, how do I explain who she is?!”
“Well, I’m sorry sir,” replied the glass art shop employee. “This weekend, the International South Asian Association is actually visiting the parks, so there have been a lot of guests who fit that description.”
As the group looked around in dismay, they realized there were, in fact, more heads of black hair than in an average population.

3:43 PM- Kari, Maria, Daniel and the others put their heads together.
“If you were Kajal, where would you be?”
“Well, she does love food. We should check any restaurant that we see.”
“She loves the color green? And astronomy…? And the band Coldplay..?
“Right. Like that helps.”
“Well, that’s who she is.”
“Not really. That’s just what she likes.”
“How are we supposed to explain who she is, then?

Around the same time…
3:47 PM- I am running around searching for the benches I left my dear friends at, cursing my naiveté. Why did I think I could just run off? And how in the world could I forget my purse? Seriously?
I gasp for air. Distressed, I look as far as my sight stretches. It is dizzying—everything suddenly looks the same. There are restaurants everywhere, there are shops everywhere, there are benches everywhere! The world spins around and around as I run in futile circles.
Where am I?! Who am I to be stupid enough to get lost?
Okay, calm down.
I think for a minute and as I am walking and looking, began taking pictures of the places I pass, in order to remember where I have already looked.
Well, it’s not like you’re going to find them right now. Hopefully, you’ll run into them somewhere. You should try to enjoy this while you can.

3:56 PM- As a parade passes by, I try to clap along and enjoy the music and wacky cars filled with Disney characters, as all of the chortling little children mobbing around me are, but it is impossible. I just want to be with my friends. I miss them. I can’t do this alone anymore.
Perhaps you could go to the front desk where the missing children go?
No! I refuse to do that. It would be humiliating to walk up to the front desk and say, “Hi, I’m lost. Yes, I’m seventeen.”
It would be the smart thing to do.
Whatever. My friends know me and would never look there anyways. I’m old enough to take care of myself. I’ll be alright.
My stomach growls, voicing its disapproval.
I find myself shivering as a cool breeze blows in, followed by drops of water. Rain—great.

4:00 PM- I’m cold, starving, and soaked to my core. I just want to eat, be warm, and with my friends.
There are screaming children everywhere running to take cover in the shops. And then I see it: there’s an unmanned pizza cart! It’s utter chaos right now—no one would notice if I just swiped a couple of slices. I haven’t eaten since eight in the morning. I’m just so hungry, and it’s so close. Besides, I’ve paid enough to get in to this darn place of happiness.

I casually walk towards the pizza stand, and stealthily reach out with my arm. I reach, reach, reach…
But it doesn’t happen.
I can’t allow myself to take it.
Why can’t you just take it, you wuss?
I don’t know, that’s just who I am.

On the other side…
5:00 PM- The search continues. My friends dart from store to store, craning their necks, and asking workers.
“Our friend, she’s been lost for a few hours…she’s Indian, umm she loves music.”
“Try the Philharmonic Show theater.”
It was a fruitless search as they could not explain who, out of the thousands of people, they were looking for.
“Should we go to the front desk where the lost kids go?”
“No, she’s too stubborn to go there.”

Back to my starving, shivering self, still hiding from the mighty thunderstorm…
7:30 PM- I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes. I can’t do this anymore. What if I’m stuck here forever? What was the last thing I said to my friends?
“Psh. Whatever. I’ll be fine.” It echoed through my mind.
Oh goodness, there are child molesters out.
I look around me, and every face seems so evil. They are all sneering, these menacing people, all obviously coming to get me. My heaven has turned into hell.

8:00 PM- The rain has stopped. Both parties continue listlessly wandering around.

9:00 PM- I decide to go to the place that I’ve admired since my toddler years; the Cinderella’s Castle is the symbol of my dreams and comforts me—maybe I’ll find some peace there.
Slowly, I make my way to the castle. I nestle into a little corner of the castle walkway and doze off.

9:45 PM- I am shaken awake—by God himself. It’s Mickey Mouse!
“Excuse me, ma’am, are you okay? There’s a show about to go on. Who are you?” he inquired as he lent me a hand.
“I..I’m happy!”

******

Today, I was looking through my pictures and I came upon my "Lost in Disney!" album. It has been almost a year, yet as I flip through the photos, each moment comes rushing back to me. The sights, the sounds, the happiness, the fears.
I wonder to myself, "How did I let this happen? What would I do differently now, after having lived at UT for a year?"
More than ever I would try to follow happiness. I would not be so scared, or too shy to ask for help. But I have not changed monumentally: I still have my same code of ethics. I probably still would have not taken the pizza and starved.
Now, by myself for real, I have become more aware of myself and my capabilities. I know to watch out, because I most likely will forget my purse. But I also know that I cannot do it alone, and the world is not full of monsters. The world is filled with Mickeys: friends, family, peace, love, and happiness. Our life is what we make of it. We are what we do and love; it is difficult for us to define ourselves any other way. In that case, I am still finding what I enjoy doing, I am still finding what I love, and will be discovering new loves for the rest of my life
. Who am I? I will never be able to tell you.

Word count: 1874

Tough love vs. Compassion with detachment

2009-03-22T07:33:00.001-07:00

Hakuna Matata - Lion King

I don’t feel like tough love and detached compassion are interchangeable phrases. Firstly, I don’t think “displaying compassion by emotionally neglecting someone” (Dana’s DB) is what you can call tough love—it has the tough part, but not the love. As the Oxford English Dictionary defines it, tough love is “protection of a person's welfare (esp. that of a child, addict, or criminal) by enforcing certain constraints on him or her, or requiring him or her to take responsibility for his or her actions; behavior which, though seemingly harsh or unyielding, is intended for the ultimate benefit of the recipient.” The most important aspect of tough love is the motivation: the “seemingly harsh” actions are for the benefit of the recipient. It is love because even though the recipient may not see it, it does some good for them; it is with good intention. In all that is done, there is the underlying foundation of love. Personal example—and I’m sure we’ve all been treated with tough love by our parents: if my parents had bought me every toy that I ever wanted and threw a tantrum for as a child, and whatever else I’ve wanted the last few years, I would be a rather spoiled, selfish and ignorant bitch. I would always get upset with them –feel a little unloved—but it would be okay, because I somewhere deep, deep inside, I knew they were doing what they thought was best for me. They’d still feed me, clothe me, and take care of me— all actions by which we try to show love. Parenting is all about tough love.

As for our friend Sid, he was lacking a little in that department. Indeed it was the first time he ever “suffered for the sake of another person, loved another person, lost himself to a love and became a fool of love” (Hesse 114). That is a hard place to start off as a parent. He didn’t really know him, but he had “this blind love for his son” (Hesse 114) and like many parents, was willing to undergo any amount of suffering for the happiness of this child. Siddhartha was giving his son unconditional love in every situation, when what Sid jr. could have used some tough love.

Also, Siddhartha’s situation when he experienced the deep love for his son and “preferred the suffering and worries of love over happiness without the boy” (Hesse 110), is an example of love/compassion WITH attachment –without detachment. His emotions were dependant on how his son was doing. He hurt when his son spoke malicious words against him, suffered when his son refused to understand and be disciplined. His emotions were ATTACHED to his son.

Though the situation of Siddhartha’s love for his son is an example of both unconditional love and compassion with attachment, those two phrases are not synonymous. Thus their opposites, tough love and detached compassion are not equivalent either. I’ve already talked about tough love, but I also feel compassion with detachment is not at all what it is has been portrayed as—empty compassion. The quote “he was completely concentrated on listening, completely empty” (Hesse 126) does not imply that Siddhartha had an emptiness in his compassion. It is simply saying that Sid had emptied his mind of his own stream of thoughts and would thus be able to listen with full attentiveness, not being constantly distracted by his thoughts and ideas. Also, detached compassion does not mean not helping someone out when they are in need or not being caring or considerate. Detachment, as I have been taught over the years, is not being overly emotionally attached. I know that sounds like exactly opposite the point I am trying to make, but hear me out. Yes, care. Yes, give it your all. Yes, be compassionate. But if what you are doing goes wrong, don’t beat yourself up over. Don’t refuse to eat for a week. Go on with life, and understand that this is the way of the world. On the other hand, if it goes very well, don’t let it go to your head. Don’t be arrogant and look down upon others. At temple, they tell us to solely focus on the path of dharma—all you need to worry about is doing the right thing. You need not be attached to/worry about “the fruits of your actions”; however you have acted, the results will follow sooner or later. Basically, detachment means not being on an emotional rollercoaster.

That detachment in compassion is especially hard to achieve. The fine line can easily be crossed and then it turns into coldness and a seeming lack of compassion. When I try to be detached, it many times turns into me not caring enough, or me convincing myself that I don’t care, but in actuality caring a whole lot and then being devastated. Hoping to go into psychotherapy, (which I feel works wonders if done well) it is especially crucial to listen and be compassionate; myself is all I have to offer—I can’t just prescribe a medicine and snap my fingers to make everything better. It requires a lot of work, yet I can’t be so attached as to want to take every patient into my home and work with them all day, every day. It is okay to care a lot and be upset when bad things happen, but one can’t obsess over it. Hopefully going through life will teach me to accept the ways of the world.

Going in Circles...

2009-03-09T21:26:00.000-07:00

I just wish I could realize...

Realize - Colbie Caillat

“Are we, perhaps, just going in circles…?” (Hesse 21)
Constantly, I am asking myself this question. Continuously, it runs through my mind—I feel like this question is the reason that many times I do not feel. What is the point of getting angry, being extremely ecstatic, if it does not matter?

But then, this life is all we have...or all we know of under “the veil of Maya” (Hesse 40). This is what I have been taught in the study of the Hindu scriptures. Quite frankly, I’ve become quite confused. I feel like “I have lost myself in the process” (Hesse 39).

