Dass 3

It was December 24, 1999. I was an excited nine year old, dancing and skipping around my mom’s waist as she hung up our Christmas wreath on the door and set up all the annual Christmas Eve decorations across the house. Bing Crosby’s mellifluous and calming voice was radiating through the walls and flowing over my excited, tiny frame. Christmas Eve! Stockings, candy canes, cookies, a warm fire…nothing could be better! I sat down on the couch to put together a nativity scene my mother had handed to me and waved to my dad as he walked out of his bedroom, wearing khaki shorts and a t-shirt. (Me with my dad, at age 9. image is author's own.) “Where are you going, Papa?” I asked him. He didn’t usually dress so casually, especially going into the office like he was on that particular day.

My dad smiled and sat down on the couch next to me. “Well, sweetie, I’m planning on leaving the office a little early this afternoon to go do something nice for some people. And you and your mother and brother are coming with me.”

“We are? Where are we going?” I questioned him, not too sure I liked the idea of leaving the miniature heaven of my living room for even a couple of hours.

“Tonight, we’re going to go serve food to some folks who can’t afford to have a Christmas Eve dinner. It’s at a homeless shelter in downtown Dallas,” my dad replied.

“What’s a homeless shelter?” I asked, enunciating each of the words carefully, trying to figure out exactly what my dad was trying to explain to me.

“Well, sweetie? Remember when Uncle Roger lost his job last summer? He was lucky enough to find another job quickly, but some people lose their jobs and don’t find new ones right away. Some people lose their homes and have nowhere to go. A homeless shelter is a place for people like that to stay – to sleep and eat – until they find jobs again like Uncle Roger did,” he said, while stroking my hair lightly, trying to lull me into understanding.

I did understand. But I was not happy. “So, we are going to spend our Christmas Eve night with homeless people?” came my crassly incredulous response.

I knew I was being surly, and I waited for my dad’s angry reaction. Instead, however, his mouth twitched into a small smile and he chuckled a bit.

“Yes we are, and I guarantee that by the end of the night you’ll be so much happier about it than you are right now. It’s important, Spin, to help those who aren’t as fortunate as we are. Imagine if you were in their place, wouldn’t you want someone else to help you? It will only take a couple of hours, and we’re going. No buts about it,” my father concluded with his favorite phrase. I rolled my eyes.

Five hours later, I understood exactly what my father was talking about.(At first, I was scared of the haggard looking people I saw sleeping on cots in the shelter, like this one. image courtesy of:http://blog.lib.umn.edu/marqu154/architecture/01-19-07-HomelessShelter2.jpg). The night had been a whirlwind for me, to say the least. I went from being unhappy about going to the shelter, to scared of the people there, to nervous that I would spill the food I was ladling out onto their plates, to curious about not just their living conditions but their lives and hobbies and emotions, to excited to play with the kids my age, to amazed at the strength, kindness, and dignity each of the individuals I connected with showed. The experience was honestly the most rewarding I had ever had in my short, single-digit aged life. Just seeing the utter gratitude and thankfulness in the eyes of the strangers I was handing bread and salad to was enough to cause me to forget all of my own so-called woes. I read the Bible with my family and my class at school, I had developed what I thought was a good conscience, I didn’t lie or cheat or steal anything and I tried to be kind to those around me. But never in my life had I given myself over to a moment of service. Knowing that I was part of the reason that the elderly lady with the pink shawl and missing teeth was grinning a huge, toothless grin – well that feeling was beyond irreplaceable. Ram Dass speaks of service to others with a reverence akin to what I felt that night, saying that “[with service] we see our deepest yearnings reflected in others, and this encourages us to believe in our own purity and beauty,” (Dass, 217). Not only did I feel the compassion Dass speaks about when he says that, “through these practices, and our efforts to keep our hearts open in the presence of suffering, we find ourselves more available to whoever we are with….compassion is increasingly an automatic response,” but I felt actually connected on some kind of otherworldly level with the people I was interacting with (Dass, 225).

