Another Stream of Consciousness…

Dear Teacher Lahaise,

First off, please don’t roll your eyes or be annoyed at my fond name for you. I truly never know to call you Mrs. or just Ms., and calling you only Lahaise doesn’t have a respectful ring to it. I do admit, however, that Teacher Lahaise sounds very elementary school-esque, but that’s all fine and dandy because as a senior in high school I regress in mentality everyday.

Secondly, it has been an amazing two years in your class. Junior year was a painful yet satisfying journey and, though I know you weren’t in top form, senior year wasn’t too bad neither. I became a better writer and more decisive thinker from writing essays everyday in AP Lang. It didn’t exactly break my terrible habit of editing in my head before writing because this exercise forced me to think before I write (and that can be awful hard when your first draft is expected to be your best draft), but I did learn to force my brain to work faster. This skill allows me to do well on timed tests so I suggest you keep this aspect of your AP Lang class, Teacher Lahaise, though I wouldn’t rely on it to enhance the quality of your students’ thoughts.

I really liked the near 45-minute SSR sessions we have everyday. With my busy schedule, it’s a wonder I even have time to read a single chapter in a book. The SSR sessions made me a more leisurely reader, allowing me to fully absorb the text without worrying when my shift at my part-time job starts. Reading for a long period of time also helps to get me into something I call “open-brain mode”. It’s a specific mode in which my mind is open to new concepts and ideas that only happens after I do something intensely for a while. These are some things I really want you to do for your future classes.

From writing essays everyday in AP Lang to discussing journals in Advanced Comp, these experiences are something I can definitely use in the rest of my educational career.

Thank you so much,
Jessica

The Lady of the Manners, aka Jillian Venters, opens up Gothic Charm School with her prologue “An Introduction: Or why Goths must cultivate better manners than other people”. There she addresses Goths and explains to that audience that no matter how people treat you, you must remain polite and calm. Nothing too unusual, right? The same sort of normalcy extends throughout this entire book. The Lady of the Manners acts as a whimsical narrator going through life minding her own business, explaining a subculture with a cheerful pizazz not usually associated with the morose stereotype of Goths. As she cleverly points out, “We retreat to our black-painted rooms, cry a lot, and compose poetry about death and graveyards, possibly written in our own blood. None of this is really true, but it is such a powerful cliche that people believe it.” Later in her book, she gives advice for day to day living such as how to deal with roommates and what not to say to a crazed man in the street, all a little tweaked to fit her darkness-twined readers. Venters has the tone and language of a Mary Poppins-like character, giving a strange image of a funeral-clad woman with a sunny disposition. “I’ve been told quite often that I’m too happy to be a ‘RealGoth’, as if there’s some secret Goth cabal running a checklist and labelling me to their rubric.”

This is a quirky and entertaining guide for Goths and those who love them, whether or not you take her anecdotes and advice seriously.

“If you want to be happy, be.”

- Leo Tolstoy

This is a very simple Leo Tolstoy quote with a very simple message. It says that you need to be true to yourself and just become what you are in order to become happy. Not too complicated to understand is it? So why do too many people find this so hard to follow?

To apply it to the real and present life, let me talk about prom. Our school’s prom is supposedly one of the most important social events that any graduating class can host and it is of the utmost significance that you look your best with the best-looking date. As its date comes closer and closer I find that most of my classmates stress about the most frivolous of details.

“Should I go with the black high heels or dark brown wedges?”

“Where should my hemline end: above or below the knee?”

These questions (and all other variations of them) are repeatedly asked as if the answers would solve the hardest of all philosophical questions and bring about world peace. Not that I’m trying to put down prom, of course. I find it to be important because it is possibly the last school-sponsored event where I can dance and generally party hardy in a crowd of my closest friends. But that’s what is should be all about, is it not? Once you remember that there are people who love you for being your natural self, you’ll find happiness. Dresses, limos, and shoes don’t matter.

It’s about having fun and enjoying loud music with your buddies and resisting the urge to pull a senior prank.

