fukú and zafa

Fukú americanus, despite its uncanny resemblance to an English profanity, is a curse, one that has plagued Oscar de Leon's family for several generations. It is perhaps only a ridiculous superstition, but it seems to be a comfortable excuse for Oscar's terrible bad luck. Disastrously overweight, depressingly lonely, and socially awkward, Oscar does not live the ideal life. 

Such is the concept for Junot Diaz's The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao. If you haven't read it yet, you should give it try. You could learn more about this curious, explicitly-named fukú americanus. 

The story is one of love, hatred, violence, compassion------ all of the emotions in one giant rainbow. It's about the most passionate kind of love, the deepest kind of hatred, the most terrible violence. The characters vibrantly come alive to tell you this life of Oscar, of his sharply stubborn mother Belí, his curse-bringer grandfather Abelard (everything can be blamed on Dominican dictator Trujillo), and his selfless, devoted sister Lola. This story is clearly more poignant than you thought. Plus, a little bit of Dominican history is thrown in there. 

And then there is the fukú and its counterspell, zafa. Bad luck and good luck-- the same kind of superstitions that we have (perhaps more superstitious...). But it really forces you to think about how much of Oscar's life is a function of this fukú, how much is saved by zafa, and how much is random chance. 

Pick it as your next independent reading book. 

seriously, what's up with hamlet?

Hamlet may say that he is only feigning insanity, but in all honesty, he must be crazy. How else can you explain his bizarre and morosely philosophical soliloquies, his blatant disregard for all of his relationships, his apparently merciless, ruthless thoughts? It is difficult to label him sane when he muses on whether avoiding suicide is worth it, when he comes to the conclusion that the reason to live is to avoid the nightmares in the afterlife, when he cruelly spurns his former love interest Ophelia, when he brutally lashes his mother with his words, when he refuses to murder his uncle until he is caught in a sinful act.... ETC.

Even Hamlet's act of feigning insanity is insane. He must be crazy.

I presume the normal Hamlet, the sane Hamlet is a rational individual, good-natured and decently virtuous-- one who nurtures his relationships rather than destroy them, who concerns himself what every normal young adult concerns himself with, who does not contemplate the prospect of committing suicide. The Hamlet we see is one with a personality inundated with cruelty and mercilessness. He is grossly compared to his uncle, who is initially presented as the heartless villain but whose guilt and humanity is later revealed. Hamlet, on the other hand, only wishes to kill Claudius when he is not praying and feels no remorse after killing an innocent man.

But if you think about it, maybe his craziness is justifiable. I mean, this dude did just lose the person whom he idolized and revered the most, not to mention he's been subject to a truckload of hard-hitting betrayal. His uncle murdered his father. His mother married his uncle. His best friends are spies for his uncle. There are a plethora of catalysts for his insanity.

beauty

The 9 most beautiful words in the English language according to a Mr. Phil Cousineau: 
aesthetics
carouse
coffee
flaneur
ramble
smirk
sub rosa
voluptuous
zenith

To be blunt, I think Cousineau is wrong. Firstly, out of the millions of words that exist in our language, are these really the most beautiful? Secondly, I don't find many of these words to be particularly beautiful. Thirdly, "k" sounds are too harsh for my taste. 

Granted, this disagreement probably exists because Cousineau and I are not the same person. We do not think the same way. The problem with gauging beauty is its vague definitions, its excessive subjectivity-- especially when dealing with something not traditionally considered to be beautiful, like words. 

What makes a word beautiful? Cousineau's answer is different from mine, just as mine is likely different from yours. A word is beautiful to me because of everything that surrounds it-- its pronunciation, its meaning, its connotation. My favorite words are those that seem to exude warmth, freshness, even happiness. My favorite words are those that sound romantically poetic-- smooth and pacifying in a way that creates an image of calm beauty. 

With regards to pronunciations, "s" sounds are nice. "k" sounds are ugly.

Some beautiful words in the English language according to Ms. Jessie Li
serendipity 
bliss
licentious (you saw that one coming)
effervescent
fluorescence
ethereal 
serene
ambrosia
iridescence 

You probably think I'm wrong. 

crazy philosophical moments

"Let every man in mankind's frailty consider his last day; and let none presume on his good fortune until he find life, at his death, a memory without pain."
-Oedipus Rex (lines 1471-1475)

The last lines of Oedipus Rex are actually quite insightful, expressing the ease with which people seem to take things for granted. Fortune can only be claimed after the fact. In retrospect. Later.

Take Oedipus as an example. So preoccupied with the fruits of his supposed success-- his ascension to the throne, his marriage to the Queen, the reverence of his people-- he lives in ignorance of the truth. He considers himself to be overwhelmingly fortunate, a fact so cruelly untrue. Oedipus's live is certainly not a memory with pain, even if the vast majority of his life was lived in happiness.

It's easy to forget how fragile everything really is. So much of our lives are so fast-paced, so focused on the now-- that pensive moments are few and far between. How often have you really thought about your life-- really thought about it?

