Definition of a Politician:
When a person has to repeat some primitive idea over and over again, he is ready to become a politician.
Now, do we really need them to run our country?
Sunday, March 25, 2007
Friday, March 23, 2007
Ghost Story
“Oh, these are going to come out so good. I can’t wait to pierce it with my fork and indulge myself into the rich taste.”
“I remember when you were about three, you and your grandfather were making pelmeni and you ate a raw piece of meat. He was so guilty that he wasn’t watching you! He almost cried.”
“I love being with you in the kitchen. I think we really bond.”
“Yes, me too. Min sen yorotam, kizim.”
“Min sen yorotam, zurani.”
Min sen yorotam means I love you in Tatar, the language that my dad’s side of the family can speak (it is related to Turkish). I remember these moments so well, just me and my zurani, or grandmother. The memories that I have are always circling my mind. No matter what the occasion, certain events will bring up reminiscences.
“Let’s go Yulia. We better leave now if we want to get back before the sun sets.”
I remember how we would take the train to go to my grandparents’ cottage in the country. We spent lots of time there when I came to visit. It gave us some freedom. We didn’t have to abide by the rules of the city life. We could frolic in the fields and go skinny dipping in the ponds. Before bed, we would bathe in the sauna that my grandparents built near the house. During the day, we worked in the garden. Even though it was strenuous work, being with my grandma made it fun and relaxing. I picked fruits off of the plants and made gorgeous bouquets of flowers. Occasionally we would harvest birch tree branches and make them into brooms. In the sauna, we used these brooms to spray hot water on our bodies. We rubbed honey on ourselves to make our skin beautiful. We ended the night with a fresh warm glass of goat milk. Sometimes I go to the sauna in our apartment building, and the dry air and wooden walls remind me of those incredible times.
The smell of antiseptics filled my nostrils. This hospital had a certain pleasurable feeling to it. I didn’t want to run and hide when I entered. I followed my grandmother around and watched her do errands. If she needed to assist a doctor, I waited in the nurse’s lounge with her friends and colleagues. We would have tea and I would tell them about America. They listened to me as if I were some sort of fortune teller. Though I was more than thirty years younger than them, I felt like I was their teacher. They were clueless about what America was like. They looked at me as if I was some sort of alien that came from a distant planet called the USA.
My grandma always weighed me when we were at the hospital. She said it was the only place with an accurate scale. She would always tell me how skinny I was and that I needed to gain some weight, and inevitably I did. She would feed me the best food in the world. I didn’t care how unhealthy or fattening it was, I just ate it. She filled my mind with thoughts and ideas about how to live. “Never smoke”, she would tell me. “Don’t be like your mother.” These remarks made me upset. She never did approve of my mother. Only when she was dying did she realize that life is too short to waste it on ancient grudges. She always wanted my father to marry a Tatar housewife, one that could cook, clean and take care of my grandma’s only son. My mom was the total opposite. She was a Russian blonde who had dreams. She still is like that. She is an adventure seeker. I sometimes wanted to scream at my grandmother for making comments like these in front of me. Did she think that I wouldn’t say anything to my mother? I told my mom everything.
Moments like these made me feel like a failure. My grandmother had an aggressive temper. She was always very selfish, but I never made a big deal of it. One time when I came to visit, she got mad at me and didn’t say a word to me for a whole week. How is a ten year old child supposed to react?
Wholly, my grandmother was a great woman. She was a real fighter. She was a Woman Warrior. Her whole life she tried to be the best mother, wife, grandmother, nurse, and friend that she could be. She made many mistakes over the course of her life, but in the end, they all don’t matter.
“Yulia, I have some bad news. Your grandmother has just been diagnosed with breast cancer.”
“…Oh, wow. I’m…I’m so sorry. This is devastating. I can’t believe it.”