Honestly, no once cares if your dress is the color of puce or your date is shorter than you. They’re all too busy dancing. Maybe you should learn to do the same.

Even in this modern era where individuality is en vogue and differences are in, being “fat” is still consistently seen as a mark of poor social health. This is especially true for women. Everyday women are bombarded with advertisment after advertisement depicting a beauty ideal that many of us are genetically predisposed to fail. Every commercial is aimed at beating at our self-esteems, breaking our confidence enough to purchase their high-priced products or services. What’s a woman to do when repeatedly told that she is never going to be good enough (for friends, for love, for anything) unless she buys this/does that/has surgical procedure/starves herself/hates herself?

I have had this problem since I was a child. I’ve always been short and stout (like the teapot in the famous rhyme), and I stayed that way far past puberty. It didn’t matter that I ran track. It didn’t matter that I ate as healthily as my lifestyle let me. There were parts of my body that refused to shrink (and some parts had the audacity to increase). I had that phase where I cried if someone made a snide comment about my shape. I had that phase where I didn’t want to talk to the opposite sex in fear they would find me repuslive. I’ve had many phases and I’m sure everyone had them too.

Now, as I am older, I realize that in the real world there are people who are looking for things beyond the outward appearances. People look for humor and compassion and understanding and intelligence. I don’t think any of those show so readily on my skin, so I’ve gotten used to how my body is and loving it as it stays.

Anyone can do it too. It’s going to be a difficult journey, but the first step is acceptance. This requires courage and strength to love a body not necessarily approved by the mass media or social peers. This requires appreciation for the only body you will ever get in the life you will only live once. It’s going to be very hard, but isn’t having the ability to love yourself well worth the effort?

The Virgin and the Gipsy is the last manuscript written by D.H. Lawrence. It was found in France after his death in 1930.

The story follows a young woman named Yvette Saywell, the “vague, naive” daughter of a vicar, and her increasing unhappiness in a house tightly clenched by the matron (the “Mater”) of the family. Her mother left with another man when she was but a child and has been referred to as “She-who-was-Cynthia” ever since. The grandmother/the Mater has always used this against Yvette and her sister as an argument for every little thing they do. If one spoke out against her wishes, she would simply brush them off as “the remnants in the blood of She-who-was-Cynthia”. The vicar and his sister, who also live in the house, bow and scrape to every one of the old crone’s whims. Why? It is never truly mentioned, except that she was a “pious and loyal wife and mother”, therefore earning the often frustrating loyalty of her children.

Yvette, unable to articulate what exactly is wrong in such a righteous and self-sanctified household, finds solace in going outside, riding her bike, and simply reaching to the world and its people outside of her home. Coincidentally, a gypsy caravan moves in with the winter season, and Yvette finds herself magnetized to one of the gypsy men, heated by his mysterious, intense gaze despite the snowy cold.

To anyone familiar with D.H. Lawrence and his writing, most of his works involve some sort of rebellion against convention and a subtle (if not patent) touch on the subject of sexuality. There is always an underlying meaning in some ordinary dialogue that seasoned D.H. Lawrence readers might catch. “But instead of penetrating into some deep, secret place, and shooting her there, Leo’s bold and patent smile only hit her on the outside of the body, like a tennis ball, and caused the same kind of irritated reaction.” (p. 77) All sorts of dirty-minded references make themselves known when read by a like-minded reader.

Another Lawrence staple is the rebellious character: in this story, the Gipsy. He is like Mellors in Lady Chatterley’s Lover and the Italian boy in The Lost Girl. And, loyal to the Lawrence signature, the Gipsy is a dark, intensely foreboding presence whose name is almost never as important as what he symbolizes. “It was a peculiar look, in the eyes that belonged to the humble: pride of the pariah, the half-sneering challenge of the outcast, who sneered at law-abiding men, and went on his own way.” (p.38) The gipsy’s name is never revealed until the very last page and even then, the revealing of his name diminishes the sense of alluring danger and mystery about him.

