FOMO (Fear of Missing Out)

“No. Travis, you stay right here. And you make him understand what you doing, Walter Lee. You teach him good. Like Willy Harris taught you. You show where our five generations done come to” (Hansberry 147).

Family values transcend through each generation. Mama’s five generations believed in fighting for one’s family, trying to stay as a homogenous family unit. When Walter tries to sell the house to Mr. Lindner, he is metaphorically exchanging all the morals he has been taught for money. In effect, he will be empty inside, consumed by the societal ideal to achieve a higher socioeconomic status in life. However, Mama allows Travis to stay and “grin innocently” (Hansberry 147). Although Walter has already lost his innocence, he cannot take himself to destroy Travis’s innocence; he does not want Travis to see him trade his morals for money and see his black culture be subservient to the white race. As Travis looks up to Walter for guidance, Walter does not want him to feel trapped in a society filled with racial divisions. Instead, Walter’s decision acts as a model for Travis to stand up for his beliefs, fighting injustice and not giving in.

Loss of generational values is seen even in our 11 AP class. Our parents all went to school without advanced smartphones to text in class, snapchat, tweet, etc. Talking face-to-face and hanging out with friends is now being replaced with hours spent trying to take the perfect selfie or video to upload on one’s snap story. Despite regulations put in place to limit cellphone use, our generation has the audacity to continue using our phones constantly in class, having our eyes glued to our tiny screens. In a way, we have all adopted FOMO (Fear of Missing Out). This fear of regret—loss of social interaction—permeates through our minds; we adopt this obsession to know exactly what is going on in society at every moment. One ring from our phones makes everyone in class wonder if they received a notification, turning our attention to our phones. Now I am not saying that I am the perfect person. I waste copious amounts of time just refreshing Facebook to see if anyone posted something new. Snapchat almost trapped me into a cycle of destruction this summer: trying to maintain Snapchat streaks.

 

This is me trying to keep my Snapchat streaks

However, we must return to our past generation’s values; we must take the conscientious effort to ignore our phones when they get a new notification; we must limit our social media usage; we must concentrate what is in front of us; we must respect others. Travis reminds Walter of the 5 generations of family values just as Val should remind us of our past generation’s values. Is it worth it to check our phone or should we focus on our education? (however, I am left to wonder how students from last year got so many photos of Val for their memes)

A Dream Deferred

It was 1998, just four years after my parents immigrated to the US; they were hoping to achieve that American Dream—a stable life having the ability to do what they wanted. I was not born until 2000, but my parents and two older sisters lived comfortably in Raleigh, North Carolina. It was at that time when my mom’s dream was deferred.

My mom tells me the story like it was yesterday. An old man was selling his gas station because he wanted to retire and move to Florida with his family. Finding out about this one in a lifetime opportunity, my mom instantly wanted to invest. The best part about the deal was that the owner did not even expect a down payment. He told her that “the profits you make minus your living expenses can be paid to me until you eventually pay it off.” This was the ultimate deal. Showing interest in leadership as a child, my mom saw this as the perfect opportunity to exercise her freedom that was not given to her in China. She would no longer have to be told by her teachers that women cannot take leadership positions. She would challenge the patriarchy that runs our society. She could enhance our family’s life in America and achieve her lifelong dream. 

Despite the perfect offer, my dad had reservations about this. What if we ended up losing money? What if we could never pay the man back? What if…? It posed too big of a risk, and my dad was not willing to take it. After experiencing the poverty that plagued China at that time, my dad could not imagine ending up on the streets of America, begging for money. He, on the other hand, wanted to make a stable income from his job and save money for our college tuitions gradually, avoiding any major risks as possible. With that, my mom’s dream was deferred.

My parents will never forget the 1960s.

Now, almost 19 years past, my mom’s dream is starting to “dry up like a raisin in the sun…[and] sag like a heavy load.” After that offer, my mom was never given another opportunity. Her main focus from then on was to give me and my sisters the best education possible—to provide for us what she was never able to achieve. I think this is what motivates me and my sisters. My mom could have easily spent the thousands of dollars our parents are spending on us to go to college. Not only are they willing to pay for our undergraduate education, but they are also willing to take loans out if we need them. My mom’s dream did not have to be deferred because my dad would not have to worry about providing for us. How could we possibly complain about how challenging our lives are when my mom gave up the only dream she had? How could we hate school when my mom’s dream was deferred to pay for it?

My mom’s altruism made her dream change into seeing us succeed in the future. However, deep down, I know that she still wants to start her own business. And one day when I receive my first paycheck, I will defer my dreams, like my mom did 19 years ago, so she can fulfill hers before I care about my own.

