Back to cribs and dolls

Through our childhood, my sister and I have always been captivated by the joys of stuffed animals and dolls. We created our own wonderland, fabricating adventures that we experienced alongside our collection of toys. We traversed the menacing lands of make-believe while breathing life into the inanimate toys. Max, the brave and charming husky was our champion guiding everyone in exploration of our desolate basement. We used a whiteboard in visualization of our imagination,  drawing the foreign planets we visited and the endless skies we soared. Our time as children and our wild joyous adventures have always held a sacred place in my memory. 

Today, our companions who we've had so many experiences with have all lost their spots in the physical world. Many have gone missing, have been broken, or been tossed out into the trash. Max, the once loved hero of our stories, now sits in some tucked away box, torn and stained through mishandling. Yet here's the thing, none of the physical things matter because all of our experiences existed as an addition to reality; it never bothered us if one of our animals had lost an ear because our imagination could always fill in the gaps and small errors of reality. 

Currently, in our hypercritical society, even our wonderfully treasured childhood cannot escape the judgment. Prager makes a convincing argument on the effects that Barbie has had on the younger generations. She notices all the mechanical design errors that might've been purposeful in Barbie's creation: her breasts are proportionally far too large to be realistic, her skin is perfectly shaded in one color and completely hairless, and she lacks all the softness associated with feminity.

Despite all the rhetoric, I have to make a case for Barbie. To my sister and I, Barbie was never the symbol for over-sexualization, but a friend and companion we traveled with. We never noticed the peculiar features of Barbie and we've certainly never even compared Barbie to any real life person. Prager argues that Barbie is a symbol for male domination, but in our world, she was a strong-willed charismatic leader for the other toys. And to argue that "Barbie and Ken could never make love"(Prager 355) was complete and utter silliness. For all we cared, Barbie and Ken could love each other as much as they desired, because sex was never a part of it. 

I can feel my inner child get angry with the criticism of Barbie, who at the time was such a close and dear friend. Such harsh criticism of a character held so sacred in memory is almost insulting to childhood. As children, we were always more focused on the fictional world of make believe rather than the concrete physical properties of our toys. Certainly, we never noticed the over exaggeration of Barbie and never believed that she had any malicious intent. Even as children, we knew that toys were never meant to be a reflection on reality. 

It's almost silly that we are so openly nit-picky with our critiques. We formulate our judgment in rapid fashion, arguing convincingly that pink elephants don't represent reality enough, batman's incredible physique is causing the loss of self-esteem in young men, or even that all the toys in our market are subtly brainwashing children into agreeing with commercialism. Even Jesus, who was tortured and crucified didn't judge the Romans who killed him as much as we are judging the toys that our children enjoy. 

Once upon a time, innocence reigned supreme and creativity and openness were valued above the constraining, binding rules so easily offended. Maybe the apocalypse won't be caused by zombies or mass warfare, but might be induced by the six-inch tall plastic dolls which so cruelly represent the underlying evils of society. My childish argument would've screamed for people to stop being so serious and that such petty things don't matter. Hopefully, that didn't offend too many people. 

Appreciation

Before he knew life, my grandpa stared at the face of death. Innocently unaware of the dangers, he curiously reached his hand out grabbing at the gun muzzle pointed at his head. His eyes shone with childish wonder, in stark contrast with the dreary, deadly eyes of the Japanese soldier hoisting the gun. Sweat oiled the soldier's forehead, as his index finger touched the trigger softly, teasing it. 

The war had dragged on for far too long, and the soldier had lost the ability to distinguish between the living and the dead, bloodshed had clouded his sense of judgment. Whatever sympathy and morals he carried into the war had long since been lost; he long forgot the purpose of the war, except to follow the directions of the higher-ups and shoot at any Chinese man that crossed his path. 

Alas, something tugged his heart when he saw the boy smile and play with the weapon which could've blown apart his head. The boy's mother came running and when she saw the soldier, she dropped to her knees, weeping and begging for the soldier to spare their lives. He could've so easily killed them, just as he had killed so many others before them, a light tug on the trigger would've done it. But that smile stopped him. The undeniable innocence of the boy drew from his scarce reserve of sympathy and he decided to give them life. He retreated back leaving my family unharmed. 

I owe my life to that man. A sudden gust of wind might've been enough to cause him to pull the trigger and take away everything I know. Things could've been so easily different. 

My grandpa didn't have it easy growing up. Though he was lucky enough to make it out of the war alive, it was a different story for the majority of his family. The war devastated mainland China, millions were dead, food was scarce, and people were left to fend for themselves. 

My mom told me tales of herself rummaging through grandpa's medicine cabinet because of just how badly she was starving. 

