Fair Scale

For unto every one that hath shall be given, and he shall have abundance: but from him that hath not shall be taken away even that which he hath. Matthew 25:29

Why are some rich and others poor? Why do some throw food away while others starve? Why cannot my friend, Henry, take at least a turn on the WhiteHouse in his lifetime while some others go for two? Why do most people prefer buying brands when there are other equally good products out there? Are these fair? What is? Fairness is definitely a popular ideology in our culture today. Everyone make reference to it as though the ultimate judge of good and bad. “We have to be fair,” said one professor, “…if we are going to give you a makeup, then the rest of the class must get one too.” We all have heard sentences like that before. The theme of fairness is often on the conjecture that each person matters in him or herself and is more than a number – that persons are separate bearers of dignity and rights (BBC). For some others, it is the golden rule: “do to others as you would have them do to you.” Both definitions, however, hardly suggest equality since our perceptions of dignity and rights are not necessarily the same, also considering that what is good for one may not be good for another. Instead, the definitions seem to touch more on some kind of mutual compromise – one that can take on a most asymmetric nature.


Jesus once told a story, in the bible, about a man whose master gave five talents. The same went on to make an extra five talents on what he received; thus, making a profit. Another made a profit of two talents on the two that his master had given him. Therefore, both servants made a hundred percent profit. The last one, who did not make any gain with his talent ended up losing it to the one that had five talents; not even to the one with two. Hence, giving much more to the one that had much already, and at the expense of the person that had only one. As strange as this resolution might seem, it parallels in the world and nature: those with affluence and wealth continue to grow and more like absorb even more affluence and wealth while those that struggle with the little they have end up losing it to those that already have much more. Good students get preferential treatment, and consequently, they get better. Poor students, on the other hand, get neglect and, in turn, get worse in a twisted story that somehow ends with them being at fault eventually.


It gets even more interesting. We all enjoy a good conversation with those we feel close to, but not after a misunderstanding – the time that one would think we ought to talk even more and enrich understanding. Sick people, that ought to want food that will nourish and heal, often do not like to eat, while the one that just had lunch goes scrabbling around the pantry for a snack. It is amazing! It seems the more one has, the more he or she can have. The road that is more travel upon is widened and gets a better budget, and the one that has little traffic, instead of being improved, is converted into a shopping mall. These situations all look a little tipsy as one considers them. They make almost no provision for the fairness wrapped in balance and knotted with the neat little bow of equality; as we often like to imagine is present in nature. It almost seems like a natural law of fairness to give more to those who already have and take from those that do not have enough. Explanations for this odd phenomenon abound: some say it is a result of the specialization or proficiency gathered over time or the availability of the necessary means to the particular situation. These explanations often do more to justify the peculiar trend of the ‘haves’ having more while ‘have-nots’ suffer, but leave no account for the rationale behind the imbalance in the first place. In addition, many exceptions to these popular justifications has us wondering whether proficiency and experience is really all it takes. For example, one may judge that the rich get richer because of increased equity and experience in their line of work, but as far as fairness by equality and balance goes, how does this explain someone else who has similar exposure and geography but winds up in a gutter of many losses. Some might bring up the luck factor, but then why should luck be uneven? Is that fair? More importantly, should an evaluator consider both individuals the same – even though one of them clearly lacks the extra ingredient: luck?


As abundant as fairness is in our ideology today, it is not hard to see that it is hardly as objective in service as acclaimed in theory. Fairness builds on many variables like morals, culture, and ethics – all these virtues vary vastly among people and ethnicity. Even within a commonplace, abortion for example, there are a variety of values and opinions that come up when the collective ideology, say pro-life, is streamlined to the individuals within the ideology: i.e. people that push against abortion do so for very different individual reasons even though unanimous on their cause, pro-life in this case. This is the reason for sects and factions within an ideology even when collectively shared. These subtle differences can often lead to controversies about how the ideology is expressed or epitomized.

For another instance on something more trivial, we may all like pepper, but only on certain foods for various and well diverse reasons – even though we may have all said at one time, "I like pepper." The food industry once carried a research for the perfect spaghetti sauce and discovered that it just didn't exist. They concluded that there is no perfect sauce for everyone. Instead, what they found was a rather diverse range of spaghetti sauce with varying levels of the sauce ingredients and texture that suit an equally diverse range of people – some people, for example, liked more ‘tomatoeness’ than others. Consequently, it was impossible to pinpoint a standard that matched the preference of all. In the same vein, can there really be a perfect standard of fairness, or is it, like the spaghetti sauce, a predisposition spun by our opinions, culture, ideologies, and environment?


