Comfortable Luxury, or Deranged Asylum?

Some people have said before upon reading it for the first time, "The Yellow Wallpaper" carries this ominous atmosphere about it that makes it quite similar to that of a silent horror story. In a certain perspective, they actually presume correct about this, but are only half-correct in their presumption.

The reason why that is said is because too many people presume that is because they are quick to presume that the "figures in the wallpaper" are just mere hauntings of the mansion, like a remnant of malevolence or insanity left behind by its previous inhabitants. Perhaps this was the author's intent in order to establish a more elaborated purpose to her tale than what she lets on. That happens to bring to mind one other very important matter: who do you suppose those previous inhabitants were, in fact? After all, it's not like they didn't leave behind traces of their presence there at the mansion. The biggest example of those traces is the jagged rips in the yellow wallpaper that allow it to flap side to side in the wind. How did those rips get there? The narrator describes them as something left behind from the children who used to play in the nursery.

However, could it have been possible that they weren't just children after all? Could there have been another victim like the narrator imprisoned inside that very room: whose thoughts and bearings were held down by the "love" of the ones that cared for them? Well, the only one who'd know the answer to that question is the author herself.

This can imply, however, that the author was not simply illustrating the pains of her own life, but perhaps the emotional pains of every woman in that time period. It would be no surprise if it were, because back in the time when the author lived, every woman lived under some sense of subordination to their loved ones, and that came with a certain sense of restriction on their own emotions and thoughts.

Companionship is something desirable among every person, which is why they carry so much hope to be able to express their own feelings to another. If that sort of hope was denied to people, how much of a burden could have been put on them as a result of that? It's like being a sheep chained to a stake in the ground, extending only 5 meters outward, surrounded by grass. The sheep will be able to eat within its own bounds, but what happens when all of that is gone? Naturally, there will be some beyond its bounds, and they'll struggle and struggle until their chains are broken where they can finally satisfy themselves for as much as they want.

In the same way, people hunger to express themselves. Denying them the right to express their thoughts and feelings is nothing more than torture to them until the soundness of their hearts withers away. Therefore, only oneself can judge how far they can express themselves. Through this way, people find hope for their future, and the future itself carries change within that hope.

The Snake in the Grass

Everyone has their own weaknesses when it comes to pleasurable desires they know aren't at all beneficial to their well-being. In turn, they devote so much effort to become the person they desire to be, into their own personal hero. However, the human resolve is still so fragile that even the strongest or the most reputable people in the world cannot even resist the strongest of their temptations, whatever they might be. Be it sweets, arrogance, showing that occasional irritant who's boss, everyone has a certain weakness that they put effort into avoiding. But one's will can only go so far before it becomes completely drawn into the snake's coils, and that is the moment when it becomes the point of no return.

"Young Goodman Brown" shows this within a man, an ordinary resident of a Puritan society, well respected by his neighbors, hence his title. And yet, his companion with the snake staff draws him into a forest of shadows, ultimately leading to his shocking revelation that everyone he had known, the priests, the governor, his ancestors, carried an evil within them all. That in itself is temptation that leads to the commitment of evil. Because temptation lies in the heart of every soul, it becomes the evidence that everyone has evil somewhere in their hearts, something that not even the greatest saints could escape.

That evil is never going to leave, and neither will people have the power to banish it from their own hearts. All they can do is continue to build their own resolve, and hope that their faith is stronger than the snake's coils, because just because we are bound to make mistakes on account of temptation doesn't mean we do not have the power to oppose it. Stay true to oneself, and people may find that the heroic image they've been looking for was just right around a corridor in their heart.

How Long Will a Road Last?

Reading "A Worn Path" by Eudora Welty has given me so much insight into the understanding and into a more in-depth comprehension of the true extent of the nature of love.

Phoenix Jackson, an elderly Negro woman, often takes a strenuous journey in order to retrieve medicine for her ailing grandson, who apparently swallowed some lye. To do so, she braves a forest that makes her fearful of its dangers, struggles through bushes that catch her dress, makes her way through a maze of corn, then travels down the simple road leading to her destination. All the while, she hardly ever depended on her eyes to guide her through this trek, only her feet.

It's implied she's made the journey several times before, as one of the clinic workers recognizes her as a habitual visitor for the medicine. In the end of this journey, however, she uses the only two nickels she received in her possession to buy a pinwheel to take back to her grandson. Through her struggles, her determination, and her recurring habit to make the journey several times over, no one can deny the deep love she feels for her grandson.

However, when I heard in class that Welty replied to a letter inquiring about the fate of the grandson, Welty's response was "Phoenix is alive." Putting the pieces together, I realized that the grandson was indeed deceased, and all Phoenix was doing was all for no further benefit to him. But how about for her?

With her grandson dead, Phoenix never had to make such a difficult journey to receive medicine for him. However, her persistence to do so just shows how much her love for her grandson is worth to her, so much so that she have up two nickles for a pinwheel for him when she could have saved the money for herself. Death may have put her grandson to rest, but it is otherwise for her love for him, and remains ever so strongly as if he were alive. It goes to show that nothing could ever shatter true love, not even death itself. Time may cause it to wear, age, and wither in its appearance, but it is an eternal treasure to Phoenix, and her appearance and struggles serve as a remembrance of that love, never ceasing. It is just like a worn path: worn, aged, crumbled, and yet it is still there, which also reminds us of those who first walked that path, and those who built it. Even if it were to be buried under several layers of earth, foliage, or snow, its presence is eternal.

