I think I started drinking coffee somewhere around two years ago. It didn’t take me long to love it, really, and realize how much sweeter coffee is as compared to chocolate. It’s got a stronger sort of taste, with a hint of humility and a side of simplicity.
I like it. I like coffee. It calms me down.
I think it’s because for me the best time to have a drink of coffee is either really early in the morning (like, say, at 4AM), late at night (somewhere around 11:30pm is good) or at any time at all so long as you have a good conversational partner. If you don’t have a conversational partner, a book works well, too.
I have a thing for coffee shops, actually. I love sitting in them and drinking a frappe or two. Mostly because the atmosphere is so chill and comfortable. The chairs are always the best, for some reason. I suppose this is why I’ve always wanted to own my own coffee shop/library/bookstore… because, really, what’s better than a good book paired with a good cup of coffee?
Also, more than that, I’m the type of person to spark up really good conversations over a good cup of joe and one of the best ways to really get to know me is probably to have a drink of coffee with me at 3AM. That’s if you can stay awake long enough.
(This was for my final paper in Lit 3, and I thought I’d put it up here because I liked how it turned out. and also because I’m cool. I’m allowed to post this now.. since it’s been a year since I took this subject.)
I. How is the individual presented in the selections we took up in class? Discuss your answer by giving examples from the selections.
Barbara W. Tuchman, an American popular historian and writer, once said: “Books are humanity in print.” It is amusing how well Tuchman has captured the essence of how literature means to man in just a few words. Literature reflects life and life reflects literature. Even more, it delves into our souls and exposes who we are, no matter how we hide it.
In the selections that we have discussed, we see a great deal of characters discussed. We see man as innocent and childlike (the little prince in The Little Prince); man as impatient and impulsive (the young waiter in A Clean, Well-Lighted Place); and man as a humble lover, realizing his place in life (the protagonist in Bread of Salt). Through the different characters, we see how well an individual can be described, and we relate our experiences to these stories. We see, if not ourselves, our neighbors, cousins, sisters, grandparents, and other people in our lives in these characters, and it makes it all the more an interesting read. The fact that we are able to simply smile as we read of the characters’ adventures in each literary piece is sign enough that we see humanity through the words of the story, and this is a good thing, because that’s how literature works and that’s exactly how it is supposed to be.
Let us take for example the story A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings. The story starts with a peculiar creature with gigantic wings of which they think to be an angel. Its rugged features make them doubt, but then, the couple who find him- Pelayo and Elisenda- use him to make themselves bags and bags of money. The “angel” keeps quiet, does not reply nor complain, even when the people who have paid to visit him must be annoying him to the highest of levels. They poke his wings, grab his feathers and light candles that make the cage he stays in too hot at times. I imagine it must be darkened with soot, with the number of candles lit at one time. Then comes along another weird character- a spider with a lady’s head- and the people are no longer interested in the “angel”. They flock to the spider instead. The story ends with the “angel” taking to flight as Elisenda watches him disappear past the houses and higher into the clouds.
Here we find several kinds of people portrayed in the story. Pelayo and Elisenda portray the more abusive and money-hungry side to our nature. They use the “angel” making people pay to see him and upgrade their house and everything they own. We see how man sometimes is tempted by the more material things. We strive to get what we want, and sometimes we don’t realize that we are stepping on others in the process. The crowds that come to visit the “angel” day by day symbolize our curious selves and sometimes insatiable nature. We are never satisfied with what we see and thus go and flock to other things that spark our interest, as portrayed when they no longer visit the angel after seeing the spider with a lady’s head. Then, the “angel” depicts our martyr selves, sometimes giving in to other people’s desires and not thinking of our own welfare. We do not complain nor fight back, and only leave when we feel we have done all we can (sometimes even more).
It is oftentimes amusing to see ourselves in certain pieces of literature, and I am glad that I have come to see literature under such a positive light, instead of just seeing it as a bunch of sentences stringed together to form a story to which I will have never engaged myself in, if it were not for this class.
II. Literature is any significant experience that seeks to arouse emotional and intellectual pleasure. Discuss this line vis-à-vis the selections.
