Let the tanks drown out the rocks.
Let the snipers break through the bamboo walls.
Let the fires consume the saffron robes.
Let the children be kidnapped;
Let the women be raped;
Let the men be massacred by the thousands.
Let a people be sprayed down with hoses and bullets,
Torn apart by dogs and horses,
And ripped open by machetes and cannons.
Let the Invisibles and the Miserables bring tumult to your peace.
For so long as the screams of protest
And cries of peace are heard amidst the chaos,
So long as these struggles continue,
We know that humanity lives on in a sea of hatred.
Monday, January 31, 2011
A Walk From My Sister's - A Walk Across Two Cultures (Third Culture Kid)
A walk from my sister's to my grandma's down Alajuela.
The streets I was born in, the ones I walked down as a child.
I walk them no more; they are mine, but they are not mine.
The people look at me, I look back.
A stranger amidst the streets, a foreigner amidst the men.
Dark hair, like me. Dark eyes, like me. Similar stature, similar pigments, like me.
But the clothes, they are different. The build, it is different.
New clothes, new brand, unworn. A glare, a scoff.
They are mine, but they are not “mine.”
Visitors greet my mom. Friends.
"How are you, Aileen?”
"And you, mahe? I remember he was a kid as small as this when I saw him"
"What?" I ask
"Oh, do you speak Spanish?"
Of course I speak Spanish. Maybe better than you, definitely different.
The language is mine. The idioms and accents are "mine", but they are not mine.
In the restaurant. "Excuse me, what do you recommend?" A southern drawl.
"Oh, do you speak English?"
Of course I speak English. Maybe better than you, definitely different.
The language is mine, but it is not "mine".
They laugh. A foreigner, they think. What would he know?
Blonde hair, blue eyes are different, but the culture.
Your culture is mine, but it is not "mine".
My country, my motherland.
The name, it is on the birth certificate.
It is on my passport, my green card, the documents, in print.
It is "mine".
But the music, the customs, the land, the knowledge of the land. Patriotism.
Parts are in me, but it is not mine.
Children walk the streets, don blue shirts and pants, laughing, hanging, chilling.
I look through the window. Still in school. I´m not.
A window. A different lens. An observer, from another place.
At home, a car window. An observer, from another place.
Spic at home, gringo at home. A home? No home.
First culture? Not alone, but lonely. It is "mine", but it is not mine.
Second culture? Not alone, but lonely. It is mine, but it is not "mine".
Third culture? Not lonely, but alone.
Very alone.
It is mine, it is "mine". But it is nowhere to be seen
Can easily adapt, but can´t easily adopt.
Drifting, wondering. Few know, few understand.
Third Culture Kid
The streets I was born in, the ones I walked down as a child.
I walk them no more; they are mine, but they are not mine.
The people look at me, I look back.
A stranger amidst the streets, a foreigner amidst the men.
Dark hair, like me. Dark eyes, like me. Similar stature, similar pigments, like me.
But the clothes, they are different. The build, it is different.
New clothes, new brand, unworn. A glare, a scoff.
They are mine, but they are not “mine.”
Visitors greet my mom. Friends.
"How are you, Aileen?”
"And you, mahe? I remember he was a kid as small as this when I saw him"
"What?" I ask
"Oh, do you speak Spanish?"
Of course I speak Spanish. Maybe better than you, definitely different.
The language is mine. The idioms and accents are "mine", but they are not mine.
In the restaurant. "Excuse me, what do you recommend?" A southern drawl.
"Oh, do you speak English?"
Of course I speak English. Maybe better than you, definitely different.
The language is mine, but it is not "mine".
They laugh. A foreigner, they think. What would he know?
Blonde hair, blue eyes are different, but the culture.
Your culture is mine, but it is not "mine".
My country, my motherland.
The name, it is on the birth certificate.
It is on my passport, my green card, the documents, in print.
It is "mine".
But the music, the customs, the land, the knowledge of the land. Patriotism.
Parts are in me, but it is not mine.
Children walk the streets, don blue shirts and pants, laughing, hanging, chilling.
I look through the window. Still in school. I´m not.
A window. A different lens. An observer, from another place.
At home, a car window. An observer, from another place.
Spic at home, gringo at home. A home? No home.
First culture? Not alone, but lonely. It is "mine", but it is not mine.
Second culture? Not alone, but lonely. It is mine, but it is not "mine".
Third culture? Not lonely, but alone.
Very alone.
It is mine, it is "mine". But it is nowhere to be seen
Can easily adapt, but can´t easily adopt.
Drifting, wondering. Few know, few understand.