I went home that night and cuddled up between my mother and father by the fire (my little brother was in bed and I had my parents to myself, much to my delight). My parents took turns reading the “Christmas” story from the book of Luke in the Bible, but I only half-listened. I couldn’t focus on anything other than the faces in my mind of the people I had bonded with at the shelter. For the first time in my short little life, I felt like I had some kind of massive purpose that I was just starting to unwrap. Dass said, “service not only reveals a larger vision of life, but steadily moves us along and supports us in our efforts to realize this vision,” (Dass, 224). Indeed, I didn’t know exactly in what capacity or when, but I knew that the night’s act of service would certainly not be my last. Selfishly, I wanted to experience the warmth in my belly that I was feeling tonight every single night of my life. The act of service had caught hold of me, just as Dass promises it will for all of us. I tugged on my dad’s sleeve, stopping him from his reading aloud.

“Papa, can we do that again on Christmas too?”

My dad smiled down on me, his whole face lighting up. “You caught the bug too, huh little girl?”

I sure had.

Who Am I Now?

“Let me reintroduce myself

as a man with a cause

I’ve had a lot of time to think

and look at who we are”

- Cartel, “Let’s Go”

In order to do an analysis of the person I am now versus the person I was before this class began, I decided to look back at the “Who Are You?” discussion board prompt from this past summer. I got so caught up reading everyone’s entries before I even got to mine and, boy, was that a fun experience. It’s so funny to read everyone’s descriptions of themselves while being able to not only put faces to names but personalities to names as well. It felt almost like looking back on a school yearbook or something – it made me both happy and yet depressed because we’re almost done with this year, and there will be no more figuring out who we are or writing long, thought-out DB’s about ourselves. There will be no more exploring this journey of a class together. We are finished! It really was so cute to read everyone’s posts – each of us so excited to begin our college experiences and naïve of what this class and all of classes here at Plan II would open our eyes to. I feel like we have all grown up SO very much this year, it’s really incredible.

My post about myself from last summer was totally typical of me – way too verbose and not at all concise (nothing’s really changed in that department, even though Bump has tried….)! On the surface, a lot of things are the same. I’m still a swimmer, I’m still dealing with a back injury, I’m still a TV fanatic, I still have a weird name! However, if you look deeper, I see a lot of really cool changes between who I was then and who I am now. I think the most notable change in how I describe myself in that post and how I would describe who I am now is the sort of lack of substance in my summer’s post. Not to say that I had no substance to me back then, but it just seems to me like there are so many important things missing from that post. I don’t mention religion – that I am a Christian who is still searching for exactly what I believe and scared sometimes about finding the answers. I don’t mention any of the things I struggle with that I have learned about myself this year – like dealing with stress, problems with patience, and being open to different views. The last one is the most important, I think, and I have improved that a lot this year. I didn’t include any of that in my last summer’s DB but I definitely see fit to include them now.

Another noticeable difference in how my view of who I am has changed is in regards to animals. Last summer I wrote, “Over the years I think we've had about 19 pets ranging from rabbits to geckos to cockatiels to guinea pigs - we've pretty much done it all. I love my pets and am excited about the connection this class has to animals.” Now, when asked to write about my feelings for animals, it would be a completely different paragraph. I’d talk about Earthlings, how much it affected me and how heartbroken and physically sick I felt for days after watching it. I would talk about how important it is that videos like that get seen by more and more people, so that this incredible cruelty to animals that goes on right under our noses can stop. I would talk about how I plan on adopting a little kitten from a shelter next summer – and that all future animals I acquire as pets will no longer be from pet stores or breeders but instead from the pound or SPCA or another shelter-type organization. I know that my love for and undestanding of animals is ongoing, and if you check back with me at this time next year I might have a whole NEW set of things to talk about regarding animals. I’m just grateful this class opened my eyes to something I hadn’t – and didn’t really want to – see before.(My love of animals goes far beyond that of just my pets, now).

I feel secure in myself now. I didn’t feel that way last summer. I talked last summer vaguely about working in television when I grew up, but I didn’t really have any crazy goals or dreams that most almost-college-students have. It’s weird, while most kids feel their outlandish dreams fade away once they enter the “reality” of college, I think that Plan II and especially World Lit have caused me to START dreaming big. I’ve forced myself to confront issues this year that I definitely did not want to like racism, animal cruelty, all different kinds of religion, and compassion. I wrote an entire project about supporting homosexuality – something I NEVER would have felt comfortable doing before this year. I’ve inspected myself under the microscope we have used to look at our books and our themes and I feel confident that I have held up okay. I have formed real, lasting opinions about really important issues. I feel less shallow now, if that makes sense. So I feel like I can talk about my big dreams. Like how I want to go to the Olympics, like how I want to run an entire television network, like how I want to save as many animals from pain as possible, like how I want to get some kind of writing of mine published, like how I want the world to understand the INCREDIBLE value and importance of compassion. I can say those goals and dreams out loud now because this class and this year at college has given me confidence in myself to speak without fear of judgement from others. That’s what I’m most proud of.

