At Easter Morning Mass this past weekend, I was “contemplating my navel” as my mum would say (head down in the thinker’s pose) during the homily, blissfully tuning out the priest’s sermon as I recovered from a vigorous Alleluia chorus when the priest’s words pierced through the cloud in my mind and rang clearly as if he had spoken them right next to me: “It is only by letting go of the worries and troubles of this world that we can truly begin to comprehend the wonder of the home God has waiting for us in the Kingdom of Heaven.”
For a moment I was stunned; had the good father recently read Eat, Pray, Love? Clearly this was too good to be true, as his statement echoed profoundly of Liz Gilbert’s own musings while she meditated in India and Indonesia. However, I have long since been aware of those precious moments when your mind goes blank and the only thing you are aware of are the words that someone is speaking or the actions someone is taking that scream to you, “You’ve been thinking about this recently, haven’t you? Well here’s your answer!” That the Sunday Mass was one of those moments was confirmed for me when, as my mum drove me down to Loyola on Monday, the NPR radio station blurted out, “What makes America different from other countries is that ethnicities are generally tolerated, but what’s important is the allegiance to the country.” (Taken from an interview on the topic of British Muslims).
What I take from this comes in two parts. The first is simple: no matter what, the home you make for yourself in your own body is absolutely critical and directly influences the home you make in the world. Gilbert demonstrates that, thousands of miles away from “home,” she nevertheless found home in the house of her friend Wayan and in the arms of her lover Felipe. I’m not saying that you need to bring yourself to the level of turiya to achieve this inner “contentedness,” but in the end the goal is the same. The second part is that I finally realized and accepted completely that my faith is a truly integral part of my home. Those beliefs and values that my parents instilled in me and introduced me to make of more of my being than I previously cared to admit, and whether that makes me a by-product of our increasingly secular society or not is something I don’t need to worry about.
Being comfortable with yourself and what you’ve done goes a long way to letting you actually come home. Gilbert’s meditation on the rooftop under the Indian sky on her divorce is a perfect example of the sort of peace that can be achieved by letting go of worries and troubles: “Let your intention be freedom from useless suffering. Then, let go.” And after that moment when Liz realized that she was truly free was when she truly was home. Because no matter how much pleasure she indulged in, no matter how many times she meditated, until she let go of that particular worry, just as she had with David, she could not truly be home in herself. What many scornfully refer to as “baggage” is much more serious and undeserving of such mockery. Those things that block us from accepting ourselves and accepting freedom are those truly worthy of attention. Once those have been dealt with we are much better equipped to deal with the problems of finding a home in a world where one man takes land from another with nary an apology or recompense.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Interior Closets
“My friends who have been studying Yoga for a long time say you don’t really see the impact that an Ashram has had on you until you leave the place and return to your normal life. ‘Only then,’ said the former nun from South Africa, ‘will you start to notice how your interior closets have been rearranged.’ Of course at the moment, I’m not entirely sure what my normal life is. I mean, I’m maybe about to go move in with an elderly medicine man in Indonesia –is that my normal life? It may be, who knows?” (202)
This quote really stuck out to me while I was reading because it made me think about the huge transition that Liz making, not just with her travels, but with her entire life. While you’re reading about her months in Italy, India and Indonesia you forget that Liz had a home and a family and that after the last leg of her trip in Bali she will be returning to her normal life. The problem is, she doesn’t have a “normal life” to return to. When Liz’s trip is over and she presumably returns to the US she will be starting over. She is free to find a new house, a new hometown, new friends, etc. She doesn’t have to (and definitely shouldn’t) return to the same life she had in New York. This can be a liberating, but also terrifying experience. How do you go about creating a new life? What do you base it on?
In Liz’s case, I think she is fully aware of the personal changes that she has undergone in each step of her trip. I think that Liz, to use the words of the nun from South Africa that she met at the Ashram, realizes that her “interior closets” are being rearrange constantly in her journey of self-discovery. But Liz isn’t just returning to her old life as a changed woman. She is faced with the task of constructing a new life around what she has learned on her journey; she is taking her rearranged interior closets and remodeling her life around them. She can’t return to the “home” she created with her husband or with David now that she is a new person. Liz is finally growing up and discovering who she is as an individual and this realization really necessitates the creation of a new life, of a personal homeland.
This same idea really applies to all of us as college students. Our time at Loyola has changed each of us. I know that I felt the changes that college had sparked in me within the first few weeks of college. I remember returning home for Thanksgiving break freshman year and seeing my family and friends after only being away for a few months. Everything was different. My family noticed changes in me almost immediately. “You seem more mature!” my Mom would say to me. Well I don’t know how true that was but I really was a different person: neater, more talkative, more goal-oriented and noticeably self-sufficient. In the three years that I’ve spent at Loyola, these same traits have developed in me, and become a part of my character. Just as many other people have said throughout the semester, Loyola became a home for me. My time here has already changed my identity completely. Sure, I brought a little bit of home with me to college (through pictures, music, decorations, food, etc) but more importantly I’ve realized that I’ve brought so much of college back home with me. It has become part of my life. My tastes in food, music, movies, and books have been completely transformed. I’ve developed a new and much more personal relationship with God than I left home with 3 years ago. I feel like my life is headed in an entirely different direction than I saw myself going when I graduated high school. And in a way, as Liz’s Yoga friends in the novel pointed out, it is hard for me to notice how much I’ve changed until I return home and remember the person I used to be.