All in all, it was a frustrating and disheartening read with scarce happiness in the middle and little hope for happiness in the end. This is not a novella I’d recommend for a D.H. Lawrence fan and non-fan alike.

“Take a look at my skin.
It’s brown.
Take a look at my nose.
It’s flat.”

So begins the progressive-minded song “My Funny Brown Pinay” by Charmaine Clamor, an internationally acclaimed Jazzipino (Jazz Filipino) singer. With original lyrics written to the classic Rodgers and Hart melody “My Funny Valentine”, Charmaine Clamor simultaneously criticizes the unrealistic and unfair beauty ideals of the Filipino culture and soothes the aural palette with her crooning voice.

Pinay is another term for a Filipino woman, a term used with both pride and shame. How can that be? Though many Filipina women (born and/or raised in the Philippines) share the same nationalistic pride as everyone else, they have the added element of shame that come with being a “Pinay”. They are bombarded with countless billboard ads and advertisements that constantly assert that their genetics make them less beautiful than any other person on the planet.

I have experienced this demoralizing way of growing up as well, even though I was raised in the United States. My mother urged me to use papaya soap, a popular type of soap that bleaches the skin significantly but temporarily. I wore long sleeves and pants even during the summer to prevent my skin from becoming any darker. At one point I was urged to sleep with a clothespin on the bridge of my nose so I can finally have the highly sought after pointy Caucasian nose.

Charmaine Clamor responds to this with a simple:

“This is for all my sisters growing up thinking they don’t look right because they ain’t white,
scrubbing with papaya soap to make it light.
I think you’re outta sight.
You are beautiful.
Maganda ka. (You’re beautiful.)”

One important reason for this warped cognition can be found in history. “In 1521 Magellan “claimed” us for the King of Spain… Tayo ay naging kanilang pag-aari ng limang daang taon. (We were conquered for 500 years). Ng limang daang taon (for 500 years).” The siring of children (called mestizas or mestizos) between the indigenous Filipinos and porcelain-skinned Spaniards started the belief that one had to look like them to be worth anything.

However, growing up here in the United States (or more importantly, in Southern California), I found that being different from the white-skinned, pointy-nosed vision is not only accepted but also celebrated! Having evidence of a culture not normally associated with “white” adds spice to who I am. What a sensation! To accept who and what you are without any qualms. America is definitely a different environment from the Philippines, but I believe that this kind of self-love and self-acceptance should start and spread among Pinays.

Pleasant Surprise

http://lahaiseslair.com/jessica/2010/02/16/pleasant-surprise-or-twilight-has-yet-to-infect-the-rest-of-the-world/

Hope is the New Cynic

http://lahaiseslair.com/jessica/2010/03/03/hope-is-the-new-cynic/

This cheeky, humor strip parodies the Victorian era, putting it in a a setting different from our own and yet speaks a truth applicable to current life. This particular comic says a lot about our society nowadays. Everything is in competition. Children must now learn another language, which is all well and good, but when will they start requiring a third language? Children are already being taught physics, calculus, criminology! All this to aim for colleges that teach them the ol’ “mother, may I” system. The one where you are a failure and you don’t go to college. The one where if you don’t things exactly right, you will not be happy in life.

A little competition is good because it presents a challenge and encourages growth from facing that challenge. However, this unhealthy contest of one-upmanship disintegrates the love between parents and children and also foster a sort of self-hatred in children. Why doesn’t Mommy love me anymore? Because you didn’t get first place in so-and-so contest. Why doesn’t Papa read to me anymore? Because he’s expecting you to be writing high-caliber essays already.

If this method of raising kids continues, our world just might be overrun by high-performing androids and self-defeating suicidals. What’s the solution to this quickly spreading infection? Love. Honest, unconditional love. The kind where you don’t have to recite the Gettysburg Address at age 4 to receive a hug and a kiss.