There may not be any easy answer to the question on fairness, and the process of finding an absolute “Platonic” answer may require either an infinite amount of time or Utopia altogether – if there is such an answer. However, the definition of certain agreements within a closed context or niche is often used to develop a common ground of compromise for the members or participants of the group – whether or not the terms completely satisfies every member in the group individually. Enter Kant's revolutionary thought: that morality or fairness in this case, is obedience to a law we impose upon ourselves. Thus, Kant suggests that the position of fairness is more about the laws we agree to abide by, not by a universal compass. Thus, the 'stasis' questions within that group will be utterly based upon the rights and wrong around their own stipulations. Accordingly then, every position within the bylaw is weighed from the perspective of the collective regulation or agreement, and is only overridden by a super set of laws e.g. the federal law over a company policy. When in this context, an individual's beliefs or opinion are immaterial. In our world today, this kind of solution remains the most widely used in nations, organizations, and even families. However, for a spoiler, is this approach fair to new members and changing times? The model is, of course, not without its many flaws.

Universal laws are not any more conforming to the equality definition of fairness. Jupiter is big an uninhabitable, earth is small and habitable for life as we know - need I say more? Or how about some kid who lives an upright moral and healthy life, goes through school successfully, grows up, only to then drown in a nearby pool on his engagement night; which reminds me of Steven Crane's Open Boat story where another cries, “If I am going to be drowned—if I am going to be drowned—if I am going to be drowned, why, in the name of the seven mad gods who rule the sea, was I allowed to come thus far and contemplate sand and trees?” Little wonder that many find the universe very random and the gods crazy. Whichever way though, we know that neither the universe or those gods prescribed or defined our social laws or standards of fairness. In fact, nature appears to keep a passive observation of human developments as though too busy with its own cares to concern herself with ours. Nevertheless, in a world where people have created the ideology of fairness by equality, it will be up to them to live - without the concern of the universe - their own standards.

Yen, Duen Hsi. "Fairness." Noogenesis.com. Http://www.noogenesis.com, 21 Apr. 1999. Web. 08 Nov. 2011. <http://www.noogenesis.com/malama/fairness.html>.

Gog, Jer H. "BBC News - Today - What Is Fairness?" BBC News - Home. BBC, 11 Oct. 2010. Web. 08 Nov. 2011. <http://news.bbc.co.uk/today/hi/today/newsid_9079000/9079254.stm>.

Mcmichael, George, and James S. Leonard, comps. "The Open Boat" Concise Anthology of American Literature. 6th ed. New Jersey: Pearson Education, 2006. 641-652. Print.

Reflection Series: Aylmer and Georgiana are alive and well – cheer up?

Based on Nathaniel Hawthorne
     http://www.online-literature.com/hawthorne/125/

"My poor Aylmer," she repeated, with a more than human tenderness, "you have aimed loftily; you have done nobly. Do not repent that with so high and pure a feeling, you have rejected the best the earth could offer. Aylmer, dearest Aylmer, I am dying!"

The last words of Georgiana before her demise are unbearably touching. Perfection has eluded Aylmer as it did many people before and after him to this day. Amidst a bright blooming field, Aylmer had chosen to preoccupy himself with a single sprout of a different flower. A man of science, plagued with the absolute, and flawed by his ideals. Here was something else he could change. Men of Science tend to see the body well, but are blind to the soul. The sweet-hearted trust of Georgiana to her fresh spouse seems flawless. There was no imperfection with this woman. On her face was a mark reminding her man to keep her happy; hence, its disappearance whenever she blushed.

 Once again, I will hit my high horses on the previously emphasized word, 'culture': perhaps, man's biggest achievement and deficiency. By what standards was Georgiana imperfect? Who was the decider? With what was this mark irreconcilable? Georgiana's story sadly lives on today. If only Nathaniel Hawthorne hung around longer, He will see how bigger and more pervasive Aylmer's lab has become. He will witness the evolution of Aylmer's minions - notably, how persuasively they now talk, and fast too; rolling many people into Georgiana's death room. Is cultural perfection only achieved in death? The pervasiveness of culture is grossly underestimated on how it affects our choices and ratings. In further complication of the subject, the media infuses a sense of cohesiveness of a popular culture with society - in an endless reckless loop. Aylmer would even shudder at the sight of the mark. Perhaps he should have considered blinding himself to it. He was indeed the person needing the help he so wanted to offer. How often does society shudder at us today?

Science and technology has always been on the defect of over estimating its power - a power it often acquires at the cost of many mistakes, lives, and property. Aylmer's book was full of failures that dwarfed his famous achievements, yet this man dared to turn his wife to one of his specimen. Saying the Aylmer did not deserve Georgiana would be extreme and out of the context of my attention in this text, but it will certainly be within the explorations of my mind on the subject. There is a saying that to a carpenter everything looks like a nail. Men of technology are like this too, to every problem, the raise the techno whip. For many of these men there are no artistic imaginations. They undermine the idea that humans are much more than mere rational beings.