Third Culture Kid
The Phoenix
A lonely girl stumbles upon a fire ring
Exiled from her home she seeks other warmth
She sets the site with tender care
And when she lights it, an ember flares
With every gaze, the tinder’s set
With every touch, the flint is struck
With every word, the flame is fanned
Fallen from grace the girl sits closer
The ember speaks through gusts of wind
The ember grows to a flame
The girl caressed by its warmth
The soft warmth enthralls her
The soothing light draws her near
The girl feeds the flame more wood
The girl’s sweet words fan the flame
With every gaze, the tinder’s set
With every touch, the flint is struck
With every word, the flame is fanned
The ember grows to a flame
The flame grows to a fire
The fire grows to a maelstrom
The maelstrom grows to an inferno
The inferno devours the forest
The passion consumes the lands
Want grows in a fiery frenzy
Lust and love clash in conflagration
With every gaze, the tinder’s set
With every touch, the flint is struck
With every word, the flame is fanned
The girl is scared, she got too close
The house doors open, she rushes inside
Not looking back, she shuts the doors
She sits by the window, warmed again by the house
The fire grows, the heat mutates
Tender warmth grows to anger
The fire splits in two
From the blazes, the phoenixes arise
The phoenixes battle in throes of passion
One, a creature of love and caring
The other, a beast of ire and desire
The girl looks on from the window
With every gaze, the tinder’s set
With every touch, the flint is struck
With every word, the flame is fanned
The screams of agony ring throughout
The fiery birds make lands shake
Feathers of flames thrash about
The beaks bite, the claws tear
The girl looks on from the window
A single being split
A single feeling shunned
A single passion torn
The forests blacken with loss of life
The girl looks on from the window
With every gaze, the tinder’s set
With every touch, the flint is struck
With every word, the flame is fanned
From the sky, the birds fall
A low guttural cry is heard
The birds dissolve, turn to ashes
All that remains is a crushed spirit
The girl looks on from the window
With every gaze, the tinder’s set
With every touch, the flint is struck
With every word, the flame is fanned
With every glare, the fire quivers
With every scream, the flames are doused
With your leave, spirit’s quenched
The passion, the life, the fire, dies
Exiled from her home she seeks other warmth
She sets the site with tender care
And when she lights it, an ember flares
With every gaze, the tinder’s set
With every touch, the flint is struck
With every word, the flame is fanned
Fallen from grace the girl sits closer
The ember speaks through gusts of wind
The ember grows to a flame
The girl caressed by its warmth
The soft warmth enthralls her
The soothing light draws her near
The girl feeds the flame more wood
The girl’s sweet words fan the flame
With every gaze, the tinder’s set
With every touch, the flint is struck
With every word, the flame is fanned
The ember grows to a flame
The flame grows to a fire
The fire grows to a maelstrom
The maelstrom grows to an inferno
The inferno devours the forest
The passion consumes the lands
Want grows in a fiery frenzy
Lust and love clash in conflagration
With every gaze, the tinder’s set
With every touch, the flint is struck
With every word, the flame is fanned
The girl is scared, she got too close
The house doors open, she rushes inside
Not looking back, she shuts the doors
She sits by the window, warmed again by the house
The fire grows, the heat mutates
Tender warmth grows to anger
The fire splits in two
From the blazes, the phoenixes arise
The phoenixes battle in throes of passion
One, a creature of love and caring
The other, a beast of ire and desire
The girl looks on from the window
With every gaze, the tinder’s set
With every touch, the flint is struck
With every word, the flame is fanned
The screams of agony ring throughout
The fiery birds make lands shake
Feathers of flames thrash about
The beaks bite, the claws tear
The girl looks on from the window
A single being split
A single feeling shunned
A single passion torn
The forests blacken with loss of life
The girl looks on from the window
With every gaze, the tinder’s set
With every touch, the flint is struck
With every word, the flame is fanned
From the sky, the birds fall
A low guttural cry is heard
The birds dissolve, turn to ashes
All that remains is a crushed spirit
The girl looks on from the window
With every gaze, the tinder’s set
With every touch, the flint is struck
With every word, the flame is fanned
With every glare, the fire quivers
With every scream, the flames are doused
With your leave, spirit’s quenched
The passion, the life, the fire, dies
A Step Onto the Balcony
A step onto the balcony
Away from the hideous reflection on the mirror
Second step
Away from the jeers and taunts of peers
Third step
Away from the sighs and glares of family and friends
Fourth step
Away from the scattered papers of failures
Fifth step
Away from the torture and emptiness of a false love
Left foot, right foot, over and over
Away from apathy, enmity, suffering, despair
One, two, three, four, again and again
From solitude, disillusion, anger, desire
A step onto the rail
Away from the collections of broken promises, false hopes, and shattered dreams
A step into the air
Weightless, lifeless
Freedom, darkness
Rest
(Please note I am not suicidal in real life. I merely am fascinated by exploring the darker aspects of emotions and the poetic power they have)
Away from the hideous reflection on the mirror
Second step
Away from the jeers and taunts of peers
Third step
Away from the sighs and glares of family and friends
Fourth step
Away from the scattered papers of failures
Fifth step
Away from the torture and emptiness of a false love
Left foot, right foot, over and over
Away from apathy, enmity, suffering, despair
One, two, three, four, again and again
From solitude, disillusion, anger, desire
A step onto the rail
Away from the collections of broken promises, false hopes, and shattered dreams
A step into the air
Weightless, lifeless
Freedom, darkness
Rest
(Please note I am not suicidal in real life. I merely am fascinated by exploring the darker aspects of emotions and the poetic power they have)
The Great Mystery
What is love?
It is the sun that caresses, that warms and comforts
The cold and desolate with its bright rays of hope
It is the fire that grows with every minute, with every fuel you give it;
It rages and devours, spewing its flames of ire and desire
It is the endless water: the source of all life, of all chance,
That courses slowly and steadily, patient and unceasing, through Mother Earth’s veins
It is the freezing bite of the rank winter air
As it passes uncaring over the lonely barren glacier
It is the rose, so beautiful, so sweet and serene,
Yet even it harbors thorns unseen
It is the gold, so sought and treasured
Leading every man to success or failure,
Sacrifice or murder,
Prosperity or decadence,
Life or death
It is the starry night sky,
Vast and unending,
Unknown and enigmatic,
Forever holding secrets untapped
It is the bright eyes of the child as he rushes into his father’s arms every day
It is the embrace of friends, offering comfort in times of sorrow
It is the sweet words of passion whispered between the two lovers under the moonlit sky
It is the grasp of the soldier as he helps his fallen comrade away from harm
It is the rings slipped into the fingers and the sweet kiss of the couple as they make their everlasting vows
It is the soothing words of the mother as she tucks her child into bed and away from harm
It is the silence of the old man, his hands locked with hers, as she gasps her last breaths
It is the uniter, the divider,
The inspirer, the destroyer,
Of money, of power
Of family, of friends
Of country, of people
Of that someone somewhere
It is everything and nothing
It is everywhere and nowhere
So what is love?
Lucky are the few who know it
More blessed are those who have it
It is the sun that caresses, that warms and comforts
The cold and desolate with its bright rays of hope
It is the fire that grows with every minute, with every fuel you give it;
It rages and devours, spewing its flames of ire and desire
It is the endless water: the source of all life, of all chance,
That courses slowly and steadily, patient and unceasing, through Mother Earth’s veins
It is the freezing bite of the rank winter air
As it passes uncaring over the lonely barren glacier
It is the rose, so beautiful, so sweet and serene,
Yet even it harbors thorns unseen
It is the gold, so sought and treasured
Leading every man to success or failure,
Sacrifice or murder,
Prosperity or decadence,
Life or death
It is the starry night sky,
Vast and unending,
Unknown and enigmatic,
Forever holding secrets untapped
It is the bright eyes of the child as he rushes into his father’s arms every day
It is the embrace of friends, offering comfort in times of sorrow
It is the sweet words of passion whispered between the two lovers under the moonlit sky
It is the grasp of the soldier as he helps his fallen comrade away from harm
It is the rings slipped into the fingers and the sweet kiss of the couple as they make their everlasting vows
It is the soothing words of the mother as she tucks her child into bed and away from harm
It is the silence of the old man, his hands locked with hers, as she gasps her last breaths
It is the uniter, the divider,
The inspirer, the destroyer,
Of money, of power
Of family, of friends
Of country, of people
Of that someone somewhere
It is everything and nothing
It is everywhere and nowhere
So what is love?
