Gift From a Distant Relative

Everything in the house was left the way it was when she used to live there. A bright colored kitchen, figurines lining cabinets, and desert sun through windows brought forward sadness. She thought back to the woman who used to bring life to the house.

“Mi reina!” her grandma greeted with a hug.

Her abuelita always had a way of making her feel special. Maybe it was because she called her a queen, or maybe it was because everything Alice had done made her grandma proud. They would sit and talk about their activities, and everything Alice did impressed her abuela.

“He tries his hardest, your father,” her abuelita said when conversation died and she saw the sadness in Alice’s eyes.

“I know” she replied, trying her hardest to sound honest but her abuelita was wise and saw straight through her.

“Listen,” she said in her heavy accent, “ I came to America to give your father a better life, but I wasn’t the greatest parent but he didn’t understand. Now its your father’s turn to try to give you a better life by working to pay for this house and your education. And if that means not seeing you everyday then, oh well.” Upon those words, she would get up and serve food. “Remember that when you have kids of your own.”

Everyday there was similar conversation with the addition of stories of her abuela’s past. That was eleven years ago. Granted, Alice knew her abuelita was old, but she expected her to be there forever. Unfortunately, that was not true.  Nine years ago her abuela had developed Alzheimer's, slowly forgetting everything.  

“Thats funny…”  her her abuelita gazed emptily mid conversation.

“Que paso?” Alice jumped.

“Wha.. whats your name again?” she asked meekly. Alice was scared, for that was the third time she had asked for her name, and that’s when she knew something was wrong. Alice had struggled with her grandma the next morning, trying to get her to go to the doctor.

“I’m fine! there’s nothing wrong! I don’t know why we’re here!” she protested.  Just like abuelita, too proud to admit anything, recalled Alice, eyes beginning to water.

It was then that they learned her diagnosis. Once her condition was critical, she was put into a nursing home which devastated Alice, who, still being a minor had to leave to live with her dad, traveling from job to job. He still owned the house, but it was only used when they were in town. Those were the best and worst times. Alice had a love hate relationship with the idea that she could see her abuelita but only be remembered for minutes at a time, if at all.

“Quien es?” she asked in a hesitant voice as Alice stepped into her abuelita’s room after knocking.

“Soy yo,” she paused looking to see if she recalled, but was met with a blank stare. “I’m a relative of yours.”

“Are you Rosa’s daughter? I heard you were traveling after high school. I didn’t know you would come to Texas!” Her abuelita exclaimed febblely. Alice’s heart dropped. Rosa’s daughter was forty-three now.

“Yes, yeah thats me,” she lied.

“You should have told me you were coming earlier. I could have made… made… who are you?”

“Oh, nobody. I just came to deliver these flowers.”

Feeling alone, Alice left for the funeral with her father, wishing she was the one with Alzheimer’s so that she wouldn’t be tortured by these memories. Then she realized, memories were gift from her abuela, so that Alice could appreciate and understand everything in its fullness.

The Museum

Gleefully, he watched as water rose filling the city, and boats floated on anticipation of his hopes and aspirations. He wanted to flood the city, until no more water could fit, that was in an interactive exhibit at the museum, specifically that of nature and art. But nature was too common and art was too philosophical, and for that, he was uninterested in both. Granted, he was only seven and easily distracted, so he, instead, played with the children’s display of dams and floods and how they are caused and how they are prevented.  A small plastic village, panels that open and close to mimic a pike system, and hose to represent rain was a recipe for hours of entertainment for children and cleanup for mothers who hauled off soaking children in drenched tee shirts.  But during those hours, tired mothers were no longer tired. Instead they off observing the commonly philosophical while the children played under supervision of museum volunteers, who signed up for more than they expected.

He and his mother went to the museum often, for she had hopes and aspirations once. Before the kids area, he was stuck by his mother. He would stay near her side as she lost herself in what she saw. Occasionally she would turn to him saying “with a strong mind and persistent attitude, you can do anything you want to” and he would nod and pretend to understand. Those days seemed endless as he attempted to stay still for his mother’s sake. This feeling ended when they added the children’s exhibit.

“Hello,” said the scrawny volunteer. He couldn't have been older than twenty, but that mattered little to the mother for she had bags under her eyes and a headache in her brain.