As convenient as it might be to blame Georgiana's misfortune on her, it could not exactly be her fault. It was an attempt to gain acceptance and identity in her own home. This was her husband mounting the pressure; the only person she would have ever wanted to please and make happy. This man was supposed to protect her and give her an identity. How often does this incident replay itself today? Aylmer's criticism helmed the poor Georgiana in a corner and her decision might have been inevitable considering that she wanted a happy home, and divorce probably was not an option in those days, which is good. However, here, she pays a costly price. Today, peer pressure and industry force people to go on a bandwagon even when they have a gut feeling that their trip is aimless. How many tattoos have Aylmer inspired today? How many premarital sex has his 'be sexy' portion engineered? This will be the Georgiana problem: we have played the Georgiana role at one point or the other, and this is often done to protect an identity or social status. On the otherhand, have you ever played Aylmer?

It is an unfortunate story indeed with a pitiful ending that leaves one thinking and almost mourning. She became perfect in death, and just maybe she was happier too.




Mcmichael, George, and James S. Leonard, comps. "The Birthmark" Concise Anthology of American Literature. 6th ed. New Jersey: Pearson Education, 2006. 641-652. Print.

Reflection Series: Nature Contention

Based on Ralph Waldo Emerson

     http://oregonstate.edu/instruct/phl302/texts/emerson/nature-contents.html

“If the stars should appear one night in a thousand years, how would men believe and adore; and preserve for many generations the remembrance of the city of God which had been shown! But every night come out these envoys of beauty, and light the universe with their admonishing smile.”

                                                                          Ralph Waldo Emerson 1836

There is a saying that we do not appreciate things until we lose them. I often look at the blue skies and stand in fascination at the grand piece of art exhibited right above us. It has the grandest scale anyone can imagine, displays to small and great alike. It is there - just there. We see it from childhood into our full development. Nonetheless, its splendor hardly catches the curious eye, and its majesty goes mostly ignored.

Every time I sit and absorb myself with the environment; every time I smell the fragrance after a rain; even every brief second I use to look at the birds in flight, I stand in great admiration of our world. It seems like the human taste has reduced greatly to petty flickering lights. Their obsessions with the progressive discoveries in a shabby effort to mimic nature preoccupy their minds, and leaves no room for anything that is not man made. A man of wealth will pay a great deal to have a near nature installation in his home, but will not as much as take a walk in his yard. It fascinates me how abundant beauty is around us, and how blind we are to it - almost as a curse on humanity for their little appreciation for nature's providence. The world of imperfection is preferred over the world of absolute bliss. This separation with nature has made man almost allergic to nature or any natural environment. One starts to wonder who the ancestors of this species are. They condemn any 'unprocessed' item as poisonous even though, by the same, their fathers bore them. They are a very different race.

Only the fear of loss draws their attention. When an organism is about to get extinct they buzz and protest about it as though they know the significance of the creature - until five years after extinction, then they move on never concerned with the loss, but for the fear of another loss. They never want to play outside until deprived of it. Nothing natural sparks much attention until a benefit is observed; then processed, and finally abused. They die of hunger whilst being surrounded by 'unprocessed' food. Now their dogs put on cloths, and shiver in its absence. Living among nature, nature has become their outcast; only known for unforgiving strength and disaster - if only they could learn to wield that too. Nonetheless, nature is relentless with its offer of reconciliation.

Nature still rises as the sun in the morning and beholds the inattentive world of people as they hurry to work and their kids to school - to learn to be like them. Nature pours as the rain and snow, and these people either celebrate the day-off or curse the bad weather. They get their fancy umbrellas to keep nature away. They are impossible, but nature is relentless and sometimes impatient. Nature decides to pull down their artificial refuges and rips their manmade shelters apart. It blows their shabby creations away in an angry appearance that is just as fascinating to behold. After nature's rage, it brings a gentle morning over the creatures who by now are disheartened and seeking comfort. Before long, they mobilize and restore their synthetic empire.

Notwithstanding, every night comes out with these envoy of beauty and lights the universe with their admonishing smile. 

Emerson, Ralph W. "Nature by Ralph Waldo Emerson." Oregon State University. Web. 05 Mar. 2011. <http://oregonstate.edu/instruct/phl302/texts/emerson/nature-emerson-a.html>.

Reflection Series: Science, Romance, Mystery

Based on three poems of Edgar Allan Poe:
       http://www.online-literature.com/poe/580/
       http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/annabel-lee/
       http://www.heise.de/ix/raven/Literature/Lore/TheRaven.html

Ellen Poe's stories are pleasurable reads. His sonnet on science though makes me wonder how he knew about Diana in the 1800s. His works, however, are a true art and reflect the concerns of his day - especially with science. They are true examples for the age of romanticism and emphasizes on feeling rather than reason. From science to romance, and then to mystery: all are charged with emotions and exoteric communication.