But looking ahead to my college graduation next spring, and hearing about the plans of this year’s graduating seniors, it’s easy to see that we are all in the same boat that Liz is in at the end of her journey. After graduation, we don’t really have “normal lives” to return to. We can always visit our parents, maybe even live with them for a while but it’s still time for us to start our own life and create new homelands for ourselves. Even though it’s intimidating we have to choose a lifestyle, a job or career, and a place to live. We will meet new people, and decide what place family and friends will have in our developing life. After graduation we join the “real world” and we have the task of defining what the “real world” is for us. Who we are in college has a huge bearing on who we become after we graduate and on the type of life we pursue. My college career has certainly changed who I am, and often made me question my life without providing me with any answers. I don’t fully know myself, nor to I expect to by the end of next year, but what I have learned and experienced while in college is already steering me toward the life I will create for myself after graduation. And the questions that college has left unanswered for me will undoubtedly guide me on my path through life.
Throughout this course we have dealt with the relationship between change and homelands, among other things. I think that most of the characters that we’ve met this semester have had to deal with change. Either they have undergone personal change or they have had to face irreparable changes to their physical homelands. Their “interior closets” have been rearranged and it is then up to them to choose or create a new homeland for themselves. Sometimes characters’ reactions in the face of change are not favorable, as with Okonkwo who commits suicide because he is incapable of adapting to his changing homeland. And in some cases, like with Jasmine, the idea of creating a new identity and homeland becomes an escape. Gilbert’s book really crystallizes the idea of embracing and cultivating change in the name of creating or discovering an interior homeland. In the face of change the characters we’ve encountered have had to reevaluate their idea of homelands and I believe that, like these characters, our class has made each of us re-examine our notions of homelands and our place in them. I know that this course has made me rethink my personal ideas on home, family, faith, and racial/cultural identity–something that I really wasn’t expecting. This class was a pleasant surprise and a very enriching experience for me.
This quote really stuck out to me while I was reading because it made me think about the huge transition that Liz making, not just with her travels, but with her entire life. While you’re reading about her months in Italy, India and Indonesia you forget that Liz had a home and a family and that after the last leg of her trip in Bali she will be returning to her normal life. The problem is, she doesn’t have a “normal life” to return to. When Liz’s trip is over and she presumably returns to the US she will be starting over. She is free to find a new house, a new hometown, new friends, etc. She doesn’t have to (and definitely shouldn’t) return to the same life she had in New York. This can be a liberating, but also terrifying experience. How do you go about creating a new life? What do you base it on?
In Liz’s case, I think she is fully aware of the personal changes that she has undergone in each step of her trip. I think that Liz, to use the words of the nun from South Africa that she met at the Ashram, realizes that her “interior closets” are being rearrange constantly in her journey of self-discovery. But Liz isn’t just returning to her old life as a changed woman. She is faced with the task of constructing a new life around what she has learned on her journey; she is taking her rearranged interior closets and remodeling her life around them. She can’t return to the “home” she created with her husband or with David now that she is a new person. Liz is finally growing up and discovering who she is as an individual and this realization really necessitates the creation of a new life, of a personal homeland.
This same idea really applies to all of us as college students. Our time at Loyola has changed each of us. I know that I felt the changes that college had sparked in me within the first few weeks of college. I remember returning home for Thanksgiving break freshman year and seeing my family and friends after only being away for a few months. Everything was different. My family noticed changes in me almost immediately. “You seem more mature!” my Mom would say to me. Well I don’t know how true that was but I really was a different person: neater, more talkative, more goal-oriented and noticeably self-sufficient. In the three years that I’ve spent at Loyola, these same traits have developed in me, and become a part of my character. Just as many other people have said throughout the semester, Loyola became a home for me. My time here has already changed my identity completely. Sure, I brought a little bit of home with me to college (through pictures, music, decorations, food, etc) but more importantly I’ve realized that I’ve brought so much of college back home with me. It has become part of my life. My tastes in food, music, movies, and books have been completely transformed. I’ve developed a new and much more personal relationship with God than I left home with 3 years ago. I feel like my life is headed in an entirely different direction than I saw myself going when I graduated high school. And in a way, as Liz’s Yoga friends in the novel pointed out, it is hard for me to notice how much I’ve changed until I return home and remember the person I used to be.
