Response to "I See Me" poem

This seems to be a pretty dark poem, but then again, I remember writing things that were this dark and depressing in high school and junior high, too. There was that one in eighth grade that was really dark and just a stream of consciousness. It was really good. Probably my favorite thing I ever wrote. Too bad it got lost in the shuffle of one of the moves.

Being a teenager isn't a fun time. Sure there are a lot of fun times and you basically have permission to be an idiot - but, you're alos becoming you - and that's not an easy thing. Especially when you are constantly bombarded with photos of what society deems as perfect and correct. So, it gets into your head that that image is what you should be.

That even holds true for adults. You're always feeling like you need to look the ads - but we know they aren't real. They're photoshopped - or they're plastic. What could actually be seen as more disturbing, though, is that we've become OK with that as a society. E preach that it matters what's on the inside, but I truly believe that this is a case of actions speaking louder than words. We say that, but we continue to show different "ideals."

Look at all the fad diets. The quick fixes. Society - and by that I mean all of us - is saying we need to be skinny.

But it hasn't always been that way. Marilyn Monroe was curvy. Bridgette Bardot definitely wasn't asking and bones. But at some point, stick thin because the ideal. I'm lucky because I got good genes. But that also doesn't mean it makes it any easier for me.

******

When I first read this, I read it as someone looking at themselves in a mirror, but then a student said he thought it was about a bo looking into a girl's eyes. Once he said that, I could completely see that. That is one thing I love about teaching - when students have a chance to make me able to see things differently. It's a teachable moment for me and helps me grow. This is also a great example of how our personal schema and thoughts/experiences affect how we interpret things in clases - and life. It is all about how you frame things; either choice wasn't right and it wasn't wrong - it just was.

******

This person must have a significant amount of self loathing, though, when they ened it by saying that they hate that they always see "me." It makes me wonder whether they are upset about something they've done to the person they are looking at or if they just don't have enough confidence in themselves. If it is the former, it makes me question the person they are looking at. Or is "Jay" beating himself up unnecessarily about something he's done. Is he blowing it out of proportion? Or is it something that truly is horrible. If it is truly horrible, then the other peson should leave. Vamoose. They shouldn't suffer because someone else is a moron or rude or abusive. Everyone is better than that and deserves more than that.

As I read through this for the fight time today, I notice that the subject of the poem does indeed have some self-esteem issues. This could explain why she's staying with this person. Now, I'm also getting the idea that the narrator is the one who causes all the pain an suffering in her life. Now, though, I'm wondering why the narrator doesn't try to improve himself if he is so unhappy about how he hates what he sees.

The Day Everything Changed

*This one is from a few weeks ago when we wrote about 9/11.

I didn't believe it at first.

She called after 8 to tell me small planes had hit the World Trade Towers in NYC. It didn't seem like that big of deal at that point. small planes weren't that big of deal. Besides, I had another 15 minutes before my alarm went off.

My mind set changed completely when I got out of the shower. My stereo was on like it was every morning; but instead of the normal Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Foo Fighters coming from the speakers - it was news.

Did they seriously just say that the Pentagon had been hit? What was going on? I stood there dripping in my robe and turned on the TV. I couldn't believe the images being shown.

This couldn't be happening.

I still headed to campus because it seemed like the only logical thing to do. It was all we talked about in criminology, but he did let us out early because we needed to process.

I was in a fog. This was unreal; I was still mourning my mom. I couldn't handle this yet. But I needed to hear normal voices. I called Sarah. It helped a little, but she was frantic. We were all frantic. I started trying to call my dad - no answer.

Classes were being canceled all over the place - but not mine. This was the perfect time to go over how to cover this and how to deal with this horrific attack. So, instead of getting to go home, I was stuck in the basement of wAlter williams digging through plane information based on tail wings.

I headed home, having to weave the car through the lines of cars that poured out of the gas stations.

Still couldn't get in touch with Dad. Constant busy signal.

Odd thoughts started going through my head. Just a week ago, we were flying back from Orange County. If this had happened just one week earlier, I would have been stuck there.

Finally got home. The answering machine was blinking. Had to be Dad.

Nope. Cicely.

"I just want you to know I love you because it doesn't get said enough. So, I love you."

So - my best friend calls, I have tons of emails from other people - but no word from my dad.

I try again.

Busy.

He's talking to HER. Once again; she's stolen him.