I’ll end this DB similarly to how I ended it last summer. Last summer I said, “I can’t wait to meet you guys and experience this journey together!” Well, we made it. I honestly can say that I feel like we are a little family – we’ve laughed, we’ve cried, we’ve teased each other, we’ve learned together, we’ve disagreed with one another, we’ve all stressed out together. It’s been the most amazing experience getting to know each of you, I’ll miss you all SO much next year. Promise me that we will all get together as one big class every so often next year, I don’t know how I’ll get through the year otherwise! Lots of love,

Spin.

Alice graduates as a leader

“I wonder if I’ve changed in the night. Let me think: was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I’m not the same, the next question is ‘Who in the world am I?’ Ah, that’s the great puzzle!” (Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, 23). I have loved this quote for a long time – ever since I first read Alice in Wonderland in middle school. I even used it as my favorite quote on my high school senior yearbook page. While perhaps some might think this question is more prevalent for next class’ DB, I am reminding myself of this quote to remind myself of how much who I think I am has changed this year, especially in terms of my views of ethics and leadership.

I always thought of myself as a sort of leader. I had been voted captain of my swim team and ran very student council organizations all through school.(Being captain of my high school swim team, I thought I understood what being a leader meant.) But now, after taking an entire year of Bump’s Plan II World Lit, I see how naïve I was about my leadership skills. To me, leadership meant speaking up only when I felt very passionate about something. Being a good leader meant that I had to be very loud about my opinion and not really consider the arguments of others, because doing so would show weakness. This class changed all that for me. More specifically, the DBE’s changed that for me. Aside from never having written so many papers in my entire life, the DB assignments and the whole idea of a blog in general challenged everything I thought about being a good leader. I was forced to form my own opinions about topics I knew next to nothing about, topics I didn’t understand, and topics where I didn’t know what my position was. I was the type of girl in high school to sit back during intense discussions about gay rights or abortion because I truly didn’t know where I stood and I certainly didn’t want to offend anybody. This class has forced me to form my own opinions about almost every subject – and it’s forced me to do so while considering ALL sides of an argument and not just my own. I’m still not sure about my view of abortion, but I know if I had to go back to high school and sit through those debates again, I wouldn’t be silent. I would be listening to both sides of the argument and I would very proudly stand up and announce that I am not sure what I believe. This, I feel, is much like Alice who was originally concerned about hurting the animals’ feelings and never felt brave enough to stand up for herself. Eventually, after journeying throughout Wonderland enough and dealing with the animals, she learned that her voice was important and that she could no longer be a pushover simply to preserve the animals’ feelings. This was exemplified when she came across the Mad Hatter’s Tea party and exclaimed to the animals, after they told her there was no room for her at the table, “There’s plenty of room!” and then sat down! (Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, 69).

"Manners are not taught in lessons,' said Alice, 'Lessons teach you to do sums, and things of that sort,'" (Through the Looking Glass, 253). When it comes to ethics, Alice's words are exactly correct. You can't learn ethics by reading about them. You have to form your own opinion about subjects of ethics in order to learn about them. When I think of this, the first and most prevalent class material that comes to my mind is the documentary Earthlings.(image courtesy of:http://www.johnwise.com/blog/i/BLOG_050129200639_PST2B/Image/2007/March/20070311_IMG_Earthlings.jpg). When we watched this film, I don’t think I’m exaggerating when I say that a big part of my life changed completely. Like my classmates, I was so disgusted and appalled by the treatment of animals in this film that I simply shut down for a couple of days, unable to really talk to people or eat or do much of anything except remember the haunting images of animals being tortured and killed before my eyes. Now, I have learned to cope with what I saw and channel that into telling as many people as I can about the film. Before this class began, I probably would have heard about Earthlings and said – nope, not for me. I would have said that I would rather not know about what happens to animals, that I would rather live in ignorance. My view of ethics was sort of a don’t ask don’t tell kind of thing – I preferred my little bubble to the actual world where there was pain and suffering and uncomfortable subjects to address and deal with. Now I know that I cannot put the blinders on when it comes to issues like animal rights and other such topics that I can make a difference in. As I said before, I tell just about everyone about Earthlings and encourage them to watch it. I seek out other films and literature on the subject of animal rights to send out to others. I try to eat as little meat as possible and plan on becoming a full vegetarian once my swimming career is completed.