Lucky are the few who know it
More blessed are those who have it
The Dagger
An eager tool enters the world
Eager for love, compassion, and care
Reaching for society’s embrace
Pushed back when it draws too near
Sharpened by mankind it searches nonetheless
Joins others in hopes that treasures may be found
Seeking in shadows what it yearns
Realizing the truth behind illusions burns
Rusting, cracking, breaking, no one comes near
No one lends a hand or even an ear
Untouched, untended the tool remolds
A dagger rises from the ashes and folds
Tarnished by hate the dagger prepares
Despair entombs the weakened soul
But one last hope remains unworn
The one who spoke sweet words of warmth
The dagger falters, only to steady again
Remembers that all betray and make no amends
Love and understanding was all pretend
The venom flowed from the other end
As the clock rings the final hour of night
The dagger strikes, the death blow is dealt
The body stumbles, reaching for the unattainable
It falls; blood, hopes, and dreams follow suit
Blackness creeps in, more sinister than night
No one is saved, and peace through darkness reigns
Eager for love, compassion, and care
Reaching for society’s embrace
Pushed back when it draws too near
Sharpened by mankind it searches nonetheless
Joins others in hopes that treasures may be found
Seeking in shadows what it yearns
Realizing the truth behind illusions burns
Rusting, cracking, breaking, no one comes near
No one lends a hand or even an ear
Untouched, untended the tool remolds
A dagger rises from the ashes and folds
Tarnished by hate the dagger prepares
Despair entombs the weakened soul
But one last hope remains unworn
The one who spoke sweet words of warmth
The dagger falters, only to steady again
Remembers that all betray and make no amends
Love and understanding was all pretend
The venom flowed from the other end
As the clock rings the final hour of night
The dagger strikes, the death blow is dealt
The body stumbles, reaching for the unattainable
It falls; blood, hopes, and dreams follow suit
Blackness creeps in, more sinister than night
No one is saved, and peace through darkness reigns
Timmy and the Rats
As little Timmy got on the school bus Monday morning, he gave out a big sigh. Timmy had almost missed the bus today because his dad was not awake to get Timmy up. Timmy, at the age of seven, already knew why his dad was still asleep. His dad had come home with a friend from work on Sunday evening. This time his friend wore high heels, black fishnet stockings, a short red skirt, and a low-cut black blouse. Timmy had heard them all night in his dad’s bedroom. He was terrified at the sounds they made but he had already learned not to interrupt his dad while he was busy entertaining the guest. After a while, the friend exited the room, all sweaty and frazzled, and walked out the door. He could then hear his dad snoring. Timmy, now sitting in the back of the bus, recalled with horror that his dad had forgotten to give him money for lunch! This did not sit well with Butch, the “ruler” of the bus. Butch walked up to Timmy, looked Timmy up and down, and asked, “Where’s my money?”
“I’m sorry, Butch, but I don’t have any money today!” Actually, Timmy had not had any money for lunch for two months. His mom was dead, and his dad kept forgetting to give him some. Timmy was quite hungry during the day, as all he ate on average was a bowl of cereal in the mornings and a hamburger or some macaroni and cheese at night. Butch didn’t care, however.
“I will deal with you in the afternoon,” Butch said; he used the same threat every day. He always promised this, and he never forgot his promises. Timmy had more than one bruise still fresh from the punishments that Butch and his friends inflicted. Butch reinforced this message with a punch to Timmy’s already black eye. This eye was not black because of Butch’s earlier escapades, but from Timmy having asked for help on homework from his dad on Saturday. Timmy had forgotten for a moment not to interrupt his dad while he was drinking, and that resulted in a punch across the face. Even though the bruise was from Saturday, it was still fresh, and the hit caused enough pain to last the entire bus ride. Once Timmy got to school, already depressed from what had occurred in the past few hours, he made his way to his first class. They got their History tests back that day, and Timmy made an “F”, like always. On top of the test, Ms. Meyers had told him to meet her after school if he wanted a better grade. He hated staying after school because of what Ms. Meyers made him do, but anything was better than the beatings he would get from his dad if he found out Timmy was failing.
“Hey guys, look at what the retard got again!” exclaimed one of his peers behind him. Timmy had been called a lot of things, and “retard” was one of the most common names Timmy was called, but Timmy hated it. He was not retarded; he just wasn’t quick at grasping things. He was too tired and sad in class to pay attention usually. The laughter and jeers of his peers soon died down when Ms. Meyers told the class to settle down. She then announced science class was about to begin as she brought out cages full of rats. She said they were going to be observing how the rats would behave together, after she returned from the restroom. Even though Ms. Meyers had told the students to leave the rats alone, every kid, except for Timmy, crowded around the rats. One of them opened up one of the cages and pulled a limp body out of it.
“Hey, this one’s dead!” exclaimed Johnny, one of Timmy’s least favorite classmates. Quickly he said, “Hey stupid, look over here!”
Just as Timmy turned around to face Johnny, he saw a huge rat being flung at him. The dead rat hit Timmy right in the face, and just as it did, the rat’s body exploded. Guts, blood, and hair fell all over Timmy. Some people screamed at first, but then the entire class burst out in laughter at Timmy’s misfortune. At that point Timmy had had enough. His heart, which had long felt cold and empty, gained a new fire within. However, this was the fire of rage, and slowly it built up, consuming his entire heart. The fire filled his heart, and spread throughout his body. The rats became restless as they paced frantically paced about the cage. At that moment, Ms. Meyers walked in. Timmy had the rat’s corpse in his hands, and he crushed it even more as the anger, despair, loathing, rage, and bloodlust built within him. The mice grew furious, hissing, running around, and biting the cages. Ms. Meyers asked what had happened, and Johnny replied by saying that the retard had killed a rat. At that, Timmy let out the most horrific and bloodcurdling scream ever. The rats shrieked.