I went through many phases when I found out. It all started with her breaking her arm when I came to visit that summer. We were walking to a neighbor’s house, and his dog startled us, and my grandmother fell. I felt a sense of guilt, even though it wasn’t my fault. I knew that the dog was there, but I didn’t expect it to jump out at us like that. I tried to do everything that I could to help. After her arm healed, and I went back to the US, my dad told me the news. I was very shocked. How could this happen to her? She doesn’t deserve this. The cancer started with pains in her hip. She went through a stage when she could barely walk. She had to go to surgery and have her right breast removed. It was so painful to see her the following summer. We went to the sauna, naked, and I saw the huge scar that took up the majority of her right chest. I couldn’t even look. Everything seemed to be going well. She was getting better. The chemotherapy was working, and eventually she was clear of the disease. The hair that was falling out during radiation was starting to grow back and she looked very healthy. Little did we know, this was just a short stage in her disease. After a while, we found out that she was back in treatment. Eventually, nothing was helping her. She was sent home to just rest. What the doctors really meant was that they were sending her to die in her home. Each time my dad called to see how she was doing, she was getting worse and worse. We knew that she was going through a lot of pain, and there was nothing we could do to help. We waited as her condition deteriorated, and when the dreaded call finally came, we were ready. Instead of feeling a major sense of grief, we felt relief. Zurani suffered through so much. She felt a lot of pain and anguish. My grandfather isn’t exactly a very emotional person, so no matter how much he tried, he still couldn’t give her as much support as she needed. We were happy that she was at peace.
She died about one year ago, and ever since her death, I’ve been feeling sort of empty. Her name always comes up in the house because she was such a big part of our lives. For some she was a close, loving mother, for others, a mean and not understanding mother-in-law. Either way, she was a huge part. She always challenged me to be the best that I can be. My grandmother suffered a lot during her life. When she was a child, her father left the family and remarried 2 more times. As the oldest child, she took care of her siblings. She used to always tell me about the awful childhood that she had. I would listen. The older I became, the more educated I became. I started analyzing her stories. Why did she always feel so bad for herself? I think that this constant sense of self-pity finally got to her, and eventually lead her to illness. My ghost is not necessarily my zurani, it is the state that she was in. The feeling of self-pity and defeat is one that I never in my life would want to experience. My parents brought me up to be independent and want me to disregard any attacks that come my way. They have made a strong individual out of me, molded me into this person that I am. I believe that I do have potential to be the next Woman Warrior in my family.
This trait that I fear the most eventually comes over me. Every person wants to feel sorry for themselves, and I do all the time. What I am fearful of is that this sense of pity will overcome me. This is a ghost that I fight constantly. Sometimes I want to talk back and defend myself or just show everyone what a poor little girl I am, but in reality, I know this is not the case. Nobody in my situation has the right to say their life sucks. Part of this ghost that I am running from is feeling grateful. Everyday I thank life for granting me one more day, and I wish that I will be able to live it to the fullest, without sorrow, shame, misfortune, or pity for myself. Although I don’t like this state of being, this ghost is not something that I feel I will easily get rid of. I just need to constantly condition myself and then the ghost will disappear.
I have learned through many experiences that life is a great opportunity and sitting in sulk and wasting it away makes no sense. I will overpower this ghost. I will teach it whose boss. This internal struggle is not one that will last very long, for I have almost won.
“I remember when you were about three, you and your grandfather were making pelmeni and you ate a raw piece of meat. He was so guilty that he wasn’t watching you! He almost cried.”
“I love being with you in the kitchen. I think we really bond.”
“Yes, me too. Min sen yorotam, kizim.”
“Min sen yorotam, zurani.”
Min sen yorotam means I love you in Tatar, the language that my dad’s side of the family can speak (it is related to Turkish). I remember these moments so well, just me and my zurani, or grandmother. The memories that I have are always circling my mind. No matter what the occasion, certain events will bring up reminiscences.
“Let’s go Yulia. We better leave now if we want to get back before the sun sets.”
I remember how we would take the train to go to my grandparents’ cottage in the country. We spent lots of time there when I came to visit. It gave us some freedom. We didn’t have to abide by the rules of the city life. We could frolic in the fields and go skinny dipping in the ponds. Before bed, we would bathe in the sauna that my grandparents built near the house. During the day, we worked in the garden. Even though it was strenuous work, being with my grandma made it fun and relaxing. I picked fruits off of the plants and made gorgeous bouquets of flowers. Occasionally we would harvest birch tree branches and make them into brooms. In the sauna, we used these brooms to spray hot water on our bodies. We rubbed honey on ourselves to make our skin beautiful. We ended the night with a fresh warm glass of goat milk. Sometimes I go to the sauna in our apartment building, and the dry air and wooden walls remind me of those incredible times.
The smell of antiseptics filled my nostrils. This hospital had a certain pleasurable feeling to it. I didn’t want to run and hide when I entered. I followed my grandmother around and watched her do errands. If she needed to assist a doctor, I waited in the nurse’s lounge with her friends and colleagues. We would have tea and I would tell them about America. They listened to me as if I were some sort of fortune teller. Though I was more than thirty years younger than them, I felt like I was their teacher. They were clueless about what America was like. They looked at me as if I was some sort of alien that came from a distant planet called the USA.
