Maya Angelou- Harlem Hopscotch

Harlem Hopscotch

One foot down, then hop!  It’s hot.
    Good things for the ones that’s got.
Another jump, now to the left.
    Everybody for hisself. 

In the air, now both feet down.
    Since you black, don’t stick around.
Food is gone, the rent is due,
    Curse and cry and then jump two.

All the people out of work,
    Hold for three, then twist and jerk.
Cross the line, they count you out.
    That’s what hopping’s all about.

Both feet flat, the game is done.
They think I lost. I think I won.

Maya Angelou (b. 1928)

Photo Journal Walk

I walked around the lake I live near, a place I've walked hundreds of times, but I looked at everything with a much more philosophical perspective than usual. In the last year, I've been thinking a lot about personal identity and people's perception of myself and others and what that means to me. That pretty clearly shows itself in my thoughts on the things that I saw. I’m not really one for taking pictures, so there aren’t that many, but I did think about each one for a very long time as I walked.

I saw this tree and the first thing I thought of was hope. Even though most of the branches look like they're dying, there's one branch that's holding on. With all the stress I've had in the last few years, I feel a lot like a tree that's supposed to be "evergreen" but is starting to turn brown. However, this made me remember that, no matter how brown and wilted I get, there’s always hope waiting to grow.

This shrub thing makes me laugh whenever I see it because 1) it's always just a little bit off kilter and 2) it almost always has a rogue branch growing out of it, which throws the whole look off. It makes me think about how, no matter what the people around us want us to be, they can never take away everything. Someway, somehow, one branch of our true form will come out. God made each person unique, and no one is ever going to fit the pattern that society has for him or her. However, sometimes (most times) I feel like I have to fit a certain shape that people think is me, when really their perception of me comes from remnants of who I used to be when they first met me. I've changed a great deal over the years, and I wish that I could let it out without fear, but I usually get too scared to.

This fence was the most recent casualty of the local tavern letting obviously inebriated people drive. The fence did nothing but its job, and now it’s a mangled mess. This made me think about how people knock others down for no apparent reason and how much damage that can do. Just like drunk driving is one of the most selfish and reckless things a person can do, many people selfishly tear others down when they don’t feel right so they can feel better about themselves. I see it happen all the time, and I always want to yell at the person being hurtful to open their eyes and see how much harm they've been causing. I don’t think many people stop to truly consider the far reaching implications of their actions, but it seems that that’s all I ever do.

I’m not quite sure why, but this rock struck me as interesting. It made me think about the old saying “A rolling stone gathers no moss” which has several meanings, but which I’ve always taken as a continuation of society’s love of constant action. People feel like they perpetually have to be doing SOMETHING in order to make something of themselves. I’ve tried to live like that, and I can tell you right now that it’s EXHAUSTING. I burned out so quickly that it was ridiculous and it took me so long to recover from that. I understand now that sometimes gathering a little moss isn’t the worst thing in the world. God gave us the Sabbath day for a reason, and I’ve learned the hard way what happens when you don’t take it.

This last picture is of the lake where I spent countless hours of my younger years splashing around and feeding the ducks. Then one day I learned that feeding the ducks is actually really bad for them and even later a drunken man drowned in the lake. I haven’t been down into the lake since I was about seven years old because of that. Even though I love the memories I made there with my family, now it’s just a public boat launch like it always was. Sometimes when I look at the lake, I wish I could go back to the times where I could feed the ducks in peace and not think about all the bad things that the world holds. Unfortunately, I have to grow up and do things like go to college and get a job- I can’t just be a little kid forever.

Things For Which I am Thankful

 

I am so very thankful for the people in my life who are always there for me: my family and best friends. My parents have provided me with so much opportunity and love as they've raised me. My sister has (sometimes forcibly) helped me learn and mature as we've grown up together. Tyler has been my best friend since the second grade and through him moving to Idaho. He has influenced me in so many ways that I could not even imagine my life without him. Bryce has been my best friend since the sixth grade, and she is just the best friend a girl could ask for.


 I am also very thankful for books because they have taught me so much that I would never have learned. I can go on adventures in far off times and places or even in the imaginations of other people without ever leaving my house. They have been such an integral part of my life that I don't know what I would do without them.

A Sonnet About the Last Two Weeks

I wish that I could find a way to stop

The pain and suffering she feels today.

If only there was any way to swap

No price would be too much for me to pay.