Poe recognizes the undeniable power of science. He describes her as the unavoidable daughter of man's many years of observation and civilizations. I imagine her to be elderly too; with 'peering eyes,' which I imagine to be a dense glass over her eyes. Full of years and experience she carefully 'preys' on objects in some kind of arbitrary sequence. Poe feels endangered; he knows that he is on this queue and he is nervous. I envision my grannies - from my childhood eyes; how I saw them treat a sibling that was sick or injured. They were often too carried away with the benefit of their therapy that their old ears barely heard the screams of pain by the hurting kid; nor their feeble hands sensitive enough to soothe a painful spot. I still remember my edginess whenever I was on the menu. I would vow never to be sick again - especially when granny is around. Poe also recognizes the limitations and delusions of science, and he considers nature less unnerving. In fact, he thinks of nature as the jewel and shelter for the afflicted of science. The balance of nature and its harmony is unparalleled. Its flawlessness faults the shabby science on every count. Poe is uncomfortable, and so are many.

Poe's Annabelle Lee picks on the ranting of a romantic heart. The expression, “…in a kingdom by the sea,” makes the story sound like a folktale. I like the proclaimers words, “… a maiden there lived whom you may know…” It comes across as though the maiden is so popular to this fellow that he thinks the world might as well know her. Apparently, they were childhood lovers in this kingdom by the sea. Their love and commitment to each other grew with them, and, not surprisingly, invited even the envy of celestial beings. Everyone probably admires the unrelenting affection of any couple and covets it - even the gods. It seems like these gods are notorious for wanting true love for them only - notorious enough to become serial killers. Annabelle Lee's lover is undaunted by this conspiracy, and convince that no one, not even deity, can separate their love for each other: even nature sings and twinkles to their affection. He is going to be with his lover, even if it means taking the challenge to the realms of the gods.

Finally is Poe's intriguing raven story. When I was a child visiting the villages with my parents and surrounded by nature's wild, I remember a similar experience. The residents had told me about the different sounds that dogs make when the see dead people walking around. I had believe these tales. One night, our dog started out this chorus, and soon the neighboring dogs joined. I was never more uncomfortable being among the living. I felt so weak and vulnerable, and could not wish more for the morning. In this condition, I too would have thought of a raven as having special abilities. Its crowing would very much sound like whatever word it matches best within my language: “Nevermorrrrrre!”

I love these poems: I feel very connected with their stories. It is often good to hear someone else describe certain effects of life that one would normally never speak about to other people because they may laugh at the assumed paranoia of the speaker, and make jokes about the stories that are sure to dawdle. After all, as a quiet room is more daunting in the dark, so are the stories of the night best left to the night. 

Poe, Edgar Allen. "YouTube - Annabel Lee." YouTube - Broadcast Yourself. Web. 05 Mar. 2011. <http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C4bb_6MmgZo>.

Poe, Edgar Allen. "The Raven." 1854. Print.

"Sonnet: To Science by Edgar Allan Poe." The Literature Network: Online Classic Literature, Poems, and Quotes. Essays & Summaries. Web. 05 Mar. 2011. <http://www.online-literature.com/poe/580/>.

Reflection Series: Amontillado

Based on The Cask of Amontillado by Edgar Allan Poe:

http://www.literature.org/authors/poe-edgar-allan/amontillado.html

Poor Fortunato. Amontillado. What was he thinking? Amontillado. How did he fall so easily? Amontillado. Striding to his death so foolishly: Amontillado! Poe is a great writer! I love the way he builds this story. It is dramatic - and touching.

“THE thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could, but when he ventured upon insult I vowed revenge.”

The beginning of this story could not be more enthralling! It finishes the story even before it starts. The first paragraph goes on to put the reader in the mind of the reporter and explain his rationale for the malevolence he is about to commit. The language and decisiveness of the speaker is compelling and - at least for me - almost amusing in the somewhat bitter expression of the speaker's resolve, but the end of the story leaves a soft reader with awe and quietness: the speaker meant business.

“At length I would be avenged; this was a point definitely, settled --but the very definitiveness with which it was resolved precluded the idea of risk.”

I could imagine the flaming eyes of the speaker as he reported this account: unforgiving even after the death of Fortunato. He would not be appeased. The heat of his resolution seems like what precluded the 'idea of risk.' Fortunato did not live to serve punishment.

“I must not only punish but punish with impunity.”

 The speaker was also resolved to be guiltless no matter the length he went. Fortunato's blood was upon his crime and his children could blame his misfortune on him. He was going to serve time for his insensitive words, and only a sudden distaste for wine could save him. Unfortunately for Fortunato, help was not within his instincts.

“I continued, as was my wont, to smile in his face, and he did not perceive that my smile now was at the thought of his immolation.”

A weird sense of the speaker's pleasure as he describes here gripped me until I pricked myself. His satisfaction was sinister, but I could well identify with it. It was the gratification of an idea before its employment, the ease of the problem at the thought of a good fix. In the midst of a great festival, Fortunato was in deep trouble, but he did not know. Help was all around, but the speaker's accomplice was within Fortunato. Amontillado.