I quote, not word by word, from our class discussion: "Love, like a worn path, is shown to be eternal in its nature, making every effort to brave the trials that awaits it, receiving scars, wearing away, and crumbling like dust, and yet in its quiet solace, it is there, still supporting everything that treads its earth. In fact, the degree to which the path has worn away serves as a true remembrance to its builder that it has bravely overcome both the test of trial and time."

And so, I have a question for everyone who reads:
By the time your final moments draw near, how worn will your path be?

I Traversed the Chilled Desert For You

Every day I dream, dream of an enchanting, bountiful oasis
With fruits of plenty to eat my fill, crystal water to revitalize
Upon dusk, I would stare into the desert sky with starlit laces
Then turning, your glamorous lights could only hypnotize

My feet take flight, once more returning to the night-chilled sand
I give it my all in a hurry, stumbling, falling, then stumbling again
Keeping my eyes to you, hoping to embrace, I reach out my hand
Wait for me, my beloved, I'll be there in a moment soon, as I can

Within few bounds' distance, I hear your call for me, it reaches my ears
I'm nearly there, what could happen now, what need is there for fears?

But in a moment's glance, the shadow of the night takes you, you and your beauty
And what I find, it's quite the cruel parting gift, mundane tea cups, not rose-colored glasses
All I do is just stand here, at our suppose rendezvous, my arranged and committed duty
Chilled by the desert wind, now I can only wonder why I chose you instead of my classes

The narrator of "Araby" is quite the interesting character, paralleling his affections for a girl to a curiosity for an exotic country. However, instead of that exuberant atmosphere of a rambunctious marketplace, there lies only a solemn silence in a dark, deserted square. One reality of life is that love is sometimes, more often than not, cruel when it smacks you in the face with reality when you're wandering around a daydream. Then all that remains is a dejected attitude and regrets over having fallen in love.

Death Before Dishonor

In Japan, one of the biggest and most significant aspects of their culture is their sensitive nature towards the topic of pride and dignity in both oneself and their family. However, pride also just happens to be the last of the seven deadly sins, but also surprisingly the worst of them all. Of course, Japan had not been exposed to such teachings, and thus adapted a form of culture of their own: one that was based solely off the pride of one's own existence and the legacies they leave behind. Thus, the traditional ceremony of suicide by gutting oneself, also known as seppuku, was rooted into its culture. It's no surprise as why pride is often considered the worst of the "deadly" sins, seen especially within Japanese culture.

In Ishiguro's "A Family Supper," the story is introduced with the traditional background of a fish called fugu, which contains a poison in its body that is extremely lethal to those who are not cautious with the gutting procedure of a fish. It then goes on to reveal that the mother of the protagonist of this story, a Japanese boy who had left his parents some time ago, had died a victim of the fugu's poison. Sometime later, it is revealed by Kikuko that her death was no accident, but was of direct intent (suicide) because of concerns that plagued her mind regarding how she raised her son, implying her worries were all a matter of pride. In addition, the father of the family had stated he once served in the war before, but was turned down his chance of joining the air force like he previously desired, all for the sake of being given the opportunity to use the "final weapon," if necessary (Johnson 138). This heavily implies that both parents were victim to the traditional character of Japanese pride, ultimately leading the father to kill his entire family with fugu poisoning.

Japan thinks rather too much about its pride rather than the value of life itself, who believe that when pride is soiled, the only way to remove the blemishes is to send it to oblivion itself. How could one be so willing to take their own life, and all because of some mistakes they have made in their life? In the case of Watanabe, he supposedly saw it as the only form of escape from the shock of the downfall of his corporation. As the son's father described, "He didn't want to live with the disgrace" (Johnson 134). Coincidentally, this has more similarity to how people view suicide today, and that is as a form of the "ultimate escape" from their grievances. People at first try to ease the pain of their troubles by turning to "material pleasures" such as alcohol and drugs, by which they believe provides them comfort in their troubles, but material objects can only last for so long. It wouldn't be long before they considered suicide as their only form of escape, a way to end oneself, and with it, the emotional pains that plague the heart.

In the end, it is how people respond to their troubles, their grievances, and their mistakes, that truly tests how strong their heart is. It becomes the test of their character. There are those who strive to learn from their mistakes, all for the better improvement of oneself. There are those who brush off their troubles as if there was no worry to them at all. And sadly, there are those who just wish to escape from the disgrace of it all through the solemn resolve of ending one's own life. The son had been blind to the pride his parents had been victim to, "it was dark" for him to see any of it, while his father was very aware of their family pride. It probably would have been better if all of the family had been an image of the son and had ignored the pride in their hearts.

If only Japan, in addition to all people who struggle with their conflicts, could see today how much better life would be if they would only learn and realize that mistakes are inevitable, including the large ones, and that they have to move on from them and just strive to obtain a better future rather than dwelling on the past. Doing so, there'd be no need for the pride that is rooted in everyone somehow. Pride would be silent in their hearts, and the rest that remains is hope.