Ignoring him, she turned to her child. “You can go with the rest of the kids or you can come stay quietly with mommy,” she said half heartedly, fully expecting her son to bound off before she could finish her sentence, which he did. “ I’ll be back to pick him up at six,” she sighed now addressing the volunteer. He nodded enthusiastically , reminding her of times when she was young and had no regrets. She walked towards the exhibits, looking back at her son one last time.

          He was a curious and messy child, as most are at seven, but he was headstrong and determined in all that he did. This attribute happened to apply to blocking all the water from reaching the drains. He had no specific reason other than the thought it might look cool if everything flooded over the ledge. Dashing back and forth, pressing buttons to start the rain, closing panels, and battling children who attempted to ruin his efforts, he wore himself thin. Some children joined him in an unspoken companionship, but none seemed to be as dedicated as he.  They watched the gates fill but would not wait until they overflowed to open the panels and watch their plastic boats flow down for instant gratification. And so he got upset. He ran to sulk in a corner, giving up on his cause.

“What’s wrong?” He looked up to see a girl, possibly his age, standing over him, looking confused.

“They keep opening the gates!” he pouted.

“So you’re gonna stop playing?” she questioned, clearly looking confused.

“I don’t wanna play if they keep messing up what I wanna do” he said and for some reason, he sounded silly. It didn't sound silly in his head, but out loud it did.

“Not everyone is gonna want to do what you wanna do” she said coolly, walking away before he could respond. So he got up, feeling somewhat embarrassed, and began to play again. He started at is same attempts and forgot that embarrassed feeling. He played again in the same enthusiasm he had earlier and didn't even mind when the other kids ruined his plan. He played until his mother came, exactly at six.

“Ready to go?” she called and though he was not, he came anyway. He never saw his dream fulfilled, yet was still happy. And upon seeing his happiness, his mother smiled her first smile in a very long time.

Pie

The speed limit was thirty five, but he was going twenty miles faster, like normal. He enjoyed showing off his car, like a gloating child, and it disgusted her but she would never tell. In the backseat, she watched the lights of the city brighten the night and twinkle in the distance. Spending the day with her family exhausted her and in the tired expressions in her parents’ faces, she could tell they felt the same.
        “Pull into this store here”, her mother commanded, “I want to get a pie”.
        “What do you want a pie for?”, he asked impatiently. He had just recently lost weight and was in the habit to shame others for not following in his footsteps.
        “Because Sarah’s birthday was the other week and we did nothing” she snapped beginning to glare. With short tempers being characteristics of them both, an air of tension always surrounded the couple like the smog around the city. Sarah sighed in the back seat, being the unfortunate collateral damage.
        “Oh, ok” ,he said with a change in tone as he attempted to diffuse the situation, “ we’ll go to Baker’s Square and get good pie.”
        “No this store will be fine”, she said.
        “No, no, Baker’s Square has better tasting pies”, He replied half enthusiastically half condescending.
        “It’s too far and pie will be cheaper here”, she retorted, begin to grind her teeth.
        “Why do you have to be so difficult?”  he asked in fake astoundment
        “Why is everything I do not good enough?” she returned as he voice raised to a higher volume.
        “Fine. Have it your way”, he yelled back while swerving the car to make the turn into the grocery store parking lot. He suddenly stopped as he pulled over near the entrance. Sarah’s mother jumped out of the car quickly and went into the store. Sarah stayed in the car as her father parked. “ Why does everything have to be an argument with her” he said to Sarah but more to himself. She shrugged as they exited the car and entered the store. Her mother was there, in the pastry section, pie in one hand, phone in the other. As they approached her, the conversation became audible.
        “In the Jewel, yeah. No just come pick me up. I don’t want to be here right now.” She said to the unknown but fairly obvious contact.
        “Really, Sally? Really? You’re just gonna leave? Really”, he rolled his eyes, “That’s really abusive of your family”
        Sarah chuckled to herself. Abusive. That was a word her parents both enjoyed misusing, she thought as she backed away from the argument unfolding before her. She slowly backed away as her parents began their usual scene so well rehearsed. They were only a few insults and an impulsive act away from fully loosing the pretense of a normal family dispute. The hushed debate could easily turn into a full out screaming match, but that only happened in public a few times.
        Now in the produce section of the store yet still having her parents in her line of vision, Sarah thought about her future. She thought about how she would be in control of her life, Take charge and confident, she wouldn't reserve her thoughts or opinions. She wouldn't keep herself in situations or relationships that were unnecessarily taxing.and then she began thinking about being impulsive. If she screamed out, right there in the store, her parents would stop and there would be a moment of peace. She could start destroying the store. She could yell, and run around, and throw all the fruits and vegetables on the floor, surely getting a second of attention. Still, she knew she wouldn't, in fear of being burdensome. Instead, she sat on the floor and living her life in her future. As usual, like this, she was content.
         “Sally! Sally where are you going?” her father’s voice interrupted her daydreams. Sarah looked up in time to see her mother with hands over her ears walking out the door, her father proceeding. Sarah quickly followed, not wanting to be left behind. It was ridiculous how they fought, like children, she thought.
        “You’re unbelievable! You purposely instigate! I bet you had this planned, probably just wanted to leave again and blame it on me!” he father exclaimed
        “Me? Unbelievable? You’re the one making such a big deal over a pie! A freaking PIE!” she yelled back.
        “You’re the one who started this in the first place!”
        “I just wanted something nice for Sarah!”
        “And I didn't? You didn't even buy the pie, anyway! I bet you plan-”
        “why are you two even still together?” Sarah asked thoughtlessly and in that instant she received her moment of peace, her second of attention. And in that same instant, she immediately regretted her question.
“What?” both her parents said, taken aback.
“Nothing” she mumbled.
“No, tell me what you said” her father said.
“Well..it’s just… you guys don’t get along and neither of you ever seems happy so why have you guys stayed together?” she said despite her better judgement. This caused her parents to exchange looks as if to ask each other the same question. And then she saw in their eyes, they had no idea.