“There are but two boys in my high school who have openly admitted they are gay. They are constantly spit at and beat on in school, yet the more confident always holds the shyer one’s hand. Despite threats, they showed up to prom together, wearing matching suits. Seeing them on the dance floor, ignoring the world GMH. “

Givesmehope.com is a website where anonymous people from all over the country can post the things that give them hope. Anything in a positive light can and does show up on this site, from the small and inconsequential things such as receiving cat food to the grand and life-changing actions such as a getting a much-needed organ donation. This is a place where one can ignore the world’ imminent doom. This is a place where one can realize that despite the wars, diseases, and evillness that plague the earth as we know it, there is a flip side as well. And that flip side is compassion, happiness, and kindness.

As the first quote confirms, there are people in high school that couldn’t care less about the thoughts of others or fitting in- rare creatures in the ever-striving-to-be-homogenous environment that is high school. There are people who believe in being themselves and being in love, that gender and the opinions of other people don’t matter.

The future is bleak to most. Many people are pessimists and are cynical about the future. They predict a future of war-torn homes, of wrecked habitats, of the earth swarmed by every nasty virus known (and unknown) to mankind. Fear not, cynics. There is still hope yet.

“Today, me and my friend were asked by a 7-year-old if we were brother and sister. I’m black and my friend is white. I said yes. The little kid seemed satisfied. The future generation’s acceptance of all races GMH. “

Children, as dumb and as simple as we make them out to be, can surprise us by understanding the basics of human nature that we lose sight of on the road to growing up. When we were young, we didn’t know what it mattered if the color of our skins where different or the amount of money our parents made.

The website offers a chance to realize that the world isn’t a dark a place we all thought it was. It is a place of possibilities. It is a place of choices. Most of all, it is a place of hope.

As its slogan says “GMH. Like FML. But for optimists.”

“When my sister was younger she came home from school one day and demanded I take her to the library so she could get books on sign language. I asked why? She told me there was a new kid at school who was deaf and she wanted to befriend him. Today I stood beside her at their wedding watching her sign “I DO”. GMH “

In this day and age, the term “vampire” comes with characteristics such as: sparkling in the sun, driving chic Volvos, and an entourage of raging, pubescent girls (and women and some men). Sexy? If that is your preference. Terrifying? Absolutely not. It seems that the horror title of “vampire” threw out its blood-curdling responsibilities and opted for an easier (less sophisticated) role as a teenage girl’s wet dream.

However, there is still hope for the severely crumbling dynasty of horror icons; hope in the forms of author John Ajvide Lindqvist and director Tomas Alfredson. Let the Right One In is a romantic movie, I admit, but one that returns to the traditional image of vampires.

The story is set in Stockholm, Sweden, where massive piles of snow serve as a metaphor for isolation and short daylight span as a nurturing environment for the criminal and bloodsucking alike. Oskar, our “hero”, is a 12-year-old boy marginalized by his peers, regularly bullied, and nothing to comfort him but the varied newspaper clippings of murder articles. Enter our leading “lady”, Eli. She moves into the empty apartment suite next door in the middle of the night without any fanfarewith and a suspicious older gentlemen posing as her caretaker. There is a mystery behind the girl who nevers goes out during the day and seems perfectly at ease walking through sub-zero weather barefoot.

Needless to say, it is a vampire romance but one with a little more heart. The two lonely children (and I use that term very loosely) find a friend, and perhaps more, within their tightly closed bubble of isolation. Skimmed over by the world at large with the only sentient company in the other, it’s no wonder that these two characters find the other’s magnetism irresistable.

This movie might irk audiences used to the American way of dialogue- meaning too much dialogue. This movie requires a keen eye and a broad attention span to understand. There are no narrators point-blank explaining what’s going on, and nearly every silent scene is open to every individual’s interpretation.

It’s more than just vampires and love. It is about standing up to injustice. It is for finding one’s own niche in the world. It is about finding companionship in loneliness.

It is a regular boy-meets-the-girl-next-door story with heart and blood. Lots of blood. But mostly heart.