It's been quite a leap from my grandpa's time to my generation. In just a few decades, everything has changed. The worries shifted from hoping to find enough food to eat to worrying about if the right kind of cereal is in the cabinet. The troubles of the past seem so distant that even those in my family who survived it are slowly forgetting. Their previous enthusiasm and appreciation for just finding a house to live in slowly diminished and changed into distaste for any apparent discomforts. 

I can see this happening so clearly with my own family. When I was younger, my parents took special care in eating food slowly, savoring each bite of what they could've only dreamed of in their past life. They looked over furniture carefully to make sure everything was clean and safe. My sister and I watched over our stuffed animals carefully(we only had a few) and rejoiced when another could be added to our collection. In general, we were pretty thankful people. 

Today, our house is filled with constant complaints. The house is always too warm or cold, the food we're served is never the right taste, and the newest devices are always too slow to function. When I stop myself to truly think about my childish complaints, I can see foolishness of my annoyances, and I can't help but feel "some kind of guilt about having had an easier life than [my parents] did"(Spiegelman). I wonder how much my grandpa would've wished to live the life we are currently living. 

It only takes a second to acknowledge all the pleasures of modern life, yet so many people are dissatisfied. It should seem that it's almost a duty for use to appreciate the abundance of goodness that so many before us died for. Perhaps the paradise that we dream of now will only be daily life for the future. To be dissatisfied is almost an insult to the real challenges faced by those of the past. My life is in itself a stroke of luck. I only hope to use it squeeze dry all the joys my grandpa never experienced and truly breath in all the opportunities they gave to us. 

A broken past

A particularly compelling scene of Maus depicts Vladek reminiscing over his lost family members. Spiegelman questions his father on the fate of the rest of his family, only to bring up tragic memories which tear Vladek's spirit apart. In the page, the form and content meet; Vladek appears heavy-hearted as his head droops and he painfully tells the tales of his family to Spiegelman. Vladek's body spans several panels and the individual panels almost represents how the war has broken him apart into pieces. The tragic deaths of his family not only destroyed Vladek's spirit mentally, but has also physically torn him apart. 

The pictures of his family also depict something more significant. Valdek holds in his hand a snapshot of the only member of his family that survived the war. The rest of the pictures are scattered upon the floor, dead and defeated. An interesting point to note is that all the pictures face upwards as if all the lost members at least can still be remembered, even if they are dead. Unfortunately, Vladek doesn't possess any pictures of his only family, which signify that their memories are slowly being lost. Vladek's eyes can be seen looking towards the ground, searching hopefully for something lost, just something to grab onto as a physical reminder of his own family. 

The layout of the ground is also surprisingly representative of Auschwitz itself. The photo box's shape appears like the walls of Auschwitz standing upon the field. The couch's pattern also resembles the barbed wires that entrapped the prisoners. Perhaps this setup is an indicator of the destiny of the family members captured in the photos. Although they've tried to temporarily escape the confinement of Auschwitz and Nazi terror, metaphorically represented by Vladek taking out the photos, ultimately, they return to the photo box, back to the place where their bodies rest with eternal unrest. 

"From the rest of my family, it's nothing left, not even a snapshot" (Spiegelman 116)

Thinking out loud

If I were to remind myself...

Self-awareness at its most basic level is the ability to recognize and react to our inner feelings. To acknowledge moments of sadness, of joy and respond appropriately. It’s the bridging of a primal, instinctive, thoughtless lifestyle into one which we truly live. Truly living is the ultimate expression of oneself, to not just survive, but to thrive in the world. Truly engaging in the environment we’re presented with, breathing in all it’s opportunities, taking part in all the various activities, and also offering every ounce of ourselves we can. A balance between taking in, and giving every fiber of our being.

It’s a jump from the mundane boring lifestyle. In every social situation, we have the option to either sit and listen, to merely observe our surrounding, or to engage fully, build real satisfying relationships, and to hold meaningful conversation. Our lives are too short to worry about the hate we might receive, for every ten meaningful conversations we can produce, we also receive ten other haters who’ll pounce at any opportunity to criticize and attempt to break you down; all a mere projection of their own jealousy and inability to produce meaning in their own lives. They’ll be sly in the way they attack. First, they’ll backtalk you, to gather others in support of their hatred of another. Then, they’ll start putting labels upon you, “a flirt”, a “player”, “desperate”, "slut", “attention seeker”. They’ll go as far to ignore you if you even attempt to form a connection with them, hoping that seeing a failed connection might deter you from further conversing with others.

