Thanksgiving, Turkey, and Tradition

       We all preserve some tradition, whether we are conscious about it or not. But why? To appease society? To have fun? No, I believe we preserve them to instill values in ourselves, values that are so inherently important to us, we cannot allow them to disappear.
       But surely, you must be thinking, eating turkey cannot be a great 'value'. You're right; it's not. But maintaining close ties with family and friends is, and Thanksgiving traditions (i.e. eating turkey with family) emphasize the importance of this value. By combining abstract human virtues with concrete practices, values persist through time and are shared forever. It is thus easy to see why tradition is important in maintaining values. On 'regular' days, such values are often forgotten, and as human beings, we need that special day and its special traditions to remind us of those values. After all, we need some excuse to practice them.
       So, okay. Traditions help instill important values in us, but do they always have positive effects? The answer is no. Traditions themselves are healthy and important in preserving culture, as discussed above. People's reactions to traditions however, are not always healthy and positive. If someone forgot the turkey, or if someone could not attend the big dinner, entire days are sometimes ruined, and people's festive moods are destroyed. When such pessimistic feelings emerge, the meaning of Thanksgiving is lost. The values embedded in the tradition are worthless, because all that matters is the perfection of the day's plan. Such attitudes are dangerous, and they erase any value one may receive from the rest of the day. In fact, by carrying on and coping with seemingly awful situations, one begins to understand the crucial human values on a deeper and more personal level.
        Thanksgiving (as well as other holidays and festivals) are important in preserving old-fashioned, but still completely relevant and important, values in the crazy, busy world we live in today. There is nothing wrong with preserving a meaningful tradition, and one should try to integrate these values learned in their everyday lifestyle.

Kingdom of Clouds

A kingdom of clouds,

A sea of soft, periwinkle pillows,

Fills in a faint, auburn sky.

What wonders does this world behold?

What secrets does it keep?

A plethora of questions floods the puny human’s mind

While a bright orange sun slowly lowers

down into the memory foam below,

Smug because it knows all the answers. 

Stop that KPop!

       Do you ever feel ignored by your friends? If you do, then you can probably identify with my struggles. As someone who is uninterested in and knows nothing about Korean entertainment, I find it extremely difficult to maintain any form of sanity when my friends engage in discussions about it. It is disrespectful to me and my time for them to have such lengthy conversations in my presence. It is unfair to leave me isolated. You may think I am overreacting, but after reading some more, you will see that I am almost completely justified.
        Over the summer, my friends and I attended a Link Retreat. After a long day in the sweltering heat, we headed back to our tents. It was night, and I wished desperately to rest my fatigued bones. I would soon find out, however, that I would be denied this simple request. As I lied down, exhausted, my roommates (or tentmates, to be more accurate) began to talk to each other. The moment I recognized the titles of some anime shows, I knew I would be awake for a long time.

Tentmate A: Did you watch episode "U" of show "XYZ"?
Tentmate B: OMG, yes! It was so good! I loved the part when person "Y" did thing "Z".
Tentmate A: That was so cool! But I also loved part "B" when...

And so it continued.

After about two and a half hours of this nonsense, I lost my the last remaining bits of my sanity. I had not, however, lost my control. I decided to speak to them, subtly hinting at my immense irritation.

Me: You guys? What time is it?
Tentmate A: Oh, wow, it's 12:30. Have we really been up that late?
Me: Yes. We should sleep now. We have a long day tomorrow.
Tentmate B: Sorry, have we kept you up?
Me: Yeah, but whatever. Let's just all go to sleep now. I'm really tired.
Tentmate B: Sorry! We'll go to sleep now.

One minute later:

Person B: Person A, have you heard Shinee's new song?
Person A: Heck yeah! It was so cool! I love the video.
Person B: There was a video? I didn't know that! Tell me all about it!

And so it continued.

Hopefully you can now understand the hardships I go through when in a group of friends that weirdly has a common interest in Korean entertainment. I would like to make it clear that I do not hate KPop or Korean entertainment. In fact, I feel it is a unique interest and personally like Shinee's song, "Lucifer". I do not despise people who like KPop either. I do however, dislike it when people talk about it for extended periods in my presence, blocking me out of all potential conversation. I have tried changing topics, confronting them about it, as well as many other things. Nothing works. Maybe I'll just force an interest in KPop onto myself.

Nah.

A still from Shinee's video "Lucifer" in all its awesomeness.

Half the Sky

        Half the Sky is a very moving and important book, and the namesake documentary is no different. In fact, both media are complementary to each other. Kristof and WuDunn were careful to reiterate many of the ideas in the book regarding women's oppression in the documentary as well, emphasizing the topics of microfinancing, involuntary prostitution, and maternal mortality. However, there are also some aspects that differ in the two.
         Perhaps one of the most striking differences between the documentary and the book is the ratio of women's personal stories to brief biographies of influential activists for the cause. In their book, Kristoff and WuDunn detail several women's personal struggles, but are also careful to include information about important activists for women's rights and their efforts. Though activists are still featured in the documentary, there are not central to it. While it does explain the work of some important figures such as Edna Adan and Urmi Basu, the film mostly concentrates on their contributions with respect to a woman's personal story.
         This brings up another difference in that the documentary focuses primarily on individual struggles. The book focuses on such stories as well, but includes much about recent efforts for the cause. The documentary explores a few women's lives thoroughly, highlighting their lack of education, moral support, and living space and facilities. The book covers many individuals as well, detailing some stories greatly and merely mentioning others. Despite this emphasis, I cannot say whether the book focuses on stories or efforts. There seems to be a similar proportion of both included in the text.
           Another prominent difference between the two is the involvement of Hollywood stars in the documentary. In order to bring more awareness to the adversities facing women in impoverished nations, Kristoff invited popular stars to travel with him to Asia and Africa to meet some of these unfortunate girls. Throughout the documentary, the celebrities reveal their astonishment regarding crimes against women, as well as their desire to bring about some change. The inclusion of such excerpts serves to motivate those who idolize celebrities in some way, shape, or form. In fact, it serves somewhat like an endorsement. On the contrary, the book does not make any mention of celebrities. It simply relates the tragic stories of the suffering individuals, urging the readers to rely on their own opinions to bring about change.
           Another difference that caught my attention was the fact that the book and the documentary shared some stories, but differed in others. For example, Edna Adan's hospital was featured in both media. While watching the film, I remembered reading that Adan had sold her Microwave among others in order to construct her hospital. Other stories, such as that of the Vietnamese girl, were untold in the book. It was interesting to see how a completely different individual had a very similar story to those I had read about. Also, a girl who was only mentioned in the book, played a much larger role in the documentary, sharing her struggles with the actress, Kristoff, and the viewers.
           All in all, though the movie and book differed in several ways, they were similar in that they served the same purpose: to give opportunities to oppressed women. Both are very impactful.