I finally get through. He's mad because I interrupted the call.

I say fine and sorry that his only daughter wanted to talk to him on the day that the world appears to be going to Hell. I say good by, hang up, and realize that we truly have no relationship now all thanks to her.

*******

This was the day I realized the importance of my future career. It was up to us to start filtering/sifting through all of this nonsense to make sense of it. In all honesty, we had no time to process it. We may have only been student journalists, but that was no excuse. WE had a paper and newscasts to get out.

And so we did.

We sifted throughs tories. Got a crash course in various Middle Eastern subjects. Afghan vs. Afghani. Explaining why there were various spellings of Bin Laden's name and al-Qaeda. Learning how to fit Afghanistan in a headline with ease.

And the pictures.

They were heart wrenching. Horrific. Telling.

Some of those photos never say the light of day in any publication because they were just too much. It's not like we didn't see enough anyway.

It was the start of the constant ticker on the news feeds. And every channel was a news feed. No ESPN. No MTV. No CW. No FX. NOthing but news. And that ticker. Constantly updating us - even though there were no real updates. Little did we know that ticker was never going away.

Slowly, stories came together. But after a while, they all blended in to one. By the weekend, it was time for something else - but there was nothing else. No football game to go to. No sports. Just news.

I started watching Telemundo. Despite not knowing much Spanish beyond Donde es el Bano? I could understand what the anchors and reports were saying because they were saying the EXACT same thing everyone else was saying on EVERY other channel. It just wasn't in English this time.

There was no escape. People who weren't even there were going into a depressive state because of all the coverage. Sometimes I wonder if it was too much simply because there was no escape from it because there was no other programming.

Looking back, I don't even think we understood it then. Strike that - I know we didn't understand it. It was too much. too odd. Too foreign. It was common to hear phrases like "This doesn't happen to us." Because it didn't We had been lucky - but that luck also bit us in the butt because we felt safe. As much as feeling scared sucks, it is now a lot less likely for something of this magnitude to happen to us again.

Lunch stress

Lunch ... such a social strata.

In high school, you wanted to make sure that you had your 5th hour class with at least one of your friends ... preferably more than just one because you'd be screwed if they were sick. Trying to find other people to sit with ... not fun. it was so much easier in elementary when you sat with your class. No standing there looking for people. You just went. You'd think it would get better when you got to college - but then it was three meals of standing and looking for people. Breakfast was a pop tart from quick service because you weren't getting up any earlier than you needed to. Lunch was usually a sandwich from there because no one else was back from class. There were days you'd all meet somewhere on campus, but with study schedules and those pesky classes, that didn't always work either.

Dinner, though, was carefully and meticulously planned. What time? Which dining hall? Was it chicken fingers night at Down Under? Because we couldn't miss that - EVER. It also had to be carefully planned because you had to get there before the football players did. Otherwise, you'd be waiting forever for them to restock the food. I remember some girls being jealous I was in the same dorm as the football boys, but really, in times like that - it was just a pain in the rear. I did not handle not having Froot Loops to eat because Mr. O-Linesman decided he needed four bowls. Pig.

Even now when we get the master schedule, we're scrambling to see what lunch we have and who is in it. Groans erupt when it isn't your preferred time spot. Sympathies go out to the lone male stuck with a bunch of females. And those of us in C lunch know that if there's treats in the lounge, we need to find a way to sash some because goodness knows there won't be any left for us. As soon as anything homemade or chocolately gets placed on that table, it's inhaled within a few minutes. We're more vulturelike than human at that point.



*This was a freewrite. I started the day writing about different things that were stressing me out, and then the lunch ramble jumped out. So, it shows you that it is typical to have very random freewrites!

Listening to Hannah's tapes

I would have a hard time continuing to listen to Hannah's tapes - especially knowing that i was one of the reasons someone had decided to take their own life. I think curiosity would win out, though. I would want to know why I was at fault. And, I'd want to make sure that my reason wasn't horrible. And, to be honest, I'd also want to make sure that I wasn't the worst reason. If I was the 13th reason, though, I"m not sure how I'd handle that knowledge. That would be tough to deal with on a daily basis. I don't know how I'd deal with it actually. It would come with a lot of guilt attached to it.

Then, there'd be the question of whether I'd tell someone "important" or someone with authority about it. It would be a tough decision. Would I want to implicate myself? Of course, I wonder what they'd even do with it. Would it bring the family more closure/more comfort? Or would it be like Dylan Klebold's mom after having read his journals - more guilt because they didn't know they pain and suffering their daughter was going through. I think it would be a Catch 22.

