Proboscis Monkey's Blog
 
During times of difficulty, trust becomes lost. And when it's lost: people start to scapegoat, rumors are spread, people start living in fear, and etc. Upon arriving at an unknown village, Ishmael and his friends were solely greeted by an elderly man, "Everyone ran when they heard of the seven boys" (Ishmael 56). The man was handicapped, therefore he was a burden to the village; they had left him behind. Through him, the boys got the message. They would've once been seen as innocent and welcomed with wide arms, but with things becoming so chaotic people accused them of being devils. A Long Way Gone by Ishmael Beah is about Beah's first hand experience with genocide in his home country of Sierra Leon. His inner struggle to overcome the hatred in his heart, and the battle between the person he saw himself as and the person he wanted to become. Reading his cathartic memoirs, will inspire readers to defeat their own inner demons. Winning the war within yourself, will ultimately lead to the greatest success.

To me, success is achieving your goals and overcoming all the hurdles and obstacles thrown in your way. One of the articles we read in class, “The Felon and the Rhodes Scholar”, helped me to better understand that where you came from and where you ended up have more or less effect in your path to success. Wes Moore, is the name given to two different but alike men. Both grew up around the same time, around the same place, and around the same people but only one would come out on top. The Rhodes Scholar had a family to guide him to the right path, a family that influenced him to make the right choices. I believe the Felon did not have such a support system, which ultimately led to him having no hope nor any great ambitions. The Rhodes Scholar dodged bullets with support, while the felon had bigger bullets to dodge but no supporters, thus he ended up where he is now, jail. What success is and what it is to achieve success are two different things. To achieve a success, you first have to have goals and ambitions. One of my goals in life is to travel the world. Another step into achieving success is to know how to conquer the goal. Learning about as many cultures as I can and earning sufficient amounts of money, will help me to travel the world with ease. The last step to achieving success is overcoming any obstacles. And I can say that my parents are an obstacle. They're pretty myopic, I just hope as time goes by they open they're eyes to the idea and learn appreciate my curiosity about different cultures. Ishmael's book, definitely taught me to appreciate the world.

This book was clearly written to touch the hearts of people. The story of Ishmael will send your emotions on a roller coaster ride. There will be highs and lows. What sucks is, that when there are lows they aren't just a “That's so sad” thing, its more like a “Let me go over there and beat them up” kind of thing. It makes you want to react in some way, to stand up. The beginning of the book starts off in the present, as if Ishmael is recalling all the memories in the past. The ending of the story goes back to Ishmael's life now in New York. 

While reading this book I learned about attitude shifts during times of war, I learned how being
belligerent leads to fear and hatred in hearts. Even if the hatred in their hearts grows, there were still some pretty benevolent people, these people are completely selfless. And I believe they care more for the success of others than that of their own. There should be more people like that in the world. This book is also a great way to get to know some of the African customs and traditions. Although the African culture is some what distorted in the book because of the war, it still provides readers with an understanding.

Readers should check this book out, because its really good. I mean its really really good. These aren't some stories that have been made up, these are memoirs of a man whose been through hell and back. How he managed it through such an unimaginable time, still out stands me. I can't say anything in my life was quite as significant as what he's had happen to him. And I would most definitely recommend this to my friends. When referring to the constant barking and crying of once
benign
dogs they pass at each village Ishmael says, “They sound very human” (Ishmael 84). The sorrow of what was happening was not only felt in the humans, but even the animals. Their cries could relate to what the humans felt in their hearts. Cries for food, cries for lost ones, or cries for home. 
 
Imagine having your whole life shift in a matter of a day. Imagine having everything stripped away from you: your family, your home, your childhood, and your friends. Its pretty unimaginable, isn't it? It wasn't for Ishmael Beah, who experienced such loss age the tender age of twelve. His parents, among with other people in his village were brutally murdered; these deaths were caused by the belligerent rebels in Sierra Leone. After being robbed of everything, Ishmael goes on to become a boy soldier. He is taught to be aggressive and show no mercy. He struggles to find himself in a pool deep with blood shed by those he killed. This book is intense, and what makes it intense is that everthing in it is true. He witnessed so many deaths and so many other horrors, but he managed to let go of his hatred. He found peace with himself; he no longer has that inner struggle. And I think that's the message the book tries to convey. You can not let hatred take over your heart, you can not become senseless.
 

I thought the film was a bit too slow moving. I understood the storyline, but I felt like they could have added a few more things to make it more appealing. One of the benefits from watching the film, was that we got more insight on Pablo Neruda's character. We can also make some inference statements about the difference in class between Neruda and Mario. Il Postino is also a good example of a movie that shows different forms of love. It showed love for friends, love for one's country/family, and it even showed lustful love. It did this all whilst the characters were saying metaphors, adding to the theme of poetry.

Considering the colors of clothing worn by Neruda and Mario, you could tell that Neruda was more well off. His clothes were lighter, brighter, and he seemed to be cleaner. Mario on the other hand wore darker clothing and had a bit more messier look. Mario was a poor postman, whose only job was to deliver letters to one of the only literate men on the island, Pablo Neruda. He encountered and befriended Neruda, because of his frequent deliveries. I think that if Mario had not taken the job as the postman, he would never have had the chance to talk to Neruda. Since intermingling between social classes, was not acceptable in society during that time frame.