But looking ahead to my college graduation next spring, and hearing about the plans of this year’s graduating seniors, it’s easy to see that we are all in the same boat that Liz is in at the end of her journey. After graduation, we don’t really have “normal lives” to return to. We can always visit our parents, maybe even live with them for a while but it’s still time for us to start our own life and create new homelands for ourselves. Even though it’s intimidating we have to choose a lifestyle, a job or career, and a place to live. We will meet new people, and decide what place family and friends will have in our developing life. After graduation we join the “real world” and we have the task of defining what the “real world” is for us. Who we are in college has a huge bearing on who we become after we graduate and on the type of life we pursue. My college career has certainly changed who I am, and often made me question my life without providing me with any answers. I don’t fully know myself, nor to I expect to by the end of next year, but what I have learned and experienced while in college is already steering me toward the life I will create for myself after graduation. And the questions that college has left unanswered for me will undoubtedly guide me on my path through life.
Throughout this course we have dealt with the relationship between change and homelands, among other things. I think that most of the characters that we’ve met this semester have had to deal with change. Either they have undergone personal change or they have had to face irreparable changes to their physical homelands. Their “interior closets” have been rearranged and it is then up to them to choose or create a new homeland for themselves. Sometimes characters’ reactions in the face of change are not favorable, as with Okonkwo who commits suicide because he is incapable of adapting to his changing homeland. And in some cases, like with Jasmine, the idea of creating a new identity and homeland becomes an escape. Gilbert’s book really crystallizes the idea of embracing and cultivating change in the name of creating or discovering an interior homeland. In the face of change the characters we’ve encountered have had to reevaluate their idea of homelands and I believe that, like these characters, our class has made each of us re-examine our notions of homelands and our place in them. I know that this course has made me rethink my personal ideas on home, family, faith, and racial/cultural identity–something that I really wasn’t expecting. This class was a pleasant surprise and a very enriching experience for me.
Such Great Philanthropy
Darling…of course she’s fucking with you…It’s a way of life here for people to try to get the most money they can out of visitors. It’s how everyone survives (Gilbert 320).
Liz learns a very unsettling lesson about human nature, immediately following her greatest karmic triumph. She manages to pull together $18,000 using her extended network of friends, to help out Wayan, seemingly bringing her journey full circle. She has finally healed enough that she can begin to repay those who have helped her. However, Wayan attempting to milk her for more money threatens to sour the experience for Liz.
Charity is something I have always struggled with. My father always taught me not to give money to panhandlers. He has managed halfway houses and in his experience addicts do not begin the steps to a real recovery until they hit a true “rock bottom.” My giving them money not only gives them money to feed their habit in the short run, but also delays them hitting bottom. Still, I’m often conflicted, and having no backbone I often give. Either way I suppose I win. If I give money I feel good. If I don’t give, I can feel wiser than those who do, and comfort myself knowing that I’m truly helping that bum achieve moral virtue down the road, something that the others don’t realize.
Of course I’ve heard Ayn Rand’s theories that there can be no true charity since people derive enjoyment from helping others. The first time I suppose I really had to confront my motivations for philanthropy came on my trip to South Dakota between my junior and senior years of high school.
If I was ever idealistic, I suppose it was tarnished by a Christian service trip, something that was meant to make my Jesuit classmates and me more loving, committed to justice, open to growth and so forth. We had done soup kitchens and the works, but we were all really pumped to be helping some legit poor people this time. Yep, these were the Sioux. As much as the Native Americans got the shaft in our country, they were about as close as you can get to real poverty without going to a third world country (after all, you can’t really be poor in America just lazy right?). We drove to Eagle Butte where we’d be building houses for Habitat for Humanity. We were positively giddy to see trailers with no plumbing and hear about 80% unemployment rates on the reservation. This charity was the big time alright.
Our first job was painting the house for Gerry, the head of Habitat. Our next was putting a deck on the side of Ted-his-assistant’s house. Then we laid down some linoleum in Gerry’s kitchen. By the third night, my friend Nick and I went on a tirade in group reflection. We’d come however many thousand miles to do odd jobs for the people in town who least needed it. Other families didn’t have running water, did Ted need a deck (fyi, he made some side money selling pot out of his house)? The teachers who led us had no real control over what work we were assigned and tried to calm us down as best they could. I’m not entirely sure the other members of our group caught onto just how much we were being used, but most joined us on our rant.
Eventually, we resigned ourselves to the fact that we had to go through with whatever work we were given. At least the trip fulfilled our forty hours of obligatory-volunteering to graduate. In retrospect I think what had made Nick and I angriest was a sense of entitlement. I had felt entitled to those warm fuzzies I saw on my classmates’ faces, the ones who had gone to Jamaica and gotten to hoist smiling orphans on their shoulders. Where was my orphan-high?!
Granted, I really did want to help those 80% unemployed, but honestly, what difference would I have made? The main anger came from being robbed of that experience.