Old Money

Careless and worry free childhoods extended to careless and worry free lives as education, connections, and most importantly, high social status was readily handed to old money descendants at birth. Without the constant looming requirement to earn money for survival, the heirs were free to live extravagant lives with beautiful clothing, expensive parties, and other ostentatious luxuries. For many in the twenties, this lifestyle seemed fantastic, but was it too fantastic? Bountiful inheritances left those of old money with jobs that only took up part of their time, yet they were always so busy. These successors, left with nothing to do, seemed to have become frantic in attempt to fill the insatiable void that was their life. This realization may lead to the cliche, the grass is always greener on the other side. Thought the statement may be true, in this case, green grass may not be for everyone. 

The roaring twenties was the era that altered the system. The unprecedented development after WW1 had impact on both the economy and society in the US. Businesses ravaged with new technologies became prosperous and the surplus wealth went towards investment for other companies. This economic change in turn shifted social structures, where the once poor were then able to move up with greater ease, causing those of old money to lose identity. Old money heirs that held strong ideas of definitive social classes passed down by parents, they lunged and grasped at any morsel of past mindsets and clung to them. This lead to the childish and ridiculous lack of acceptance towards those of new money held by the previously wealthy which plays a heavy role in The Great Gatsby.

Thankful

       During the time of Thanksgiving, we often take time to be thankful for all the things we have such as food and shelter and other appliances. What we sometimes don't think about are the people around us that we should be thankful for.

       First and for most, I am thankful for teachers. Not those who teach as a job, but those who teach as a lifestyle. I am thankful for those teachers who show me a new way to think of life and problems. I am thankful for teachers who try interest each student with creative assignments.  Most of all, I am thankful for teachers who place much unrequited effort into helping each and every student succeed.

      I am also thankful for many of my classmates. I am thankful for Morgan, Trenati, and Marcos who often I often work in a group with. Seeing that I missed the first week of school including choosing seats, had I been present, I most likely would have sit by people I was more familiar with and therefore would have never have made friends with these people, or even heard some of their opinions. I am thankful that they were so friendly and accepting of someone they had never met before.

     Lastly, I would like to say I am thankful for my good friend Barni Nuur. Knowing Barni since 7th grade and having many classes with her, we discuss many things, English class included. Despite her quiet appearance in class, she is actually very opinionated. Barni brings up points that I would often overlook and helps me to see a different side of a character or plot. Barni is a very outspoken person and her confidence is actually kind of inspiring. Also her mere presence lights up the room, not really it’s a pretty bright room as is, but I told her I would say that.

I Celebrate Myself

Individuality. The idea that you, yourself, are a single functioning unit in the vast collection of human beings. Like a single blade of grass, you exist on your own unattached to the "larger picture" known as the human existence. You are a being who conjugates thoughts and experiences and extrapolates emotions from those experiences. Ironically this idea is lost in the sea of thoughts which you form individually, or not.