Her gray hospital room, so cold and drab

From healthiness she seems to be immune.

Enduring all the pokes and prods and stabs

With hope that she could go home very soon.

But I cannot do more than this for her:

To sit here, and just hold her hand, and smile,

And praying that nothing grave should occur,

Emotions having to be versatile.

I know that God must have a plan for this,

But for my grandma, pain’s hard to dismiss.

Antigone's Agonizing Decision

All I desired to do was bury my brother-my own flesh and blood. I know that he died attacking the city, but that did not make him any less my brother! I had already been through so much heartbreak already, especially the death of both of my parents (I would rather not talk about this part; I am still dealing with the fact that my mother was also my grandmother...), and then both of my brothers died in the same day, fighting each other. Polynices was a part of my parents the same as me, the same as Eteocles who received a proper burial, and I could not handle the disrespect shown towards him by Creon and his ridiculous command. I even claimed that "I would not have done the forbidden thing/ For any husband or for any son" (150). If it had been my husband or child who had died and a command was issued not to bury him, I would have hardened my heart against it and acquired a new husband or given birth to another child. But since my parents died, there would be no way for me to have another brother. I would have thought Ismene to feel the same way, but when I discussed it with her she showed herself to be spineless and weak. I asked her, "Is he not my brother, and yours, whether you like it/ Or not?" (128), and she replied to me with "O think, Antigone; we are women; it is not for us/ To fight against men; our rulers are stronger than we" (128). As if I cared about what Creon said or what he would do to me if I disobeyed! I cared not that I was a woman or that I did not possess the same political or physical power as Creon. I did what I thought was right for my brother and myself.

I was only able to succeed in the most paltry of burials, but I succeeded also in giving honor to my brother. As I told Ismene, "I shall never desert him, never" (128). When the sentries found me, I was not at all frightened of what I knew would happen. I had done my duty to my brother, my duty to the dead. I was almost glad to have been caught, so that my wretched uncle could see that it was I who defied him. He seemed quite shocked to see that it was I who dared defy the orders of the king. I assume that his response was due to my womanhood and my relation to him. For, of course, a female, specifically a female relative, would never dream of going against the orders of her lord and king. However, I know that he has since learned that neither of those traits could stop me.

And although my actions stemmed mostly from my love for my brother and the desire to give him deserved respect and honor, I did care also for fulfilling the will of the mighty gods. When Creon confronted me about what I had done, I told him outright that his "order did not come from God. Justice,/ That dwells from the gods below, knows no such law./ I did not think [his] edicts strong enough/ To overrule the unwritten unalterable laws/ of God and heaven" (138). Creon was only a mortal man who had not the right to spit in the face of the gods. How could I allow a divine law go unheeded, especially when the forsaken man was my own beloved brother? And now I am dead, a result of the terrible hubris of my uncle. Dead and able to be with my parents, brothers, and fiance in the afterlife. I have conversed with the soul of Eteocles and he has told me that he is glad that I honored our brother. Creon may suffer for the rest of his desolate life without his wife or son; I care not at all that his choices now cause him pain. He deserves all that has befallen him for daring to defy the gods and myself. I must now return to Hades where my actions are honored and celebrated.

A Broken World in Need of Fixing

She’s here again today. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone sit so silently for such a long time, and I’d spent my fair share of time at the library even before I began to work here. I walk past her as she sits in the large cozy chair hidden behind the corner on my way to reshelve some books. She doesn’t even look up. I’m not surprised though; she never looks up. On my way back to the front desk, I notice that her hands are clenching the book as if it were her only lifeline. Something exciting must be happening. I stoop to “tie my shoes” so I can get a better look at what she’s reading. Ah yes, Pride and Prejudice, a favorite of hers. As I finish my journey to the front desk, I muse about how all I know about this girl is which books she likes, and yet I feel as though she were a good friend of mine.

“You’re crazy,” I mumble to myself as I refill my cart with books to put back. “You don’t even know her name. You’ve never even heard her speak!”

I quickly glance around to make sure no one heard my ramblings. Phew. No one’s around. I hastily finish piling my cart full of returns and set out again. Without thinking, I glance over at her. Her hands have relaxed their grip on the hardback. I wish once again that her hair was not hanging down like a curtain around her face so I could see what her eyes were saying. Almost as if she had heard my thoughts, she suddenly looks up, seemingly right at me. Startled, I almost drop a stack of books. She hurriedly shoves the book in her bag and begins to walk towards the door. I remember that the library’s clock would be right above my head from her perspective. I push back the disappointment as I return to shelving books. Maybe I’ll talk to her tomorrow. Or not.