With a wide range of selections discussed throughout the whole semester as my witness, I can attest that Literature truly serves to entice the mind and soul. It’s like a testimony to life and to fantasy at the same time, and it’s entertaining, because you feel like you know what’ll happen but it stops you just when you think you have. It leaves you hanging, and you want more, but there isn’t anymore, because the words have stopped and you realize that you’re at the end of the story. I salute every writer who has managed to fit his work into that description of literature, and I do believe that to be able to create literature takes heart and soul. Without these, I bet the work would be plain and uninteresting.
I’d like to use a few of my favorites in the selections we used in class.
N. V. M. Gonzales’ Bread of Salt is a charming story of a young boy, having “fallen in love” with a young mestiza girl named Aida living in the neighborhood. He sees her everyday as he goes off to buy pan de sal from the nearby bakery for breakfast. Then, the climax arrives at the time of a celebration in Aida’s house where the young protagonist and his friends play for the occasion. An embarrassing encounter with Aida leads him to realize that she thinks no more of him but a lower class boy, and quickly gets over his obsession.
The young protagonist of the story appeals to me the most, because more than just once, I have found myself admiring a person that I later realize I cannot come to similar levels with. It is a despairing experience at first, but then you come to terms with yourself and you realize where you really are. You come to appreciate yourself and say: “I don’t need that person to be happy”. It is a wonderful thing to admire someone, and an even more amazing thing to realize that you can live even without the admiration of that person as well.
In the selection A Clean Well Lighted Place by Ernest Hemingway, we see the description of what a haven is for the old waiter. I see myself in him, the way he values what a “secret haven” is for each person. He understands that every person has this one place where he can simply sit back and enjoy life, forget about the tangles and troubles of the times, and let himself go with a cup of coffee. Indeed, I have my own secret place where I feel secure and safe- my bed. It’s different when one is lying in one’s own bed, rather than resting in another’s. In my bed, I feel like everything I need is there, and I can lie in any position I want. I can sleep there, read a book, write, sketch, and do most anything I want to- simply because it is mine and nobody else’s. The way the old waiter appreciates these special places is characteristic of his wisdom and experience- things that I someday wish to have for me as well.
III. What insights about the individual and society did you gain after reading the selection?
It would be ridiculous for a person to go through this class and not learn anything about the individual and society. As the earlier quote states, “Books are humanity in print.” Literature is the reflection of our deepest souls, and the more we try to conceal it, the more literature reveals it through its quiet metaphors and silent similes. Even the author is exposed even a little more by his works. It can reveal his most private thoughts and tendencies and even his everyday experiences. Humanity’s anecdotes, essays, and memorabilia are literature, and we should always stand to appreciate these pieces. It is important to do so, for we never know when books will turn obsolete and be replaced by PDF files. We can never tell when simple walks down the road will turn into rides on our hover cars. It is literature that preserves a specific time in history that we can only come back to through the letters, words, phrases and sentences that make up a single poem, story or novel. For that, Literature must be loved for all that it is and for all that it should be.
The other day, a friend and I were having an online stroll down memory lane with him flooding me with links and links of pictures from high school (This made me realize how incognito I really was during high school– proven ever so well by the scarcity of pictures that exist from that time).
So, while I enjoyed his links, I tried to find a few links to my old high school self as well. This proved rather futile, and instead brought me to this page.
Ah, wordpress. We had a good run, right? I mean, look at the number of entries I made into this thing. It seems I really was absorbed in the art of writing for such a long time.
I still am, actually. I just don’t publish myself that much anymore. I never really knew why.
It surprised me to see that just yesterday, this site gained 22 views. I really, really don’t understand why. Also, that’s more than I’ve ever had in such a long time (I think).
Hello again, wordpress. Is it all right if I jump back into your world?
Newspapers, Television shows, Magazines and several other forms of mass media have become common to the everyday man, and it doesn’t take long to find a type of mass media. In the most simple of terms: mass media is everywhere.
This being taken into consideration, we realize six billion people can’t be wrong about mass media having it’s effect on every single one of us. Our list of preferences may be so because they are similar to the preferences of some person we idolize– or because we see an interesting combination of these that we believe these preferences make up our personality. Even our ideologies can be affected by mass media. We are presented with a family living happily in a well-built, well-furnished, and white picket-fenced house with a driveway and a Chevy Cruze to match. Seeing this may affect our views on the standards of living. Seeing this picture-perfect, apple pie life may lead us to think that living like this really is the way to live.