After spending every Sunday studying the Baghavad Gita and Self-Unfoldment, and spiritual camps learning the ways of great rishis and saints, I am torn between two ideas of who I am supposed to be and what I am supposed to do. It is true: “The world [is] certainly sick, and life [is] certainly difficult to endure” (Hesse 23) and there are “thorns which grow upon this rose of life” (X241). In order to escape the pain which comes along with this human existence, the Upanishads tell us, “Whoever immerses themselves in Atman through contemplation and a purified spirit will receive ineffable blessing in their heart” (Hesse 22). Like Siddharta was being taught in his life as a Samana, in order to reach moksha or Nirvana—“to escape the circle of existence” (Hesse 21)—we must learn how to control our emotions. Over and over, I have been taught the “Ladder of Fall”: the consequences that follow having desires, being attached, and consequently, deteriorating to the state of an angry animal. So I have been told and taught not to be attached to the world and the objects I am surrounded by. Once we are able to get rid of our ego-centric way of thinking—“no longer be an ‘I’” (Hesse 16)—we will see that we are one with the world and Atman. Thus we will live in absolute happiness.

And once again, I am right where Siddharta was. He looks at the wizened sixty year old Samana and realizes “He will become seventy and eighty and you and I will also become old while practicing, fasting and meditating” (Hesse 20). When I went to stayed at the ashram in India, I saw the same thing. These people had renounced all their worldly possessions, their home, their families, even their names, in order to devote themselves to finding the “Self.” Yet they were just the human as the rest of us, albeit with a more extensive knowledge of the scriptures. They were sad, happy, angry, jealous, had secrets, had desires. I know they were still learning, but it this learning process seems to be an extremely slow one. Is Dana right? Am I being brainwashed into a socialized way of thinking? I guess they’ve got me right where they want me.

Yet, I’ve also seen people who have achieved “Self-realization.” They are most inspirational, spell-binding and awing. They are impossible to describe with words, but these realized souls are truly something else, of a different nature. They have absolute control of their minds, and bend their will to not even the demands of their body. A teacher of mind once had a guru who was a world-renowned swami. He had been traveling across the globe and had not slept in 48 hours. The swami was exhausted, but was to meet with a guest in thirty minutes. And so, the swami slept…for thirty minutes. Only thirty. The mind-blowing part though, is that he had absolutely no alarm or any other means to wake him up. The swami was so in control of his mind that even in times of pure exhaustion, he could tell himself to sleep for only thirty minutes, and do so.
Stories like that and the people like him who I have met, fill me with a conviction that this is the path I want to follow. Not for the glory, not for the bragging rights, but because maybe it really is the way to a higher, happier place.

As I jump back and forth, I see where Russell and Brain are coming from. I want to experience all that this life has to offer. I don’t want to turn away from it all. This world is a beautiful place and I just want to take it all in: the painted sunsets, the dewy pine forest, the majestic mountains, the adorable kittens and puppies. There is so much I love and want to do---I’m so filled with a need for action. I still have “such wide love for living things, such passion to heal pain..” (X241). And I still feel the need to follow that passion to "be at peace!" (X241) Perhaps what I am supposed to learn is to have control over my mind and body in order to pursue my passion with a "fearless love" (X246).

Compassion>Imperialism

2009-03-02T17:18:00.000-08:00

Circle Of Life - Lebo M.

When I was little, I used to love watching animal shows on TV—Kratt’s Creature’s, anyone? One of the most valuable, most emphasized points I learned was that in a hypothetical situation of being trapped with a great beast (or even a ferocious little dog), the best thing to do it look the animal straight in the eye with confidence and an air of peace. This shows the creature that you are not afraid of it and thus are not on the defensive and so, mean it no harm. Obviously, you have to be careful and get away while you can: the animal just might be darn hungry and want to gobble you up anyways. But the best approach to take is respect.

In George Orwell’s essay, “Shooting an Elephant,” the narrator knew that the elephant’s
“attack of ‘must’ was already passing off” (220X). He says, “As soon as I saw the elephant I knew with perfect certainty that I ought not to shoot him” (220X). But what made him do otherwise? It was the natives’ desire to watch and benefit from the show of the elephant being shot—they were “all happy and excited over this bit of fun” (220X). He could not let down this schadenfreude-esque hunger in the natives. Although the elephant violently ravaged the town, they did not necessarily even care enough about the fact that the elephant killed the Indian coolie, other than the fact that the sight was horrifying. They just wanted to dominate the large animal, to prove that he could come down.

This obviously pulls an ironic parallel with imperialism, in particular, the British domination of India. Just like the natives wanted to prove and found glee in the fact that they could dominate a large beast, the British eagerly took on the challenge of conquering India. Although there were obvious economic reasons for the exploitation, what was the real reason for the domination over not even a different species, but merely a group of people with a different skin color?

In this materialistic world, a characteristic which was heavily emphasized in the period of colonialism, we humans tend to get really caught up in the hustle and bustle of it all. We want more, we want prettier, we want bigger, we want better. We may recognize the adorableness of, say, a puppy; however, all that comes to mind is how much we want it for ourselves. (This is not accusatory in anyway – I just feel like we are all guilty of doing so at one point or another. All I could think about yesterday was how I so desperately wanted to cuddle with the puppy. ) This all contributes to the building of our ego-centric selves. We simply want to be the best.

Out of wanting to be the best come the insecurities of NOT being the best. I many times get wishfully jealous, wanting to have the abilities or attribute or possessions of another. (hah! Dana, I’m seriously not that nice). Thus, when “the weakness of the victims” (X180) is exposed, we rejoice a little inside because it is a comfort to know that others also have some weaknesses and flaws. It is also a comfort knowing that we haven’t fallen yet. Out of the fears of failing and our vulnerability, we feel more secure seeing others fail/conquering others/killing something.

I think this is a very unhappy way of life, and many, many others have realized it as well. Most of the “civilized” countries have mostly given up conquering indigenous peoples, for the sole sake of having dominion over them. But this idea of not conquering should also be extended to animals. Before beasts “were, simply, crucial to survival” (170B). Living in the wild, it was out of defense, protection and need to satisfy hunger—it was the circle of life. In my eyes however, hunting is completely inexcusable. There is no good that comes out of showing superiority over an animal. If it is a sense of brotherhood that is desired—go play a real sport instead.

We should be like Robinson Jeffers: in awe of nature’s beauty. When he realizes he is being inspected as a vulture’s next meal he says, “But how beautiful he looked, veering/ away in the sea-light over the precipice. I tell you solemnly/That I was sorry to have disappointed him. To be eaten by that beak/and become part of him…” (X216) Jefferson has the utmost respect for the bird who is about to eat him. He revels in its beauty, and that is what makes him so peaceful and happy in the end. Being compassionate, seeing and admiring the beauty of the world around us would leave us happier beings. It would be a happier circle of life.

P3B: Becoming Mother Teresa

2009-03-01T14:29:00.000-08:00

“Don’t get married or have kids. You’ll spend your whole life caught up in that circle. Go out in the world and do some good that will help everyone.”

My mother makes sure to remind me of her sentiments on life and dharma (duty) on a rather consistent bi-weekly basis. Basically, she is trying to tell me that she wants me to be the next Mother Theresa. Furthermore, she is absolutely convinced it is going to happen—she has lots of faith. Thus, when there was a presentation at temple about a social service program which was doing work in rural India, I felt it was the opportunity of a lifetime which would be a perfect place for me to start my chrysalis towards becoming the most compassionate being in the world.

Convincing my parents to let me go was not too difficult: my mother was ready from the beginning, and the work was in India, our motherland, so my father could not say no to aiding kindred souls. Promptly, it was agreed that my father and I would go to Sidhbari, India over the approaching summer break to work with the Chinmaya Organization of Rural Development (CORD), a program affiliated with my temple. I would be working with villagers living in extreme cases of poverty, in the far rural reaches of India. As the arrangements were being made, I eagerly looked over the lists of what to take there. I excitedly packed up my precious stuffed animal collection, and the hundreds of brightly colored pencils I had amassed over the years. I even spent hours making pretty little knot bracelets. It would be simple like I had seen in those documentaries: I would spend time with the kids and give them toys and goods; they would be happy and life would eventually work out. My compassion and love were all that was needed to fix the world. I was confident and mentally prepared for my first saintly deed—it was no biggie.

That is how I boarded the plane on June 6th, 2007, journal in hand, ready to document my trip. On a side note, part of the bargain of letting me go was that I would keep a daily journal or write a paper about my trip to compensate for not doing a lame summer internship or attending some hollow “leadership” summer camp. Well, that never really happened; all I wrote down in that black and white polka-dotted journal was a list of the names of people I met during the trip who I felt made an impact on my life. While it was enough for me, it was not really descriptive enough for my mom. So, here it is, Mom—this one is for you.

Arriving in India is always a bit of a culture shock: it is like being
translocated to the birthplace of chaos. The massive amounts of people. The swerving traffic. The intense heat and the sweet, dusty smell—it all hits at once. Needless to say, after the grueling twenty-one hours of plane flight and the sleepless night on the train, I was an anxious mess and was not looking forward to the three hour motion sickness-inducing drive through the mountainous region. However, my anxieties subsided when the taxi driver arrived.

As strange as this may sound, Sonu was the most compassionate driver I had ever met. Just like his name (sonu means gold), he had a smile of gold: it started with the upward curl of his lips and extended into the depths of his luminous eyes. His smile personified warmth and caring – and most importantly – a genuine interest. As we journeyed to the foothills of the Himalayas, Sonu kept us captivated and excited to be there with his sprightly manners, all while taking special care to drive like a million dollar chauffeur. He had a true passion for his job: he strived to be the best possible driver by showing genuine interest in his passengers. Sonu tried his best to communicate through his broken English; but when he could say nothing else, he just looked back in the rearview mirror and flashed that ever-comforting sunshine of a smile. The formerly dreaded drive flew by. Now, as I think back to Sonu, I realize compassion requires taking a genuine interest in others’ and working to make them feel comfortable.

Thus, we soon arrived at the magnificently landscaped ashram – a Hindu place of religious study equivalent to a Buddhist monastery – ready to settle in. When the director of the ashram welcomed us, I did not realize how much I would come to appreciate the fact that he spoke in English. As we attended dinner later that evening, I quickly became aware of the fact that I could only understand a tenth of what anybody was saying, as they were all speaking in Hindi. How I wished I could say the magic word and instantly know Hindi. The next day, as I explored the place where I was to be performing my saintly deeds for the coming two weeks, the prospects of me talking to anybody for that time period swiftly vanished from slim to none; at CORD most people spoke Pahadi, a wickedly twisted, faster version of Hindi. How was I ever to connect with and better the lives of people whom I could not even sustain more than a five minute conversation with? All of my hopes of being the next Mother Teresa were sufficiently dashed.