Case in point:

I stare at the prompt: "what matters to you and why?" A simple enough question-- should have been simple enough to answer. But I just stare blankly. I've never given it a real thought. What matters to me? Who matters to me? And then the incredibly elusive... What really makes me me? (The incredibly self-discoveries you make with the assistance of college essays...) I still haven't come to a complete conclusion. Life is just too complicated. (Another reason why college essays are impossible).

This was one of those crazy philosophical moments that everyone experiences sometimes--the kind that leaves you to ponder the meaning of life, the reason to live, etc. It's almost like you're not in the present for a moment, absent from the realities of now, focused on the obscurities of the self. It's funny how the more I think about it, the more confused I become. One thing I know for sure-- things are too fragile to take for granted. 

Maybe we should have more crazy philosophical moments. They're so much fun!

it's your fate

Have you ever thought about your fate? I sure hadn't-- at least until I read the delightful Oedipus Rex, the play that delves into the concepts of fate versus free will. Oedipus, in an attempt to escape his fate, runs directly into the arms of fate itself. His actions had been predestined. His choices were not entirely his own-- they were a product of his destiny.

It's all a bit mind-blowing, really. Can you truly imagine that every one of your actions has been planned-- that you have been fated to do what you do, to make the choices you have made? It's unnerving to even speculate that my control over my life can be questioned. If we all truly have a fate, there is nothing that we can do to evade it. Any tries to do so, like Oedipus, will only fulfill our fates. Everything comes full circle.

But does it really matter?

Suppose we all had predestined fates. Maybe things are different in Oedipus's world, where people could consult oracles who would accurately decipher their fates. But this is the real world. There are no magically gifted clairvoyants to say what the future holds (I guess this could be debatable, but I suppose I am a skeptic of the superstitious. And I feel like the majority would agree with me). There is no way of truly knowing our fates. The truth is that it doesn't matter-- people will go on living their lives, making choices as if they did have free will, and they will never know that their choices were of any other origin than their own selves.

Maybe believing in a fate can result in peace of mind. Thinking that the events of life are out of conscious control eliminates the "what if?" mentality and the regret that accompanies that. So many people constantly stick to the mantra, "Everything happens for a reason," and perhaps for good reason. Whether or not it's true, there's an optimism to it that everyone likes. Everyone needs a little optimism.

Do you have a fate? You can decide.

writer's block

It's never a good feeling when you hit a brick wall-- when you're staring blankly at the empty computer screen waiting for words to miraculously appear on the page. Unfortunately, it happens all the time-- especially now as a senior who is expected to pump out essay after essay after essay. Writer's block is exhausting. 

"What matters to you and why?" 

"Please write exactly five sentences that best describe you."

"What do you wish you were better at doing or being?" 

"What would you do with a free afternoon tomorrow?"

"Where is Waldo, really?" 

How am I supposed to answer these questions? How am I supposed to write an essay-- 500 entire words-- to convince someone that I am not only a good writer but also someone special enough to be accepted? Beats me. I'm stuck. 

Writing is a difficult task, especially when you're asked to show yourself through your words. I have a mathematical mind. My mind is familiar with the definite outlines of biological processes, derivatives and integrals, and algebraic equations. If I could express myself in the form of a math equation, life would be good. But unfortunately, written English is the standard. Apparently, written language is more personal than math. 

Maybe so. But that doesn't make writing any easier. It is daunting to think that my words are supposed to be a representation of me and my persona. Am I really capable of truly capturing my own essence in a group of organized sentences? Can a stranger read my words and know who I am? I have my work cut out for me. If only I could get past this brick wall. 

Writer's block is a pain. 

crazy people

Ken Kesey's One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest is about crazy people.

But maybe they're not as crazy as they seem.

Kesey's 1960s novel surrounds a psychiatric ward in Oregon, inhabited by a host of supposedly insane men and the cruel, cold Nurse Ratched. The patients live in constant fear of the Big Nurse, who exercises completely control over her ward through deliberate manipulation of guilt, shame, and embarrassment. The arrival of the boisterous Randle McMurphy changes everything.

It is evident that, in this novel, the hospital and Nurse Ratched represent a kind of oppression. The patients of the ward, prior to McMurphy's arrival, seemed lifeless. They couldn't even laugh properly. Nurse Ratched was in control, and no one could challenge that. Her intimidation and power seemed to suppress the individuality of her patients--every man shrunk deeper into himself. Every man becomes crazier than he was initially.

Kesey is perhaps offering a commentary on the general dynamic of society today. Societal pressures can be quite oppressive, especially with pressures to conform. Conformity is the ultimate suppressor of individuality. Kesey is takes a more critical stance on the subject, revealing much about his own views. In fact, many parallels can be drawn between the novel and Kesey's life. Kesey himself is an ardent preserver of his own identity and individuality, refusing to conform to social norms. One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest argues that the preservation of individuality can be equated with the preservation of sanity. The patients of Ratched's ward are not necessarily insane to begin with. Oppression drove them to madness.