We often lose our sense of individuality with the influence of society. The line between what we think and what is forced upon us by peer pressures and subliminal advertising is often blurred. Opinion oppression and expressive massacre consistently occur on a regular basis where that man who wanted to spend his days living in Alaska or looking at grass was deemed useless and wasteful of his life and others time. Time becomes a currency. Time is of the essence. Time, time, time. Nobody has time to fathom that their time should be spent wisely making the most out of their time alive. The most becomes material. Who ever dies with the most toys wins. We acquire this mindset that true fulfillment is in objects and happiness comes from a TV or computer. We use these things to distract ourselves from the constraining life layout that is forced upon us from our very beginning. to go to school in a white room with a square desk and memorize facts that we can regurgitate on standardized tests in order to accept whichever job pays the most so that we can buy more cars clothes and TVs and pay taxes and die. Although that life may hold precious memories in its own and could possibly form an adequate life for many, it is not how we should think. Life is not a formula where person + education = job = money = things = happiness. Our lives are wasted trying to work for money to achieve material happiness for our selves and our families, but once it is achieved, it doesn’t last. We forget that we once enjoyed ourselves without all this stuff. We forget that there were things we liked to do outside of the life layout that was set for us by society. We begin to forget that we can form thoughts and opinion of our own.

Walking down the street in a rush, because you are always in a rush, with your mind preoccupied with things that you need to do, daring not to make eye contact with the people walking next to you. But once you look up and make the quickest glance with the slightest smile which takes less than an ounce of your energy or thought but potentially reminded that person that not all people are selfishly fixated on their own lives. That person could potentially smile at another stranger having the same effect. This may or may not continue but for those who see, they begin to think, why are we not nicer to each other? And that is a thought many of us think. Why are we not nicer to each other? is it because the world is a cruel place and you cant survive if you’re nice, or maybe because society has conspired against us, or because man is not supposed to be kind he is supposed to be great, or because the idea of continuing this chain of living a lifestyle with tiring monotonous work with little reward to appealing? Those some of these claims may be true, we have the individual ability to break the chain and rewrite the world. We see that a field of grass is actually made up of millions on individual blades. But unfortunately, this idea can be and is reversed so that one bad apple spoils the bunch. We are so quick to emulate those who are bad because if they are getting a leg up we want it too, even if it is in a negative way. And so it is easier to continue a trend.

And so we decide. Do we want to revolutionize or do we want to survive?

Edgar Allen Poe

Edgar Allen Poe’s literature is surrounded by ominous connotations of mysterious, eerie, grim thoughts and descriptions. Inspiration for these literary works can be traced to his biography. Disreputable stories swarm to Poe’s name like flies to a fruit bowl, but many are untrue. Stories of Edgar Allen Poe being an alcoholic, womanizing, mad man are merely stories, conjured specifically to discredit the poet.

            In reality, Edgar was born to two actors in Boston 1809 with one brother and one sister. At the age of three, Poe’s parents died, sending Edgar to live with tobacco merchants and his siblings to live with other families. John and Frances Allen lived in Richmond Virginia and hoped Poe would grow to be in the tobacco business as well, but Poe aspired to be a poet instead. With this disapproval, Edgar Allen Poe left for college and had to solely pay the two thirds of his education tuition that the Allen’s would not pay for. Poverty stricken, Poe burnt furniture to keep warm.  Poe returned in vain to see his fiancé who had already married. His anger towards John Allen grew until he finally left for the US Army in frustration. Soon, though, his step mother acquired Tuberculosis and died before Poe could return to see her. Arguing with his step father once more and getting kicked out of the Army, Poe went to Baltimore where he met his aunt Marie Clemm and her daughter Virginia. It was then that his step father died and left Poe out of his will. Poe found a writing job at the Southern Literary Messenger and began writing stunningly honest book reviews. These brutally critical reviews not only gained him fame but also enemies. Poe soon married Virginia Clemm and they lived happily. Unsatisfied with his pay, Poe traveled to New York in job search but received no better pay despite his popularity. On the contrary he was able to publish works such as The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym, Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque, and most popular, The Raven. With the publication of The Raven, Poe was taken seriously and was know throughout households. Unfortunately, short after this success, his wife Virginia died of tuberculosis in1847. Unable to write, Poe made few writings after this such as For Annie, but died two years later in 1849.

            This biography embroidered with death and disparity alludes to many of the ideas that Poe played with in his literary works. As seen in Legia and The Raven, Poe questions not only what the afterlife is, but goes further to things many would not fathom at the time as to question whether there is something after death at all.