Right at that moment, the heavens sent a blessing galloping in: my sunshine to clear up the clouds arrived in the form of three-year-old Krishna, who perhaps not-so-coincidentally even bears the names of one of my favorite deities. As he attacked the guide showing me around with a flurry of hugs and playful punches, she explained how little Krishna had already undergone three major surgeries in an attempt to heal his awkwardly twisted leg. He glanced over, noticing me the stranger, and I, not knowing what else to do, gave him a Sonu-esque smile which had previously comforted me. That was the trick! Krishna energetically hobbled over and began to use my hand as a doodling pad for the pen he had just found. At that moment, I was struck by the magical effectiveness of a simple smile. Smiling. It dawned on me: this is the language of happiness, love and peace. The language that everybody understands and speaks. As Mother Teresa said, “Everytime you smile at someone, it is an action of love, a gift to that person, a beautiful thing. ” It breaks barriers otherwise unbreakable and makes connections in the most unassuming places. Through my lesson learned from Krishna, I made many fast friends, and even though many times unable to technically communicate, I was able to share my joy, love and compassion.

As I spent more time with Krishna, I had to attend his physical therapy sessions with him. Though it was excruciatingly painful to watch, and as desperately as I wanted to let him skip out as he begged to do every time, I knew I had to be patient and stand firm. As I saw so many examples of at CORD, compassion also requires a tough, solid aspect. There were mandatory Alcoholics Anonymous types of classes for the village men who constantly went home as raging, abusive drunks. Though the farmers were not particularly inclined to change how they had farmed all their lives, they had to attend classes about more effective methods of farming. Everybody attended classes on money management. Because the best is desired for everyone, there are times it is understood that while patiently empathizing, it is also necessary to be strict and disciplinary. True compassion is not just being able to sympathize or “suffering together with another” ; for any good to come out of compassion, teaching and guidance is required.

On the other hand, compassion also calls for allowing people to freely express themselves. The villagers being serviced by CORD also had the opportunities to learn a variety of creative skills – whatever they pleased. There was sewing, weaving, and artwork, among many others. The villagers who volunteered to cook could not have been any happier to help prepare the meals. Compassion also allows for people to flourish at what they are good at. It is a form of encouragement, meant to help them move forward and learn about themselves and their capabilities.

For compassion to manifest itself into action effectively, it seems to require a conglomeration of all positive traits– that probably explains why sincerely compassionate people are so successful in their endeavors. Dr. Kshama Metre, the founder and national director of CORD, is the most compassionate person I have ever had the good honor to meet. Kshama Didi (sister), as she is affectionately called by the villagers, was originally a doctor in the United States with an extremely successful practice. Not satisfied with her life, she had a calling to doctor in the rural villages of India, and thus left her old life behind in the most selfless of actions. Sensing the need for change in the area, she opened CORD and designed the entire system which teaches the villagers how to build their own lives; now, people from villages two hours away make the daily commute in order to go to CORD. A program built so attractively requires a multitude of empathetic conscientiousness of what the people want and need, what they like and dislike. Most of all, an active compassion like Kshama Didi’s, requires a passion fueled by pure love.

*****

I am on the plane again,going home this time. As I sit listlessly, I reflect over the experiences I have just had, and the people I have met.

Sonu.

Krishna.

Kshama didi.

The list goes on and on. As the countless faces come up in my mind, I come to a realization: I did not really transform anybody’s life. Sure I gave out the toys and goods, but the people of Sidhbari were already happy people. It was not me helping and teaching them; it was them teaching and helping me. However, in the last two weeks, I have grown enough for this fact not to bother me. Compassion does not just come—it is an acquired capacity, and requires conscientiousness and practice. The best way to learn it is from others who already know it. Keeping that in mind, I searched and found it so nearby, in the people on Sidhbari. I am still learning, but that is just all part of the journey. Once I have fully mastered compassion, acting upon it, like Mother Teresa will come naturally. And there is still time for that.

Here is a video montage of some of Mother Teresa’s quotes. She is an incredible inspiration.

List of Illustrations:
1. “Mother Teresa” http://culture11.com/blogs/credo/wp-content/uploads/image/mother-teresa-1.jpg
2. “Toys” http://blog.mlive.com/watershedwatch/2007/12/large_toys.jpg
3. “Streets of India” http://image30.webshots.com/31/6/86/96/233268696NdUaTw_fs.jpg
4. “Sonu-like smile” http://gallery.photo.net/photo/5409766-md.jpg
5. “Playing with Krishna” From Personal Collection
6. “Therapy with Krishna” From Personal Collection
7. “Sewing Class” From Personal Collection
8. “CORD” http://www.chinmaya.org.nz/images/CORD.jpg
9. “Compassion” http://api.ning.com/files/Ij2-798Cl6ABEO3t0-YwoxJx*WvrIavVBhreKF8LJJkEqCL2d8-HMOu8-dPhpFWEzp0xYI4o6A*EYS74ItEgwUB4E9TQM560/compassion.jpg

Video:
“Mother Teresa's words of Love” http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c41sflWxWus

Word Count without quotes: 1,776
Word Count with quotes: 1,799

Blogsite URL: http://kajalm-worldliterature-e603.blogspot.com/

Is it a veggie Bible?

2009-02-18T15:27:00.000-08:00

The only kind of writing I’ve come to enjoy – by enjoy I mean, am able to do quickly and feel the least bit satisfied with – is literary analysis. This is “enjoyment” is derived mostly from the fact that you get to use quotes and analyze them – however you want to. It is so easy to construe the meaning of any paragraph, sentence, phrase or word. If you just take snippets out of context, there’s so much “deep, insightful” b.s. that you can pull out of the air. Then you tie them all together in perfect support of your little argument. That’s it: nice and simple, no fuss, no hassle. The best part is if you are a skillful insight fabricator, it is possible to come up with a reasonable sounding argument for just about any topic. And now, allow me to hypocritically do so as I criticize Stephen Webb.

With that being said, I feel like the arguments for Christ being vegetarian could have very possibly come from the clever stretching of quotes. Like Dana said, one of the large arguments used was that the accounts of the Last Supper “provide no mention of Christ or indeed, the Apostles partaking of the traditional Paschal Lamb before, during or after the Last Supper” (X138). Just because there is no mention of Jesus and his followers eating meat during one meal, although it is a rather significant one, does not mean that Jesus was vegetarian. Who knows? – Maybe he was. That would be awesome. However, that is in no case a valid argument.

To me it does make sense that Jesus would have been on a diet of less meat. My biblical knowledge does not extend very far, but from what I’ve gathered through the years, it sounds like he spent a large portion of his life wandering around the world and spreading his good knowledge. Also, from what I’ve gathered through the reading, God does not really approve of riches – “How hardly they that have riches enter into the kingdom of God! For it is easier for a camel to go through a needle’s eye, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God” (X132). Thus, I am assuming (anybody can correct me if I’m wrong: I make no claim to have lived in Jesus’ time) that when Jesus travelled and taught, he focused on teaching the poorer variety of people. Not necessarily the dirt poor people, but the people who were just surviving. From what history classes have told me, meat was quite a luxury in the olden days. If you were poor all you ate was bread and potatoes. Therefore, if Jesus spent a lot of time
with the poorer folks, he would probably have eaten what they eat; this diet would prove to be mostly vegetarian, I am assuming.

Although this is a fascinating topic, I agree with Jenny, in that I do not think this argument is worth pursuing in order to make the world go veg. After all, God gave the Ten Commandments and said “Thou shall not steal. Though shall not commit adultery. Thou shall not steal” (Exodus 20: 2-17). God commanded this and people still do these things all the time. Thus, if it was somehow proved that Jesus was vegetarian, while maybe some would convert, I question if it would make a significant impact.

Also, as I’m reading these portions for the first time, it seems to me that certain themes are plainly stated numerous times. I understand that Bump specifically put assigned us to read all the compassion portions, but the same basic principle of compassion and charity is expounded upon greatly with phrases like, “And now, abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity” (X133). With that in mind, if vegetarianism was really a pressing issue, it seems like it would have at least been mentioned once. Christ is such a model being of compassion, love, faith, and goodness; his life seems to have been chronicled quite closely. If it was a high wish of his, I think it would have been mentioned. So, I think we should focus on what has been mentioned like love and compassion instead.

All you need is <3

2009-02-16T17:15:00.000-08:00

12 - All You Need Is Love.mp3 -

Like Dana said, everybody has a different opinion as to what we humans are actually entitled to.

When we arrive on Earth, we come with empty hands: there is nothing we hold grasped in our hands as we push our way out of our mother’s wombs. This is something we “must learn to accept. To start at ground level. With nothing. Not with nothing but. With nothing. No cards, no weapons, no property, no rights, no dignity” (Coetzee X88).

The only thing we have, so to speak, is our mind. It is the one place where it is possible to have absolute control (not that it often happens). The mind is the collection of our thoughts, feelings, ideas and emotions: it is “the element or complex of elements in an individual that feels, perceives, thinks, wills, and especially reasons” (Merriam Webster). Thus, by having this consciousness, we have our thoughts, ideas and emotions, and we accordingly perform actions and deeds in the world. In my opinion, this is what we are entitled to in the world – our ideas, thoughts, feelings, and perhaps most importantly, our actions.

If this is all that we have, I don’t want to spoil it. I don’t want to be like creepy David Laurie, grossly obsessed with a girl many years his senior, with a mind that “has become a refuge for old thoughts, idle, indigent, with nowhere else to go…[where] he ought to chase them out, sweep the premises clean” (Coetzee X76). The mind is a special thing – we should “cultivate and take care of it” (Genesis 115).

Thus, the way to make the best use of our precious gift of the mind and the ability and potential it provides is through good action and good deeds. Our interactions with each other, and the world around us should be kind and loving – the people who achieve the ability to be unfading bearers of love and kindness are the ones who shine in the world. After all, it is God who says in the Genesis, “Be masters of the fish of the sea, the birds of heaven and all living animals on earth” (Genesis 115). It can easily be argued that the statement gives us free reign to do whatever we may please with the animals of the world – that we can eat them, we can torture them, we can slaughter them. But the word master shouldn’t be taken in that manner. Doesn’t master also imply being the disciplinarian, the overseer, and the caretaker? We should use our intellectual abilities to watch over and take care of our fellow beings on Earth, instead of killing them. Besides, in the next line God says, “See, I give you all the seed-bearing plants that are upon the whole earth, and all the trees with seed-bearing fruit; this shall be your food” (Genesis 115).” Thus, eat plants not animals. He said so. But in all sincerity, is makes the most sense to me to act in a way that least hurts the least amount of beings.