This class has done so much for me as a person, student, leader, athlete, and friend. I have learned compassion, I have learned understanding, I have learned about racism, sexism, ageism - every kind of discrimination, it seems. I know I have a lot to learn about all of this issues to come, but I feel very confident that myself as a person has been altered this year as a result of all of these new concepts. This class has taught me a new way to think and I am thrilled to know that I will never be finished learning new things and forming new opinions about tough subjects. World Lit is only the very beginning of my adventures in "Wonderland", it is only the door (or rabbit hole, if you will) for me to continue in this quest, much like Alice's own journey.

(This is a video I found regarding more animal cruelty. I showed this to my dad and plan on sending it out to my friends, as my new understanding of being a proactive leader has taught me to do.)

Woman Warrior 3

It is truly very difficult for me to understand Brave Orchid and her cruel actions towards her daughter. Here is a woman who has undergone incredible hardship, left her culture and her country for a completely new one, raised a family, cared for her naïve and eventually ailing sister, and done all of this quite effectively. She is, in so many ways, a hero and someone any young woman should look up to.

Every once in a while, we even get to see the kind, loving side of Brave Orchid. I was particularly struck by how sweetly Brave Orchid cared for Moon Orchid just before she was placed in the mental asylum. She is incredibly patient with Moon Orchid as her sister begins to lose her mind. Kingston writes, “Moon Orchid had misplaced herself, her spirit scattered all over the world. Brave Orchid held her sister’s head as she pulled on her earlobe. She would make it up to her,” (Woman Warrior, 157). She listens to Moon Orchid’s stories of delusions and does her best to bring her back to the world of reality by, “tweak[ing] her sister’s ears for hours, chanting her new address to her, telling her how much she loved her and how much her daughter and nephews and nieces loved her, and her brother in law loved her,” (Woman Warrior, 156). She eventually has to place Moon Orchid in a mental institution because of her children as, “their aunt was saying terrible things when they needed blessing,” (Woman Warrior, 159). But her love for her sister was apparent even in that action, and it was clear that she would do just about anything for her. (It cannot be fun to send your own sister to a creepy insane asylum like this, but Brave Orchid knew what was best for her sister and loved her enough to do so, no matter how painful it was for her. This is another example of that tough love Brave Orchid was so familiar with. image courtesy of:http://theresalduncan.typepad.com/witostaircase/images/insane_asylum_1.jpg). Which is why I am so confused when it comes to the relationship between Brave Orchid and Kingston. Kingston clearly recognizes these moments of kindness, comfort, and love between her mother and her aunt, especially that which is coming from her mother. And yet, Kingston seems to recall mostly the painful incidents – the arguments, the disagreements, the old wounds – between she and her mother. What comes to mind in terms of painful arguments is the part of the novel where Kingston discusses her word vomit (as I like to call it) when she completely unleashes all her feelings and pain from her life onto her mother. Kingston screamed to her mother that she couldn’t tell when her mother was telling the truth and when she was lying, that she was not a good role model, that Kingston herself was not happy at Chinese school where her mother insisted she be. And, instead of responding by taking pause, considering what her daughter was saying, acting how she might if Moon Orchid were telling her something, Brave Orchid responds with, “You’re still stupid. You can’t listen right. Can’t you take a joke? You can’t even tell a joke from real life. You’re not so smart. Can’t even tell real from false,” (Woman Warrior, 202). The conversation continues until Brave Orchid tries to defend her calling her daughter ugly, saying that she would never say such a thing. Kingston’s response: “You say that all the time,” (Woman Warrior, 203).

