Control

When I read Amy’s story about her battle with anorexia, I was almost angry with her. She had the same day-to-day problems as most teenagers. Self-confidence issues, feeling as though you’re not good enough for your parents. I’ve heard it all before. I’ve felt it all before. The thought has obviously crossed my mind to simply skip a few meals to shed a few pounds. I’ve done it once or twice. But never have ever considered stopping eating completely. I was angry with her. She was blessed with so much. But it wasn’t good enough. There are so many children around the world starving who have no choice. Yet she simply stopped eating.

Then I realized. Anorexia isn’t a choice. It’s a horrible mental disease. It may start out as a choice but it spirals out of control. The counting of calories, avoiding certain foods, and eating tiny portions all leads up to an irrational fear of food. The victims of the disease want to feel in control. Dieting gives them that feeling but soon it actually gets out of their control. By the time they realize it, it could be too late.

But how do they get help if no one understands? Maybe part of the problem is everyone surrounding him or her thinks the disease is entirely his or her own fault. It was a choice. Instead of sympathy, they only feel lack of compassion and anger. Maybe, if we viewed it as it really is, a terrifying disorder, we’d all be more able to help.

The Blue Ribbon

Bessie Emma was a girl of 8 years, 11 months, and 13 days, which she would often remind you of. She had golden blond curls, eyes bluer than the ocean, rosy apple cheeks, and the prettiest pale skin you’ve ever seen. She almost resembled a baby doll. She was a little spoiled but it was hard not to spoil someone like Bessie.

One day during the late summer, her favorite season of all time, Bessie woke up around 8-o-clock, kicked off her white blanket with pink bows, got out of bed, splashed her face with water, and went downstairs for breakfast. She sat at the large dining room table and her father handed over a section of the newspaper and she pretended to read. The maid asked her what she’d like to eat. To which she replied, “I’d like a big stack of pancakes with whipped cream and blueberries on top, bacon, and a chocolate scone. Oh, and a cup of coffee. No cream or sugar.” This made her father grin from behind is paper. So the maid went back to the kitchen and brought fluffy pancakes with extra whipped cream and blueberries, crispy bacon, a chocolate scone from the best bakery in town and a fresh cup of black coffee. The maid simply adored Bessie and always wanted to give her the best breakfast she’d ever eaten. So the maid brought Bessie her breakfast. Her father peered over his paper as Bessie began to take a sip of coffee. She blew on the top and slowly brought the mug to her lips. She took a sip and swallowed. Her face wrinkled, as she tasted the most bitter and horrible drink she’d ever had. Her father let out a booming laugh and rustled her hair. And Bessie smiled the smile her father loved the most and she melted his heart, which she had a tendency to do.

He looked at her for a few moments. Then put down his paper, kissed Bessie on the top of her head, and headed to work at the local bank. Bessie followed him with her eyes and watched him through the window as he walked down the sidewalk with his brown, leather briefcase in hand wearing his grim sideways smile that didn’t seem genuine she noticed he always wore when he left home. She quickly gobbled her breakfast and ran up the staircase, her bare feet slapping against the hard wood, and went to her room. She changed into her day clothes and the maid came in and pulled back Bessie’s hair with a bright blue ribbon that matched the sash on her pale cream-colored, knee-length muslin dress. Bessie pulled on her stockings and slipped on her shoes, said goodbye to the maid and walked over to her neighbor and best friend Benjamin’s house.

She rapped on the door three times and waited impatiently, tapping her foot up and down. She couldn’t wait to go town to the railroad with Benny and all the other neighborhood kids. Finally, Benny’s mother came to the door.
“Come in, Bessie,” Mrs. Hopkins exclaimed.
“Thanks Mrs. Hopkins. Is Benny here?”
“Oh yes! I’ll go fetch him. Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”
Bessie sat down in the sitting room and once again began tapping her foot. After a few minutes that felt like forever, Benny walked into the room. Bessie jumped up and flashed Benny an award winning smile.
“Hey Benny, buddy ole pal! Let’s go to the railroad! You ready Benny?”
“I don’t know Bessie… I have a bad feeling about it. Maybe we should just stay here,” Benny replied, staring at his feet.
“Aw, Benny. Don’t be such a downer. Besides, you have a bad feeling about getting out of bed or even talking to your mother. Let’s go!”
“No, Bessie. I’m serious. Something bad is going to happen.”
“Benny, we go there all the time and nothing happens. You’re being a chicken.”
“Am not!”
“Are to!”
“Fine. Let’s go to the railroad,” he finally relented. Bessie grabbed his hand and started walking with a spring in her step down Main Street and to the railroad. She waved to all the people she knew and shouted “thank you’s” at all the people who complimented her dress while Benny just rolled his eyes.