"Luchresi cannot tell Amontillado from Sherry."

"And yet some fools will have it that his taste is a match for your own.

"Come, let us go."

"Whither?"

"To your vaults."

The conspirator plays a good act, and Fortunato's ego thrives. There was no room for suspicion even in a catacomb. Oh Fortunato! How blind could you be? Your world must be as sweet as your taste!

Bells kept jingling in the procession of Fortunato's last walk. His conspirator remained as patient and persuasive, leading his quarry to his con.

"Come… we will go back; your health is precious. You are rich, respected, admired, beloved; you are happy, as once I was. You are a man to be missed. For me it is no matter. We will go back; you will be ill, and I cannot be responsible.”

I imagine Fortunato's head swelling. This was the ultimate medicine for his cough.

“Besides, there is Luchresi -“

This was the peak of the yet uninterrupted praise, and Fortunato quickly interrupt the new direction toward his rival,

"Enough… the cough's a mere nothing; it will not kill me. I shall not die of a cough."

Yes Fortunato. A cough cannot kill your majesty, but this man will. Therefore, it was that as a silly prey Fortunato was led to his trap; baited by his egotistical virtuoso. Seeing the dead around him, but exalted above reason by his counterpart and intoxication.

After the last brick was put in place, much after the last joke was told, Fortunato was quiet - perhaps, now among the dead. Amontillado. What started as a riveting story with a witty proclamation of a man's rage and threat ended with the silence of shock. I cannot stop wondering if he really left Fortunato there to die.

“A wrong is unredressed when retribution overtakes its redresser. It is equally unredressed when the avenger fails to make himself felt as such to him who has done the wrong.”

Amontillado. In pace requiescat!

Poe, Edgar Allen. "The Cask of Amontillado by Edgar Allan Poe." Edgar Allan Poe, Short Stories, Tales, and Poems. Web. 03 Mar. 2011. <http://www.poestories.com/read/amontillado>.

Reflection Series: The Words Poor Richard

Based on Franklin's Way To Wealth, Or Poor Richard Improved: To Which Is Added How To Make Much Of A Little, By Bob Short.

http://www.archive.org/stream/franklinswayweal00franiala/franklinswayweal00franiala_djvu.txt

Original:

THE WAY TO WEALTH. 33

REMEMBER SIN is THE GREATEST

EVIL; SALVATION BY JfiSUS CHRIST THE

GREATEST GOOD; AND GRACE TO CHANGE

THE HEART, THE POOR MAN'S RICHEST

TREASURE. Let the poor man then

find his way to the cheapest market

on a Saturday ; to that place of wor-

ship where he can meet with the best

advice on a Sunday ; and go like an

honest man to his labour on the

Monday ; and following these simple

rules, he will be happy twice over ;

happy in time, and happy to all

Eternity.

Rework:

Sin is the greatest evil. It is everyone’s worst nightmare – even those that have no clue what the word means. Sin is mostly rooted in fear and selfishness – whether fear of the unknown or fear of a known consequence. Fear fosters sin. For example, it could prove difficult to get the truth from a kid who is being questioned for an action that is supposedly wrong. The lies from the child are often not because of the available choice to lie, but rather because of the perceived fear of the consequence from saying the truth. Selfishness and insensitivity are other instigators of sin. A thief, for example, is more preoccupied with his rational for stealing than with the role his or her action takes on the larger picture that affects others. Fear and selfishness could also be to self. For example, a person might claim to hate him or herself and then commit suicide. With a closer look, however, the fear of failure and the selfishness of thinking that his or her life did not affect other people aided the act. The person felt that his or her life was solely lived for their satisfaction. Thus, even as it concerns individuals, these factors play a significant role especially considering that a selfish person cannot as much be liberal to himself as they often say, “trust no one – not even yourself.”

Nonetheless, Jesus Christ brings salvation and freedom of the heart. He saves a person from eternal condemnation and brings grace to a person’s heart even in this life. He is the poor man’s richest asset and also the most secure. Jesus Himself assured that the peace He has given to us was not from the world and, hence, the world cannot take it (John 14:27). He brings assurance for life and strength for each day. Not only is He secure in the spirit of a man, but He also brings security to the person. He is refuge, power and wisdom all at once – with an overwhelming love for His man or woman. He relates personally and individually with them and sustains them with plenty of encouragement and guidance.