When we got back to school I had it out with Father Joe on the issue. He explained that the reason we worked on the houses of Gerry and Ted was because Sioux were poor at organizing their labor. They had failed to line up enough real work for us and what we did was busy work. Father Joe reminded me that what makes poverty self-perpetuating is the inability for the people to manage the resources that do come their way. We hadn’t been used, just mismanaged (and Father Joe saw to it that the group next year did have real work lined up for them).
I empathize with Liz. She was almost robbed of the experience of getting those very karmic fuzzies, seeing Wayan and her children in a good house. Eventually, by standing her ground she does curb Wayan and get her in a house (after all, she still does seem like a nice girl, one who has just been overwhelmed by money, money that she has no experience with or context to relate to). As cliché a way as it is to tie things together, I suppose in both of our cases it should have been the thought that counted. The rewarding buzz felt from doing a good deed I suppose shouldn’t be looked down upon. Probably no one would ever be helped if it wasn’t for the feeling their benefactors get from doing righteous deeds.
I apologize for such a dark ending to our homeland blogs. As for a thing that has surprised me about homelands readings, I think it has been the ability the authors have to make me empathize with these far-away peoples. Virtually all of them have had some pretty rough existences, but without any real ability to help them (and subsequently reap Ayn Rand’s benefits) I can only relate to them. I really see it as a credit to the authors that they have been so successful in helping me relate to characters I have little in common with culturally. The readings and discussions have been an exercise in connection to these cultures.
Standing in your garage doesn't make you a car.
There is a saying my granny always used to tell my siblings and I, but until reading Eat Pray Love and really considering my religious faith I never truly understood it: “Remember, just going to church doesn't make you a Christian any more than standing in your garage makes you a car.”
I used to consider myself faithful. I prayed before I went to sleep, went to church every Sunday, had a strong relationship with God, and was unwavering in my beliefs. However, coming to college has changed all this—ironic I know considering our Jesuit campus with the cathedral smack in the heart of it. I wouldn’t say I am faithless, but over the last three years I have found that when I once looked to God and found answers, I now find questions: unending questions that never seem to subside but only multiply as I begin to question the questions.
I think it is for this reason that I have managed to envy one of the fifth graders in Mrs. M’s class at St. Mary’s. Her name is Monica, and she is by far the most boisterous and self righteous ten year old I know; which is evidently how she acquired the nick-name Princess Moni. She stands around four feet high, with chubby cheeks, brown skin, honey eyes, and a smile that could knock anyone to their knees. Her laugh is priceless and the energy she emits into the room is flawless, but what catches me off guard every week is none of the characteristics previously stated. I am jealous of Monica because of her ability to begin each morning singing and saying a personal prayer just after announcements. It is the same prayer each week, with maybe one or two names added or removed depending on their need of God’s help and blessing. She says, “I would like to thank God for my mom and my dad, my baby brother and sister, for Mrs. M, Mrs. Alyssa and St. Mary’s. And I would also like to ask God to help all the people homeless on the streets and anybody in need of food and love. Help us take care of each other. Amen.”
After contemplating my jealousy, I realized I am not envious of her ability to sing (although I wish I could hit notes as high as she can), or her ability to pray, because I could formulate a pretty decent prayer. I was jealous however, of her belief in her prayer. Her whole heart was in the words that she spoke—her whole being, which is more than I can say for the majority of conversations I hold through out the day. I couldn’t help but think of Monica while reading the questions and theories Gilbert posed through out her novel. Three in particular stood out to me. The first was the impossible question of “how should we find peace within ourselves?” (251). It was incredibly frustrating watching a fifth grader have more peace and confidence within herself than I did at twenty years old. Like Gilbert, the many years, heartaches, and let downs that I have faced in the last ten years have left me to question not only my faith while simultaneously and earnestly needing it, but also to question myself. But Princess Monica didn’t question herself, and I wondered how? I immediately thought back to the seemingly class favorite quote: “Faith is walking face-first and full-speed into the dark.” (175) In this sense, faith is not necessarily knowing the answers, but trusting enough to walk anyway.
Yet this only led me to question why Monica was able to have such faith while Gilbert and I had only transcended into darkness as years went on. That is when I stumbled upon the wise words of Felipe: “It’s still two human beings trying to get along, so it’s going to be complicated. And love is always complicated. But humans must try to love each other, darling. We must get our hearts broken sometimes. This is a good sign, having a broken heart. It means we have tried for something” (277). After reading this quote, I found the answer I was looking for: I realized my faith really hadn’t been lost in college, it had just been transformed. In my new homeland at Loyola I found that I have enhanced my faith in people, and I strongly believe that in nurturing this faith, I will in turn find God again. I believe this is the motif within all of the novels we have read this semester: homeland in fact is an eternal peace with oneself, the ability to adapt, and the relationships we build with people. Gilbert takes this to the next level believing that in finding purity within each of these we will in turn find spirituality within our bodily homeland, and maintain the delicate balances of life. But like Monica says each morning, it can only begin by taking care of each other.