My grandma always weighed me when we were at the hospital. She said it was the only place with an accurate scale. She would always tell me how skinny I was and that I needed to gain some weight, and inevitably I did. She would feed me the best food in the world. I didn’t care how unhealthy or fattening it was, I just ate it. She filled my mind with thoughts and ideas about how to live. “Never smoke”, she would tell me. “Don’t be like your mother.” These remarks made me upset. She never did approve of my mother. Only when she was dying did she realize that life is too short to waste it on ancient grudges. She always wanted my father to marry a Tatar housewife, one that could cook, clean and take care of my grandma’s only son. My mom was the total opposite. She was a Russian blonde who had dreams. She still is like that. She is an adventure seeker. I sometimes wanted to scream at my grandmother for making comments like these in front of me. Did she think that I wouldn’t say anything to my mother? I told my mom everything.
Moments like these made me feel like a failure. My grandmother had an aggressive temper. She was always very selfish, but I never made a big deal of it. One time when I came to visit, she got mad at me and didn’t say a word to me for a whole week. How is a ten year old child supposed to react?
Wholly, my grandmother was a great woman. She was a real fighter. She was a Woman Warrior. Her whole life she tried to be the best mother, wife, grandmother, nurse, and friend that she could be. She made many mistakes over the course of her life, but in the end, they all don’t matter.
“Yulia, I have some bad news. Your grandmother has just been diagnosed with breast cancer.”
“…Oh, wow. I’m…I’m so sorry. This is devastating. I can’t believe it.”
I went through many phases when I found out. It all started with her breaking her arm when I came to visit that summer. We were walking to a neighbor’s house, and his dog startled us, and my grandmother fell. I felt a sense of guilt, even though it wasn’t my fault. I knew that the dog was there, but I didn’t expect it to jump out at us like that. I tried to do everything that I could to help. After her arm healed, and I went back to the US, my dad told me the news. I was very shocked. How could this happen to her? She doesn’t deserve this. The cancer started with pains in her hip. She went through a stage when she could barely walk. She had to go to surgery and have her right breast removed. It was so painful to see her the following summer. We went to the sauna, naked, and I saw the huge scar that took up the majority of her right chest. I couldn’t even look. Everything seemed to be going well. She was getting better. The chemotherapy was working, and eventually she was clear of the disease. The hair that was falling out during radiation was starting to grow back and she looked very healthy. Little did we know, this was just a short stage in her disease. After a while, we found out that she was back in treatment. Eventually, nothing was helping her. She was sent home to just rest. What the doctors really meant was that they were sending her to die in her home. Each time my dad called to see how she was doing, she was getting worse and worse. We knew that she was going through a lot of pain, and there was nothing we could do to help. We waited as her condition deteriorated, and when the dreaded call finally came, we were ready. Instead of feeling a major sense of grief, we felt relief. Zurani suffered through so much. She felt a lot of pain and anguish. My grandfather isn’t exactly a very emotional person, so no matter how much he tried, he still couldn’t give her as much support as she needed. We were happy that she was at peace.
She died about one year ago, and ever since her death, I’ve been feeling sort of empty. Her name always comes up in the house because she was such a big part of our lives. For some she was a close, loving mother, for others, a mean and not understanding mother-in-law. Either way, she was a huge part. She always challenged me to be the best that I can be. My grandmother suffered a lot during her life. When she was a child, her father left the family and remarried 2 more times. As the oldest child, she took care of her siblings. She used to always tell me about the awful childhood that she had. I would listen. The older I became, the more educated I became. I started analyzing her stories. Why did she always feel so bad for herself? I think that this constant sense of self-pity finally got to her, and eventually lead her to illness. My ghost is not necessarily my zurani, it is the state that she was in. The feeling of self-pity and defeat is one that I never in my life would want to experience. My parents brought me up to be independent and want me to disregard any attacks that come my way. They have made a strong individual out of me, molded me into this person that I am. I believe that I do have potential to be the next Woman Warrior in my family.