Someday I will return the sacrifices my parents made.

  

Borne Back Ceaselessly Into the Past

“Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no matter—tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther. . . . And then one fine morning—

So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.” (180).

This passage concludes the novel in the most profound way. Gatsby is no longer the only one chasing an unachievable dream; instead, “we” all will try to run towards our goals. Our whole lives are built around trying to achieve meaning in society. Although many people try and ignore this fact, we will all eventually die. Everything that we have worked so hard to achieve will lead us to become another statistic; our lives will simply be noted on a death certificate; all of our memories will vanish to nonexistence. This almost reminds me of my AP Environmental project I did last week. We were counting the number of people who died within certain age groups, not even taking note of the person’s name. All those people on the list who probably wanted to reach something in life were turned only into one line on a page:

Name, Date of Birth, Date of Death.

Gatsby’s whole life was defined by his hope to recreate the past—to go back five years and marry Daisy. The more he worked to achieve his goal, the more it moved farther away from him. Using an ellipsis, Fitzgerald highlights the long, dragged out cycle in our lives, only to achieve nothing. This repetitive life that we choose to chase a dream that—in reality—is not even possible to achieve. The American Dream that is the epitome of America’s history is only to be an illusion. Something so well know, but so abstract.

This passage also reminded me of a poem by Langston Hughes:

What happens to a dream deferred?

      Does it dry up

      like a raisin in the sun?

      Or fester like a sore—

      And then run?

      Does it stink like rotten meat?

      Or crust and sugar over—

      like a syrupy sweet?

      Maybe it just sags

      like a heavy load.

      Or does it explode?

I would argue that Gatsby’s dream goes through the same process of decay that African American dreams go through, as described in the poem. Although Gatsby continues to believe that his dream is possible, it actually becomes the explosion that kills him. The “East…that distorted beyond my eyes’ power of correction” makes the American Dream impossible; the corruption and dirt infiltrates Gatsby’s dream. How can Gatsby’s dream be fulfilled in such an unyielding earth?

Another unachievable dream: Watching The Great Gatsby in class J

                                                                                                                                                   

My Epiphany this Week

I find it ironic that we started reading The Great Gatsby this week. It was as if Ms. Valentino was allowing us to immerse ourselves in the world’s obsession with material goods. The excessive spending that characterizes the 1920s parallels to the amount of money people spend during the Black Friday Weekend.

I felt like Nick Carraway as I watched people make extravagant purchases, putting them on credit. Similarly, Nick watched “men and girls [come] and [go] like moths among the whisperings and the champagne and the stars” (Fitzgerald 39). Everybody somehow ended up at Gatsby’s door” (Fitzgerald 41) just like how everyone ended up at some retail store last Thursday and Friday. The need to buy the latest gadgets that were on sale forced people to line up outside stores for hours, hoping to buy the 55-inch TV that was discounted $250. Although my parents and I did not originally plan to participate in this “tradition,” we still felt the need to see what was on sale—the need to buy something drew us in.

Materialism was at work, molding every person in the US to purchase something that would, in theory, make us happy.

We went to Best Buy at 6:00, not planning to get any of the “doorbusters.” As we walked around seeing what was on sale, my parents decided that they needed to buy a new TV to replace the one in their room. The new amazing features forced my parents to believe that it was a necessity. The discount was unavoidable, making it seem worth every penny spent. This one transaction turned into a night of visiting different retail stores to see what was on sale.

This is a perfect example of what people felt in the 1920s: every new item on sale was a necessity. People tricked themselves into the idea that their purchases would complete their life—as if they could not live without them. Inside, we are all similar to Daisy, crying at the sight of “such beautiful shirts…that [make] us sad because [we’ve] never seen such—such beautiful shirts before” (Fitzgerald 92).

Memories from APUSH

This need for material items has construed the meaning of Thanksgiving itself: to be thankful; instead, we forget who we are and spend ridiculous amounts of money. Thanksgiving was a celebration with the Native Americans who helped the Pilgrims survive; however, the pilgrims ended up killing them and taking their land. Our whole history is riddled with our conflicts with Native Americans because we are driven by the need for land. Even today we are invading reservations to build the Dakota Access Pipeline. It was on the news for a couple of days, and then we became focused on our own lives—we became focused on materialism.

NO DAKOTA ACCESS PIPELINE!