On a completely different track – although I’ve always wanted to, this was the first time I ever actually read parts of the Bible. I have always heard the stories of creation and how Adam and Eve came to be, but this was kind of exciting. In this day and age of evolution and science (and in no way offense to anybody) the portrayal of the creation of the “Earth, and wide ocean, and the vault profound,” (Virgil X122) in seven days, and the way God is characterized are a little hard to believe. However, I like that is such an commandingly empowering story – it leaves you with a sense of what good/productivity you are supposed to accomplish in your life. You don’t necessarily have to believe in God, but I guess it helps multitudes of you do. And with this limited amount of time we each have on Earth, it doesn’t really matter what you believe, think, have or don’t have. After all, “you return to the soil as you were taken from it. For dust you are and to dust you shall return” (Genesis 117). All that can speak for us are our actions – so fill them with as much love as is possible.

P3a...

2009-02-11T21:37:00.000-08:00

“Don’t get married or have kids. You’ll spend your whole life caught up in that circle. Go out in the world and do some good that will help everyone.”

My mother makes sure to remind me of her sentiments on life and dharma (duty) at a rather consistent bi-weekly basis. Basically, she is trying to tell me that she wants me to be the next Mother Theresa. Furthermore, she is absolutely convinced is it going to happen – she has lots of faith. Thus, when there was a presentation at temple about a social service program affiliated with my church, doing work in rural India, I felt it was the opportunity of a lifetime which would be a perfect place for me to start my chrysalis towards being the most compassionate being in the world.

Convincing my parents to let me go was not too difficult: my mother was ready from the beginning, and the work was in India, our motherland, so my father could not say no to aiding kindred souls. Promptly, it was agreed that my father and I would go to Sidhbari, India over the approaching summer break. As the arrangements were being made, I eagerly looked over the lists of what to take there. Excitedly, I packed up my precious stuffed animal collection, and the hundreds of brightly colored pencils I had amassed over the years. I even spent hours making pretty little knot bracelets. It would be simple like I had seen in those documentaries: I would spend time with the kids and give them toys and goods; they would be happy and life would eventually work out. I was confident and mentally prepared for my first saintly deed – it was no biggie.

That is how I boarded the plane June 8th, 2007, journal in hand, ready to document my trip. On a side note, part of the bargain of letting me go was that I would keep a daily journal or write a paper about my trip to compensate for not doing a lame summer internship or attending some hollow “leadership” summer camp. Well, that never really happened; all I wrote down in that black and white polka-dotted journal was a list of the names of people I met during the trip who I felt made an impact on my life. While it was enough for me, it was not really descriptive enough for my mom. So, here it is, Mom – this one is for you.

Arriving in India is always a bit of a culture shock. Arriving there is like being translocated to the center of the origin of chaos. The massive amounts of people, the swerving traffic, the intense heat, and sweet, dusty smell all hit at once. Needless to say, after the grueling twenty-one hours of plane flight and the sleepless night on the train, I was an anxious mess and was not looking forward to the three hour motion sickness-inducing drive through the mountainous region. However, my views changed when the taxi driver arrived.

As strange this may sound, Sonu was the most compassionate driver I had ever met. Just like his name (sonu means gold), he had a smile of gold: it started with the upward curl of his lips and extended deep into his eyes. His smile personified warmth and caring – and most importantly – a genuine interest. As we journeyed to the foothills of the Himalayas, Sonu kept us captivated and excited to be there with his sprightly manners, all while taking special care to drive like a million dollar chauffeur. He had a true passion for being the best possible driver, but also in really taking an interest in us. He tried his best to communicate through his broken English, and when could say nothing else, flashed that ever-comforting million dollar smile. Thinking back to Sonu, I realize compassion requires taking a genuine interest in others’ and working to comfort them.

Thus, we arrived at the magnificently landscaped ashram – a Hindu place of religious study equivalent to a Buddhist monastery – ready to settle in. When the director of the ashram welcomed us, I did not realize how much I would come to appreciate the fact that he spoke in English. As we attended dinner later that evening, I quickly became aware of the fact that I could only understand a tenth of what anybody was saying, as they were all speaking in Hindi. How I wished I could say the magic word and instantly know Hindi. The next day as I explored the place where I was to be performing my saintly deeds for the next two weeks, the prospects of me talking to anybody for that time period swiftly vanished from slim to none; at the Chinmaya Organization for Rural Development (CORD), most people spoke Pahadi, a wickedly twisted , faster version of Hindi. How was I ever to connect with and better the lives of people whom I could not even sustain more than a five minute conversation with? All of my hopes of being Mother Teresa were sufficiently dashed.

Right at that moment, the heavens sent a blessing galloping in, some sunshine to clear up the clouds, in the form of three-year-old Krishna, who ironically even bears the names of one of my favorite deities. The guide showing me around explained how little Krishna had already undergone three major surgeries in an attempt to heal
his awkwardly twisted leg, as he attacked her with a flurry of hugs and playful punches. He glanced over, noticing me the stranger, and I, not knowing what else to do, gave him a Sonu-like smile which had previously comforted me. That was the trick! Krishna energetically hobbled over and began to use my hand as a doodling pad for the pen he had just found. At that moment, I was struck by the magical effectiveness of a simple smile. Smiling, it dawned on me, is the language of peace, love and happiness, a language that everybody understands and speaks. It breaks barriers otherwise unbreakable and makes connections in the most unassuming places. Through my lesson learned from Krishna, I made many fast friends, and even though unable to technically communicate, I was able to communicate my joy, love and compassion.

As I spent more time with Krishna, I had to attend his physical therapy sessions with him. Though it was excruciatingly painful to watch, and as desperately as I wanted to let him skip out as he begged to do every time, I knew I had to be patient and stand firm. As I saw so many examples of at CORD, compassion also requires a tough side. There were mandatory Alcoholics Anonymous types of classes for the village men who constantly went home as raging, abusive drunks. Though the farmers were not particularly inclined to change how they had farmed all their lives, they had to attend classes about more effective methods of farming. Everybody attended classes on money management. Because the best is wanted for everybody, there are times when it is understood that while patiently empathizing, it is also required to be strict and disciplinary. True compassion is not just being able to sympathize; it also requires teaching and taking care of what is necessary.

On the other hand, compassion also calls for allowing people to freely express themselves. The villagers being serviced by CORD also had the opportunities to learn a variety of skills – whatever they pleased. There was sewing, weaving, and artwork, among many others. The villagers who volunteered to cook could not have been any happier to help prepare the meals. Compassion allows for people to flourish at what they are good at. It is a form of encouragement, meant to help them move forward and learn about themselves and their capabilities.

A working compassion seems to require having a conglomeration of all positive traits – that probably explains why compassionate people are so successful in their endeavors. Dr. Kshama Metre, the founder and director of CORD, is one of the most compassionate people I have ever met. Kshama Didi (sister), as she is affectionately called by the villagers, was originally a doctor in the United States with an extremely successful practice. Not satisfied with her life, she had a calling to doctor in the rural villages of India, thus leaving her old life behind in the most selfless of actions. Sensing the need for change in the area, she opened CORD and designed the entire system which teaches the villagers how to build their own lives; now, people from villages two hours away make a daily commute of two hours in order to go to CORD. A program built so attractively requires a multitude of empathetic conscientiousness of what the people want and need, what they like and dislike. Most of all, an active compassion like that of Kshama Didi’s, requires a passion fueled by pure love.

As I continue to blossom and learn in my journey to being the most compassionate being I can be, I keep the people of Sidhbari in mind. This life should be filled with a passion for what I do, being interested in everybody, the ability to communicate, some tough love, being understanding, taking action and being selfless for what I believe in, and mostly importantly, having and sharing love.

Word Count: 1,548

Mission: Anti-Androidization

2009-02-04T15:23:00.000-08:00

I thought this was the cutest thing ever..

I believe babies are some of the most intelligent beings on the face of the planet. Starting out as blank slates, they learn the all subtleties of life at an incredible pace. We all know the ability of a toddler to ask 100 questions for an hour straight. They have the most sincere fire for learning. Their minds have no boundaries and their imaginations are limitless. And we’ve all experienced those times when kids blurt out the obvious (sometimes painful) truth that the “grown-ups” are skirting around because they “don’t know better.” Babies have not only a supreme IQ intelligence, but they are also in touch with their emotions. Though it seems silly to say so because of the truth in the statement that babies can’t really control their emotions, this factor is just that which makes them most human. Babies take no effort in hiding or manipulating their feelings. My mom tells me that as a baby, I would giggle uncontrollably for hours, and then do the same with my tears. If they’re hurt or angry they cry, delighted they scream, happy they smile. A hug from a little kid is one of the most fulfilling things I’ve ever felt – because it is soaked in sincerity. Children live so “vastly in the present. Their daily reality is a fabric of friends and family, the field of feeling and energy that one’s own body is, the earth they stand on and the wind that wraps around it” (X49). What has society done to us to so easily snatch that away from our grasps?

And so, I have evolved from that primitive state to this civilized one. But I don’t think I really have. I’ve come to realize that I starting acting like those whom I surround myself with. If it’s kids, I’ll talk with the cooing baby voice the rest of the day; if it’s angry people, I’ll be angry. What about the fact that I spend the majority of my time with machines and gadgets which provide me with just as much entertainment as real people? I guess you can call that my “androidization”. The less and less that I’m required to interact with actual humans, the more and more I become “impassive, as if unaffected” (Dick 189), just like Rachel Rosen, the Nexus 6 android. The bounds of society have trapped us inside little boxes. It’s not suitable to cry in public, we can’t laugh at business meeting. This all makes sense, because we’re civilized, right? This is a strange world we live in. There are so many unnatural requirements made of us that we might as well be androids. Sometimes it feels like we’ve lost the colors of life – we’re living in a Technicolor world.