I used to consider myself faithful. I prayed before I went to sleep, went to church every Sunday, had a strong relationship with God, and was unwavering in my beliefs. However, coming to college has changed all this—ironic I know considering our Jesuit campus with the cathedral smack in the heart of it. I wouldn’t say I am faithless, but over the last three years I have found that when I once looked to God and found answers, I now find questions: unending questions that never seem to subside but only multiply as I begin to question the questions.
I think it is for this reason that I have managed to envy one of the fifth graders in Mrs. M’s class at St. Mary’s. Her name is Monica, and she is by far the most boisterous and self righteous ten year old I know; which is evidently how she acquired the nick-name Princess Moni. She stands around four feet high, with chubby cheeks, brown skin, honey eyes, and a smile that could knock anyone to their knees. Her laugh is priceless and the energy she emits into the room is flawless, but what catches me off guard every week is none of the characteristics previously stated. I am jealous of Monica because of her ability to begin each morning singing and saying a personal prayer just after announcements. It is the same prayer each week, with maybe one or two names added or removed depending on their need of God’s help and blessing. She says, “I would like to thank God for my mom and my dad, my baby brother and sister, for Mrs. M, Mrs. Alyssa and St. Mary’s. And I would also like to ask God to help all the people homeless on the streets and anybody in need of food and love. Help us take care of each other. Amen.”
After contemplating my jealousy, I realized I am not envious of her ability to sing (although I wish I could hit notes as high as she can), or her ability to pray, because I could formulate a pretty decent prayer. I was jealous however, of her belief in her prayer. Her whole heart was in the words that she spoke—her whole being, which is more than I can say for the majority of conversations I hold through out the day. I couldn’t help but think of Monica while reading the questions and theories Gilbert posed through out her novel. Three in particular stood out to me. The first was the impossible question of “how should we find peace within ourselves?” (251). It was incredibly frustrating watching a fifth grader have more peace and confidence within herself than I did at twenty years old. Like Gilbert, the many years, heartaches, and let downs that I have faced in the last ten years have left me to question not only my faith while simultaneously and earnestly needing it, but also to question myself. But Princess Monica didn’t question herself, and I wondered how? I immediately thought back to the seemingly class favorite quote: “Faith is walking face-first and full-speed into the dark.” (175) In this sense, faith is not necessarily knowing the answers, but trusting enough to walk anyway.
Yet this only led me to question why Monica was able to have such faith while Gilbert and I had only transcended into darkness as years went on. That is when I stumbled upon the wise words of Felipe: “It’s still two human beings trying to get along, so it’s going to be complicated. And love is always complicated. But humans must try to love each other, darling. We must get our hearts broken sometimes. This is a good sign, having a broken heart. It means we have tried for something” (277). After reading this quote, I found the answer I was looking for: I realized my faith really hadn’t been lost in college, it had just been transformed. In my new homeland at Loyola I found that I have enhanced my faith in people, and I strongly believe that in nurturing this faith, I will in turn find God again. I believe this is the motif within all of the novels we have read this semester: homeland in fact is an eternal peace with oneself, the ability to adapt, and the relationships we build with people. Gilbert takes this to the next level believing that in finding purity within each of these we will in turn find spirituality within our bodily homeland, and maintain the delicate balances of life. But like Monica says each morning, it can only begin by taking care of each other.
Savoring the Moment
You cannot capture time. You cannot push it forward, pause it, or rewind. It is neither tangible nor visible. So how do we measure it? Is it something that we need to measure? We spend so much of our time on earth worrying about the past, or worrying about what is yet to come—both things we cannot control. Sometimes, through all this worrying, it is easy to forget about the present. I don’t want to live like this. I don’t want to travel through life and discover one day that I never even lived—never took the time to relish in the simply pleasures around me. I believe it is not only important to try to live this way, but also love this way. Like life, we cannot predict the fate of love and we cannot change our love’s past. So why not love as best we can in a particular moment, the person we love for them at that particular moment? Reflecting on her “monkey mind” Gilbert writes, “If you’re looking for union with the divine, this kind of forward/backward whirling is a problem. There’s a reason they call God a presence—because God is right here, right now. In the present is the only place to find Him, and now is the only time” (132). Although Gilbert sees the “forward/backward” relationship of time as a problem with finding divinity, it can be applied to her quest in life and love as well—her purpose for traveling.
Tonight my mother undertook a major surgery. Having a medical-malpractice-caused rare blood type, my mother’s surgery became much more complicated for my family. Over 500 miles away I can see my father’s face as he waits patiently in the waiting room—pacing back-and-forth. My sister has informed me that the procedure, an estimated hour and half, was conducted over five and half hours, due to some unexpected complications. Thankfully my mother is alright. She knew nothing of the complications, or of the extended length of her procedure. (In fact, she probably won’t retain much of anything till tomorrow.) Speaking with my sister afterwards, we both found ourselves sympathizing with my father, who did not leave the waiting room for a mere second. Like my mother, who couldn’t eat before her surgery, he also didn’t eat all day. He was by her side the moment she woke up, still nervous, refusing to let go of her hand. It is in times like these that I am reminded of the simple pleasures; the moments that we tend to take for granted. We cannot predict things like “complications.” I don’t want to have any regrets.
