Tiger Mother

In 2011, Amy Chua published a book titled Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother. The book depicts the strict upbringing and endless regime the mother places on her children in order for them to succeed. From this book came the term "Tiger Mom", which students of Chinese descent often refer to their own mothers as. This piece played a stark contrast to the piece "Arm Wrestling with My Father" by Brad Manning, in which the father is the physical image that motivates his son to do well. This contrast is underscored by cultural differences. In Chinese culture, it is universal that the mother motivates the child to succeed in school to the extent that the child often contemplates running away or suicide (I wish that this was a joke. In 2011 out of 20 million students in China, 40 have committed suicide. Source: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/09/18/chinese-students-suicide-waiver_n_3948310.html). I too have felt the incessant roaring from my tiger mother to succeed in school. I find it extremely interesting how different cultures rely on different parents to raise and get the most out of their children. One possible origin of this cultural differences could be the fact that in Ancient China, women did play prominent roles within the family fabric, unlike the marginalization of woman's rights within American history. Whatever the reason for this cultural lag is, I personally appreciate my mother's compassion for my own success, even if it may get annoying at times and release an unhealthy amount of adrenocortiotropic hormone from my adrenal glands at times. But in the end, I do well in school, she's happy for my success, and I'm happy for my own success.

Some Nights

Dale Gallon's Desperate Valor, 1988 

The sun is setting 

A palette of crimson, orange, and purple 

Gloomy and ominous
Shots fired

The smell of gunpowder permeates through the air
The battlefield already marred with bodies of the fallen

A cloud of smoke

There are footsteps

The footsteps of a stampede

A gradual crescendo

The time is near, the time has come
For one, failure
One step closer to nothing
Turmoil

For the other, glory and redemption, 

One step closer to the cause

A lifestyle 

The troop emerges from the cloud of smoke

Like a stampede of horses

The bright red Confederate flag

Dances with the wind 

The commander spearheads his troop, saber in hand
His face speaks of valor
What does he stand for?

He has lived a life of pain
He has lost everything
His family
His home
His glory 

A life of struggle

All surmounting to this final charge

The chance to bring glory and redemption

To the cause he fights for
To his nation

His troop is ready
What do they stand for?

Each soldier has his own story 

Each a story of pain 

A story of suffering

Fighting for their life

Fighting for the lifestyle of their people 

One solider lost his father to a slave revolt
Another saw his village burn in a raid 

Another saw his closest companion shot by a Union soldier 

Each a different story

A different pain 

A sharp sword penetrating the heart of the soldiers

Behind the troop lies their dead companions 

Those who died fighting for their same cause 

The Union Soldier hides behind the log 

He knows his end is near 

Terrified

Looking around 

He sees the dead bodies of his companions 

What is he fighting for? 

What does he stand for? 

At this point 

He is not even sure

His enemies are fighting for their way of life

But what is he on the battlefield for?

To deny his enemies of this lifestyle? 

The lives of men he will never know or understand?
Turmoil 

His inner uncertainty stings his heart
Maybe this is all a dream
Surreal

What does he stand for?

But the end is near for this lone soldier

He thinks of his family

His mother

His father

His sister

Everything he has sacrificed for them
His mother's tears watching her little baby leave the homestead
His father's tears for his son's bravery and devotion to his nation
His sister's tears as she saw him fade away into the horizon

Their beautiful faces speak of innocence
Their tears speak of pain and suffering
Grief
Anguish
Suddenly
He knows what his cause is
What he stands for 

Suddenly

A sharp pain permeates the soldiers side

He has been shot

The physical pain
Ephemeral
The emotional pain
Eternal 

He hears the sound of the drum for retreat

He struggles to keep his eyes open

The image of his mother's tears flashes into his eyes one last time
He has failed her
The emotional pain
Unbearable
A tear trickles down his coarse chin
Her baby will not come home 

The sun has set

Amy Tan is My Mother?

To be honest, when I read the story "Fish Cheeks" by Amy Tan, I was unable to connect with the story. Even with a Chinese upbringing, for some reason I did not connect to everything that Tan was portraying. Foods like "slimy rock cod" or "dried fungus"? Never heard of it. And what are fish cheeks? Never in my sixteen plus years of life have I seen any of my family, friends, or relatives even mention fish cheeks. What is everything that Amy Tan is describing? Have I been growing up living a lie and thinking that I live in a Chinese culture? The answer is no. It turns out that I am not Amy Tan, my mom is. My mom has subconsciously assimilated into American culture. I can see it in her cooking. The "slimy rock cod" that Amy describes is now fish filet or a delicious salmon. The dried fungus is now mushrooms cooked with potatoes. Everything that my mom cooks has lost its Chinese, exotic nature; she has assimilated into American culture when it comes to cooking. No, I don't eat rice every night; in fact, it is more common that my mom makes Italian pasta, American hamburgers, and even Mexican tacos. My mother is trying to shield me from the exotic nature of Chinese food in fear that I won't accept it and instead giving me what my American companions are probably eating. My mom, like Amy, has fallen victim to the pressures of fitting into white society, and my non-Chinese meals reflect this fact. But I don't mind. Her cooking is delicious, and I sure as heck would rather eat a mouth-watering salmon than a "slimy rock cod".