I don’t mean to be so dramatic: I think that’s the hippie in me speaking out. However, I completely agree with Rousseau’s Noble Savage thought – “the idea that perhaps civilization has something to learn from the primitive” (X50). Back in the day, (not that I was there), it seems as if Native American tribes had such a strong sense of community and their place in the world. Surely they are rather primitive according to today’s standards, but they lived such full lives. Nothing in their hands went to waste, and they appreciated all that they had. Through chasing after bison and hunting them down, they were able to “use [their] body and senses to the fullest” (X50). Nowadays, we drive to the air-conditioned gym and monotonously perform the same action hundreds of times in order to build the strength they had.

I guess it’s just the fact that we’re trying so desperately to distinguish ourselves from animals. We’re denying that part inside of us. It is true – “Man is a beautiful animal” (X50). It is a bad idea for us to move away from that. Sci-fi thrillers are so many times about the doom of the Earth if robotic alien type things invaded. Thus, we should make sure that we don’t become those robotic type things, alien to the Earth. The Earth is a “vast, breathing body” (X49), mother to all of us creatures. Perhaps we should get in touch with our inner primitive side and once again learn to “sing about nature” (X51) and be the one “whose mind reaches easily out into all manners of shapes and other lives, and gives song to dreams” (X51). I know, I’m such a hippie.

Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen

2009-02-02T17:33:00.000-08:00

A couple of days ago, my best friend Sherry called me, completely overwhelmed. After a lifetime of dreaming about it, she decided that she doesn’t want to be a doctor. She was watching a video in her medical sociology class that followed some painful medical stories, most of which had heartbreaking endings, not only because of death, but also because of all the featured doctors’ corrupt heartlessness. While she was sobbing her eyes out watching the video, she looked around in, and to her horror the rest of the students had completely blank faces – “blanker than a white sheet of paper.” It seemed like they had lost the ability “to suffer together with, [and] feel pity’ (X41). Those kids are all brilliant – they’re going to school at Rice. Yet Sherry says, everyday, she sees how brutal and ruthless the race is. How much empathy is lacking. And for that reason, she couldn’t do it anymore.

People like her give me faith in humanity. But sometimes I feel it too – that I’m turning into an android. I feel so caught up in this life that has been built around me; it’s a constant rush of class, food, homework, sleep. I feel like a robot, mechanically going through life, whizzing and whirring around in order to get everything done. As of late, I’ve been feeling like the “control over [I once had over my] emotional life is impaired” (X59). I don’t know what it is; I can’t describe what I feel. I’m not going to lie, after reading the passage on alexithymia, I was a little scared. But perhaps that’s my tendency to read way too far into everything. I guess since I was a little scared, that makes me not an alexithymiac?

Usually, I like to think that I’m pretty good at interpreting emotions. Like Dana said, I too have assumed there are a few types of intelligence. I have enough of the book smart to get by and the street smart is a little shady, but empathy and the ability to relate to others has usually been my forte. I was always the one who had to settle the elementary school fights over the cookies, and throughout the rest of grade school, was the one to counsel numerous first heartbreaks and cases of unrequited love. I don’t know why, but I always cry at the parts in movies when the protagonist is lost/confused/feels like nobody can understand them. That's part of the reason I hope to go into psychology. I hate to see people without a listening ear.

I think lately, I have become a victim of compassion fatigue. It’s not that I don’t care or feel..it’s just that I don’t care to anymore. There’s too much to care about, yet most of it doesn’t even matter in the end. I think that is what David Powell might have been feeling. (Don’t worry, I’m not going to do anything crazy.) He was brilliant –had plenty of that I.Q- but maybe he didn’t have the emotions to handle the world. It’s easy to lose touch with everything, when you get too caught up in minute details. Maybe he was once of those who had “Forgotten all…emotional lessons because they no longer have access to where they are stored in the amygdala.” Like Goleman says, “How we do in life is determined by both – it is not just I.Q., but emotional intelligence that matters” (X60). If one is way up, it is important to balance it with the other intelligence. In that spirit, I think I am going to work on finding that perfect balance. I can’t let my emotions overwhelm me and get me lost in the labyrinth of my mind. I don’t want to be “an escaped android [who can] hardly tell the truth about [my]self” (Dick 99) anymore.

To be or not be...

2009-01-26T15:27:00.000-08:00

Just like everybody else, I too, have questioned the meaning of life: Where did we/life come from? What sustains the universe? What happens after we die? Is there an afterlife?

Over the last month particularly, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about life and death (I know, I sound rather emo). When my uncle was diagnosed with cancer 2 ½ years ago, he was given 6 months to live. Death was coming – it was inevitable. I mean, it could happen to any of us at any time, but it’s strange knowing that death is doubtlessly creeping closer. We sat with him while he was in a comatose state for two days– what was going on inside of him? Could he hear, could he think? Then on that third day, while we were gathered around singing prayers and godly remembrances, his breathing sped up and soon he took his last. Just like that. Such a simple ending. Did I witness the moment a soul departed from a body? Did it just gracefully flit out the window, or does it dissolve into the air? “Derives it not from what we have the likest God within the soul?” (Tennyson LV).

That day, that scene, that inevitable moment, will stay with me forever. It is such a marked day for me. January 3, 2009. But the thing is…this happens ALL the time. Death has been happening for billions of years and will hopefully continue to do so for billions more. And think of all the life that has been. I wonder how many lives have been lived, from the first bacteria in mega-billion B.C., to the last human born 2 seconds ago. Like Tennyson, I hope “That not a worn is cloven in vain; That not a moth with vain desire is shrivell’d in a fruitless fire”(Tennyson LIV). I mean, God has a lot of lives to worry about. How can one..thing/being?..take care of it all? And then, there are the questions of why a God who cares would allow such pain and misery come to those He loves.

However, I look down at my hands and think of the millions of utterly complex cells functioning in perfect harmony together. I see the beautiful hues of the sunset and smell the fresh air after a delicate shower of rain. There’s a couple holding hands, so obviously in love. These are things that cannot be explained by science to me. Science may be able to tell me the exact chemical component which makes grass green, but it can never tell me why it is destined to be green and not red. Science is hard at work, full throttle, trying to figure out the complexities of life that have already been created, of happenings of the past. We are on this great search to find the answers, yet, “behold, we know not anything” (Tennyson LIV). And we will never know. That is why I think that it is completely meaningless to judge people, argue, fight, and end friendships over the question of religion and science. None of us really know, so why do we judge, argue, fight, end friendships over arguments in which we really don’t know what we’re talking about. Every being is entitled to its thoughts and opinions. We should all live by what resonates with us.

As for myself, too many perfect “coincidental” occurrences have happened for me to not believe. And so I can’t help but “stretch lame hands of faith, and grope and gather dust and chaff, and call to what I feel is Lord of all, and faintly trust the larger hope” (Tennyson LV).

I HAVE FAITH IN GOD THAT EVERYTHING WILL BE TAKEN CARE OF AND WILL BE GOOD IN THE END.

It's more than the bare necessities - we want to be king

2009-01-21T14:45:00.000-08:00

Not this...

It's all about this...

Human beings are obsessed with success. There is no other way I can think to put it. Look at Hollywood: it is an industry filled with beautiful, rich, people, surrounded by the glitz and glam we think they ought to deserve. I sometimes feel rather sorry for celebrities; poor things have to make sure they have the perfect body, don’t say anything the slightest bit politically incorrect. We exploit every single aspect of their lives just so we can catch a glimpse of how a “successful” person wakes up and gets coffee or goes shopping. It’s not an obsession that is just American. There are tabloids all over the world…and there’s a reason that they’re all still in business.

In the deepest corner of the labyrinth of our minds, I think everybody has at least the slightest desire to have it all. We all want the money, the stunning good looks, the dream home and perfect family. “Because the condition of the race is better…than it has been with any other,” (Carnegie 396) we are far past the stereotypical Darwinian search for success. We have no need to worry for our lives as a squirrel scampering across a busy street should. While I agree that, “an instinct has been slowly developed among animals and men in the course of an extremely long evolution…[that] they can borrow from the practice of mutual aid and support, and the joys they can find in social life,” (Kropotkin 400) I believe there is still a large difference between humans and other animals. Animals seem to have a more singular goal of survival in life. They need to be fed, sheltered and protected from predators, which animals within species will many times help each other out with, as
in the so called practice of “Mutual Aid and Mutual support” (Kropotkin 399). Success for an animal would be to survive long enough to reproduce and make sure the species is sustained. Humans, on the other hand, are mostly able to survive just fine and thus strive to be much more than just a surviving animal. Humans “have evolved by natural selection” (Wilson 409) so that they experience more emotions than animals do, including greed, and jealousy, a greater sense of ownership, and also a better functioning moral compass. (I’m not claiming to know how animals think and feel. I’m just assuming based on observation.) We don’t just want to survive; we want to thrive.

We often compare unethical behavior – cheating, stealing, thrashing – with animalistic behavior. The animal kingdom is a brutal place of “survival of the fittest.” Animals will do whatever is necessary do survive. A tiger will sneak up on a baby gazelle when hungry; it is built to do that. In the same way, unethical conduct in the human world arises whenever we feel our ability to either/both survive and thrive are endangered. Take a look at Africa. It is a land ravaged by disease, lack of water and food. Surviving is hard. We become “true animals” when that happens – Africa is a place where some of the most violence on Earth occurs. There is constant raping, stealing, killing and genocide. That is a case of simply trying to live.

However, “we are not just talking about behavior, but about social behavior” (Ruse and Wilson, 509). Why does a company exec steal millions of dollars or does somebody spread rumors about another? Once survival is taken care of, the mind quickly latches onto the idea of thriving socially. Thus, when we feel socially endangered, the unethical, animalistic behavior resumes as the claws are unsheathed for a catfight.

I feel that humans are socialized and cultured to act with good morals. It is only when the going gets tough that we get our tough going.

The Chronicles of an (Almost) Unfixable Website

2009-01-19T21:29:00.000-08:00

It seems like this project was assigned with this song in mind.

Gives You Hell - The All-American Rejects
I don’t even know where to begin. This website and I have had a very lengthy battle.

Since Professor Bump very highly recommended Dreamweaver or iWeb, I, having read the instructions multiple times, opted for the option which was most possible for me. Skaggs very graciously got me a copy of the program on my computer and gave me a quick tutorial. Too bad Dreamweaver required way more than a quick tutorial. Reading tutorial upon tutorial on the internet and watching video upon video, we (Mary and I) got very frustrated after all we could do was change the color of the site background. So we visited Professor Bump, and I didn’t understand much besides that Dreamweaver is very complicated. That’s probably my fault with all of my computer illiteracy.