Gilbert’s novel is more than a travel memoir—a collection of fabulously exotic tales. Through her quest she develops her own self-identity, but she also uncovers some philosophically insightful advice for her readers. Gilbert examines the inner “workings” of humanity. In particular, I enjoyed her opinion on the purpose for seeking rituals and religion:
“We do spiritual ceremonies as human beings in order to create a safe resting place for our most complicated feelings of joy or trauma, so that we don’t have to haul those feelings around with us forever, weighing us down” (187). Throughout Gilbert’s time in India she seems to do just this, create a “safe resting place” for the emotions of her past and the fear of her future. It is during these feelings of extreme “joy or trauma” that Gilbert seems to pray the most and, isn’t this when we all pray the most? I also connected with her view of karma. Gilbert writes,
“The karmic philosophy appeals to me on a metamorphic level because even in one lifetime it’s obvious how often we must repeat our same mistakes, banging out heads against the same old additions and compulsions, generating the same old miserable and often catastrophic consequences, until we can finally say stop and fix it” (262).
I sympathize with Gilbert in her karmic philosophy, or should I say, karmic behavior. It is human nature to be habitual and thus, caught-up in the same routines and “repeat our same mistakes.” Although Gilbert resents her attachment to male bonding, she finds herself returning to men (or more accurately to love) as an “old addition.” The question Gilbert seeks and we all should ask is, what drives this addiction? Is it our fears of something in the future? Is it a desire to return to a familiar and comfortable past? Time is not a linear path. Whether we like it or not, it seems to constantly shape our present.
Tonight my mother undertook a major surgery. Having a medical-malpractice-caused rare blood type, my mother’s surgery became much more complicated for my family. Over 500 miles away I can see my father’s face as he waits patiently in the waiting room—pacing back-and-forth. My sister has informed me that the procedure, an estimated hour and half, was conducted over five and half hours, due to some unexpected complications. Thankfully my mother is alright. She knew nothing of the complications, or of the extended length of her procedure. (In fact, she probably won’t retain much of anything till tomorrow.) Speaking with my sister afterwards, we both found ourselves sympathizing with my father, who did not leave the waiting room for a mere second. Like my mother, who couldn’t eat before her surgery, he also didn’t eat all day. He was by her side the moment she woke up, still nervous, refusing to let go of her hand. It is in times like these that I am reminded of the simple pleasures; the moments that we tend to take for granted. We cannot predict things like “complications.” I don’t want to have any regrets.
Gilbert’s novel is more than a travel memoir—a collection of fabulously exotic tales. Through her quest she develops her own self-identity, but she also uncovers some philosophically insightful advice for her readers. Gilbert examines the inner “workings” of humanity. In particular, I enjoyed her opinion on the purpose for seeking rituals and religion:
“We do spiritual ceremonies as human beings in order to create a safe resting place for our most complicated feelings of joy or trauma, so that we don’t have to haul those feelings around with us forever, weighing us down” (187). Throughout Gilbert’s time in India she seems to do just this, create a “safe resting place” for the emotions of her past and the fear of her future. It is during these feelings of extreme “joy or trauma” that Gilbert seems to pray the most and, isn’t this when we all pray the most? I also connected with her view of karma. Gilbert writes,
“The karmic philosophy appeals to me on a metamorphic level because even in one lifetime it’s obvious how often we must repeat our same mistakes, banging out heads against the same old additions and compulsions, generating the same old miserable and often catastrophic consequences, until we can finally say stop and fix it” (262).
I sympathize with Gilbert in her karmic philosophy, or should I say, karmic behavior. It is human nature to be habitual and thus, caught-up in the same routines and “repeat our same mistakes.” Although Gilbert resents her attachment to male bonding, she finds herself returning to men (or more accurately to love) as an “old addition.” The question Gilbert seeks and we all should ask is, what drives this addiction? Is it our fears of something in the future? Is it a desire to return to a familiar and comfortable past? Time is not a linear path. Whether we like it or not, it seems to constantly shape our present.
Who am I?
One of the things that struck me the most about “Eat Pray Love” is that in order to find her home, in order to find peace, Liz not only had to leave her home, her state, but she had to leave her country…and not only did she move to one other country, but to three. I had never thought that you could find yourself, by leaving behind everything that made you who you are. Throughout the semester, my views on post colonial nations, on homelands, on the definition of home, and the definition of my own self have changed drastically with every book we have read, with every new perspective presented. No novel we have read has touched me as much as “Eat Pray Love”. This novel is shockingly, beautifully, real. In knowing that this is an actual experience of the writer, that these are real thoughts, real events, real thought processes, allows for a connection with the author and the story that I have not felt as strongly in the other novels.