Admit it, Mass Media is a brilliant tool for manipulation, hitting us in ways that we can’t even detect until it has fully sinked into our heads.
These instances and the fact stated above is precisely the idea that revolves around the Marxist Media Theory.
Back in the late ’60′s and all the way onto the early ’80′s, having a neo-Marxist approach towards media used by media theorists was no longer uncommon, despite the fact that somewhere around Britain and the rest of Europe, Marxism was not a very dominant theory.
Marxism by nature, as applied whether it be in literature or other forms of media, tackles a wide range of analysis of any piece to be critiqued. This theory prefers pieces that are under a more realistic light, but does not necessarily limit itself to realism. There have been several books in literature to display a Marxist thought, even though it was set in a fantastical view (e.g., The Animal Farm by George Orwell, The Lord of The Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien).
We may need to take note that during the 60′s up to the 80′s in Britain and Europe, the issue of the Cold War was a lingering tension tight in the air. The war began somewhere in the 1940′s as a dispute between the US and the Soviet Union. It was one of the most important diplomatic and political issues during the last half of the 20th century. It was not until the 80′s that we saw the end of traditional communism which eventually ended the Cold War. With circumstances like this, it would be natural for for people to start turning to a way to properly scrutinize whatever forms of media and propaganda were being fed to them. Questioning things and being curious in the midst of chaos is a normal human instinct.
And when we start to question, we need answers. To where do we run for answers again?
I’ve pretty much realized for a long time now that Jason Mraz’ songs (and even the ones he’s covered) pretty much defined the entirety of me.
It’s like me in a nutshell– or rather, in a song sheet.
For example:
You know how people are always looking for their “funeral song”? Well, it didn’t take me long to browse through his songs to find one for me:
Jason Mraz’ Plane is a song, as I interpret it, is basically about leaving everything behind and telling a great story about that adventure– and all of your past adventures– after everything. It’s so much like my life. One adventure after another, just rushing through everything and getting a piece of myself from every place I set foot on. Also, it’s so much like death, the way we leave everything behind when we’re gone and find missing pieces of ourselves everywhere, drained, when we’re a floating spirit after we leave our fleshy vessels.
This is the best version of this song I could find. Never mind the intro or somewhat, and trust me– his live versions are the best.
Okay, so now you’re thinking: ‘so you find a song for your funeral from him… so what?’
Well, a funeral song isn’t the only thing I found.
Everybody has a heartbreak song, right? Everybody has that song that they listen to when they feel like crap after somebody they love way too much left them in shambles. I have that, too. In fact, I have three– and they’re all from Jason Mraz.
Please Don’t Tell Her is just the sweetest song ever in the world. It’s a song about not being able to get over and denying it. Quite frankly, I just can’t get over this song, and if you’re keen on the story of my life, there’s one or two loves of my life that I just can’t get over. Just grab the lyrics, and grab a box of tissue. You’ll understand.
Mr. Curiosity is a cute adorable song, with the sweetest beat. Peer into it’s lyrics, and it’s a song about wanting somebody back after a long time and realizing that everything just doesn’t mean anything without that person anymore. Looking for love in all the wrong places? Mr. Curiosity, please find me.
P.S. I still can’t fully understand the Opera part, but it’s still a serious good time to listen to.
The last heartbreak (?) song I have in my repertoire is Jason Mraz’ No Doubling Back which is actually more of a moving on song. This is a song I just recently discovered, and I love it because it absolutely manifests how I’m trying to move on as much as I can. Romance? No doubling back for me.
Of course, with heartbreak comes romance. For me, I just have this one song that I think manifests how I fall in love. You and I Both is a beautiful song by Jason Mraz that well– let the lyrics speak for you instead.
and with romance comes well… there comes that time when every girl comes to fantasize about what their wedding song should be. Jason Mraz’ Beautiful Mess is the one for me. Hands down. The sweet lyrics intertwining with it’s beautiful melody is just absolutely perfect.
