Yesterday, as I reclined in my chaise lounge, cigar and whiskey in hand, accompanied only by the crackling fire, I felt a reflective mood come upon me. I scampered to my computer and began furiously typing. Reflection, sweet reflection, where to begin? Blogs, oh Blogs, how I have wronged you! I never cease to think of you. Many a restless night have I spent contemplating how I could have done better, spent more time and worried less so that I might have fully enjoyed writing you. When I think of the time I wasted, I could honestly cry. I wish I had made more of an effort, but fear, yes fear my dear Blogs, had the upper hand. Dread took over me and stole the time away. It led me to write complete rubbish that didn’t matter to me or anyone else. But my dear Blogs, the time to reflect is nigh, thus providing a catalyst for change which I long for. Continue reading “A Letter to a Lost Opportunity”
An Active Journey
Writing this essay, in and of itself, is a lot like writing the blog posts on which it is built. A huge problem I had initially was anxiety over how to start them. A fear over the uncertainty of their composition and structure led me to believe that I was not ready to write one. A fear of being unable to correctly execute the task given to be froze me and prevented the execution of the task like a self fulfilling prophecy. At the time it did not occur to me that the point was to try the first post anyway despite the possibility of failure so that I could learn by failing what to do for the future. Out of fear I prevented myself from growing in a natural and meaningful way. I could resort to blaming the environment around me for cultivating a sense of fear for failure and encouraging procrastinating behavior but that does not help me. By acknowledging my mistake, I’m allowing myself to know what I’ve done wrong and to think about what to do differently to create more favorable outcomes.
Continue reading “An Active Journey”
You’ll begin to question whether my telling of this journey is one that merely repeats the tale of every other passionate, black scholar’s revelations when seeing that the wall at the end (beginning?) of the dark tunnel goes further back than they’ve been taught. I ask that you keep reading nonetheless. My story is one that questions whether the tunnel is, in fact, dark, if that wall exists, if it’s creators—in whatever shape, color or form that they existed—wanted it to be used as a ‘tunnel’ at all. You might be confused and quite frankly I am too…well just a little but I promise to explain as much as I have come to know myself.
This structure of writing and the motivation for sharing myself with you in the way that I am was inspired by N.K. Jemisin and her Broken Earth Trilogy. She made me question how my interactions with you were reflective of my own internalized perceptions of my ancestry—an ancestry that society taught me. An incomplete one. One that (supposedly) started playing in the grass…just before the ships docked on the coasts.
~~~ Continue reading “Cooling Down”
(Insert poetic dissonance here) Looking back to the starting points when originally starting the thinking essay back in October, there was a need to try and read a great deal of material – whether I actually read them or not. This also includes revisiting ideas and topics that I may have explored and attempted to develop further. Since it’s the past tense, clearly there wasn’t much in the concluding department.
This may have been an issue when considering the large amount of abstract ideas that come to mind when thinking. Of course, the whole idea of abstract ideas feel congruent when originally conceiving the thinking essay (in and out). Another idea would be the possible inclusion of a geological source. This feels relevant when revisiting the peculiar definition of geodes, the significations of rocky materials and substances throughout Jemison’s trilogy, and of course the very parallels of how imperative the content of these materials are when given relation to that of our own world. This encourages a lot of thinking, which of course may or may not be the point for both inspiration and the sort.
One idea I was considering was the comparison of prologues, the context of characterization, the change of ambition and inner turmoil present through both the literature and the relative media we were shown throughout the semester. The concluding factor is that there is a great deal of thinking that gives us a lot to consider (something I’ve said too much by now), along with the powers to figure out whatever we’re going to conclude our reflections on. So I suppose this is another post that ensures both hope and a chance at maintaining sanity by the time the finals hit us all.
Self-assuredness has never been my strong suit. Doubting myself has always been second nature and I feel as though that stems from a lack of identity in a way. My writing pieces have usually always been prompted by others. With the removal of a deadline or a definitive course, I was left to design my own set of guidelines. This demanded that I create a voice for myself and set a cohesive tone for the rest of my work. In theory, it seems relatively simple but in practice, you begin to realize that to establish yourself as a writer you must first establish yourself as an individual. I felt like the opening band at a show, the one nobody knows and no one came to see. But to overcome this feeling of obscurity, I had to continuously put myself on the line.
Continue reading “Nobody Likes the Opening”
“Childhood is a nonconsensual experience”
Dr. McCoy managed to summarize the feeling of futility felt throughout our childhood years in one simple phrase. Most of us have felt some degree of regret or fruitlessness about our childhood. There are parts we wish to change and some we wish to relive. Yet, despite whatever our backgrounds may be, there is always this sense that we didn’t control as much as we wanted to. Childhood was perhaps our most vulnerable time. We did not have the choice of entering this world. We were not briefed or prepared for whatever was occurring here. Instead, we were thrown into the world and forced to face the present. Continue reading “The Choice in Living”
First I would like to say, oh my goodness, I am ecstatic to see that Jose wrote his blog post about fear and fear of writing because I would have thought I was the only one feeling this way throughout the semester! Even up until now I could have written a blog post about my fear, but ironically my fear of writing stopped me from doing so! Jose, if you are reading this, you are so brave for opening up about it. Continue reading “A Response to Jose Romero: Catching a Drift of Fear”
Throughout the semester we were to think about how the title of the course connects with the course content. “Blackness” was easy. Most of the characters were black, but their blackness did not define them. This was a nice change, I think from traditional postcolonial literature that I usually encountered and studied during my time in undergrad. I mean this in the sense that the characters were so multidimensional that having dark skin was just an adjective and not a character defining trait. Continue reading “Blackness, Justice, and Love”
In this trilogy, death is everywhere, no character escapes it without being changed by the loss. As in the real world, the characters are constantly finding ways to cope with the pain. The tuners, on the other hand, seem to have the wisdom and spiritual knowledge to see death, heal others and in the process, make death as beautiful as possible.
Continue reading “Requiem”
Throughout the Fifth Season and The Obelisk Gate, the idea of finding Nassun kept Essun from giving up and gave her a reason to live. Nassun never left her mother thoughts, in her mind she was always looking for her. When Hoa tells her that Nassun killed Jija, she blamed herself for her daughter’s destructive behavior. Ruefully she says, “I made her into me. Earth eats us both, I made her into me.” She no longer has the mission to find her daughter and now must come to terms with her motherly regrets. She thinks she no longer has the right to be Nassun’s mother, especially after realizing that her nemesis Schaffa did a better job loving her child then she did. She tried to prepare Nassun for the cruel world that a awaited her. She thought to herself, “He wouldn’t have had to break her hand, would he?… Schaffa was affectionate with her, as you struggled to be.” Fear was more important than love. Ironically, she became afraid of her own daughter. Continue reading “Mamma Mia”