This trait that I fear the most eventually comes over me. Every person wants to feel sorry for themselves, and I do all the time. What I am fearful of is that this sense of pity will overcome me. This is a ghost that I fight constantly. Sometimes I want to talk back and defend myself or just show everyone what a poor little girl I am, but in reality, I know this is not the case. Nobody in my situation has the right to say their life sucks. Part of this ghost that I am running from is feeling grateful. Everyday I thank life for granting me one more day, and I wish that I will be able to live it to the fullest, without sorrow, shame, misfortune, or pity for myself. Although I don’t like this state of being, this ghost is not something that I feel I will easily get rid of. I just need to constantly condition myself and then the ghost will disappear.
I have learned through many experiences that life is a great opportunity and sitting in sulk and wasting it away makes no sense. I will overpower this ghost. I will teach it whose boss. This internal struggle is not one that will last very long, for I have almost won.
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Thursday, March 8, 2007
WOMAN WARRIOR Conclusion
One topic that I would like to expand on is the message that Maxine Hong Kingston is trying to convey throughout the book. Woman Warrior is a memoir about Maxine’s life, and throughout her life, she is faced with many obstacles and gets to meet many influential women. Based on the title, the book is about a collection of stories of women who have done something heroic or have gone against the majority. We meet many amazing female figures and are left to decide whether or not they are warriors.
Maxine makes clear the qualities that a woman warrior has. She needs to be brave, like Fa Mulan and the girl in the chapter White Tigers. She needs to be smart, like Brave Orchid and Maxine herself. She also needs to be flexible, a piece of bamboo, like Maxine. Moon Orchid is a woman warrior, but not entirely. It took courage to leave her routine and to come to America and to go and see her husband. She had all the right qualities to be a warrior, but she wasn’t flexible. She couldn’t adapt to her environment. She wasn’t able to accustom herself to the American lifestyle and to the fact that her husband didn’t want her anymore. She went insane. Brave Orchid, in my opinion, is more of a woman warrior than her sister. She was somewhat able to adapt, but still, not entirely. Maxine is the one with the most characteristics that would suit a woman warrior. She is like her family, but with a more American and independent twist.
I think the main message that Maxine is trying to tell us is that it doesn’t matter what your surroundings are, you need to be flexible and adaptable in order to survive. She is a very independent individual, and she went against all of the Chinese teachings, but it got her very far. This book taught me that one shouldn’t be afraid to speak and to show themselves to the world. It is better to make an effort to be noticed than to hide and hope that nobody will ever detect you. This book is also about the transition that one makes throughout his or her life. Maxine changed tremendously throughout the book. At the beginning, she was a very Chinese girl who was afraid of speaking and flunked kindergarten. By the end of the book, she was getting straight A’s and standing up for herself. Where did she get the courage to shout at her mother? This is the transformation that she made. She got fed up with all of the negativity towards her and decided that she needed to figure out what life is like on her own. I think that Maxine Hong Kingston is educating us about the life of a Chinese immigrant’s family and at the same time is giving us some role models and some examples of the women that are warriors to her.
Maxine makes clear the qualities that a woman warrior has. She needs to be brave, like Fa Mulan and the girl in the chapter White Tigers. She needs to be smart, like Brave Orchid and Maxine herself. She also needs to be flexible, a piece of bamboo, like Maxine. Moon Orchid is a woman warrior, but not entirely. It took courage to leave her routine and to come to America and to go and see her husband. She had all the right qualities to be a warrior, but she wasn’t flexible. She couldn’t adapt to her environment. She wasn’t able to accustom herself to the American lifestyle and to the fact that her husband didn’t want her anymore. She went insane. Brave Orchid, in my opinion, is more of a woman warrior than her sister. She was somewhat able to adapt, but still, not entirely. Maxine is the one with the most characteristics that would suit a woman warrior. She is like her family, but with a more American and independent twist.
I think the main message that Maxine is trying to tell us is that it doesn’t matter what your surroundings are, you need to be flexible and adaptable in order to survive. She is a very independent individual, and she went against all of the Chinese teachings, but it got her very far. This book taught me that one shouldn’t be afraid to speak and to show themselves to the world. It is better to make an effort to be noticed than to hide and hope that nobody will ever detect you. This book is also about the transition that one makes throughout his or her life. Maxine changed tremendously throughout the book. At the beginning, she was a very Chinese girl who was afraid of speaking and flunked kindergarten. By the end of the book, she was getting straight A’s and standing up for herself. Where did she get the courage to shout at her mother? This is the transformation that she made. She got fed up with all of the negativity towards her and decided that she needed to figure out what life is like on her own. I think that Maxine Hong Kingston is educating us about the life of a Chinese immigrant’s family and at the same time is giving us some role models and some examples of the women that are warriors to her.
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