Lesson number 1: Computer programs don’t really come with instructions.

And then the knight in shining armor came through.  Dana, of course, figured out a much less complicated way to make the website by using Microsoft Publisher. She was the first one done, and she did it without any specific directions that explained how to use Publisher. Dana showed us how to use it in just a few minutes (that’s all that we needed). And so, we gradually figured out how to maneuver through and use Publisher. All was fine and dandy and the website was turned in.

Lesson number two: Looks are deceiving

A few weeks into break I get an email saying that my portfolio doesn’t work. Just mine. It made no sense because one page of it did work, and all the other people who had used Publisher’s worked. But not mine. No idea why. So, juggling a full time job, seeing friends who I see once every 3 months, the holidays, and spending lots of family time with an uncle who sadly passed away over the break, I spent a little time everyday trying to fix the darn website. I tried everything that I knew how to do: de-linked, re-linked, googled for answers, made a new portfolio, and had a lovely email chain going with Bump. Nothing worked.

There were no instructions out there. There was nothing to read, nothing to follow. Yes, many times we choose to not read instructions and directions because they are at times long and excessive. Sometimes they are so dumbed down and painstakingly specific that it takes ages to get to the issue which you were concerned with. At that point, you could have figured it out by yourself much quicker. Other times, there’s the opposite problem, where there are gaps in the instructions which leave out crucial information that a beginner would need to know, or the language used is too jargon-like to make enough sense.

Lesson number 3: Innovation is key

There were no instructions that told me, if all else fails, linking images would be the way to make the website finally work…on January 8th!?!

With that in mind, it is true that I wanted answers and quick fixes. I know there can’t be instructions to every little thing. Life doesn’t come with an instruction manual, right? Today’s generation is in the age of technology, speed, skill – and knowledge. We need to be able to know how to do things quickly; we need to be able
to solve a problem with our own critical thinking skills. We’ve been brought up with the mentality that we are the generation of change: the world is filled with a myriad of problems that rest on our shoulder to be fixed in innovative ways. Thus, I think it is in the nature of our generation to skip over the instructions and try to think for ourselves. How else are those skills going to be built? And with efficiency in mind, what is the point in wasting time with instructions that aren’t going to help much anyways? It’s all about that Discovery learning.

Don't get me wrong: instructions are great. It's nice have that comfort of knowing exactly what to do and how to do it. Though it's a only a comfort when the instructions are clear and relevant. I think it's way too dramatic to say as a generation, the rule is, "Instructions must die" (Krug 2006, P46). It's only the instructions that don't make sense which should die.

My apologies if this is whiny. This project succeeded in giving me hell.

Who knows?

2008-12-03T21:15:00.000-08:00

Like Kristen, I too grew up in a religious family. However, with the obvious differences in background and culture, I thus grew up in a very different environment. When I think back to my childhood years at home, I cannot recall even one casual conversation about how humans, animals, and life came to be. Even at my Sunday-school like temple, through the thirteen years of religious education I cannot remember anyone telling me what to think or believe on the subject of evolution/creationism. There are millions of stories, and the ones about the creation of human life I probably didn’t hear/wouldn’t have believed anyways. However, from the other beliefs I picked up, I have crafted my own version of what I think happened.

In Hinduism, all forms of life are sacred. Also, there is a belief in reincarnation. Although a human life is seen as a “special” life in the cycle, because each soul can inhabit any life form, it is assumed that all life is equal in God’s eyes. Thus, we humans are not given a necessarily special place in the creation of the world. “This argument has had great weight” (Darwin 61) in my philosophies: I look around and can’t help but to admire the dazzling complexity of all the life in the world – from grass blades to giraffes. It is a beautiful world, and so I also refuse to agree with De Candolle or Darwin “that all nature is at war, one organism with another, or with external nature” (Darwin 83). I believe it all works in an unseen harmony, and as I’ve said before, that everything happens for a reason.

Therefore, my little theory constitutes that God controls everything: only He knows the reasons for all the happenings in the world. He controls and knows the outcomes of every action that has happened and is going to happen. I think it is lovely that Kristen and I can have such similar views after coming from such contrasting backgrounds – I too believe that God created the world through His controlled evolution. He meant for everything that did happen to happen. He meant for every single last life that was born to be born. And that is what I believe. But in all reality, I know nothing. The entire human race does not know either and can only make guesses. But hopefully, we’ll find out eventually, right? That, the world will never know.

Lesson Plan: Dobie and the Longhorns

2008-11-18T06:40:00.000-08:00

Lesson Plan 11/18- Dobie: The Longhorns

Objectives: To extend our sympathetic imaginations to allow us to further understand what role the longhorn plays in our lives. Create a greater sense of pride in our state, city, and school.

Goals: Survey the different aspects of longhorns and how they connect to our lives: address the subjects of Texas pride, querencia and animal treatment, discuss cows in India

Longhorn statue is located on the Heman Sweatt Campus between the Arno Nowotny Building and Hargis Hall?

Samantha’s Video: Texas, Our Texas
A lot of us grew up doing this.

The Myth of Texas
Jenny: “These are also the friends who have come to associate Texans with chewing reeds, playing banjos, and wearing boots with spurs.”

Kristen: “We all have friends and/or family that live outside of this great state (for reasons I do not understand...) that ask us the cliché things about riding to school on horses and living on ranches with cows.”

Samantha: “Northerners seem to hold this belief that Texans ride horses to school and keep cows in their backyard. For a family friend this actually appeared true as she was driving into Houston from Chicago with her brother and happened to get stuck on I-10 behind the trail riders.”

Kajal: “One of my new friends gasped in glee when I told her I was from Texas. “What does your horse that you ride to school look like?!?” she asked excitedly.”

What is the Texas Spirit and how does it affect you? What makes you most proud to be a Texan?
Samantha: “That spirit embodies all of the conquests Texans have accomplished—from the fight at the Alamo, to Sam Houston’s conquest of Santa Anna & Texas Independence from Mexico, to the annexation and the Mexican-American war, to NASA and its many successes. It also captures the soul of the West—the cattle drives and ranches that this state was founded upon.”

Jenny: “I have lived in other states before moving to Texas, and I can say that Texas is a state that I’m proud of. I have never felt a greater sense of pride and camaraderie here…”

Kristen: “We are all proud of our state, for better or for worse. We think we are the biggest and best (because we are…sorry Dana and Russell). And we are generally laid back and easy going people; where else in the world can you smile at everyone you meet on the street for no particular reason and be sure that they will smile right back?”

Kajal: “Texas is its own land. It has its own language, clothing style, legends – Texas has its own culture.”

Longhorns and what they represent as a symbol of Texas:
“The cattle I am thinking of made their reputations in fierce, hardy, persistent, resourceful, daring efforts to maintain freedom.” (829X)

Kristen: “There is something about the longhorn that brings out a certain amount of emotion in Texans. Their power, pride, yet usually gentle ways say a lot about Texans in general.”

Jenny: “The longhorn represents independence, fortitude, and adaptability, for “he moved elementally with drouth, grass, blizzards, out of the Arctic and the wind from the south” (X819).”

Longhorns: Mascot/querencia
Kristen: “For the University of Texas, there could be not be a better fitting mascot than the mighty longhorn. As a symbol of the state of Texas for many years, it only made sense for the first public university, funded by the state of Texas, to have the longhorn as its mascot.”

Jenny: “I believe that the University of Texas tries to keep the independent Texas spirit alive with the idea of the longhorn. “The Longhorn comes to connote courage, fighting ability, nerve, lust of combat, efficiency in deadly encounters, and the holy spirit of never-say-die.” (X886)

Jenny: “Another connotation of the longhorn is his love for the places he came from, something that UT takes great pride in. Not only does this school hope to educate and mold its students into freethinking, passionate, and successful individuals, but it also wishes to instill the love and pride of home, of the university.”

Dobie’s story of Sancho the Longhorn

Querencias and the quest to find them:
Austyn: “Like the Texas Longhorn I am “a home lover” (820). However, unlike the Longhorn, I don’t know where home is.”

Jennifer: “I've lived in my current house the longest so it may the closest thing I have to a querencia, but I could not equate my relationship to this house to that of a longhorn and its “home range,”[1] to which it remains a “persistent returner,”[2] regardless of the obstacles along the way.”

Jennifer: “Like Sancho who “chewed his cud peacefully and slept soundly, but” often found himself looking toward home, raising “his head as if memory and expectation were stirring,” I too would think back to Seoul[4] I associate Korea with my childhood: filled with innocence and playfulness.”

Samantha: “When it really came down to it though, I was drawn to my querencia, to Texas. I did not want to be far away from my family, from the land I grew up in.”

Finding our personal querencia – Should we already know where that is?

Jennifer: “I think we are more adaptable and can embrace many places within our lifetime, rather than just one.”

Austyn: “My sense of home wasn’t grounded in a physical location- I wasn’t like Sancho who’s “bed ground was near a certain mesquite tree just outside the gate” (823)- it was established in relationships I had built.”

Obstacles from returning to our personal querencias?
Jennifer: “Although I think about these times and the place in which they took place, I'm afraid of going back. Because I've been away from Korea for ten years now, I want to preserve the place in my memory and prevent tainting it by going back and rewriting what it means for me.”

Longhorns as Totem animals:
Does anyone feel a strong connection with the longhorn?
Eating Bevo?!? – “On January 20, 1920, Bevo I attained immortality when he was barbequed and served to more than 100 guests..”
Is that how we show respect?
Cows as totem animals in India

Totem Animal:
Jenny: “My personal “totem animal”, with which I feel “the psychological…kinship” (X901), is the wolf. It inspires in me both awe and fright, for it is mysterious and savage, harkening back to the old secrets of the world.”

Kajal: “However, as much longhorn pride as I have, I cannot help but feel an affinity for an adorable creature which has recently captured my heart: the squirrel!”

Kristen: “As the Encyclopedia Americana states a totem animal is “an animal… with which a social or religious group feels a special affinity and which is often considered to be the mythical ancestor of the group.”