A man might be poor in every other thing. He may shop in the cheapest stores and eat the sorriest food, without friend or affluence, cut off from the world in an economic and or social isolation. Everyone might know him as a Nobody. However, if Christ is in Him, it does not matter the apparent, or the hunger. He is a winner! He wins above life in a way that the rational world cannot explain or pinpoint in a lab. He wins in a way that only his spirit can identify. As the bible expresses:

“For the preaching of the cross is to them that perish foolishness; but unto us which are saved it is the power of God. For it is written, I will destroy the wisdom of the wise, and will bring to nothing the understanding of the prudent. Where is the wise? where is the scribe? where is the disputer of this world? hath not God made foolish the wisdom of this world? For after that in the wisdom of God the world by wisdom knew not God, it pleased God by the foolishness of preaching to save them that believe. For the Jews require a sign, and the Greeks seek after wisdom: but we preach Christ crucified, unto the Jews a stumbling block, and unto the Greeks foolishness; But unto them which are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God, and the wisdom of God. Because the foolishness of God is wiser than men; and the weakness of God is stronger than men…” 1 Corinthians 1:17 – 25

Reassured by words as these in a place of worship, even the poor can go forth into the start of another week with diligence and advantage. He can leave refreshed and ready to selflessly, and in the reverential fear of God, serve and profit in his ventures. He is also equipped with words of wisdom from the almanac and has his bible to guide him even further. Poor Richard is saying, “Mark this man.” He will be twice as happy every day as a brighter light unto a perfect day!

"Full Text of "Franklin's Way to Wealth, Or, Poor Richard Improved : to Which Is Added How to Make Much of a Little, by Bob Short"" Internet Archive: Digital Library of Free Books, Movies, Music & Wayback Machine. Web. 28 Feb. 2011. <http://www.archive.org/stream/franklinswayweal00franiala/franklinswayweal00franiala_djvu.txt>.

Bible, King James Version. NC: Bible House, 1976. Print.

Reflection Series: Life Is Best Lived Than Read

Based on The Secret Diary of William Byrd (1709 - 1712)

http://nationalhumanitiescenter.org/pds/becomingamer/economies/text5/williambyrddiary.pdf

If I were Jesus sitting under a fig tree, I would look at William Byrd and say, “there’s a man without guile – because God has forgiven all.” The lifestyle of William has many quirks; he is enlightened, indulgent, well connected, and whimsical. He also is a successful businessperson with an elaborate lifestyle. He is obviously pious too, which is characteristic of the civilization during his period. These inferences show a busy man, and it is intriguing that as fun as his life could have been for the average person that knew him, it gets boring fast on print from redundancy. I imagine that most supposed busy people live just like this and might be bored after all.

OK maybe not entirely. Nonetheless, this diary goes a good way to suggest why people get tired of activities no matter how cool and engaging another might find it. OK, so sky diving is cool! In fact, it is awesome! I could do this the rest of my life… until I start. Soon, I begin to realize the deficit of energy, but let us assume that I love what I do nonetheless. How will it sound describing it to a group of people? Awesome! OK. Now how would it sound describing it again to the same group on day 8, and 7, and 6, and 5? By the fourth day, all they will need to disband leaving my ‘kinda’ boring sky life will be a little mutt running across the street. Better still they may try to make me stop with the overused question, “OK, so what else do you do?” I had better have a decent vocation. No matter how sophisticated a job or life is, some routine to it eventually exasperates even the person living the life or job.

I like the way William reads a different language daily. Perhaps reading those languages in a similar pattern would make one more learned with those tongues. William’s life was not too different from what would be typical today. IT Professionals, for example, study emerging technologies. Application programmers will try to learn a little about networking to boost the design of their applications. Some designers are taking their wits from the traditional board to the computer screen, which comes at a learning cost. People may not have changed after all.

Say we follow a popular teenager around with a camera; I already dislike the imagination. The kid sits for hours playing a video game; he then gets refreshed and strolls out to hang with friends. They may play some more video games and get on YouTube – one screen to another, then to a portable screen. He is with his friends, but he fits his earphone into an ear. The group of buddies exchanges a few concise words, then a brief outburst of laughter ending as sharply as it broke. Looking at the faces, one cannot even tell who laughed or did not. These boys are just busy being cool. Then one wonders, is this it?! It looks as though attendance is all that matters. In my first days in the US, it took a considerable while for me to wrap my mind around this strange social behavior. Friends did not talk much; they just shared a vocation, hummed, nodded, and headed home. Every once in a while they will banter at each other, but it was mostly superficial, nothing personal – more like a club with everyone warily looking for the next point to add to his respect tally while guarding the gauge. It was an awkward disconnect for me. I never stopped asking myself those three words, “is this it?!” After waiting patiently for the big bang, it never happened.

On curiosity, I eavesdropped on a group of cute girls chatting. They were relaxed, and one could tell that they were having a sincere conversation. My experience with the boys had gotten me inquisitive to know whether the boys were just being guys or if this was more rooted. The ladies spoke much more, but I could not listen for long. I have never heard such randomness in my entire life! One of them talked about a pedestrian she saw crossing an intersection on her way to school. Okay? That was it. I gave a quick look at the faces of her friends, and they were not outraged, they just headed in other directions: camping, holiday, spring, boyfriend, and schoolwork. While these topics could be appealing, from the quick bite sentences of those girls, I will go with William’s diary for another year! I resolutely decided that these women’s mind was not a place I would like to be in at all. Good thoughts and good humor, thanks be to God Almighty (Byrd, 1709).