“I WILL KILL YOU!” exclaimed Timmy at the top of his lungs; with this the rats threw open their cages. Timmy stood in silence and watched as the rats dashed out of the cages in unison. A wave of gray formed, and it swept over all the children. Timmy felt a mixture of bewilderment and happiness as the shrieks of pain, the screams of horror, and sounds of flesh being torn apart came together over the sea of rats. Sprays of red flew in all directions, outlined in the barrage of gray that swept all around Timmy. The earth shook as the rats made their way through the door, carrying off everyone except for Timmy with them. After the commotion subsided, Timmy fell into the puddle of blood and gnawed human remains. His vision, still reddened with anger, faded to black as he heard more screams of fear and agony in the distance.
Officer Gomez responded to a distress call at Reagan Elementary School on Monday evening. The message was not quite clear, so he decided to go and investigate for himself. As he entered the school building, he was shocked by what he saw. A deep red stained the floor and the walls. Small claw marks could be seen throughout. The most disturbing sights were the bodies. Corpses of men, women, and children, many children, were strewn about as far as the eye could see. The extremities had been chewed off, and the faces had been eaten away beyond recognition. These mangled bodies covered almost the entire floor, making it hard for Officer Gomez to proceed. Proceed he had to, however, for he heard a faint sound in the distance. Perhaps someone has survived this atrocity, he thought. As he ventured further into the building, the stench of death and decay became almost unbearable, and the faint sound had turned into a clear laughter. Gomez turned a corner into a classroom, and the source of the sound was revealed. In the middle of the room lay Timmy giggling, grinning, with a distant look on his face, and with a dead rat clutched to his heart.
“I’m sorry, Butch, but I don’t have any money today!” Actually, Timmy had not had any money for lunch for two months. His mom was dead, and his dad kept forgetting to give him some. Timmy was quite hungry during the day, as all he ate on average was a bowl of cereal in the mornings and a hamburger or some macaroni and cheese at night. Butch didn’t care, however.
“I will deal with you in the afternoon,” Butch said; he used the same threat every day. He always promised this, and he never forgot his promises. Timmy had more than one bruise still fresh from the punishments that Butch and his friends inflicted. Butch reinforced this message with a punch to Timmy’s already black eye. This eye was not black because of Butch’s earlier escapades, but from Timmy having asked for help on homework from his dad on Saturday. Timmy had forgotten for a moment not to interrupt his dad while he was drinking, and that resulted in a punch across the face. Even though the bruise was from Saturday, it was still fresh, and the hit caused enough pain to last the entire bus ride. Once Timmy got to school, already depressed from what had occurred in the past few hours, he made his way to his first class. They got their History tests back that day, and Timmy made an “F”, like always. On top of the test, Ms. Meyers had told him to meet her after school if he wanted a better grade. He hated staying after school because of what Ms. Meyers made him do, but anything was better than the beatings he would get from his dad if he found out Timmy was failing.
“Hey guys, look at what the retard got again!” exclaimed one of his peers behind him. Timmy had been called a lot of things, and “retard” was one of the most common names Timmy was called, but Timmy hated it. He was not retarded; he just wasn’t quick at grasping things. He was too tired and sad in class to pay attention usually. The laughter and jeers of his peers soon died down when Ms. Meyers told the class to settle down. She then announced science class was about to begin as she brought out cages full of rats. She said they were going to be observing how the rats would behave together, after she returned from the restroom. Even though Ms. Meyers had told the students to leave the rats alone, every kid, except for Timmy, crowded around the rats. One of them opened up one of the cages and pulled a limp body out of it.
“Hey, this one’s dead!” exclaimed Johnny, one of Timmy’s least favorite classmates. Quickly he said, “Hey stupid, look over here!”
Just as Timmy turned around to face Johnny, he saw a huge rat being flung at him. The dead rat hit Timmy right in the face, and just as it did, the rat’s body exploded. Guts, blood, and hair fell all over Timmy. Some people screamed at first, but then the entire class burst out in laughter at Timmy’s misfortune. At that point Timmy had had enough. His heart, which had long felt cold and empty, gained a new fire within. However, this was the fire of rage, and slowly it built up, consuming his entire heart. The fire filled his heart, and spread throughout his body. The rats became restless as they paced frantically paced about the cage. At that moment, Ms. Meyers walked in. Timmy had the rat’s corpse in his hands, and he crushed it even more as the anger, despair, loathing, rage, and bloodlust built within him. The mice grew furious, hissing, running around, and biting the cages. Ms. Meyers asked what had happened, and Johnny replied by saying that the retard had killed a rat. At that, Timmy let out the most horrific and bloodcurdling scream ever. The rats shrieked.
“I WILL KILL YOU!” exclaimed Timmy at the top of his lungs; with this the rats threw open their cages. Timmy stood in silence and watched as the rats dashed out of the cages in unison. A wave of gray formed, and it swept over all the children. Timmy felt a mixture of bewilderment and happiness as the shrieks of pain, the screams of horror, and sounds of flesh being torn apart came together over the sea of rats. Sprays of red flew in all directions, outlined in the barrage of gray that swept all around Timmy. The earth shook as the rats made their way through the door, carrying off everyone except for Timmy with them. After the commotion subsided, Timmy fell into the puddle of blood and gnawed human remains. His vision, still reddened with anger, faded to black as he heard more screams of fear and agony in the distance.
Officer Gomez responded to a distress call at Reagan Elementary School on Monday evening. The message was not quite clear, so he decided to go and investigate for himself. As he entered the school building, he was shocked by what he saw. A deep red stained the floor and the walls. Small claw marks could be seen throughout. The most disturbing sights were the bodies. Corpses of men, women, and children, many children, were strewn about as far as the eye could see. The extremities had been chewed off, and the faces had been eaten away beyond recognition. These mangled bodies covered almost the entire floor, making it hard for Officer Gomez to proceed. Proceed he had to, however, for he heard a faint sound in the distance. Perhaps someone has survived this atrocity, he thought. As he ventured further into the building, the stench of death and decay became almost unbearable, and the faint sound had turned into a clear laughter. Gomez turned a corner into a classroom, and the source of the sound was revealed. In the middle of the room lay Timmy giggling, grinning, with a distant look on his face, and with a dead rat clutched to his heart.