How to find your totem animal:
1.Since we are drawn to that which resonates with us, what animal, bird, or insect are you drawn to?
2.When you go to the park, forest, or zoo what animal are you most interested in seeing?
3.What animal do you most frequently see when you're out in nature or in the city?
4.What animals are you currently interested in learning about?
5.Which animal do you find most frightening or intriguing?
6.Have you ever been bitten or attacked by an animal?
7.Is there a recurring animal in your dreams or do you have one you have never forgotten?
From: http://www.animaltotem.com/find-your-totem.html

Go around the room and name our totem animals…

Boots, longhorns and squirrels

2008-11-13T19:48:00.000-08:00

To get into the Texas spirit...
The Yellow Rose of Texas/The Eyes of Texas - Elvis Presley

I remember one time, while at a wedding in Chicago, one of my new friends gasped in glee when I told her I was from Texas. “What does your horse that you ride to school look like?!?” she asked excitedly.
I hear the Europeans also have a fascination with our land –apparently they have “[grown] to be especially fond of” [1] Texas.

Texas is its own land. It has its own language, clothing style, legends – Texas has its own culture. Of course, now in the bustling modern age, I’m pretty sure none of us could really be classified as Texans by our appearance. I haven’t really noticed anyone who wears a cowboy hat and boots every day, or talks with a particularly strong Southern accent. But even as a native Texan who has never ridden in an Oregon Trail-esque wagon to school, when I think of all things ‘Texas’ I immediately picture the cliché wide open prairies, tough cowboys, their infamous hat and boots, and “the tales of…free spirits.” [2] Texas has this indescribable feel about it, in all its “picturesqueness and romantic realism.” [3] The paradox of romantic realism can make sense only about a place like this. I reflect warmly about those who “followed the law of the wild” [4] and made Texas the place that it is.

The totem – the symbol— that represents Texas and our dear alma mater could not be a more perfect choice. “The cattle I am thinking of made their reputations in fierce, hardy, persistent, resourceful, daring efforts to maintain freedom.” [5] The description of our fearless longhorns sounds very well like it could be reminiscing about our legendary leaders: Stephen F. Austin, Davy Crockett, William B. Travis, Sam Houston, James Bowie...the list goes on. The cries of “Remember the Alamo!” ring through my head. The longhorn represents the determination of the people of Texas. Parallel to the longhorn’s persistence in returning to their querencia, the land they love, the heroes of Texas fought with equally insistent perseverance to free their home. The dauntless longhorn spirit similarly represents THE University of Texas and how “it is full of the pride and energy of life.” [6] As students here, we are meant to acquire the noble traits of the longhorn as we set out to initiate the change in the world.

As a Hindu, I find it most amusing that longhorns are now my new source of pride. All my life, I have been taught that cows are sacred – that they “[are] a gift of the gods to the human race” [7]– and now I worship Bevo. However, as much longhorn pride as I have, I cannot help but feel an affinity for an adorable creature which has recently captured my heart: squirrels! Squirrels are not a new thing for me – there were plenty scampering around right in my backyard. Perhaps the memories and feelings of home they bring are why I am so attached to them. But, that by itself cannot be it. I know I have plenty-a-times had conversations about and adored squirrels with friends. Something about them inspires me. They are constantly moving, darting, running around. Their energy seems to have no bounds. I wish I could share their ability to never tire. But, in their busy daily routines, they also take time to slow down and stop. Slow down and be aware of the present. All the times that I have passed by squirrels, they have been extremely alert and conscious of my passing presence. And what I love the most is how they are not afraid to explore. Even though we big humans potentially portray large threats to them, they will many times still bravely crawl over and say hi with their large unblinking eyes. It all sounds silly and I can’t explain it. They’re just too cute…I can only wish I could be that cute.

Footnotes:

[1] (822X)

[2] (814X)

[3] (819X)

[4] (829X)

[5] (829X)

[6] (832X)
[7] (902B)

"Have you asked the grinning bobcat why he grinned?"

2008-11-05T17:44:00.000-08:00

colors of the wind -

Here we go again, on such an exhaustive topic – we start “once again on the subject of animal rights” (Coetzee 61). Many people seem to get fed up
with the controversy. In fact, they feel there is no controversy at all. The activists’ “animal consciousness and ethical relation with animals [seems] jejune and sentimental” (Coetzee 61). True, with all the other problems that rest on humanities shoulders, it seems trivial to bother about an action that is such a cultural norm.

That sense of caring, urgency, and deep feeling of unshakable bond seems to lie in a fundamental culture difference. It reminds me of the Disney classic Pocahontas. Though a majority of Disney movies tend to center around animals or very generously include them as supporting main characters (My theory is because animals are the only ones with the cuteness and innocence appropriate for children. Humans, especially adults, are too corrupt and vile.), in Pocahontas we see the how two different cultures of people interact with the world around them. Pocahontas is the daughter of the Native American tribe’s chief. Therefore, since an early age, she has been very strongly instilled with the Native American culture of deep appreciation of nature. She talks to a tree for advice. Her
best friend is a hummingbird. While completely unrealistic, these aspects very effectively portrays how much respect she has for her natural surroundings. All of nature is treated as equal to humans. They have the same spirit of life which we hold. In the song Colors of the Wind the lines “I know every rock and tree and creature has a life, has a spirit, has a name” can very well be equated to Elizabeth Costello’s declaration that, “to be alive is to be a living soul. An animal – and we are all animals – is an embodied soul” (Coetzee 78).

The Native American’s ability to have sympathetic imagination in the context of nature is very vividly contrasted by the juxtaposition of John Smith and his evil, greedy crew whowish to exploit every profit possible from the land. As they chop up the sacred trees “which scream soundlessly” (Doniger 94, X747), they have no doubt that they are “on the right side” (Singer 86, X743). They only have eyes for their cruel profiteering, and in dominating their surroundings personify the thoughts “that man is godlike, animals thinglike” (Cotezee 67). They do not feel for the nature around them, so they do not see the harm they are bestowing upon their surroundings, besides the obvious intentional deceit of the natives.

I feel as though I am making a comparison as cruel and ruthless as that of that of Elizabeth Costello’s comparison of the animal massacre to the Nazi horrors. I am not saying that anybody is a horrible person for not being vegetarian. I also concede that “Vegetarianism and compassion for animals are not the same thing at all” (Doniger 96, X748). But I feel like that compassion many times comes with vegetarianism – in the house I was raised it, they are directly related. If my mother fails to gently sweep out a rampant insect in the house, she always says God’s name and apologizes to “her poor baby” when she must spray it with insecticide. In that same spirit, we were taught to be thankful for the food on our plates, for dear plants were plucked in order for our bodies to be nourished. Also, the same deduction that Jenny made about her reasoning to eat plants – because the least amount of harm is done – is the same reasoning that was instilled in me at my temple.

I suppose it is a simple matter of culture. It is how we are raised. It is a question of our personal philosophy. There is no way to change the culture of the world – that is what makes it such a beautiful place. However, perhaps we can ask people to look a little more closely at the world around them. Look into the precious eyes of another being. It is scary when you can read the eyes of your dog, cat, or even a squirrel running across the sidewalk. But it happens, because we can. “Language is..the place from which compassion springs” (Doniger 104, X752). Eyes are the windows into beings souls. Thus, if not give up eating meat, I think the world would at least have a little more compassion from learning to understand “the silent language of the eyes. (Doniger 104, X752). A little more compassion is a little more compassion – it rubs off from one aspect of life to another. Maybe reading eyes could be the key to a happier world…

Colors of the Wind Lyrics:

You think I'm an ignorant savage
And you've been so many places
I guess it must be so
But still I cannot see
If the savage one is me
How can there be so much that you don't know?
You don't know ...

You think you own whatever land you land on
The Earth is just a dead thing you can claim
But I know every rock and tree and creature
Has a life, has a spirit, has a name

You think the only people who are people
Are the people who look and think like you
But if you walk the footsteps of a stranger
You'll learn things you never knew you never knew

Have you ever heard the wolf cry to the blue corn moon
Or asked the grinning bobcat why he grinned?
Can you sing with all the voices of the mountains?
Can you paint with all the colors of the wind?
Can you paint with all the colors of the wind?

Come run the hidden pine trails of the forest
Come taste the sunsweet berries of the Earth
Come roll in all the riches all around you
And for once, never wonder what they're worth

The rainstorm and the river are my brothers
The heron and the otter are my friends
And we are all connected to each other
In a circle, in a hoop that never ends

How high will the sycamore grow?
If you cut it down, then you'll never know
And you'll never hear the wolf cry to the blue corn moon

For whether we are white or copper skinned
We need to sing with all the voices of the mountains
We need to paint with all the colors of the wind

You can own the Earth and still
All you'll own is Earth until
You can paint with all the colors of the wind

Garden of Learning

2008-11-05T08:53:00.000-08:00

Fix You - Coldplay

It is serene. The water sweetly babbles, cascading down the rocks. The vivid aroma is intoxicating – honeysuckle, jasmine, lavender, gardenia. Birds nonchalantly twitter away. A delicate wrought-iron fence borders the picturesque garden and on the far side, a latticed pattern of entwined tree branches shades the pathway leading to a quaint, white gazebo. As the ghost of today tiptoes smoothly down future’s path, it comes across a pair of companions – a healer and a patient. Between murmurs of conversation, they just sit; sit as they listen and breathe in Mother Nature’s enveloping music.

Hold on. Let’s rewind a few decades and come back to present. Right now, this is my dream: to be part of a music therapy clinic which draws upon traditional music and the melody of nature to heal. I hope to draw upon the power of semiotics; I hope to encourage patients to “read the world,”[1] so they can gain a new perspective of their surroundings and learn to better read themselves. I will admit, it all sounds like a song of hippie naïveté from any realistic perspective. Finding a music therapy clinic will be hard enough, but finding one which entirely encompasses the aspects of my dream seems nearly impossible. How to prepare myself for this endeavor is a question in itself. With the picture I have in my mind, I am pretty sure I will need a degree in landscape architecture degree alongside one in music therapy. Yet, here I am at an institution that does not even offer that latter crucial degree. I take every bit of blame, for it was my belated interest in the field which resulted in this conundrum. However, I have no regrets because I now recognize that the education I am getting at the University of Texas is preparing me to be a leader with a vision. As Peter Koestenbaum says, “The visionary leader thinks big, thinks new, thinks ahead.”[2] Thus, I will have no need to search for the clinic which mirrors my dreams; I will create the clinic of my dreams.

