Least favorite story

My least favorite story was Carver’s “Neighbors”. I did not enjoy the theme, the characters or the language. Minimalism doesn’t really appeal to me as a reader. I like description, explicit emotional and  psychological information and narration.  

Minnie Foster

This story made me a little uncomfortable because it made me relieve a little bit of my past. I was in an abusive relationship. It wasn’t physical abuse; it was verbal and emotional abuse. I lost myself and became submissive in order to cope with the situation. After years of hell, I finally was able to break free. This story a sad reminder of how common abuse is and it completely it annihilates a person’s soul. For years I told nobody about what was going on, same as Minnie Foster. I just cringed throughout the whole story imagining what she went through.

Hints in "A Rose for Emily"

After I read Faulkner’s “A Rose for Emily”, I understood a lot of the imagery used. I decided to read it again in order to catch and enjoy all of the symbolisms and imagery that I missed the first time.

I was especially mystified with how Faulkner gives the reader many hints about what is actually happening, but the reader can’t understand the hints until the end. For example, there is a lot of allusion to death and dead bodies, mirroring what happens to Emily’s husband, including references to violence and bloating. These language clues are of no help what so ever the first time you read the story but it creates for a whole new dimension when you read it again.

Life Lesson

I used to be a little annoyed at high school classmates that seemed unable to follow instructions and or focus on work assigned and would seem to just not want to do their work. I was able to knock out any assignment given during class in less than the time allotted, and it would frustrate me when the teacher would extend the time because one student hadn’t finished the assignment. I truly thought that their ‘ADD’ excuse was just that, an excuse.

Now, quite ironically, I have ADD. I guess I always had it but it wasn’t as overpowering then as it is now. Before, I did have some issues with organization but they weren’t that bad, and I was always able to follow through with a task. Nowadays, it is hard for me to focus on one thing at a time, and I tend to struggle following through with a task. I now take medication on paperwork days to help me finish what I start.

I regret being so unfair with my judgment of those classmates that struggled with what is now my reality. I judged them without having all the information and for that I am very sorry.  This has helped me not be so quick in judging and making my own assumptions, there is always two sides of the story.

"Spirit of Perverseness"

The “spirit of perverseness” is to me a natural human affliction. Although I like the ‘rainbows and butterflies’ stance and would like to think that everybody is genuinely good, humans have very complex psychological and emotional tendencies and behaviors.  Sometimes the primal instinct, which biologically is located in the hypothalamus/thalamus are, also referred to as the primal brain, surfaces and takes over reason and logic. Incidentally, one social-emotional issue that is present in humans, but not animals, is that we as people tend to lash out or act out at people that we most feel comfortable with, those with whom we have a secure attachment, because it is ‘safe’ to do so versus lashing out at strangers. We as social beings, depend on the ones with whom we have developed a secure attachment or bond, not just to express love but also anger. We expect and assume to be forgiven by those close to us because of that relationship we have with them. This isn’t necessarily a conscious choice; most of us don’t act with our loved ones because they are just that, our loved ones.  I think we do it because it is a safe ‘place’ to show anger, aggression and otherwise socially inappropriate behaviors.  

Now as an adult, I look back and regret I lot of things I said to my mom when I was a teenager. The incident that mortifies me the most I can’t bring myself to discuss it with her still.

My parents got divorced when I was about 9 years old. I was not angry or upset about it at all, in fact, I was kinda relieved. I thought they were absolutely insufferable when they were in the same room: my mom would bicker and nag constantly and my dad would immerse himself in a fuming silence. My mom however was not happy about the divorce and would constantly bash my dad and accuse him of cheating or what not. Frankly, I didn’t care if he had cheated or not, in my head it didn’t affect my relationship with him in any way, he was still my dad and what happened in the marriage did not (or should not) have anything to do with me.

After a few months my dad remarried. All throughout this whole process, my mom had not stopped harassing me about my dad remarrying and what not. One day my mom and I were arguing about her bashing and insulting my dad in front of my sister and me. I swear I do not know what came over me because I normally would just walk away from the arguments, but that day I just looked her in the eye and said: “ Well I am very happy for him because he has what he has always wanted: a good wife.” My mom’s heart broke and I heard the pieces crash to the ground. That was absolutely horrible of me to say and it was overly cruel and uncalled for; I just couldn’t stop myself. I could hear myself talking and I knew it was wrong but I couldn’t stop. The worst part is that it felt good to say it and see how I had hurt her. It is a horrible, horrible feeling and I hope I never succumb under the ‘spirit of perverseness” again.