A Requiem to the Fallen
“Come on men! Victory is near!” cried General Armistead from in front of the vast ranks of men. Corporal John A. Lewis, or “Apple” (as those in his regiment called him), was among those in Armistead’s brigade, standing within the lines towards the back. He had never actually spoken to this man in person, but Apple had seen his commander’s bravery in many other battles. In what his friends called the “Seven Days Battle”, Apple’s first battle in this War Between the States, he had seen Armistead spearhead the assault against the vicious Yanks on Malvern Hill. He had also fought under Armistead in the Second Bull Run.
Indeed, Apple had great admiration for this man; this was mostly due to him having served under Armistead for a longer period than normal. In fact, out of all those who joined the army along with Apple when the recruiters came along to his town, Apple was one of the few left alive and healthy. However, Apple felt that luck did not shine on him that day. It was already the third day of a terrible battle in Gettysburg. Under Robert E. Lee, the Confederate Army of Northern Virginia was able to take the town the first day. However, the second day had seen much suffering after repeated attacks by the Confederate army on what Apple’s commanders called Cemetery Ridge failed miserably. Apple himself had seen many of his comrades fall in one of these assaults, and now, on the third day of this bloody battle, he felt his time had come.
It was rumored to be the greatest assault as of yet. Demoralized by the failures of the day before, the many Generals present at Gettysburg decided that an all-out charge against the Union’s entrenched position was the only chance the Army of Northern Virginia had at winning the battle. Now, after two hours of artillery barrage on the Union’s lines, Apple and all his fellow soldiers were hoping the charge would be a walk on the park. Suddenly, that most frightening command of all was given and Apple came to from his reminiscing.
“Charge!” cried Armistead in a loud, emphatic voice. The other officers of the brigade echoed his command. Then, all at once, Apple’s brigade began moving forward as in a single body. Apparently, two brigades stood in front of Armistead’s brigade. Apple truly was glad that he would not be at the front; those were doomed to die. Soon after their march began, Apple began hearing deafening shots to his right and front. Shortly after came the explosions, those terrible explosions. Every time Apple heard them, he had to close his eyes for a moment, and afterwards checked himself to make sure he was alright. The screams of the wounded, the death rattles of those less fortunate, and the pounding roars of the artillery fire all came together to create a terrible and frightful cacophony. Apple saw some damage done to his brigade as well. One shot landed frighteningly near; Apple was momentarily blinded, and opened his eyes to see limbs flying everywhere and the wounded right in front of him being trampled by his comrades as they unfalteringly advanced. Apple’s impulse was to run, he even saw a few cowards retreating to safety, but Apple understood his duty. He would defend his state to the death.
As Apple advanced, he noticed that little by little he was closing in on his brigade’s front ranks. By that time, a new sound had come into action. The blue-bellied Union had sent some cowardly Yankees to flank them. By that point, everyone was firing at will, regardless of the officers’ orders. Blood was flying everywhere, but Apple still held fast to his duty. He killed a few of those cowards who had flanked them and continued onward. By that time his brigade was running, and Apple was not sure which way to go. He kept his eyes to the copse of trees that he had been ordered to follow. Onwards he advanced, only half aware of the canister fire demolishing his line left and right. Slowly, he and a few of his comrades closed in on Armistead, and together they advanced despite the mixture of shrapnel, bullets, dirt, and human flesh that enveloped the area. The Union’s front lines were in sight, and a boost of adrenaline surged throughout Apple’s body. He saw his commander Armistead at the front of the lines, advancing with his hat staked on the tip of the sword. Some of Apple’s brigade had already made it to the stone wall that contained the Union. Most of their opponents had fled, but Apple saw that his comrades were nonetheless engaged in brutal melee combat.
“I will not fail now,” Apple thought as he made his way closer to the wall, “if God wills it, may I perish right now, but I will not turn back, now that victory is so near!” With these thoughts repeated in his head, Apple himself made it up to the stone wall. He lost sight of Armistead momentarily, but was too preoccupied shooting the Union offenders. He crossed the stone wall, quickly dispatching some remnants of the artillery regiment, when he saw his commander, Armistead. Wounded, the general was leaning against the stone wall, gasping for breath. In a moment of despair, Apple went up to Armistead and attempted to help him up to continue the charge. Despite his objective of defeating the Yanks, Apple knew his other duty was to leave no man behind. It was too late for Apple, though. At that moment, he heard a shot coming from his right, followed by a whizzing and a terrible sound of flesh tearing. Apple fell beside Armistead. He looked down, and saw his torso drenched in blood and bile. His stomach had been hit, and Apple knew he had little left to live. As he lay there dying, Apple saw his friends and comrades falling back. He heard shouts from behind the stone wall. The perimeter had been reestablished; he thought he heard them say. The Rebs are retreating, he heard. However, all this was of little consequence to him now. Eventually, all that he saw was white and all that he heard was the rustling of the trees in that copse; he was going to reach that Copse whether in this life or the next. A feeling of warmth enveloped him, and with the sound of rustling leaves, Apple fell into unconsciousness.
“Wake up, John!” cried John’s friend, Anne, “We’re here already!” What a strange dream little John had had. Had he really dreamed of being in the army? John still felt a pain in his stomach when he woke up, but he got up and out of the school bus nonetheless. His school was visiting Gettysburg as part of an educational trip, and they were now at a place which the teacher called the “High Water Mark”. Apparently here was where Armistead’s brigade had reached; it was the furthest the Confederate Army had reached during Pickett’s Charge. John saw remnants of a stone wall where the small monument marked where Armistead had reached, and he also saw a copse of trees further in.
“Strange,” John thought. After the teacher had given them some free time to explore with a buddy, he decided to go with Anne to where the copse of trees was. Some strange force was pulling John to this place. He stepped over the stone wall and continued, with a sense of fear but at the same time of victory. Annie stayed behind at the stone wall, and just as John had stepped into the small clump of trees Annie screamed and ran over to him with what seemed like a cross in her hands. As she reached John, she showed him the cross. It was small, rotting, and the inscription was barely legible. However, John was able to read the inscription after much observation.
The rustling of leaves gave an eerie calm to John; to him, it felt like music. Slowly, John read the inscription, muttering under his breath, “Here lies John ‘Apple’ Lewis, who died in the line of fire. May he finally fulfill his mission.”