Whether Ms. Valentino purposely made us start reading The Great Gatsby on the Black Friday week or it was just a coincidence, I feel like we all begin to see the materialism that drives our country. Materialism not only damages our morals, but it also leads to devastating consequences: The Great Depression, The Great Recession, and who knows what else will come. 

A Beautiful Ending

Last Friday we wrote an essay on The Bluest Eye, focusing on a single scene within the book. I felt like I did better on this essay compared to the MAUS essay. Looking back at it, I felt more connected with The Bluest Eye. I am not saying MAUS was a bad novel, but I could draw parallels between my life and Pecola’s (as seen from my past blog posts). However, my experiences are not as damaging as Pecola’s; I can never truly understand Pecola’s life because of her extreme suffering. At the end of the novel, she becomes trapped in a schizophrenic state, believing that everyone is jealous “ever since [she] got [her] blue eyes” (Morrison 195). 

Pecola’s destruction stems from her disconnect with society; she cannot find a community that can relate with her experiences. Even though Claudia and Frieda are friends with Pecola, they are still ignorant of the pain she suffers though, learning the dirty truth in society by watching Pecola’s experiences. Without someone to help her cope through her tough life, Pecola goes down a spiral of self-loathing, hoping for blue eyes to fix her problem.

Furthermore, I loved the way that Morrison ended the novel. Combining a metaphor with insightful statements, Morrison is able to clearly elucidate the damaging effects of racism, incest, etc. The bird that was “winged but grounded…intent on the blue” (Morrison 204) is Pecola; the blue eyes are higher than her, surrounding her just like the blue sky. The blue eyes are there to remind her of her insignificance because she is unable to attain them.

Morrison also presents one final argument that differs from society. She says that “love is never any better than the lover,” (Morrison 206) contrasting with the thought that love is always positive. Cholly may have “loved her” (Morrison 206), but Pecola was destroyed by it. Cholly has never felt real love or had a normal childhood. Any love that Cholly gives to Pecola will make her “shorn, neutralized, frozen in the glare of the lover’s inward eye” (Morrison 206).

Finally, alluding back to the metaphor of the earth, Morrison demonstrates how the damage on Pecola is total. However, by ending the novel with a qualifying phrase, “at least on the edge of my town,” Morrison displays a sign of hope within society. Pecola’s life may be a reminder for the damage that can be done, but with a communal effort, we can fix the issues that plague our society.

The Bluest Election

Dear readers,

I am sorry I did not post earlier. I usually try and have my post done on Saturday, but I had many activities this weekend. This week's post may go against your views, so it is okay if you do not agree. 

Morrison utilizes the seasons throughout her novel to emphasize the cycle that Pecola goes through—the cycle of abuse. Through each chapter, Morrison juxtaposes the season's normal connotation with an unfitting event to highlight the disorder in Pecola's life. (Maureen Peal, a idolized, vivacious girl, juxtaposes the normal, gloomy days defined by winter, Pecola's rape scene juxtaposes the bright days defined by spring, etc.). However, this week does not need to be juxtaposed to emphasize disorder. The election of Donald Trump was devastating to me. I felt like the falling leaves that characterizes fall; the fate of this country in the upcoming months will wither away. While some leaves (people) remain on the coniferous trees, other people (leaves) will fall and disintegrate. The cold dark days that loom ahead of us are another reminder of the time left we have with complete freedom. Soon, we will be trapped by the wall, shutting ourselves from the cultural diversity that originally defined this country. 

The results of the election "yanked [me] up by the arm, slapped [me] again, and in a voice thin with anger, abused [me] directly" (Morrison 109). Originally, I joked with my teachers and friends at the thought of Trump winning—it was impossible; even Mr. Aldinger said there was little change of it occurring. Pushing me out my ignorance, the election results revealed the truth behind Mr. Trump's words. I was no longer shadowed by lies, and I now had to deal with a President who said "when Mexico sends its people, they’re not sending the best. They’re not sending you, they’re sending people that have lots of problems and they’re bringing those problems with us. They’re bringing drugs. They’re bring crime. They’re rapists… And some, I assume, are good people" and that "the concept of global warming was created by and for the Chinese in order to make U.S. manufacturing non-competitive."