However, I think that a small bit of redemption is made for Brave Orchid and Kingston’s relationship towards the end of their epic argument. Since Kingston decides to make the argument one filled with feelings and emotions and sentiments she has kept inside of her for her entire life, her mother finally decides to level with her. She finally decides to throw her daughter a bone, to level with her daughter, whatever you want to call it. Following Kingston’s accusation that Brave Orchid has always called her ugly, Brave Orchid says, “That’s what we’re supposed to say. That’s what Chinese say. We like to say the opposite,” (Woman Warrior, 203). Once I read this, I knew I didn’t have to read any further or examine the text any further to know one thing for certain: Brave Orchid loved her daughter very, very much. As much or more as she loved Moon Orchid. She simply was unable to show it due to ancient Chinese ways that she had grown up with.(Tough love, baby. That's what Brave Orchid was all about. image courtesy of:http://tough-love-jeans.co.uk/img/toughlove.png). Brave Orchid had left so much of her culture behind when she left China, she was obviously holding onto what little of her culture she had inside of her. Unfortunately, this resulted in Kinston thinking for for most of her life that she was worthless to her mother. I can only hope that through writing this novel, Kinston was able to heal. Hopefully, she was able to take every insult ever hurled at her by her mother, think of the opposite, and know that her mother really did love her. I hope that Kingston was able to forgive her. For, just as Brave Orchid said to her sister, so I believe she felt about her daughter, “I won’t let anything happen to you. Don’t be afraid,” (Woman Warrior, 156).

Woman Warrior 2

In this class we have paid a lot of attention to other cultures, religions, and ways of living. However, we have not given a lot of time – until the last couple of weeks – to the difficulties of immigrants living in America. I am studying this in my history class right now, as we learn about the immigration boom in America during the 19^th century. Back then, people from China, Mexico, and other countries moved to America to pursue a better life for their families. Not for themselves. They were put to work on railroads, in factories, and at other jobs that involved unskilled labor.(image courtesy of: http://www.goldsea.com/AAD/Milestones/railroad.jpg). They were paid next to nothing and – because this was before any sort of labor laws or unions were in place – were outrageously overworked. Most of them, history has shown us through letters and novels, hated their lives in America, but stayed to give their children the opportunity to capitalize on being 1^st generation Americans (as many immigrants gave birth to children once they had moved to the US). (I google-image searched the word "immigrant" and this is what I found. How can we expect immigrants to WANT to be here when we are the opposite of welcoming to them?! image courtesy of: http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/photos/uncategorized/2007/03/26/immigrant_rally.jpg). In many cases, their children did adjust extremely well and moved up in the workforce, eventually making great amounts of money and raising their own families. That is, of course, the story of why America is the land of opportunity and the great melting pot.

However, though I know the stories of the distant past through my history class, I had not stopped to consider that this struggle of the immigrant was still occurring during the 20^th century setting of The Woman Warrior – or that it might still be happening today. When reading about Kingston’s mother, Brave Orchid. Kingston talks about how her mother and father both knew of the communist troubles their former home was undergoing and that it would not be safe or practical for them to return. Yet, Brave Orchid longs for her old friends, her old status as a doctor, and her old life. Said she, “This is terrible ghost country, where a human being works her life away. In China I never had to even hang up my old clothes. I shouldn’t have left,” (Woman Warrior, 104). Her daughter attempts to reason with her, saying “If you hadn’t left, there wouldn’t be a me for you to support, Mama,” (Woman Warrior, 104). Still, Brave orchid complains about the pace of life in America, saying “Human beings don’t work like this in China. Life goes slower there,” (Woman Warrior, 104) and insists on labeling every white person she sees as a “ghost” of some form. Yet, though she complains of the faced-pace days in America, she has done a better job adjusting than perhaps she even knows, as she is able to work and do a lot of household jobs while her sister, Moon Orchid, newly immigrated from China, can do very little. Kingston even describes how Brave Orchid grows impatient with Moon Orchid’s inability to do even little tasks in a timely manner and, Kingston notes that eventually Brave Orchid gets so frustrated she says, “’Go take a walk!” and Kingston describes her as “exasperated,” (Woman Warrior, 137). Her daughter, on the other hand, considers America to be where she belongs, which one would think would be what Brave Orchid desired for her family. Instead, she continue to bemoan her situation and wish for her life back home. This is understandable, to me, but still heartbreaking. I cannot imagine giving up my entire life to come to another country where I would be completely unhappy. I cannot imagine my own country becoming so dangerous that I had to leave. I cannot imagine giving up everything I love for my children – and then not valuing my little girl because she was a girl. But that’s just that: I cannot imagine it. So I cannot judge Brave Orchid on her decisions or attitude or the way she makes her daughter feel, I can only take notice of the way she handles things and try to learn more about what made Brave Orchid the way she was and how that shaped Kingston’s life and memories.

