This blog post is mainly for some reflection on my narrative project draft one. I will reflect on it using some symbolism from The Wizard of Oz. The scarecrow, tin man, and lion all have characteristics that offer some insight. As do the wizard and the moment when Dorothy learned she could have returned home whenever she wanted to.
My narrative allows me to examine my mind back when my narrative takes place as well as now that it has been a few years since the events. Back then I was almost grossed out by my grandfather. I had only met him six or so times before so it was almost like being at a complete stranger’s death bed. I think what I thought back then was completely reasonable although disrespectful. The scarecrows main characteristic of not having mind at the beginning of the story lends itself well to how I felt after I somewhat came to an understanding of it. My emotions back then were a mixed bag. I wanted to feel bad for him, but I just couldn’t. I really did not know how I should feel, but know it seems a little clearer to me. I think that I had to experience it before I could really gauge how I felt. When the tin man gets a heart he can understand events much more complexly. I think that the tin man accurately represents my emotions because I just needed to mature to make sense of things. I think that when it comes to high-stakes and the emotion that it provokes, death is one of those things that almost everyone has in common. I'm not suggesting that some people are immortal, but rather that most people can relate to a death in their family or a friend or neighbor. I also did not try to use it to build tension or suspense. I tried to make the death as inglorious as possible because I think that portrays what I was feeling back then as accurately as possible. Somewhere in between confusion and pity. This is the only spot where the symbolism does not work. The lion gaining courage at the end does not fit with my narrative essay. My narrative project allowed me to understand my relationship to my family a little more. I think revisiting some of the thoughts I had in writing is allows for a certain type of insight that only writing allows you to have. This was my “you could have returned home the whole time” moment. I always had the ability to understand what I was thinking, but if I told myself the truth I wouldn’t believe it. Lastly, I think that what we tell ourselves about our life events defines who we are. If you break your arm, You can think about it in a few ways. Either its siiiick! that you broke your arm, or it's a terrible hindrance to you and it makes you upset. Since you only remember the emotion you were feeling when you broke your arm, your future meditations on the subject will always be tainted with that emotion whether it be positive or negative.
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The central theme of Hills Like White Elephants by Ernest Hemingway is this idea of miscommunication and factors from both sides contributing to the disorder of the situation. On one side, the woman is dodging around the problem, and on the other side, the man wants to force an answer out of her about a decision that needs consideration. It takes two hands to clap and two dancers to tango. I like biology, but it seems like my teacher just wants to see me fail. Does she have to single me out every class? Can't she complain about someone else’s work and make an example of them? My head was turning over these thoughts before I walked into class that day. The way the tables are set up around the room means there is a bio lab today. My lab partner is also absent today which means I have to handle the entire lab by myself. The first thing I’m going to do before the teacher gets here is try to get a small head start on this lab packet. It’s just chock full of useless information and busy work which are both trademarks of her teaching style. When she walked into the room I felt it like I have a sixth sense. It’s like someone is watching you and you can feel the uneasiness creep all the way up your back. As we all took our seats and she started lecturing us about some thin glass tools that can break easily I read ahead and started to do some of the busy work very half-assedly. She probably already knew that I was just filling out random things in her precious packet instead of listen to her imperative speech about 10 cent glass tubes so she grabbed my packet, waved it around, and held it up for the class to see. “See this? This is exactly what I don’t want you to do. This and this and this is all wrong. You’re gonna have to redo all of this” she said as she pointed to each of the things I had written and held it in front of my face. A little snort of amusement slipped out and she looked over the packet that was between us at me. I’m pretty sure she took it as a challenge and continued “You think this is funny? You just gave yourself and your group extra work. They aren’t gonna like you for this.” “Sure.” I put my earbuds in and turned on some music. I didn’t want to hear anymore. “Are you aware that you can get disciplinary action filed against you for not following my directions, Mr. Rajasekaran?” She purposely slaughtered my last name like she thought that it had never been done before. “I’m sure you'd love to see that” “I would love to see you do some decent work” “I’d love to see you be a decent person and not fuck with me all the time” “And now I’d love to see you in the principal's office” she said as she retrieved a detention notice. |
“If you want to be a writer, you must do two things above all: Read a lot and write a lot”
- Stephen King AuthorHello. I'm Raj. Nice to meet you. Archives
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