When they finally arrived, everyone greeted Bessie. She was the one they were all dying to see. She entertained them all with stories of adventures she had been on, as far as they knew anyway. She told them jokes and skipped rope with the other little girls. Then she had an idea. “Let’s play a game!” She exclaimed. “Lets see how far we can jump on the railroad! Whoever lands on the farthest piece of wood wins.” They group all agreed except Benny who stared at his feet. He just had a bad feeling about it. Every one playing lined up on the same wooden tie.
“Okay,” Bessie said, “On the count of three, we all jump. One! Two!” Right as Bessie said three, a train whistled and the chugging of the wheels seem oddly close. All of a sudden, the front car was visible and the children scurried off the tracks, all of them except Bessie. She tripped and fell on the track. Her beautiful cream-colored dress was caught on a bolt and she couldn’t tug free. Her eyes widened as she saw the train getting closer and closer and she tugged harder and harder. The girls clamped their eyes shut and the boys stared with wide eyes and shocked faces. Bessie looked up once more and saw the train, the last sight she’d ever see.

The police officers and doctors arrived not long after. They peeled Bessie Emma’s tiny little body off the track and removed the ribbon from her hair. Officer Smith with his head bowed walked over to Bessie’s parents and the maid. He handed them the blue ribbon and a single tear slid down her father’s cheek.

The funeral came around and it seemed as if the whole town came to see sweet Bessie Emma one last time. They listened to the preacher and Benny got up to speak. There couldn’t have been a single dry eye in the entire sanctuary of the Presbyterian Church. A procession followed and watched as Bessie was laid to rest in the cemetery. And her father laid her bright blue ribbon on her grave.

Compare and Contrast

For our assignment, one folktale I read was ‘Bloody Mary’ from America. A rumored witch lived in the woods. Little girls started disappearing from the village and the witch began looking younger and younger. One night, she is caught luring a girl out of her bed and into the woods. The witch was burned at the stake. Another story I read was ‘Yellow Ribbon’, another spooky story from America. Jane always wears a yellow ribbon and it always bugged her friend, Johnny. Whenever he asked, she never told him. As their friendship leads to love which leads to marriage which leads to children which leads to getting older, Johnny continued asking Jane why she wore the ribbon and she refused to tell him. Then finally, as she lay dying, Johnny asked one last time. He removed the ribbon like she told him and her head fell off. The final story I read was ‘Guardian of Yosemite’, a Native American story from the Miowak tribe. The guardian spirit, Tisayac, was drifting among the valley people when she noticed a man name Tutokanula, a strong leader. Tutokanula noticed the spirit and fell in love with her. Tisayac fled, confused by the strong rush off feelings. Tutokanula abandoned his people and searched for her. Tisayac was saddened by how barren the valley became. She prayed to the Great Spirit who heard her prayers and restored the valley. Tutokanula heard Tisayac returned and went back to the valley. He built a statue in his likeness for his people to remember him by. Tutokanula then followed Tisayac and left the earth.



One difference I noticed in these three stories was the lack of romance in “Bloody Mary”. Jane and Johnny were a couple for most of their lives. Much of the story revolved around the growth of their relationship. “The Guardian of Yosemite” was almost completely about the love of Tutokanula and Tisayac. The romance was the source of all the problems but it was also the solution. In Bloody Mary however, was alone. She was a lonely old witch. There was no love story in “Bloody Mary” at all.



“Yellow Ribbon” ended with Jane’s head falling off her body. It’s easily assumed that she died, leaving Johnny all alone. At the end of “Bloody Mary”, the witch is burned at the stake. Which isn’t very pleasant for her at least. “The Guardian of Yosemite” however, ended happily with the valley full of life and people again and Tutokanula and Tisayac finally being together.



Despite these differences, I did notice a similarity. Besides the fact they’re all stories from the same country, all the folktales have a departing of some sort. Bloody Mary and Jane both die and depart from Earth. Tutokanula leaves his people and leaves the Earth with Tisayac. He didn’t die; he just departed.

All cultures have similarites we just have to look for them. They might be right in front of us like in our folktales.

Gaga.