"The Curse" Assignment

I am a home visitor. My job is to educate parents in different areas including child learning and development (including responsive teaching strategies that promote child learning, social-emotional growth and development, etc.), nutrition, health, medical support, resource mapping and capacity building. I serve up to 12 children and their families, and I go to their homes once a week for an hour and a half. Before that, I was the agency’s interpreter, and supported the home visitors and the Spanish speaking families served by them.

A while back, there was a particular family that I supported. This family was very impoverished and has access to very few resources because of their immigration status. They, like all undocumented immigrants in the U.S., had no access to health and human services such as food stamps, Medicaid, Work First, unemployment benefits, etc. This family consisted of the mom, the dad, a 9 month old, a two year old and a 10 year old. They barely could make ends meet and did not have enough food, clothes, furniture or access to medical care. I was somewhat aware of the situation after the first home visit, but as time went by and I went to their home every week, the mom shared more and more about their situation, including not having enough food for the children, leave alone her and her husband. I felt that their situation was dire and started taking them food, clothing and any other stuff that I could get my hands on, including a couch.

Time went by and I was still supplying the family with necessities. I felt responsible for that family and specially wanted to make sure the children had enough food and appropriate clothing, especially during winter. I was exhausted mentally, physically and financially. Then I started noticing that the family was really not as bad off as they were making it out to me. They had a fairly big, nice and modern TV couple with a sound system, they went to Chucke Cheese every weekend, and got a car. I started resenting the family for abusing of my kindness. There I was, a single mom, shopping at thrift stores for my child and myself, budgeting everything, no luxuries like cable, using the same cell phone that I had gotten six years ago and never engaging in social or recreational activities that required spending money. Then it dawned on me. This was my own fault. I had trained them to depend on me for necessities and hence they simply expected me to fulfill the role of provider.

          I talked to the family and explained that I could no longer help them and that I was proud of them for being able to provide for themselves on their own. I have never made the mistake of assuming a provider role for another family after that; don’t get me wrong I still help whoever and however I can but no longer take it on as my responsibility.   

"Lucky" Break

In high school, as an International Baccalaureate requirement, students had to write a thesis. Students were expected to turn in the final thesis on a certain date after having to turn in the beginning portions of it, including topic, argument and sources at different deadlines. I had chosen to discuss existentialism and its effect on Latin American Literature.  I hadn’t really had time to finish my thesis and one day before the deadline for the finished product I had yet to even come remotely close to calling it a finished product. I had been working on other projects, including the cases for Economics and Literary analysis for English and Spanish.  We were granted use of the computers in the school library for our thesis and most of us had used that resource at some point in time.

The deadline came and I went to school knowing that I would be in a lot of trouble. I hadn’t been able to sleep the night before trying to come up with a good excuse and good arguments to convince my thesis supervisor to grant me more time. I was a nervous wreck and on the verge of tears and to top it off I was late. As I was walking through the classroom door, trying to decide if I should just tell my home room teacher (who just happened to be my thesis supervisor) immediately or wait till he asked for the thesis, he announced that he was aware that the library computers had crashed and all the saved documents had been lost. I just stopped in my tracks, and just stood there in the middle of the classroom. He then proceeded to say that all the thesis supervisors had met last evening and decided to allow an extra week for students to turn in their thesis because of the crashed computer system and to allow the students to rewrite what they had lost.

The pressure and stress buildup for me reached its boiling point and I just began to cry, and I mean cry, right there in the middle of the classroom, everybody looking at me. I didn’t say a word, my thesis, or really the beginnings of my thesis were safely saved in my own computer at home, not in the library’s crashed system.  Mr. Wallace, my homeroom teacher and thesis supervisor approached me immediately and told me it would be ok and that if I needed more than a week to rewrite my thesis he would work with me. I said nothing, just cried and softly nodded my head, understanding that he assumed I was crying because of all my lost hard work. I said nothing to convince him otherwise. I let him assume what he wanted to believe. I did not really discuss anything about the incident or the thesis because I didn’t want to blatantly lie.

That weekend however, and the week that followed, I worked non-stop on my thesis and even added more to it, possibly fueled by guilt of my omission. I did finish it in time and I turned it in on the new established deadline. I never said a word to anybody, even to classmates or friends. I took it as a “break” or second chance. Mind you though, I did not use the library’s computers ever again, just in case karma wanted some payback.