Maybe there was a good reason for the phasing out of diaries. It just is not for this generation. In a riveting twist, however, this generation documents more than any prior. The social media, texts, and email accounts, equipped with a calendar, leave the digital traces of an individual from the announcement of his conception by his or her parents to the declaration of his or her death. Nonetheless, even the more sophisticated documentation of digital dossier does not seem to make the printed experience any more exotic. ...

Mcmichael, George, and James S. Leonard, comps. "The Secret Diary of William Byrd of Westover, 1709 - 1712." Concise Anthology of American Literature. 6th ed. New Jersey: Pearson Education, 2006.149-171. Print.

"YouTube - Digital Dossier." YouTube - Broadcast Yourself. Web. 27 Feb. 2011. <http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=79IYZVYIVLA&feature=player_embedded#at=243>.

"Private Life and Digital Traces."AnnikensUnivers. Web. 27 Feb. 2011. <http://annikensunivers.blogspot.com/2010/04/abuse-of-private-information-on-web.html>.

Featured: Chimamanda Adichie - The Danger of a Single Story

Reflection Series: When Life Is Not Enough

Based on the story:

The Narrative of the Captivity and the Restoration of Mrs. Mary Rowlandson (1682).

http://www.library.csi.cuny.edu/dept/history/lavender/rownarr.html

Mary Rowlandson is an interesting person, at least with the way the narration spotlights her. She is a woman of many sorrows and hard times whom against all hope had hope. The biblical promise of hope could have quite conveniently been for her children, perhaps children's children, but her brisk response and personalization of any hint from scripture is unsullied. Theologians of all ages debate on what biblical scripture is for who or what, but not as far as Mary is concerned. This woman wants help; she wants salvation; and she wants it now.

Mary watched the Indians mercilessly destroy her community. She saw the brutal killing of many of her neighbors and friends. She watched her little child contend with death, and saw her give way eventually. For Mary, this cruelty was enough to condemn the Indians before God, and make them the enemy. Their unfamiliar culture and rituals were hedonistic to Mary, which from her bible was another evidence of their ungodly status. Well, tough luck, the Indians did not have a bible - oh, one of them threw the book with English inscriptions away from the wigwam. What else could prove their alienation from God?

Apparently, the only reason the Indians spared some of the victims was to sell them. As one can only imagine, this could have be the only thing worse than death, but for Mary's kind of hope, because the victims would live their regrets and depression in an unfamiliar environment - without love or loved ones. Unsurprisingly, some of the English people chose the inhumane death of the Indians rather than suffer the pain of endless misery. Families were scattered around the area to their new masters and sometimes, as Mary expressed, never reunited again. The Indians, it also seems, were nomadic and could not adequately sustain their families, let alone their slaves. Like Mary, many of the slaves depended on their crafts and the ever-changing goodwill of others in the community.

Perhaps, one of the most touching things about the story, was the sad feedback Mary Rowlandson got every time she inquired about her husband or the remaining of her family. Mary desired to go home, but might have been slow to realize that home, as she previously knew it, did not exist anymore. Her husband, Mary's only survivor of the carnage, must have been as bitter about the loss of his household especially in his absence - one can only imagine how he repeatedly wished he was in the village at the time of attack to have rather died protecting his family. What's more, he might not have had the luxury of distractions that Mary had in her bondage. He could have had ample time and freedom to think and mourn his losses. He was a free man, but was enslaved by his own regrets; hence melancholic.

Mary's hope paid off after some English people helped ransom her. I hope Mary found her freedom to be all she had imagined. At least, life as a free woman in a familiar culture would have been much better than bondage among strangers. Nonetheless, Mary, even before her redemption, seemed to have toughened up. She seemed to have learnt the Indians well, and despite the odds, she remained quite a strong woman. Finally, I wonder if Mary ever got over her 'doleful' events - life must have never been the same. Here is freedom, but the enemy still lingers. Just for how long will this freedom last?

Mcmichael, George, and James S. Leonard, comps. "The Narrative of the Captivity and the Restoration of Mrs. Mary Rowlandson (1682)." Concise Anthology of American Literature. 6th ed. New Jersey: Pearson Education, 2006. 148-65. Print.

Reflection Series: Life is a Story

Dedicated to L Y



We tell stories every day. They stem from our experiences to expectations. Stories can be factual or fictional, but whichever the case, stories serve to inspire, entertain, and even teach morals. When I was a kid, my parents and relations told me many stories. I loved hearing them. After a good supper, we would tease and make jokes, then, it was story time. I heard stories about the animal kingdom, say, how the lion became the king of the jungle, or how the gorilla lost its tail. These stories were often adventurous, and spoke a lot about the bravery of their imaginary creatures: I heard about the man that went to hell to get a moon for the world - the same we all still enjoy in the night. My childhood stories talked about a world that hardly superimposes the real one, and brought the unthinkable to life. It was beautiful – a perfect world with colorful troubles, ideal amidst evil. We all wanted to live there.