You'd want to listen with the hop that it brought closure, but what if it just brought more pian? That wouldn't be helpful to the healing process, which would be just as important - if not more since you'd still be dealing with the decision that your loved one made. But what if there was something on there that could hep others choose to not commit suicide?

Hannah never made the rule that one of the listeners couldn't make the tapes public. So wat if one of the "reasons" decided to do that and outed everyone on the tapes? Would that be worth it? How would the others react? Wouldn't it be a type of karma? They caused her death so others should know why they were to blame. Of course, that could cause more backlash for you. The others could retaliate. I wonder if there could be legal action they could take. I suppose defamation, but again, what was being said would be true. There is, though, the issue of perspective. What if the person who had committed suicide just read into things too much? But that's the big issue with our words - we never know how someone will perceive them. Just because we have one meaning behind them doesn't mean they'll be take that way.

I suppose that's part of the point of this book: Be careful what you say. The old saying "sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me" has never really been true. Words sting - especially when you hear them over and over again. They're also more painful when you know they aren't true, but no one wants to listen to the truth because they've already accepted the wrong reality based on what they've heard. And then it goes viral and doesn't stop. If you repeat something enough, it becomes truth no matter its actual validity. It's public perception and that's worse than anything else.

Response to Austin Tice article on being afraid

I don't think we consider too mucha bout how brave we are as a nation. Of course, there are still brave individuals - Andrew Tice is an example of that. But in general - are we really pioneering and willing to risk it all to continue to discover? To do what's right? I'm not sure.

I do think he has a point that we don't fight for truly nobel reasons any more. WWII was definitely a noble cause - although no one realized how noble until they started discovering the work compas/the concentration camps. STill, it was greatly understood that Hitler was pure evil. And those who VOLUNTEERED, understood they were putting their lives in danger and that they may not come home alive. And yet, people still volunteered in droves until the end. Tehy weren't afraid to die - they knew what happened at the beaches on D-Day, and yet they still signed up. Lied about their age so they could go fight Hitler or even Mussolini or Tojo. Now, the Armed Forces struggle to get enough enlistment numbers. Sure, it was no problem right after September 11, but even a year later - numbers dropped - and they keep dropping. Too often people now join because they don't know what to do; can't get a job; can't get into school. Too often they aren't joining to be Patriotic or to fight for this amazing country; they're just there because it is their last - and maybe only option. They aren't brave. Many times they just want to show that they are manly and brave and want to be "tough and strong." They're not serving our country - they're serving themselves.

We have become complacent; we take our freedoms for granted. And actually, before Sept. 11 - we thought we were untouchable - that nothing like that could happen to us. It was a wake up call, but a wake up call that didn't last long enough. We still think that we're untouchable and that we are right. We aren't always right. Sometimes we use our cowardice, hide behind it and become the big bully. We do this every time we put a new leader in place. Sometimes we do more harm than good. After WWII, and even during the end of it, we were seen as the good guys. That knight in shining armor. Now, we're not. We're rude, crude, obese and unwanted. As a nation, we need to take a deep look inside and see what went wrong to change that perception.

I think once we find what changed that perception and work on getting back to being the "good" guys instead of the perceived big bullies - we'll realize what went wrong. While Capitalism lets us live the American dream, I also think that it is what makes us complacent - lazy. Fat. Greedy. We don't look out for the greater good anymore - we look for the better "me." We don't care if others are struggling or suffering - as long as we're OK and happy that's all that matters. However, if we look out for others, Chances are that all of us will be better off. The base will be stronger, better formed, which is beneficial to us all. Looking to pull up the others is going to make everyone's arms stronger.

Austin has the gust he's writing about. But he is not doing this for the glory - he's doing this to get the story out. He's doing what too few journalists are willing to do. He is honestly trying to make a difference through telling other people's stories. But hes' not looking for the safe easy one He's flown halfway around the world to get out the untold story. And yet, most news outlets here are too scared and chicken to publish it. It's not pretty' it's not safe; it's doesn't come in a nice, neat little package. It's not what American's want to hear because we aren't brave enough to face the truth in the world and look at the nasty stuff that could infiltrate our lives. Instead, give us the happy. The fake. The bloated. The shiny. The plastic.