I have never been a fan of travel. I enjoy going on vacations for weeks at a time, but only in the company of those who I feel most close to, most secure with. I only like to leave my home if I am bringing a piece of it with me. I have never had any desire to live in another state, let alone another country…until now. Reading the first part of the novel that takes place in Italy filled me with a desire not only to live in another country, experience another culture, language, place, but to do so alone. I have always felt the need to be surrounded by my family, loved ones, and friends which I know is a perfectly natural instinct, but I have never considered the benefits and power of doing something completely on your own. The thought of traveling alone as certainly never crossed my mind, I can hardly imagine going to a restaurant alone, not to mention a restaurant in another county. This novel changed that. Seeing how the narrator was able to truly find herself and her home by leaving her home offered me a perspective and a possibility that I have never considered before.
In all of the other novels we have read this semester there has been a focus on maintaining, holding on to, and fighting for your homeland. In “Things Fall Apart” we see a homeland changed, and are left with a desire for change not to have occurred, for there to be something done about the invasion. We then moved to Love and Longing in Bombay where we saw homelands being defined by different times, by old and new ideals, and the struggle between them. It made me question whether westernization is beneficial, or whether we lose something along the way, do we lose the stories, the mystery, the beauty as we modernize? Potiki showed the beauty of oral story telling and the power of tradition. We were able to see a people fighting for their homeland, fighting for the land, and were able to see the beauty in holding on to tradition. It was when reading this novel that I began to feel a twinge of jealousy. I found myself wishing that I had just one nationality or culture to connect with, to take pride in, to fight for, and my view of home and identity slowly changed as I tried to figure out where I fit as an American. As we moved to novels that more included America in the subject manner, and saw how cultures interacted and perceived America, I started to develop a different sense of home. I began to see that throughout all of these novels, what made home wasn’t necessarily the physical location, it wasn’t even necessarily the people or family…it was the individual. Home can be within yourself, and this is a concept I was unable to fully realize until reading “Eat Pray Love”. People all have different definitions on home because home is within yourself, and can be different for different people in different times in different nations. For some, home is a physical location, a building, for others home is their family and friends, something that they can carry in their hearts and with them, for others home is an entire location, a city or a country, for others home is tradition and culture, a connection to the past, and for others home is a security in their own identity.
I have always seen myself as a person who defined home mostly by their family and friends, and secondly by their state and country, but after reading “Eat Pray Love” it is my hope that I will be able to find a home in myself, that through my experiences I will be able to truly understand who I am after you take away my family, my friends, and my occupation as a student. When not defining myself by the people in my life, or what I am currently doing, who am I? What makes me…me?
I have never been a fan of travel. I enjoy going on vacations for weeks at a time, but only in the company of those who I feel most close to, most secure with. I only like to leave my home if I am bringing a piece of it with me. I have never had any desire to live in another state, let alone another country…until now. Reading the first part of the novel that takes place in Italy filled me with a desire not only to live in another country, experience another culture, language, place, but to do so alone. I have always felt the need to be surrounded by my family, loved ones, and friends which I know is a perfectly natural instinct, but I have never considered the benefits and power of doing something completely on your own. The thought of traveling alone as certainly never crossed my mind, I can hardly imagine going to a restaurant alone, not to mention a restaurant in another county. This novel changed that. Seeing how the narrator was able to truly find herself and her home by leaving her home offered me a perspective and a possibility that I have never considered before.
In all of the other novels we have read this semester there has been a focus on maintaining, holding on to, and fighting for your homeland. In “Things Fall Apart” we see a homeland changed, and are left with a desire for change not to have occurred, for there to be something done about the invasion. We then moved to Love and Longing in Bombay where we saw homelands being defined by different times, by old and new ideals, and the struggle between them. It made me question whether westernization is beneficial, or whether we lose something along the way, do we lose the stories, the mystery, the beauty as we modernize? Potiki showed the beauty of oral story telling and the power of tradition. We were able to see a people fighting for their homeland, fighting for the land, and were able to see the beauty in holding on to tradition. It was when reading this novel that I began to feel a twinge of jealousy. I found myself wishing that I had just one nationality or culture to connect with, to take pride in, to fight for, and my view of home and identity slowly changed as I tried to figure out where I fit as an American. As we moved to novels that more included America in the subject manner, and saw how cultures interacted and perceived America, I started to develop a different sense of home. I began to see that throughout all of these novels, what made home wasn’t necessarily the physical location, it wasn’t even necessarily the people or family…it was the individual. Home can be within yourself, and this is a concept I was unable to fully realize until reading “Eat Pray Love”. People all have different definitions on home because home is within yourself, and can be different for different people in different times in different nations. For some, home is a physical location, a building, for others home is their family and friends, something that they can carry in their hearts and with them, for others home is an entire location, a city or a country, for others home is tradition and culture, a connection to the past, and for others home is a security in their own identity.