Now, it would take forever and pretty much ALL of his songs to tell my story, but there’s just one more song that I would love to share. It’s a wonderful one, talking about how one should just absolutely embrace the world and be happy. Sounds hippie-ish? Well, that’s just how I am.
oh, look: Lyrics to sing along!
Now, embrace your hippie selves! There’s one in everybody.
Hands in line
Arms close to my side
I’m fighting tides
Of an ocean’s undertows
And I figure that I might not make it out
Taking empty but seldom speaking
And the words retreat
Yeah, they breath in histories
Still at ease
And the stories untold
And my arms unfold
My hands are high
And I’m holding on, I’m holding out
And I figure that I
Figure that I just might make it
And I’m waking empty but seldom sleeping
And the words repeat, breathing histories
Into stories untold, but I,
I unfold
See now my qualities are what you see now
In the corner of your eye
And don’t be surprised
If you hear the bells ring
As they fall from the sky
They sound bong, bong, bong, bong, ba da
Yea yea yeah, ah, ba ba da da,
Bong, bong, bong, bong… ba da yea, yea, yea
My, my, whoa, oh,
High in the night,
And I’m always holding on
And I’m all and I’m all and I’m already holding on.
Holding out.
I said I’m holding off and I’m all and I’m already holding
I missed enough
And I’m holding out your side
And I’m holding out this time
Cause I figure that I, and I figure that I
Just might make it
And I’m waking empty but seldom sleeping
And the words repeat breathin histories
and the stories untold
But I,
I unfold
I woke up this morning, my nose all clogged up and I could feel the phlegm raring to get out of me. I had been drinking last night, despite my cold symptoms, thanks to my withdrawal from smoking.
My phone had lost all it’s battery when I found it lumped on my blanket that I used as a temporary pillow, and when I plugged it in to charge it, 12 missed calls greeted me in the face. I didn’t even need to check the call records to know it was you.
You messed up my drinking session last night with your calls. I don’t understand how just your voice can send my head whirling.
Please, don’t talk to me anymore. I get too drunk when my phone starts ringing. I know it’s you calling. I know it’ll always be you calling.
I’m listening to Jason Mraz’s After an Afternoon, and it almost makes me want to swallow back the vomit that keeps rising up my throat. I feel sick, and this song isn’t making me feel any better.
The lyrics make me think that it’s a song about making love to somebody. Look it up. It’s actually quite amusing, and it sounds absolutely sincere. Or maybe that’s just because it’s from Mraz and I’m willing to pretty much believe in every damn thing he says.
“Amin Mella Le”
If I am correct, that elvish statement means “I love you”, or something like that.
Love. I think I’ve confused love with nonsense one night stands.
A good number of people are probably going to despise me for the decision I’m about to announce. They’ll probably think I’m shallow and superficial, with not an ounce of patience in me. This won’t stop me from this decision.
I’m giving up on my little brother.
It seems as if he’s been brought up in an entirely different world from the one I’m in. I don’t see him eye to eye. We never will. I was brought up with mother’s iron fist, always being told to take up responsibility and to do my duties as the eldest of the family. My little brother was brought up on a more gentle basis, with his mistakes being disregarded and forgiven. He is always left unpunished, unlike me. Perhaps jealousy clouds my judgment, but it shields me from the UV Rays of the sun of over involvement. I’m tired of watching over him. If he doesn’t want to be helped, then I wont.
From now on, he’s nothing but my mother’s child. He’s not my brother.
A friend of mine came up to me yesterday, telling me about another old friend. She asked me if I had talked to that friend recently, if I had any contact with him at all after so long. Bluntly, I said no. It was awkward how she insisted-over and over- that I should try contacting him.
I was reluctant.
Why?
Because that old friend was an old sweetheart.
I had fallen in love with that overseas friend of mine, with the way he and I would talk for hours on end. It would seem like only minutes, until I’d realize it had really been 5 hours, as my mother would tell me to shut the computer down and get to bed. Nobody – at least no guy- has ever made me engage in such before. Actually, even now. Actually, probably, no guy ever will.
I feel pathetic, not even able to send him a smile.
Bitter, bitter, bitter -that’s how I am about him. And probably how I’ll always be.
October 12, 2011
teebeecee