Pecola's innocence was destroyed when Mrs. Breedlove abused her; instead of protecting her own daughter, she decided to shield a little white girl from the truth. Mrs. Breedlove refuses to tell the "little pink-and-yellow girl" what is happening by saying "don't worry none, baby" and "'course I will" (Morrison 109). By showing love towards a white girl, Pecola begins to realize the world is not made of perfect families, which are normally portrayed in movies; instead, there are parents like Mrs. Breedlove who are disillusioned with society themselves and vent their anger on their children. Morrison further demonstrates a fall of innocence by alluding to the fall of man. Mrs. Breedlove spits "rotten pieces of apple" (Morrison 109) at Pecola, elucidating the harsh reality that Pecola is only now beginning to realize. This "rotten" (Morrison 109) truth that Pecola discovers is not even completely revealed to her; through the rest of the novel, Pecola will begin to piece together the "pieces" (Morrison 109) that are slowly, internally destroying her.

Similarly, my understanding of the world is only slightly beginning to be revealed. Is it fair that Hillary Clinton won the popular votes but Donald Trump wins the election? Is it fair that most of Donald Trump's votes came from uneducated rural populations, leading to his victory? I used to think of the government as an imperfect solution that is the best we have; now I am realizing the corrupt nature of politics. Our world is defined by profit and loss, winner and loser, power and helplessness, etc. While the election results may shadow the words that Donald Trump said to others, my innocence is destroyed. Soon, the "little girl in pink" (Morrison 109) will realize what he/she has done.

Repost from the Facebook Group

A Look Into My Past

I remember back in 3^rd grade when my mom bought me Elmo sneakers. They were white with a picture of some of the characters on Sesame Street. Most notable on the sneakers were the ABC letters that were ostentatiously displayed on the center of the shoes. They were the bane of my existence. Despite the good intentions my mom had, I could not escape the scathing remarks from the kids at my school.

“Are you a baby?”

“Why are you wearing those childish shoes?”

I would always say at night, "'Please make me disappear'" (Morrison 45). It was not just the shoes that people made fun of me for. It was the “football shaped head,” scrawny body, bowl cut hair, small eyes… My body would slowly coil into a ball, trying to allow “the little parts of [my] body [to fade] away” (Morrison 45); however, my deficiencies would always be revealed to the world, allowing the criticism to attack me. My mom did not understand what I went through, and I was forced to continue to wear the ugly sneakers.

The next day, I covered Elmo with white duct tape and went to school. Nevertheless, the kids made fun of my shoes. At recess, they threw mud at them, staining them black. The dark deficiencies would always cover me completely, defining who I was wherever I went. No matter what I wished for, no matter how hard I dreamed for a different life, I would always remain in the same body, waiting for ridicule. Why did I have to suffer through this while others happily enjoyed their lives?

I absolutely hated PE class. When we played kickball, I would always be left with a useless role like covering a base that someone else was already covering. My scrawny body could never help the team. My bowl cut hair would be flowing through the wind. I remember one time when a kid purposely pushed me to the ground, covering my completely in dirt. The teacher would always believe that it was an accident. After that, I always found an excuse to avoid the class. I would ask my homeroom teacher to allow me to stay in class. Sometimes I would even act like I was completely confused on what we were learning, just to avoid PE.

During the EOGs (End of Grade Assessment Exam), we had a bathroom break. Some of the boys decided to throw wet paper towels at people. The assistant principal came and stopped them. Then, he took the people into our classroom and asked them who else was involved. Out all the people in my classroom, I was named. I never understood why the assistant principal believed that they would tell the truth. I felt like the world was directly targeting me; I had to apologize without even being given the chance to argue my case. The world that was covered in a white facade was slowly being revealed in front of my face.

I continued going to school, hating every bit of it—except for my elective, reading, and math classes. Those were the only places where I could escape. This is what forced me to work hard at school. It was not the pressure from my parents, but from the bullies at my school. If I succeeded in my school work, my intelligence would cover my deficiencies that people made fun of me for. However, inside I still yearned to be like the idolized students at my school. I beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past. The harder I tried to achieve my goals, the farther the goals seemed to move away from me.

Now, 8 years later and 706.8 miles away from this event, I am stilled affected by it. I still have the “football shaped head,” scrawny body, small eyes… I still try my hardest at school to make myself unique and cover my ugliness. However, I feel like I have become more accepting of myself. If someone criticizes me, I will not be stopped by their words. My individuality is not defined by what other people have to say. I will continue to study as hard as I can, forgetting my want to change my physical traits. I will never trap myself in the dark period that defines my past.

Despite my acceptance for who I am, Pecola is still stuck looking at her deficiencies, allowing her desire for blue eyes to consume her. She has never experienced anything different or found herself appreciated. I was only able to move on because I found refuge with academics. Pecola, on the other hand, is completely shunned by society, making her believe that she is not worthy of anything. Without discovering oneself, people can quickly become disillusioned with society; they are put in a cycle of abuse, unable to move on from their self-loathing.