I have always seen myself as a person who defined home mostly by their family and friends, and secondly by their state and country, but after reading “Eat Pray Love” it is my hope that I will be able to find a home in myself, that through my experiences I will be able to truly understand who I am after you take away my family, my friends, and my occupation as a student. When not defining myself by the people in my life, or what I am currently doing, who am I? What makes me…me?
My experience at St Mary's
This course was a great one because of the books we have studied and the different conceptions of homelands that we have highlighted. But I think that one of my biggest accomplishments this semester in line with this Post-Colonial course, is my service learning. Actually, the desire to do service learning has been implanted in me by my fellow students last semester. When they would talk about their service learning in class, I would tell myself, ‘‘Ohh!! I really wish I had those kinds of experiences to tell.’’ When Doctor Ellis said that it would be possible this semester, I was very glad to seize the opportunity. As I was telling to one of my friends, I really think that this service-learning comforted my choice of being a teacher, especially because I was able to teach French to some students (I related that experience a few weeks ago in one of my blogs), and to interact with students. She was very happy to hear that because lately I had been talking about doing something else like using my language skills to be a translator or to work for an airplane company.
Moreover, I thought very interesting to see how the relationship between the students and I evolved. I worked with several classes: there was one that was particularly troublesome to tell you the truth, but very nice when you knew how to talk to them. Actually, those students were young teenagers, between 13 and 14 years old. Every time I would arrive at 3.PM, there would be someone punished outside. At the beginning, some of the students really did not really care about me. So I decided to take the initiative to approach them and to dialogue with them. It proved really fruitful because I noticed that when I would be around, they would try to behave. For instance, there was this young girl, she was very quick-tempered. When she would talk to someone, she would scream, or if one of the male students did not do what she asked, she would become infuriated and would beat him for no reason. One day, I reasoned with her and asked her why she was doing that, why she could not ask something without screaming or without beating someone. And then I joked a little bit with her and told her ‘‘ you know when you get older you will make boys flee. Boys will not want to be with you if you keep screaming and beating people.’’ She has calmed down since. Well every time I come she tries to behave because she remembers our little discussion.
I don’t really see a lot of common points between Gilbert and I in line with my service-learning, except maybe the love of a language which is not Italian, but English. She travelled to Italy among other things because she was in love with the language, and I travelled to the USA because I love English. The love of the English language led me to Baltimore, then Loyola, then St Mary’s, and allowed me to have access to the homelands of different young students. I was able to know more about their families, what they like and don’t like, their aspirations, their cultural references…Like several characters we have studied such as Jasmine, the young couple in Wendt’s novel, the missionaries in ‘‘Things Fall Apart’’, Dollarman in ‘‘Potiki,’’ I have been an outsider and even an invader, in the sense that I was observing and entering the homelands of young St Mary’s students as a non-American citizen, as a foreigner. However, at the end, I can say that the students made me part of their homelands. I integrated their world, the same way Jasmine, and by extension Mukherjee ended up integrating the American society. I can definitely say that St Mary is now part of the mental homeland I have been constructing in my head since I left my geographical homeland, Guadeloupe two years ago.
Moreover, I thought very interesting to see how the relationship between the students and I evolved. I worked with several classes: there was one that was particularly troublesome to tell you the truth, but very nice when you knew how to talk to them. Actually, those students were young teenagers, between 13 and 14 years old. Every time I would arrive at 3.PM, there would be someone punished outside. At the beginning, some of the students really did not really care about me. So I decided to take the initiative to approach them and to dialogue with them. It proved really fruitful because I noticed that when I would be around, they would try to behave. For instance, there was this young girl, she was very quick-tempered. When she would talk to someone, she would scream, or if one of the male students did not do what she asked, she would become infuriated and would beat him for no reason. One day, I reasoned with her and asked her why she was doing that, why she could not ask something without screaming or without beating someone. And then I joked a little bit with her and told her ‘‘ you know when you get older you will make boys flee. Boys will not want to be with you if you keep screaming and beating people.’’ She has calmed down since. Well every time I come she tries to behave because she remembers our little discussion.
I don’t really see a lot of common points between Gilbert and I in line with my service-learning, except maybe the love of a language which is not Italian, but English. She travelled to Italy among other things because she was in love with the language, and I travelled to the USA because I love English. The love of the English language led me to Baltimore, then Loyola, then St Mary’s, and allowed me to have access to the homelands of different young students. I was able to know more about their families, what they like and don’t like, their aspirations, their cultural references…Like several characters we have studied such as Jasmine, the young couple in Wendt’s novel, the missionaries in ‘‘Things Fall Apart’’, Dollarman in ‘‘Potiki,’’ I have been an outsider and even an invader, in the sense that I was observing and entering the homelands of young St Mary’s students as a non-American citizen, as a foreigner. However, at the end, I can say that the students made me part of their homelands. I integrated their world, the same way Jasmine, and by extension Mukherjee ended up integrating the American society. I can definitely say that St Mary is now part of the mental homeland I have been constructing in my head since I left my geographical homeland, Guadeloupe two years ago.
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