Indeed, Apple had great admiration for this man; this was mostly due to him having served under Armistead for a longer period than normal. In fact, out of all those who joined the army along with Apple when the recruiters came along to his town, Apple was one of the few left alive and healthy. However, Apple felt that luck did not shine on him that day. It was already the third day of a terrible battle in Gettysburg. Under Robert E. Lee, the Confederate Army of Northern Virginia was able to take the town the first day. However, the second day had seen much suffering after repeated attacks by the Confederate army on what Apple’s commanders called Cemetery Ridge failed miserably. Apple himself had seen many of his comrades fall in one of these assaults, and now, on the third day of this bloody battle, he felt his time had come.
It was rumored to be the greatest assault as of yet. Demoralized by the failures of the day before, the many Generals present at Gettysburg decided that an all-out charge against the Union’s entrenched position was the only chance the Army of Northern Virginia had at winning the battle. Now, after two hours of artillery barrage on the Union’s lines, Apple and all his fellow soldiers were hoping the charge would be a walk on the park. Suddenly, that most frightening command of all was given and Apple came to from his reminiscing.
“Charge!” cried Armistead in a loud, emphatic voice. The other officers of the brigade echoed his command. Then, all at once, Apple’s brigade began moving forward as in a single body. Apparently, two brigades stood in front of Armistead’s brigade. Apple truly was glad that he would not be at the front; those were doomed to die. Soon after their march began, Apple began hearing deafening shots to his right and front. Shortly after came the explosions, those terrible explosions. Every time Apple heard them, he had to close his eyes for a moment, and afterwards checked himself to make sure he was alright. The screams of the wounded, the death rattles of those less fortunate, and the pounding roars of the artillery fire all came together to create a terrible and frightful cacophony. Apple saw some damage done to his brigade as well. One shot landed frighteningly near; Apple was momentarily blinded, and opened his eyes to see limbs flying everywhere and the wounded right in front of him being trampled by his comrades as they unfalteringly advanced. Apple’s impulse was to run, he even saw a few cowards retreating to safety, but Apple understood his duty. He would defend his state to the death.
As Apple advanced, he noticed that little by little he was closing in on his brigade’s front ranks. By that time, a new sound had come into action. The blue-bellied Union had sent some cowardly Yankees to flank them. By that point, everyone was firing at will, regardless of the officers’ orders. Blood was flying everywhere, but Apple still held fast to his duty. He killed a few of those cowards who had flanked them and continued onward. By that time his brigade was running, and Apple was not sure which way to go. He kept his eyes to the copse of trees that he had been ordered to follow. Onwards he advanced, only half aware of the canister fire demolishing his line left and right. Slowly, he and a few of his comrades closed in on Armistead, and together they advanced despite the mixture of shrapnel, bullets, dirt, and human flesh that enveloped the area. The Union’s front lines were in sight, and a boost of adrenaline surged throughout Apple’s body. He saw his commander Armistead at the front of the lines, advancing with his hat staked on the tip of the sword. Some of Apple’s brigade had already made it to the stone wall that contained the Union. Most of their opponents had fled, but Apple saw that his comrades were nonetheless engaged in brutal melee combat.
“I will not fail now,” Apple thought as he made his way closer to the wall, “if God wills it, may I perish right now, but I will not turn back, now that victory is so near!” With these thoughts repeated in his head, Apple himself made it up to the stone wall. He lost sight of Armistead momentarily, but was too preoccupied shooting the Union offenders. He crossed the stone wall, quickly dispatching some remnants of the artillery regiment, when he saw his commander, Armistead. Wounded, the general was leaning against the stone wall, gasping for breath. In a moment of despair, Apple went up to Armistead and attempted to help him up to continue the charge. Despite his objective of defeating the Yanks, Apple knew his other duty was to leave no man behind. It was too late for Apple, though. At that moment, he heard a shot coming from his right, followed by a whizzing and a terrible sound of flesh tearing. Apple fell beside Armistead. He looked down, and saw his torso drenched in blood and bile. His stomach had been hit, and Apple knew he had little left to live. As he lay there dying, Apple saw his friends and comrades falling back. He heard shouts from behind the stone wall. The perimeter had been reestablished; he thought he heard them say. The Rebs are retreating, he heard. However, all this was of little consequence to him now. Eventually, all that he saw was white and all that he heard was the rustling of the trees in that copse; he was going to reach that Copse whether in this life or the next. A feeling of warmth enveloped him, and with the sound of rustling leaves, Apple fell into unconsciousness.
“Wake up, John!” cried John’s friend, Anne, “We’re here already!” What a strange dream little John had had. Had he really dreamed of being in the army? John still felt a pain in his stomach when he woke up, but he got up and out of the school bus nonetheless. His school was visiting Gettysburg as part of an educational trip, and they were now at a place which the teacher called the “High Water Mark”. Apparently here was where Armistead’s brigade had reached; it was the furthest the Confederate Army had reached during Pickett’s Charge. John saw remnants of a stone wall where the small monument marked where Armistead had reached, and he also saw a copse of trees further in.
“Strange,” John thought. After the teacher had given them some free time to explore with a buddy, he decided to go with Anne to where the copse of trees was. Some strange force was pulling John to this place. He stepped over the stone wall and continued, with a sense of fear but at the same time of victory. Annie stayed behind at the stone wall, and just as John had stepped into the small clump of trees Annie screamed and ran over to him with what seemed like a cross in her hands. As she reached John, she showed him the cross. It was small, rotting, and the inscription was barely legible. However, John was able to read the inscription after much observation.
The rustling of leaves gave an eerie calm to John; to him, it felt like music. Slowly, John read the inscription, muttering under his breath, “Here lies John ‘Apple’ Lewis, who died in the line of fire. May he finally fulfill his mission.”
Blast from the Past: Speeches of the Past
So I thought enough time has passed that I should put up some speeches I've given in the past, long and short, on video and in writing. Comments are welcome!