AP U.S. History: How Not to Write an Essay 101

Last year, I took the class known as AP U.S. History. I learned many things in this class, most importantly historical facts, analysis of how history was affected by certain people and events, how things came to be for us today, and how to write a terrible essay. In APUSH, we learned to write an essay that followed a strict format: a three part thesis statement, 3 body paragraphs, and a conclusion. In addition, the overall content of the essay was not graded on well organized, deeply analyzed thought, but rather simple content and whether or not the essay responded to the prompt. While I learned to master this type of essay writing and earned a 5 on my APUSH exam, this led to an extremely difficult transition from APUSH to 11 AP English. The first two essays that I wrote for 11 AP were utter disasters; marks of "so what?" and "what's your point" and the brutal "how does this even answer the prompt do you even English wow this essay was so awful I would rather swim across the Pacific Ocean with paper cuts all over my body than read this essay again" (this is a slight over exaggeration) proliferated on my paper. The reason for these marks were all rooted on one main problem: I was accustomed to writing the standard APUSH essay that it had completely murdered my ability to write a good English essay. The APUSH Essay structure put me in the mindset of writing as much as I could in a given amount of time as long as I had the content; this method is not applicable to the English essay structure as English essays require more thought out ideas and analysis. So while APUSH provided me with a plethora of knowledge on history, it did not teach me how to write an essay. I sincerely hope that I have fully gotten out of the APUSH mindset and that I am beginning to write better English essays. I wish myself and my fellow classmates the best of luck this Monday and for the rest of this semester.

Verisimilitude via Artception

One of the themes which is created by Langston Hughes in his poem "The Weary Blues" is the theme of suffering of the African Americans which cannot be truly felt unless experienced firsthand. "The Weary Blues" provides a realistic description of the pain of the marginalized. This sense of verisimilitude is fostered especially through the song of the piano man, creating an image of an actual man singing with a "melancholy tone" (Hughes). In this sense, Hughes creates an artception, in which within his art, his poem, there is another artist expressing his art, his pain. This ironically fosters verisimilitude in that the art expressed by the singer is actually written by a real life artist, Hughes, while being expressed by another artist, the singer. The "weary blues" he sings remark how he "ain't got nobody in this world" (Hughes) and the fact that no one can truly experience the pain he feels in his song besides himself. This axiom is traced to the fact in which an artist performing often has the feeling which he cannot explain to a regular bystander. This is similar to the pain felt by the marginalized, as only those who suffered through the pains truly understand it. The men who understand the true pain of the "blues" are the ones who have actually experienced the blues themselves. 

Rhetorical Precis and Personal Thoughts

F. Scott Fitzgerald in the great American novel The Great Gatsby suggests that the affluence and wealth that the American man aspired to were not true sources of happiness. Fitzgerald supports his suggestion by illustrating an affluent man, Gatsby, disillusioned by his own wealth and unable to find real happiness despite his enormous riches. The author's purpose is to portray and ridicule the disillusionment of those chasing riches in order to truly highlight the foolishness of the Modernist American mindset during the Roaring 20's. The author writes in a colloquial tone for the American public. 

In addition to the rhetorical précis I would also like to post about my personal thoughts (which is the point of a blog, but I feel as though my blog posts have become increasingly more about grades and acceptance from a teacher's viewpoint). I will not lie or sugar-coat it; there have been times in the recent past where I am just completely miserable, for reasons which will not be disclosed. When reading The Great Gatsby, it came to a shocking similarity in which the men in the novel were portrayed and with what I was dealing it. Like Gatsby, I have extreme wealth, although not in the same sense. He has the wealth to throw lavish parties; I have the wealth of a loving family, a steady income, an amazing academic institution that is Troy High, and accomplishments which I would have never though possible before my high school career. And yet I am still miserable, and I cannot fully explain nor justify why. Perhaps I am not much different Gatsby, perhaps there is a green light in which I see and so desperately want to grab, but cannot obtain. And so the green light will continue to haunt me, because I let it haunt me, just as how Gatsby allowed his desire for Daisy to haunt his life. I am selfish, I am stubborn, and thus I will never truly be able to give up my desire for the green light. We'll see where it takes me. 

The Black Truth of "Thanks"giving

"Black Friday: People trample others for sales exactly one day after being thankful for what they already have" (Unknown Source).
This holiday conundrum has always seemed very puzzling and ironic to me. Why is it that people, who claim that they are "thankful" for everything they have, continually desire more? A day meant to reflect on all that one has and how lucky they are to have everything and everyone around them in their lives essentially loses its essence when the next day these aforementioned souls literally sacrifice their well-being to acquire more than what they were "thankful" for. The root of these actions stem from the inherent greed of man. It is only in human nature to desire more than what we already have; we can always have more. This traces back to the nature of humans to always desire more, whether it be material possession or complimentary praise from peers. Because of this inherent greed of man, I personally believe that the tradition of Thanksgiving has lost much of its meaning. Tracing back to historic roots, Thanksgiving was created by Separatists forming alliances with Indians who happened to save their lives; however, with the desire to acquire more land, these Indians were soon forgotten and conquered by these said white men, which perhaps set a permanent scar on the wholesomeness of "Thanksgiving". Thus, in my opinion, Thanksgiving has lost its meaning and does not truly represent our "thanks" and "gratefulness" which we claim we have for others. If we truly were thankful for everything we had, there would be no need for "Black Friday"; however, the sad truth is that humans are greedy and thus there will never truly be a day where we are truly "thankful" for what we have.