It turns out that stories are not merely limited to kiddies’ bogus pleasure and adult entertainment. They are also accounts that served to inform us of the past: history, present: news, and even the future like the infamous apocalypses of John in the bible. In court, for example, people tell and hear countless stories – stories that literally lead to dramatic and, in some cases, life-changing consequences. The same holds true for media reports that bombard the mass of people every second of the day. Most television channels now run 24/7, and there are thousands of them. Their shows range from straightforward narrations to actions involving hundreds of peoples. The subject matter of these stories is immeasurable, and their overwhelming effect on the masses has led to their organization into genres to control the overload.

Some stories are epic. The authors of these stories so wittily and creatively document their ideas to the point that these wits perpetuate the history of humanity. Such artistic use of stories is mostly referred to as literature. It is vibrant, cultural, and often dramatic. Just like any typical story, it ranges from facts to fiction, from technical to common knowledge, and from human values to ethnic values. The presentation of literature is often ornate, and even when minimized their artistic values are prominent. A piece of Literature also speaks volumes of the period that produced it based on the mannerisms of writing and the fashion of language.

The function of stories in everyday life is unparalleled. Only another story can do what a story would do. For social beings like humans, it is the only effective commuter of experience and learning. What would life be like without stories? Observing the other animals without the necessary ‘gift of speech’ is a close replication of what the human race would be like without stories. People would have to wait and rely on adaptive and evolution changes, which are much slower. Cognitive development would be much primitive, and one can only start wondering what would be high class about humans. Thus, our world is a world of stories, and these stories will always characterize the everyday life.

A Short Story:

Did I ever smoke? Ha! I did the paper, and some tiny shrub that had a hollow in it. I was an adventurous kid - very inquisitive and curious. I'm not sure if I've grown too – growing up is for adults lol, I'll try anything just to know, but of course those were not tobacco or what one might consider smoking. Shoot! This question is indeed kinda silly lol. Ok, so one day, I am not sure I remember my age at the time; I got a real cigarette, hid it in my pocket, and waited for a quiet house lol. When the good time came, I went to the back of the house, pulled out the sucker, and started trying to light it. Darn! The wind got two of my matchsticks. On my third, lol, some dude calls out to me! A family friend in his teen. Shoot! I've been caught! His name was Friday. Sweet guy! He advised me and I nervously accepted - just don't tell. I went on to tear hopelessly  the cigarette apart. I was shaking because I knew I could get into more trouble. Friday saw my fear and took me out to hang with him. That was my first and last attempt. Friday deeply impressed that one on me. Mom still doesn't know. 

From the above example, it is apparent the stories allow us share our personalities and recount a previous experience.

Ode to a Pen -- First Draft

The pen, they say, is mightier than the sword; yet in its appearance, the eye only sees innocence. Lying long and thin on a table, it quietly waits for the hand that would wield it. Its sleek design gives it the elegance of jewelry, but in its purpose lays the power of a ruler; loaded with potential words that endure forever. Its modest tip points down to its humble subject, the paper, as it receives the directives of its lord. Gently and quietly, it proclaims words powerful enough to build and tear down as the stain of its blood testifies to generations unborn its command and immortality.

The light of day reveals its power, and the glow of sunset demystifies its purpose. The bleeding of its hallow tip causes some to rejoice, and others shed tears of sorrow. It restores, and it deprives; it blesses and it curses – who can understand? The eyes of many stay glazed to its words – others grope because of incomprehension. The mild smell of its thick ink carries more savor than the most garnished pot. It is a tool like none other, the only of its kind.

From age to age, its appearance and design changes, but its potency and purpose remain unfailing – as though in the crystal of ages exhibited in the museum of time. Its feel in the hand gives a voice to the speechless – words spoken in silence, yet undeniably loud. Its glistening body is an irresistible temptation to touch even for the simple minded. The feel of it tickles the uneducated and makes them pose in pretentious success. Its fluid inscriptions ensures the future, and there is no history without its gore. Its touch preserves the knowledge of the world. It gives warmth to all that cuddles its slender and curvy figure, and caressing it arouses even the dumbest ideas; such a mystical being that causes the hand and arm to tingle and tango down a blank sheet of paper. It gives warmth to the palm in a way that only its other kind can. Its beauty is flawless. Its protective cap locks potential experiences that elude even the finest memory.

The pen is brilliant in its function and stands out as the beacon of intellect. The pen is mighty in a unique way. Although the sword may boast of its blade, just how often does that mighty blade depend upon the signature of the pen? Furthermore, can one ever wonder how many have fallen by the stroke of a pen? One can only now begin to figure the statement, “the pen is mightier than the sword”.