Lady Gaga. Need I say more? I remember hearing her first single "Just Dance" and I fell in love. As more of her singles were released, I found them a little bit… Bizarre. I hated them. But as I listened to them more, I began to like her more and more although I would never admit it. In case it isn't obvious, Lady Gaga is taking over the world. Like Cyndi Lauper discusses her music is one of a kind. Unlike most music on the radio, her music has personality and her lyrics fit the period we're in. Her music is inspiring to other artists to branch out away from sugar cookie pop music.

So obviously Lady Gaga isn't just known for her music or her fabulous hair. She's known for her abnormal costume-like outfits seen on the red carpet. She wore a dress made out of raw meat to the 2010 VMA'S and has countless other outrageous outfits. Yes. I think most people would agree, probably even Gaga herself, that Lady Gaga is a freak. But like most freaks, she's memorable.


A lot of people attack her for her weirdness. But I praise her. She's unique. She's her own person. There really isn't anyone out there like her. She’s made an impression on the world. Twenty-five years from now when my generation is middle-aged, we’ll start thinking about our lives and our youth. We’ll think about junior and high school and maybe we’ll think about those artists we were obsessed with. We’ll struggle to recall names and faces but the one name and the one face we can’t forget is a girl named Lady Gaga.

The Face.

My footsteps echoed as I walked up the steps, the blazing heat from the stage lights beating down on my face and the top of my head, threatening to burst into flames. I hear the rustle of people shifting in the hard, uncomfortable auditorium chairs. Someone coughs. The back doors open and blinding light floods the large room. I briefly make out faces in the audience but the light disappears before I can fully recognize anyone. I feel everyone's eyes on me as I continue walking across the stage, stumbling here and there. My heart pounds in my chest feeling as if it's about to break through my chest. The pianist gives me an encouraging smile which I feebly return. My cheeks are burning. They're turning a deep crimson. I scan the crowd looking for a face, the one face that will reassure me as I take the microphone from the stand. The face I long to see is lost in the dark sea of faces. I drop my eyes back to floor and the pianist begins playing the first few notes.

Just a Little Acceptance. Just a Little Tolerance.

I’ve always been a supporter for gay rights. But after reading "Try Walking a Mile in a Gay Man’s Shoes”, I became even more of a supporter. Hearing a highly realistic of the challenges a gay man or maybe a lesbian has to go through broke my heart.

It’s ironic how intolerant our country is of gays and lesbians when our country was founded along the lines of tolerance and equal rights for everyone. Like our intolerance for African-Americans, our intolerance for gays and lesbians is a hurdle our country will have to jump before we can honestly say every citizen of our country is equal.

I have complete hope that one day gay and lesbian couples will be accepted all across the nation. No one will do a double take when they see two men holding hands walking down the street. Or when no one will yell rude names at two girls embracing each other in a loving manner.

Why are gay couples treated so differently? It’s just two people in love. Why should our country argue against love? I suppose it boils down to we’re afraid of different. There’s always that one child in a classroom who is always teased and ridiculed by his peers for one reason. He acts a little off or dresses a different way. Her personality is a little colorful or her hair is a little offbeat. Gays are different. I will forever wait for the day when ‘different’ is accepted in our society.

Into The Dark.

When I first heard the song "I Will Follow You Into the Dark" by Death Cab for Cutie, I fell in love with it right away. It's such a beautiful song. Then I went back and listened again to try and absorb the full meaning. The lyrics suggest that the man doesn’t believe in heaven or hell. When he dies he believes that there is only darkness and eternal wandering. He’s telling his soul mate that it’ll all be okay. Death is not something to fear, it’s part of life and they will die and be together for the rest of time. This really got me thinking about the afterlife and what happens when “our soul embarks.”

The truth of the matter is no one knows. Perhaps the writer of this song, Ben Gibbard, is right. Maybe it is just darkness and eternal wandering. I suppose that would be just like the millions of years before we were born. Or maybe it’s like an endless slumber. I know there are countless Bible verses and stories that a number of people would be happy to show me. I don’t mean to sound sacrilegious. I believe in God, I honestly do. One might say I’m a Deist. The thing is, I think I might actually be okay with the dark. If I were the girl the man talks about in the song, I would be perfectly happy with it.

“If there’s no one beside you when your soul embarks, then I’ll follow you into the dark.”

I,Too, Sing America-English Paragraph

In the poem"I, Too, Sing America" by Langston Hughes, the speaker's painful optimism show that he is hurt about the way he is being treated in his homeland but he has hope and knows that things will one day change. Even though he's treated like dirt compared to white men and has obviously been through great hardship because of this, he still believes and loves his country which is a mark of a great man.