Spiders, Monsters, and the Charminar

         Fear is a funny thing. As humans, we tend to laugh at our peers' fright for things as silly as a clown or a snake, regardless the fact that we are probably scared of even more ridiculous things. But it's still fun though, right? In light of this spirit, I have decided to write about my adventures as a young fourth grader on vacation in India. Fear sometimes is associated with a lesson, and I feel this narrative takes on this idea.On a reflective note, I find it humorous that I was scared of a historic building, of all things. Especially because now I am scared of bigger and scarier things like spiders, monsters, and even your standard grasshopper.
 
    

“Is this really it?’’ I tiredly asked, peering through the car window at the bustling crowd. It was excruciatingly hot, and I longed more than anything to escape the vehicle's attempt to strangle me.

            “Yes,” my cousin wearily answered, wiping the dripping perspiration from her forehead. “The Charminar is always like this.” I decided to believe her since I knew basically nothing about India and its historic monuments. We continued our ride.

            While crushed between my cousin and my sister, I was faintly aware of what my relatives were talking about. It was something about a king who built four colossal pillars, but I didn’t care. In just a few minutes we would be at our destination, and I was eager to rush out of our despairingly smelly vehicle.

            After some more time meandering through what looked like a thick sea of multi-colored turbans and shawls, we gradually came to stop. My nine-year-old mind, already trained to the particularity of the American lifestyle, at first expected to see an organized parking lot to which we would drive; instead, we arrived at a halt in the middle of a hustled street of sun-stained tourists. Hastily, I tried to open the car door. The obstinate door however, refused to budge. Frustrated, I glanced out of the window to find the obstruction. My anger turned to surprise as I found out that a group of people, intensely involved in whatever they were doing, was shielding the door. Was this really how the entire trip was going to be like? Unwillingly, I thought of the ice-cold water and air conditioning back at home.

            Finally, my parents, two cousins, uncle, aunt, sister, and I managed to navigate ourselves out of the crowd. We then started dragging ourselves towards the monument. The sun beat down on us, forcing our eyes downcast towards the dirt ground. Why hadn't I stayed home?

            After a little pushing and shoving and a lot of sweating, we found ourselves standing in front of the magnificent Charminar. It looked ancient. The entire structure was a giant beige fort. With its four huge pillars looming in the air, the attraction looked as if it were a majestic king ruling over a group of willing to serve peasants.  It was a pinnacle of Islamic architecture. Suddenly, however, we were pushed inside.

            The first thing I noticed was that it was pitch-black. I could see nothing, and I, a fourth grader, was absolutely afraid of the dark. Suddenly, I began shivering as I thought about how much time it would take before we left.  Dismissing my thoughts, I peered into the shabby, black aisle to the stairs. Would I get lost? Would there be spiders? The last question sent chills down my spine. For one thing, it definitely does not help when you suffer from arachnophobia in such situations.

“Sweta, start climbing.” My mother gently scolded. “You’re holding up the line.”

I glanced behind me to see the silhouette of a pretty impatient cue. At last, I gathered up my courage, sucked in as much air as I could, and hesitantly trudged up the stairs. The stairs, as I soon found out, were even scarier than all my trouble through the entrance. I carefully dodged my way one steep step to the next. It was dark and I had no idea where I was going. The size-varying steps spiraled upwards, and I started freaking out, continuously worrying about the giant spiders waiting to gobble me up. When I nearly tripped over a stair, I couldn’t take it anymore. I immediately screamed and started to cry. I just wanted to go home! My yelp wasn’t very loud for others to hear, but my mother demanded me to keep quiet, threatening that the Charminar management would send us home. I tried to retain my spasms within myself, but it was no use.

When at last we reached the last step onto the giant terrace, I was stunned. The cool air disguised the streaks of sweat on our faces and the view was spectacular. I could see the entire hectic city of Hyderabad and people as small as ants. It all looked like a ramshackle doll house. I tried looking for our car, but I gave up after about fifteen seconds. After some more gawking and even more pictures, my uncle decided it was time to leave. This time, I took on the stairs with full concentration and a new perspective. I pushed any thought of man-eating spiders out of my head and continued down the never-ending spiral. I was scolded to go faster, but I stayed at my pace anyways and kept thinking about how this trip had taught me how to face my fears and withstand such heat which I was so unaccustomed to. At least something came out of this.

 At last, we made it down to the base of the monument, and the sweat once again started pouring down my face. After some confusion and wandering, we located our vehicle, hopped in, drank a few bottles of water, and headed home towards the luxuries of air conditioning, not even bothering to look back.