As a leader-in-training, it is important to ask myself if I am even readying myself in regards to my chosen passion. It appears as though I am not. As is, music therapy is a rare idea to pursue– it is currently not even recognized as a form of psychology by the American Psychology Association. Accordingly, I must forge a path for myself and for music therapy using the leadership qualities I am mastering at UT. Being a pioneer requires an endless list of characteristics and skills. Leaders are the many faceted gems in the mosaic of society. Like gems—with their differing attributes sparkling in every brilliant shade of a Crayola box – all leaders nonetheless have the same basic structure. I believe one of the most fundamental leadership traits is the ability to fully take advantage of whatever situation circumstance provides. Good leaders have “the power to transform situations.”[3] In that spirit, I plan on absorbing the most I can from the University and the people around me.

While my classes will not ultimately prepare me for my career, they teach me the obvious basic knowledge I need, but also indirectly teach the leadership qualities I hope to acquire. So far I am in classes that I technically chose to be in. Although, truth be told, I would most likely never set foot in a class entitled Punishment in a Liberal Society and especially not one labeled Reading and Composition in World Literature (no offense) were I not required to. But that is the beauty of Plan II. The classes are the hammers[4] which mold our minds with new ways of thinking.

From this eclectic harvest of courses, I feel like I am learning important life lessons. Astronomy, one of my favorite classes, is the least essential to both my majors of Plan II or Psychology. However, it reminds me to always keep my sense of wonder – we never know what is floating around in space, waiting to be discovered. Through astronomy and the mind-blowing discoveries it entails, I learn to keep my mind open to new, unfathomable findings in music therapy’s unchartered terrain. Also, though Punishment in a Liberal Society and World Literature embody what I most fear and despise (i.e. writing), I feel that those two classes push me the most to become a leader. In Punishment, a discussion-based class with occasional ten-page papers, I learn the necessity of cementing my thoughts and opinions: I need to determine my morals and
what I stand for. Additionally, after listening week upon week with my mouth gaping in awe to a student with entrancing oratory skills, I have come to realize the tremendous advantages of superior communication skills. Being able to speak and articulate thoughts clearly commands attention. Similarly, a therapist must be able to communicate their thoughts and convey the correct message to their patients. Last but not least, this World Literature course, obviously forces me to think about my passion, my future and my vision – the basis of being a leader. For me, it is truly difficult because now I cannot get by with concocting some random analysis. We truly have to reach within ourselves and write from the heart. Writing improves my communication skills, and also disciplines my mind by forcing me to become familiar with what I dread. All in all, I know that every class I take at the University, even physics, will be relevant to my future by either teaching necessary skills or by building character.

Furthermore, there are certain qualities a therapist must impart which I do not think can be taught, but rather must be acquired. They are personality qualities like empathy, motivation and inspiration. One of my role models who embodies these qualities is my high school band director, Mr. Koch. He is essentially a community leader. Literally hundreds of people look up to him; even students from thirty years ago keep in touch and still get advice from him. The man who deals with 350 students, the logistics of six bands, and the ever-ready onslaught of band parents every day, somehow manages to know everybody’s names and remember the important happenings in their lives. He is unbelievably busy, but always has time to talk and to listen – during those four years I knew I could drop by his office at anytime. And while Mr. Koch is extremely personable, he is even better in motivating and inspiring huge groups of students. When it was 105 degrees outside at competition and we were all ready to melt to the ground, he understood us and knew exactly what to say to encourage us to march our best shows [5]. I hope to one day be as inspirational and admired as he is.

Finally, I feel one of the most imperative leadership qualities is spirituality: it is vital for a leader to be in touch with the person inside. On that note, I plan on visiting a therapist at the Student Services Building. It is true one of the paramount reasons which compels me to do so is that I will gain a perspective only gained by experience. In order for my words to make an impact is if I “seek first to understand…then to be understood.[6]” The best way to have empathy is to actually know what it feels like to work up the courage to make a visit, to sit all alone in that chair, to wait for someone to analyze you. I want to observe the therapist to see how they work; I want to gather a general idea of how therapy works. But moreover, I hope therapy will help me grow as a person – teach me to accept who I am and to accept my mistakes. As the saying goes, “A sick doctor cannot heal.” Therefore, before I can even consider diving into the field of therapy, I must also be completely intact. The only way to transfer confidence is to have enough in the first place; the Sun cannot radiate heat if it does not have any inside. So through therapy I will strengthen myself and learn to radiate the qualities I hold inside. Furthermore, I will strengthen myself by putting to practice the meditation techniques I learned at my temple. As Ram Dass prescribes, meditation leads to an intuitive awareness “that links us most intimately to the universe and, in allegiance with the heart, binds us together in generosity and compassion.[7]” Generosity, compassion and confident empathy will help me during this voyage.

By soaking in the lessons I am being taught in my classes, I will continue to discipline myself but stretch my mind. By emulating the leaders around me I will learn how to bring out the best in people. By strengthening my spirituality, I will continue my journey of self-exploration and that of helping those who do not know what pathway they are on.

Down the shaded path in the garden, towards the quaint gazebo, the ghost continues gliding…only it is not the future anymore.

Footnotes:

[1] Jonathan Silverman, The World Is A Text (Prentice Hall, 2003), 9.

[2] Stephen Covey, The 8^th Habit (New York: Freepress, 2004), X47.

[3] Ram Dass, How Can I Help? (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1987), 187.

[4] Jerome Bump, “Connect,” E603A, 2008, http://www.cwrl.utexas.edu/~bump/603A08/603frameset.html.

[5] Quakmofro, “2007 Brazoswood High School Marching Band,” Youtube, 2008, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BEqd01kRVrQ.

[6] Stephen Covey, The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People (New York: Free Press, 2004), 255.

[7] Dass, 94.

List of Illustrations
1.“Picturesque garden” http://www.manorbb.co.nz/images-photos-tmbb/garden-02.jpg
2.“UT Seal” http://www.cwrl.utexas.edu/~bump/seal.gif
•Bump, Jerome. “Seal of the University of Texas At Austin.” In Composition and Reading in World Literature, Vol. 1, 305. Austin: Jenn’s, 2008.
3.“Gems” http://www.crystalpixels.com/gallery/gems.jpg
4.“Planetary Nebula” http://objsam.files.wordpress.com/2008/04/nebula_rcw49_04lrg.jpg
5.“Writing” http://www.xianlandia.com/pix/writing.jpg
6.“Role Model” My personal collection
7.“Meditation” http://boomeran.files.wordpress.com/2008/03/meditation1.jpg
8.“Pathway” http://life-electronic.net/blog/wp-content/uploads/2007/10/stone-pathway.jpg

Word Count
With Quotes: 1,577
Without Quotes: 1,531

Blogsite URL:
http://kajalm-worldliterature-e603.blogspot.com/2008/10/futures-garden.html

Lyrics:
Coldplay – Fix You

When you try your best but you don't succeed
When you get what you want but not what you need
When you feel so tired but you can't sleep
Stuck in reverse.

And the tears come streaming down your face
When you lose something you can't replace
When you love someone but it goes to waste
Could it be worse?

Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you

And high up above or down below
When you're too in love to let it go
But if you never try you'll never know
"Just what your worth"

Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you

Tears stream, down on your face
When you lose something you cannot replace
Tears stream down your face and I...

Tears stream, down on your face
I promise you I will learn from my mistakes
Tears stream down your face and I...

Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you.

Compassion it is.

2008-10-27T16:36:00.000-07:00

I know it's super cheesy and second grade, but what better song is there to illustrate comradeship and compassion?
Were All in This Together - High School Musical

In my mind, between ‘Survival of the fittest’ and ‘Compassion,’ there is no competition as to which is the clear winner. But then, there are also many definitions and concepts of what winning encompasses. To me, winning does not necessarily mean “pushing [your] way to the front”(Hardy 254). Winning is a battle of the individual. It is a struggle to see how far one can push themselves, how much can be learned. It is a battle of self-improvement, because in the end, I think that is what really matters. Winning is a measure of compassion. Therefore, it is imperative to look at competition and survival in the life scheme.

Don’t get me wrong: I’m not saying winning awards and competitions is a bad thing. But it should not be life-crushing, as it was to Jude when he could not study at the University, if it was “not [your] will that consented to be beaten” (Hardy 254). If you worked diligently, according to good morals and gave your best effort, there is much knowledge that you gained which can be used constructively in your life. Going through the pains of learning, perfecting and competing teaches strength. Isn’t it strength that is necessary to win? One of my – and the whole world’s – idol’s Mahatma Ghandi illustrated this to everybody. Ghandiji acted in complete ahimsa (non-violence). He competed against no one, not even the British occupying his country. Ghandiji boycotted salt and marched barefoot hundreds of miles to get native salt. After he went on a food strike, he had no physical strength at all – he was probably very near death. However, because he lived according to what he believed in, Ghandiji was able to lead a country to independence. He had moral strength and gained the strength of a country. Thus, they could together be productive in a distressing situation. Similarly, I believe Jude could have made lemonade out of his lemons, had he not been so caught up in his goal of being the disadvantaged man who was going to make it to the University. He himself says, “It takes two or three generation to do what I tried to do in one” (Hardy 256). Jude should have realized that his goal was slightly unrealistic, but that he could still live by his values of loving learning. He could have started passing on his torch of knowledge to young Jude (or Father Time?) who would have been advantaged by being brought up in such an environment of learning. Therefore, if only Jude had had enough compassion, he would have eventually won.

There was a sweet little story (yes, there are plenty of loopholes in it) we were always told at my Sunday School to “illustrate a moral story” (Hardy 256) of compassion: There are people gathered around a dinner table upon which is a feast, piled high. However,
because of (insert silly reason..maybe their funny bones were broken?) none of the people could bend their arms, and thus could not eat. Try as they might, there was nothing they could do to make the savory food sudden teleport to their mouths. They dejectedly sat, ravenously eyeing the food, most of them on the verge of tears. This was how they were to eat for the whole next week: it was a question of survival. However, as the dinner party was beginning to explode in hysteria, a young child had a bright idea. They could all feed each other!

This story demonstrates the many advantages to compassion. Even in a question of survival – everybody needs food and is looking out for themselves – the only way to win is by helping another. If you don’t feed anybody, nobody is going to feed you.