Really, Jim Crow?

When on the topic of segregation, I am always disturbed and astounded by the cruelty of the whites and the way they treated blacks as if they weren't even human. After reading the Jim Crow laws, I am not only disturbed but embarrassed.  It seems as though the Southern state governments went out of their way to find every single establishment and daily task in society and make it impossible for blacks to take part in. Were the lawmakers really so insecure, afraid, and inhumane that they would make dead African Americans perish in a lesser, separate burial ground? Or force the blind, who can't even visualize the superficial difference between their race and that of the person next to them, to be treated and cared for in separate buildings?  Is it really SUCH an offense towards John, a white fisherman, for Joe,black fisherman, to be minding his own business fishing for his daily catch of trout on the opposite side of the lake? And was it really necessary for the lawmakers to include this rule, as well as the exact distance apart two segregated entrances to a circus should be, on their list of laws that are oh-so beneficial to a respectable Southern society? The Jim Crow Laws were not just morally wrong, they were ridiculously anal and unjustified. Not only did these Southerners need to get a heart, they need to get a life.

The epic failures of my daily life.

Since I am pretty sure I will become addicted to this blog, I might as well open up a little. If you ask any of friends, they will tell you that I am one of the clumsiest, most forgetful, and most awkward people you will ever meet. My friend Leah calls me a "scatter-brain." This probably has something to do with the fact that I am constantly trying to juggle a million things at once (metaphorically) that I end up dropping some of them (not metaphorically). I might be exaggerating somewhat but I seriously do make a fool out of myself every day. This summer I was even considering making a blog where I could confess the many failures I encounter every day. I might still follow through with that.
It is impossible to describe only one of my many mishaps, but as a funny example, I will tell you about my paella spill in Spain. I was in Spain for a pilgrimage called World Youth Day (2 million Catholics from all over the world partying it up with the Pope...minus the partying). One of the days we were in Valencia, and the town decided to cook a MASSIVE pot of paella (like the size of Ms. Prokott's classroom) and gave each WYD participant a plate. As my group and I were walking back to our eating spot, we had to walk in front of groups of people from all over the world. It was a huge grassy area and there were Germans, Italians, Egyptians, Chileans, Russians, Brazilians, basically any country you could think of, all sitting around eating Paella. It was very picturesque, I must admit. There I was, walking with my precious plate of famous Paella, so excited to finally have something to eat that wasn't salami sandwiches and tuna salad (that was all they fed us at the church we were staying). You can imagine where this is going. The next thing I know, I trip slightly and my entire plate of paella goes falling to the ground, in front of the huge crowd of people. I was hoping that nobody noticed but soon enough, I hear a unanimous "Ohhhhhhhhhh....." from all the foreigners trying to hold back their laughter. This experience taught me two things: I am a lost cause when it comes to poise and holding any type of food, and embarrassing moments can break through any cultural and language barriers. Even though those people couldn't speak my language, they knew exactly how to react to me making a fool out of myself. Well, there's more where that came from. Until next time, make sure to stay away from me when I am holding my tray at lunch.

Why I Write

"I knew that I was no legitimate resident in any world of ideas. I knew I couldn't think."

When I first read this line in Joan Didion's essay, Why I Write, I was shocked. In my opinion, writers are the most in-depth and creative thinkers out there. I now identify with her words because I realize that I often find myself trying too hard to seem as though I have knowledge on a subject; I pretend to be an intellectual that I am not. When it comes to knowledge, I am 95% curiosity. It is this curiosity and desire to understand myself and the world around me that makes me crave writing. I am constantly asking questions, and writing is my attempt to answer these questions. If I am wondering about a new development around the school, my journalistic instincts would be to ask questions, research, and write about it. If I find myself tugging with my true feelings on a subject or on an event in my life, I pull out my journal and write.
I write because I love the feeling of typing the period after an amazing sentence and of seeing the fresh ink on the paper of a story I am extremely proud of. I write because at midnight when my mind is racing, my friends are asleep and the counting of sheep is an utter failure, there is nothing else I can do. I write because it is the only way to truly remember experiences in life. A picture may be worth a thousand words, but a thousand words can do an unbelievable job at explaining every detail, every aspect of a memory. I write because it is the moment in which a person is the most alive and the most aware of the world around them and the world inside of them. 

Alexie's "Superman and Me"

What I really enjoy about Sherman Alexie's narrative, and did not expect, is the way that he depicts a  childhood memory of reading and connects it to his entire culture and upbringing. Alexie's description of his Superman comic book leads beautifully into a devoted appreciation for his own superhero as a child, his father. He writes parts of his narrative in 3rd person,  allowing himself to appear to have an outside perspective on his life.  Overall, I love how the author is able to draw the reader in with a very mainstream, relatable image and turn it into an entire life story, ending with a mission of helping struggling Native American students.

This narrative has inspired me to dig deeper into my narrative for ideas on how to weave together my literacy beginnings and the effect that they had on my life. I might end up writing about my current life towards the end, as Alexie did, in order to show how my early experiences with literature and writing have shaped me as a student. I strive to be able to use humor and voice as Alexie does and become less structural and more creative in my essay writing style. 

Now all I have to do is start!