There were a couple different examples of love in this film. I think that Mario had great love for Neruda. He was taught how to write poems and use metaphors by Neruda, which is why Mario grew to have so much appreciation for him. “He treats me as if I am his brother.” said Mario in one of the scenes. Mario tried so hard to be like Neruda, so much so that his desires lead him to his death. I know Neruda felt guilty for influencing Mario as much as he did, I took that into account after seeing him get emotional while listening to Mario's recording. I believe, that he also felt guilty about not remaining in contact with Mario. People should understand, that after being exiled for so long, you have to go back and rebuild everything you once had. Which is probably what kept Neruda from writing to Mario. And people should also take into consideration that Neruda was a famous man. I'm pretty sure he had a whole bunch of other things to attend to. So, I think Neruda and Mario shared the same love as friends.

“Your laugh is a sudden silvery wave.” said Mario as he was reading poetry to Beatrice on the beach. The characters in the film used a lot of metaphors, which is probably why one of the themes is poetry. Pablo explained to Mario, that metaphors weren't complicated and that they were one of the beauties of language. “The sky starts weeping; what do you think that means?” asked Neruda. “It means that is raining.” said Mario.

 
Last year we learned about the genocide in Rwandan (1994). All the stories we read about it, really moved me. It made me curious as to what it would be like if I was there and what I would see, so I wrote this poem. And I know most people won't have a catharsis for this event, because it has made too deep of wound for the witnesses of this slaughter.

Bodies line the streets, I plug my nose.
I close my eyes, but nothing will erase this sight.
The smell sends my stomach churning.
I kneel over, I feel like I'm going to pass out.
Too deep inside my own head to realize
the truck had stopped, the people now flocking out.
What now?
They had everyone line up and take out their passports.
The soldiers showed no mercy, they killed on the spot.
"The days of the Tutsi are coming to an end."
"Sir, but what you are doing is wrong."
They did not waste their time,
She was pleading for her life,
We all watched in silence as two shots
were fired into her back side.
She should've known better than to speak out of line.
 
This poem is about the girl in the photo with a blindfold on. The picture reminded me of a game of hide and seek. And it made me think that maybe (if there was a story behind this photo), the man she was marrying (she had a ring on her finger) beguiled her into loving him.

I wave my hands out in front of me.
My fingers are playing the role of my eyes today.
They catch on to the bumps and the cracks on the walls.
I'm careful not to trip, not to fall.
Clumsily I make my way down the steps.
I don't know where you are, I don't know where you went.
Hopefully I'll be able to find you before the time is spent.
Before the seasons change and my reasons for playing this game, become lame.
 
Yeah, so this is pretty short. I'm going to add more to it later, but for now this is it.

Lets follow the trails we left behind as kids
Marked by the days we spent crying,
By days we spent laughing, marked by the
days we wished we were flying.

Lets go back to the time
when our ears weren't soiled,
when our lips weren't tainted, when all
we could think about was having our wishes foiled.
 
A PUPPY?
I was sitting in my room on a boring and lonely night,
then my door opened, and I was gripped by an unbelievable sight.

My mom was holding a dog.
and I couldn't believe my eyes,
but I knew I wouldn't be able to keep it
and my face erupted in sighs.

Then she explained that I could,
if I took her out to pee.
And I then I thought to myself,
"How hard can that possibly be?"

I considered naming her Doce,
but decided that Diamond was the best.
And I would soon find out that
she likes putting my nerves to the test.

At first, I was scared of her
she would always bark and growl.
 But my Mom said I could make her stop
by hitting her with a towel.

Now I've grown to love her,
and I've said goodbye to the fright.
Everyday she greets me politely
and sleeps with me all night.

She started off bad but now she's benign.
Having her in my life has really put things in line.
 
Picture
I'm going to start off by saying that poetry does not interest me. However I have a few exceptions, and this one of the few poems that actually makes sense to me. I'm not a fan of being belligerent or of war, but I like watching movies and reading stories about them. It moves me to hear about soldiers that put their lives on the line for our sake. And in this poem, Arthur, who is very adept at describing nature, writes about how any given soldier can fall in battle and still have the world going on around him, as if nothing has happened.


The Sleeper in the Valley

-Arthur Rimbaud

It is a green hollow where a stream gurgles,
crazily catching silver rags of itself on the grasses.
Where the sun shines from the proud mountain,
it is a little valley bubbling over with light.

A young soldier, open-mouthed, bare-headed,
with the nape of his neck bathed in cool blue cresses
sleeps; he is stretched out on the grass, under the sky.
Pale on his green bed where the light falls like rain.

His feet in the yellow flags, he lies sleeping. Smiling as
a sick child might smile, he is having a nap.
Cradle him warmly, Nature: he is cold.

No odor makes his nostrils quiver;
He sleeps in the sun, his hand on his breast.
At peace. There are two red holes in his right side.

    Qoutes:

    "Gravitation is not responsible for people falling in love." - Albert Einstein