First my valedictorian speech:
http://www.youtube.com/user/ragrillo1#p/a/u/1/9zkJsCmbvzs
And my speech for the Latino Diamante Award:
http://www.youtube.com/user/ragrillo1#p/u/0/z85leiRdHTg
Now two in print, from the Parkland Honors Banquets:
KEEP ON THE GOOD FIGHT (11th grade):
What a long, strange road we’ve traveled on. In the search for knowledge and accomplishments, we’ve gone through many highs and lows. We’ve met new people, made many friends, and have had more enriching experiences in high school than ever before. As I look back, I’ve seen how much my life has changed, as well as those around me, in such few years. I remember when I came in to Paisley in the ninth grade, very eager to succeed. High school at first seemed like such a new experience, and I worked hard to be the best I could be. In the ninth and tenth grade I learned more about the real world, but also just how hard school can be. My class for the ninth and tenth grade was very small, so I made very close connections to people. These friendships have lasted for quite a while, through the thick and thin. I can name a few in this very room, and I would like to just thank them for being there for me before going on. The eleventh grade brought about brand new challenges. A new school, new people, new teachers, new obstacles. As I’m sure many of you agree with, 11th grade IB has been the most indomitable challenge ever…heck, 11th grade in general. Our energies have run low, and many of us have been on the verge of giving up, but we never did, did we? And thus, we have been brought here. I am proud of being here with each and every one of you. We have worked hard to be in this level of success, and it has paid off. Now, I know how many of you feel. What’s the point of doing all this stressful work for what may feel as an elusive reward, too far off into the future to be worth it at all? Why do so much for what may sometimes seem to be nothing? I myself have been faced with many of the same questions, and some of you know just how angry I can get at times with all the stress. But, let me tell my class one thing. There is only one more year left to go. As for the seniors, you only have till the end of the school year. There is very little left to go. Let’s not spoil it. To those of you in the ninth and tenth grade, keep striving to succeed, and don’t give up despite what you may feel at times, because, in the end, it will pay off. By being here, by succeeding in school, we have proven our worth to our teachers, to our school, to the world, and most importantly, to ourselves. With every accomplishment we make, academic success being one of them, we are opening a myriad of doors to new possibilities and to significant success. I applaud you all for showing just how talented and capable you are just how capable our generation is of excellence. Thanks to today’s society and technology, we can make a greater impact on our world than any previous generation. But to do this, we must never give up. The best way to prove ourselves, to demonstrate our superiority, and to “stick it to the man” as you may say, is by showing just how well we can play their game, and how we can go so far as to create our own rules. Let’s show the world how it’s done, and let’s keep going with this string of triumphs. Our future is near, and we have the power to make it a success. We are already well on our way to our goals; let’s make it all the way. Now, before babbling off like my usual self, let me leave you all with a final quote, “In a world filled with hate, we must still dare to hope. In a world filled with despair, we must still dare to dream. And in a world filled with distrust, we must still dare to believe.” So let us keep believing in ourselves, dreaming of and striving for success, and reaching for the stars. I hope to see each and every one of you here again next year. Keep on the good fight.
TIME (12th grade):
It’s amazing how quickly time passes. It feels like only yesterday that I was walking through Parkland’s doors, nervous and uncertain about what the future beheld. Oh, wait…that WAS yesterday, walking in for my IB History Exam… But seriously. It is amazing how quickly these four years have been. Everything seems a blur, as I reach the end of my high school career. I know many of you can relate in some form or another. Instruments have been mastered, sports have been conquered, classes have been covered in the blink of an eye. Incredible bonds have been formed. Lasting friendships have been made. Loves have been found, lost, and found again. Memories have been created, identities have been discovered, and our past, present, and future have all been shaped in four, three, even one year for some of you. And what is the single thread that has connected these things? The single resource that has abounded, or actually lacked? It is time. As our time in school draws to a close, I’ve been considering this ephemeral concept more and more. Time in itself is essential, but even more so is what we do with our time and how we manage it. Now, I’m not going to say that the secret to success is to spend every moment studying and striving to do well in school. It’s obvious that we’ve managed our time well enough to have gotten to this level. However, if there is one thing I do regret, it is this: I am a guitarist, I write poetry, and I used to draw extensively. Had it not been for all the time I’ve spent fretting about the future, playing video games and watching TV putting off what I truly wanted to master because “I always had tomorrow,” I would’ve been much more skilled than I am now. As my journey through high school with my friends and loved ones is drawing to a close and a chapter in my life is about to close, I’ve realized that the only time we have assured is today. Harvey MacKay once said: “Time is free, but it's priceless. You can't own it, but you can use it. You can't keep it, but you can spend it. Once you've lost it you can never get it back.” So I say to all of you: Consider the value of time and make the fullest of it. Use the time to discover who you are, what you truly want, and never leave for tomorrow what you can do today. Sure, work hard, but also take the time to explore a new interest, spend quality time with friends and family. Time is limited, so explore your passions to the fullest. If you want to try something new, if you want to talk to someone new, if you have something you feel you should do, do it, and don’t put it off.
Now, for the upperclassmen. We have seen how much we have accomplished in these short four years. Sure, our time in high school may be drawing to a close, but we have a long and bright future ahead of us. As we enter a new stage in our lives, and this goes to everyone too, we must make sure never to settle for mediocrity. H. Jackson Brown once said, “Don't say you don't have enough time. You have exactly the same number of hours per day that were given to Helen Keller, Pasteur, Michaelangelo, Mother Teresa, Leonardo da Vinci, Thomas Jefferson, and Albert Einstein,” I’m not saying you have to set out to be an Einstein or a Mother Teresa…I know I don’t want to be a nun…The point is, we have accomplished so much in just four years, and now we have at least ten times that amount ahead of us! We have the time to accomplish what we want, and as we enter adulthood we will have the freedom to pursue our goals. Remember, it is never too late to start something new, and it is never too soon to accomplish your goal. So as our time here draws to a close, remember to always keep sight of your dreams, and never let them take a backseat because you’ve “settled down,” “ran out of time,” or are “too busy.” Well, my time has run out, so I leave you with MLK’s words, “The time is always right to do what is right.”