Woman Warrior 1

I am all about Woman Warrior right now. As soon as I opened this book and read the opening line from Kingston’s mother to a young Kingston, “You must not tell anyone what I am about to tell you,” I was enraptured by this biography/memoir/novel/masterpiece (Woman Warrior, 3). Of course, since Kingston proceeds to tell all of her readers exactly what her mother tells her, it is an extremely powerful and ironic first sentence of a story that is all about breaking the rules. Kingston, I quickly realized after picking up the book, is the woman warrior she names her book after. (I find myself in awe of Maxine Hong Kinston and her life. image courtesy of:http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/photos/uncategorized/2008/04/27/hong.jpg).

I feel a special kinship to Kingston. Though my situation was nowhere near as dire as her own, I can relate to her suffering of being of the unwanted sex in her family and culture and her actions of make-believe in a small way. My grandmother had a very sad life. She suffered from bipolar disorder and alcoholism and was a woman, on top of all that, who was very set in her ways. Her children don’t talk much about it but I can sense that life at home with their mother was not something they look back upon fondly. My father (her son) was supposedly the golden child because he was the only boy out of 4 children – and my grandmother wanted only boys. Something about the importance of the last name passing on, for antiquated reasons similar to that of the Chinese culture Kingston grew up amidst – made my grandmother say something to my mother (her daughter-in-law) just after she gave birth to me that has always stuck with my mom. I was 7 pounds 0 ounces lying in my mother’s cradled arms and my grandmother looked down at me then back up at my mother and said, “I’m sorry it wasn’t a boy. Hopefully next time.”How can you look at a little baby - especially one as cute as me ha ha - and say something like that? Luckily for me, my parents never once bought into the ideology that "boys are better".(My dad holding me as a baby. image is author's own.) Naturally when my brother was born two years later, she was overjoyed. Holidays were pretty much the only times I saw my grandmother but those were painful on their own. My brother would receive kisses and laughter and gifts like a massive train set that spanned the entire house while I – desperate for some of my grandmother’s attention – would only be noticed by her if it involved some kind of scolding for eating all the caviar and my gifts would include a used paperback book. It sounds crazy, but that’s how it was. I think she loved me, but I think that her mental disorder and her old fashioned beliefs of right and wrong got in the way of her being able to show me.(I did not feel loved by my grandmother, but I think that deep down she loved me. image is author's own.) Kingston feels the same sentiment when she explains, “from afar I can believe my family loves me fundamentally. They only say ‘when fishing for treasures in the flood, be careful not to pull in girls’,

“ (Woman Warrior, 52). In this sense, I was luckier than Kingston, who had to deal with rejection all around her based on being a girl and not just from one person. She says, “I read in an anthropology book that Chinese say, ‘girls are necessary too’; I have never heard the Chinese I know make this concession,” (Woman Warrior, 53).

To escape from that, I sometimes played what my mother called my “imaginary games” where I would run all over the backyard pretending to be someone else. Some days I was a basketball star, other times I was a strong female character from a Disney movie like Mulan. When I read that Kingston imagined herself as Fa Mu Lan “the girl who took her father’s place in battle” I was amazed that we had both resorted to the same fantasies about ourselves to give us strength (Woman Warrior, 20).(I used to pretend to be the Disney version of Fa Mu Lan - a strong woman warrior herself. image courtesy of:http://www.uweb.ucsb.edu/~courtney_hendrickson/mulan8.jpg). Both of us refused to see ourselves – even in our fantasies – as anything less than a strong, powerful woman. Regardless of what those around us wanted us to be. I am proud of young Kingston and her refusal to roll over and assume that she should believe what her family and culture tells her about being a girl. I am excited to continue reading and see what other stands she takes in her life against injustice.