To them I’ll say, if you don’t put yourself out there, one hundred percent, take opportunities that might offend others, you’re already dead. There’s hardly a difference between a ghost and those who sit on the sidelines listening, judging and throwing their unneeded opinions upon every situation. Those who wish to play things safe, not test the boundaries of social standings, and purely yell out their own jealousy at those who are thriving. Jealous upon those who dare to take risks, who thrive in a world where difference is attacked and hated, who wish themselves were the ones who could live and ingrain themselves in the fruitful world. The world is so nutritious, filled with opportunities and countless stories only waiting to be discovered. I only choose to seek the fruit of the world and gorge myself upon the joyful moments I can discover, yet there are so many who see the fruit in my hand and become angry that I’m the one who put in effort to attain it. They are angered at why their own efforts haven’t been enough to find their own fruit. They wonder why their efforts which amount to a two feet deep hole dug into the earth, haven’t been enough to uncover the jewels and diamonds buried underneath.

Let those who wish to live, live. I say this to the unsatisfied man, if you desire to become those you are so jealous of, all you need is to take heed and walk forward; the opportunities are only waiting. But if you wish to remain jealous and attempt to drag those who are thriving down with, you may as well be dead. At the very least, a ghost cannot influence the living, they cannot slow down those who seek to do great. If you are not living, then you are merely circling the starting line, and digging your own grave.

Many who set on upon the journey of self-fulfillment will undoubtedly encounter a mass of these evil men, who will see you try to take a step out of the mundane, and do everything in their power to drag you back. Take hope, because for every evil man there is, there are just as many good ones who will reach out and help you. The stress and hatred you will face will be great, but you will soon find that for each step you take, the next one will be easier. Soon enough, you’ll realize that even the hatred of a thousand men will not phase you. The farther you walk from the pull of negativity, the closer you will be to self-fulfillment. This is the journey to the paradise of fruitful opportunity and satisfaction. Each day that passes, you’ll realize that you are not aging, but you are living more and more. Even so, you’ll discover the path won’t be straightforward, sometimes you’ll start walking backwards, but each step you take back, you must walk two more steps forward. Sometimes, you’ll find yourself lost in the journey, and it’s then when you must trust in yourself to keep moving forward when the direction isn’t clear. Perhaps when you escape that forest, you might be further back on the trail, but then you’ll know how to circumvent that forest and cross it doubly as fast.

If you already see a few who have set out upon this path and are much farther than you are, do not grow jealous. You have the choice to either wish to drag the other person back, or to use him as an inspiration, follow his footsteps, to speed up your own pace to catch up.

This is the alternative to “unconsciousness, the default setting, the rat race, the constant gnawing sense of having had, and lost, some infinite thing”(Wallace).

I only wish that we could all live a little.

To bridge our divide

Our government is our leader, a guide who helps the lost regain focus. A singular entity which unites the masses, a singular voice representative of the sum of ideas within the nation. A government exists to channel the wishes of the countrymen and to take action in leading us to a hopeful tomorrow. It exists in an attempt to bridge the gap of separation and create peace in disagreement. It exists to invoke the emotions of togetherness and warmth, to place in its citizens a swelling, sizzling love for the nation.

Why then, has our government become a center of mockery? Why does the mentioning of the government arouse a feeling of discomfort and why does it bring about a set of negativity and possible hatred? Our government currently exists as a composition of failures rather than its glories. Its name no longer invokes pride among citizens and jealousy among other nations, because it is now a representation of police cruelty, a depiction of political injustice. and a painting of civil ignorance. We've come to believe that "America would not long retain her rank among the nations"(Thoreau). In its lifetime, our government has taken a dramatic turn from a center of envy to one of ridicule.

Perhaps a cause of modern distaste of our government is an apparent disconnect between the citizen and the state. As our country has grown more expansive, the citizen has forgotten his place within the government. We've lost the previous unity when we started treating the government as a separate entity rather than one who's body is composed of the citizens. We no longer feel we are the body of the government and it's much easier to hate a stranger than ourselves.

Within us, we all possess a tendency to protect ourselves. A side-effect of this desire is our humanistic wish to avoid blame. It's easy to criticize a distant government for modern issues, but truthfully, we are just as responsible for blame. Unity cannot be met one-sided, it takes both a national pursuit and a readily embracing citizen body to be acquired.

So long as we are perfect in our own minds, we have no reason to change. So long as we place the blame upon the government, which resonates the voice of all the people, our country will only know blame. A prosperous America requires civil disagreement, individual responsibility, and action to become reality. The support from all the citizens builds up a thriving government, just as a thriving government creates thriving communities; we are as much part of the government, as the government is part of us. This mutualistic relationship is required to create unity.

Maybe then, we can fully become Americans. Perhaps, we can once again be unified with the government under a single entity of citizen and state. Certainly, we will then feel pride again and wake up each morning to feel a true sense of belonging.