First my valedictorian speech:
http://www.youtube.com/user/ragrillo1#p/a/u/1/9zkJsCmbvzs
And my speech for the Latino Diamante Award:
http://www.youtube.com/user/ragrillo1#p/u/0/z85leiRdHTg
Now two in print, from the Parkland Honors Banquets:
KEEP ON THE GOOD FIGHT (11th grade):
What a long, strange road we’ve traveled on. In the search for knowledge and accomplishments, we’ve gone through many highs and lows. We’ve met new people, made many friends, and have had more enriching experiences in high school than ever before. As I look back, I’ve seen how much my life has changed, as well as those around me, in such few years. I remember when I came in to Paisley in the ninth grade, very eager to succeed. High school at first seemed like such a new experience, and I worked hard to be the best I could be. In the ninth and tenth grade I learned more about the real world, but also just how hard school can be. My class for the ninth and tenth grade was very small, so I made very close connections to people. These friendships have lasted for quite a while, through the thick and thin. I can name a few in this very room, and I would like to just thank them for being there for me before going on. The eleventh grade brought about brand new challenges. A new school, new people, new teachers, new obstacles. As I’m sure many of you agree with, 11th grade IB has been the most indomitable challenge ever…heck, 11th grade in general. Our energies have run low, and many of us have been on the verge of giving up, but we never did, did we? And thus, we have been brought here. I am proud of being here with each and every one of you. We have worked hard to be in this level of success, and it has paid off. Now, I know how many of you feel. What’s the point of doing all this stressful work for what may feel as an elusive reward, too far off into the future to be worth it at all? Why do so much for what may sometimes seem to be nothing? I myself have been faced with many of the same questions, and some of you know just how angry I can get at times with all the stress. But, let me tell my class one thing. There is only one more year left to go. As for the seniors, you only have till the end of the school year. There is very little left to go. Let’s not spoil it. To those of you in the ninth and tenth grade, keep striving to succeed, and don’t give up despite what you may feel at times, because, in the end, it will pay off. By being here, by succeeding in school, we have proven our worth to our teachers, to our school, to the world, and most importantly, to ourselves. With every accomplishment we make, academic success being one of them, we are opening a myriad of doors to new possibilities and to significant success. I applaud you all for showing just how talented and capable you are just how capable our generation is of excellence. Thanks to today’s society and technology, we can make a greater impact on our world than any previous generation. But to do this, we must never give up. The best way to prove ourselves, to demonstrate our superiority, and to “stick it to the man” as you may say, is by showing just how well we can play their game, and how we can go so far as to create our own rules. Let’s show the world how it’s done, and let’s keep going with this string of triumphs. Our future is near, and we have the power to make it a success. We are already well on our way to our goals; let’s make it all the way. Now, before babbling off like my usual self, let me leave you all with a final quote, “In a world filled with hate, we must still dare to hope. In a world filled with despair, we must still dare to dream. And in a world filled with distrust, we must still dare to believe.” So let us keep believing in ourselves, dreaming of and striving for success, and reaching for the stars. I hope to see each and every one of you here again next year. Keep on the good fight.
TIME (12th grade):
It’s amazing how quickly time passes. It feels like only yesterday that I was walking through Parkland’s doors, nervous and uncertain about what the future beheld. Oh, wait…that WAS yesterday, walking in for my IB History Exam… But seriously. It is amazing how quickly these four years have been. Everything seems a blur, as I reach the end of my high school career. I know many of you can relate in some form or another. Instruments have been mastered, sports have been conquered, classes have been covered in the blink of an eye. Incredible bonds have been formed. Lasting friendships have been made. Loves have been found, lost, and found again. Memories have been created, identities have been discovered, and our past, present, and future have all been shaped in four, three, even one year for some of you. And what is the single thread that has connected these things? The single resource that has abounded, or actually lacked? It is time. As our time in school draws to a close, I’ve been considering this ephemeral concept more and more. Time in itself is essential, but even more so is what we do with our time and how we manage it. Now, I’m not going to say that the secret to success is to spend every moment studying and striving to do well in school. It’s obvious that we’ve managed our time well enough to have gotten to this level. However, if there is one thing I do regret, it is this: I am a guitarist, I write poetry, and I used to draw extensively. Had it not been for all the time I’ve spent fretting about the future, playing video games and watching TV putting off what I truly wanted to master because “I always had tomorrow,” I would’ve been much more skilled than I am now. As my journey through high school with my friends and loved ones is drawing to a close and a chapter in my life is about to close, I’ve realized that the only time we have assured is today. Harvey MacKay once said: “Time is free, but it's priceless. You can't own it, but you can use it. You can't keep it, but you can spend it. Once you've lost it you can never get it back.” So I say to all of you: Consider the value of time and make the fullest of it. Use the time to discover who you are, what you truly want, and never leave for tomorrow what you can do today. Sure, work hard, but also take the time to explore a new interest, spend quality time with friends and family. Time is limited, so explore your passions to the fullest. If you want to try something new, if you want to talk to someone new, if you have something you feel you should do, do it, and don’t put it off.
Now, for the upperclassmen. We have seen how much we have accomplished in these short four years. Sure, our time in high school may be drawing to a close, but we have a long and bright future ahead of us. As we enter a new stage in our lives, and this goes to everyone too, we must make sure never to settle for mediocrity. H. Jackson Brown once said, “Don't say you don't have enough time. You have exactly the same number of hours per day that were given to Helen Keller, Pasteur, Michaelangelo, Mother Teresa, Leonardo da Vinci, Thomas Jefferson, and Albert Einstein,” I’m not saying you have to set out to be an Einstein or a Mother Teresa…I know I don’t want to be a nun…The point is, we have accomplished so much in just four years, and now we have at least ten times that amount ahead of us! We have the time to accomplish what we want, and as we enter adulthood we will have the freedom to pursue our goals. Remember, it is never too late to start something new, and it is never too soon to accomplish your goal. So as our time here draws to a close, remember to always keep sight of your dreams, and never let them take a backseat because you’ve “settled down,” “ran out of time,” or are “too busy.” Well, my time has run out, so I leave you with MLK’s words, “The time is always right to do what is right.”
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Reflections I
The search for truth is something undertaken by all of us. Yet some push the boundaries of this search further than others, not just pleasing themselves with what is needed to get around through life but rather what comprises life, what's our purpose here, and so on. The answers to these questions lead to a sense of nihilism in certain cases...moreover when dealing with more pertinent questions as to the meaning of it all, what makes right, and whether there is salvation. More often than not, these questions have NO answer, at least none perceivable to us humans, leading to ...even more frustration. However, it is the same pursuit of knowledge that is necessary to reach the most pragmatic solutions to things,to advance society, and so on. One is then taken to a choice: Whether to seek truth and progress society, usually at the expense of one's comfort and contentment, or to remain, in a sense, blissfully ignorant. Here comes the rub: Do we sacrifice some of our own comfort, our own happiness, for the greater good, or do we wait around waiting for what may or may not be, but capable of being more content?
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