A few hours later my shift ends. I punch out and head west to meet my friend at his favorite coffee shop for a poetry slam. I’m not all that excited, but he was so hopeful when he asked me that I couldn’t say no.

I arrive a few minutes late and quickly find my friend at his table.

“Thanks for coming,” he grins, turning towards me. “I know this isn’t really your thing. But I do think you’ll like this next girl. She really has a passion for…”

Before he can finish, the emcee announces that the next poem will be called “The Silent Suffering.” I cannot believe my eyes as the girl from the library walks up onto the stage. Her eyes betray her nervousness, but she sets her jaw and begins to speak. And speak she does, about many things. How women almost always get paid less than men for the same job. How Mexican-Americans face taunts and jeers every day about how they are illegal immigrants. How rape victims feel that they must live their lives without telling anyone about their assault. How African-Americans are turned down for jobs because they aren’t considered capable, even when they have the exact qualifications. How the world is a broken place in need of fixing. She has a small quaver in her voice, but her eyes are vibrant and fiery. When she is done, the snaps are copious. She shakes her head a little, as if she were returning to reality. Flashing a quick smile, she rushes off the stage. Before I even know what I’m doing, I am out of my chair and following her. I find her backstage in a small alcove. She turns to me, a flicker of recognition in her eyes.

“Hi,” I stammer. “That poem was really great. You’re really good at… um… saying words.” Wow, smooth. “You go to the library pretty often don’t you? I work there. But you probably noticed that, since you’re there all the time. Not to say that you’ve been watching me.” Get to the point, man. “So… um… I was wondering… What’s your name?”

The girl looks up at me, smiles, and says, “Hannah.”

**Disclaimer: This is not even remotely a true story. It's more like a metaphor than anything else.**

A Revelation Born of Sorrow

As I stood in the middle of a raging storm, I could not tell which drops on my face were rain and which were tears. The hundreds of gravestones surrounding me began to blur as I fully realized the horrors that had occurred nearby on an ordinary beach in France. However, my heavyhearted melancholy did not begin there. It truly started a few days prior, very soon after I had arrived in Germany for a school trip. Exhausted from my 14 hour flight and feeling the cold nip of snow around me, I was not prepared for what I was about to see and feel. Shivering from the frozen air, I took in the sight of the rigid steel gate with a terrible lie forged into it: ARBEIT MACHT FREI, work makes you free. The Sachsenhausen Concentration Camp, the very first stop on my trip to Europe to study World War II, was one of the first camps built in Germany during the war, and was mostly used for political prisoners. I was unable to speak as the tour guide took us around the camp turned memorial and explained the suffering of its prisoners. Snow gently drifted down onto the massive and ugly remains of the crematorium, and, as I looked upon the mountain of ashes that was all that remained of the murdered, I realized that my emotions were just as numb from shock as my hands were from the cold. A few days later, my group arrived at the Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial in the midst of powerful wind and pounding rain. I could not believe how many graves there were. I could not believe how many people had died because of just one campaign of many in the war. How many sons, brothers, husbands, fathers, friends, war buddies never got to see their loved ones again. My mind was an infinite loop of “You were a person. A person who had family and friends. Family and friends who never got to say a final goodbye.” I felt like my heart was being torn into pieces, especially when I saw how many of the stones had only the inscription “Here rests in honored glory a comrade in arms known but to God.” My emotions churned as wildly as the storm around me. 

I have always been the one who listens to peoples’ problems in order to try to make them feel better in any way possible. I absolutely love being able to put myself into another person’s shoes to help him or her carry the burden of his or her troubles. If necessary, I will make myself look foolish or feel intense anguish, or whatever it takes to help another person. Although I will not ever meet the people who were directly affected by these specific atrocities, I felt in these moments a gut-wrenching desire to give each and every one of them a hug. Every victim of hate and murder. Every widow. Every fatherless child. Every sonless mother. Every war comrade who lived to watch his friend die. Every single one of them I wanted to comfort and help in any way that I could, even though the occasion had long since passed. In those moments of absolute despair, I realized that what I want to do with my life is keep as many people from suffering as I possibly can. I do not know exactly how I will do it, but I know that my path in life is to bring happiness to those who need it most.