Shakespeare Was a Genius.

Here's my attempt at a Shakespearean Sonnet. I cannot think of a title fitting my piece, but then again, the titles of Shakespeare's pieces are simply the first lines of each. Iambic pentameter is hard, I'll admit to that.

So swiftly does the heart attach itself

To something knowing little of its make

Not well aware of being placed a-shelf

To opportunity t'is not yet waked

The rope is tight about its strain-ed neck

Deception stays the knot in shak-ed hand

The pirate leaps, and gallops, bounds on deck

Such beaut of treasure tuck'd by orn’ry band

The heart is locked away in seaward chest

A tempest torrent tosses landward miss'd

Aboard the key, jew’l precious lost at best

To fateful night of parting, ‘pon lips kiss'd

Beware of where thine darling heart wears thin

tis easy ‘nough to break, ne’er ‘tend to’ve been.

The Chorus Repeats

Quick note: I read a different version of Antigone because my original copy went missing. The version I have does not have line numbers to reference, and is also translated slightly differently. I will do my best to cite. Here we go:


I am merely an onlooker, my thoughts verbalized for the benefit of the multitude. Oh, the things I have seen, heard, and inwardly felt! Creon, king of Thebes, has buried the fallen hero Eteocles, honorable in death, but has left the body of his brother to rot and fester. And so his actions should be, for Polynices betrayed our precious Thebes. Creon, a strong leader with an "arrogance [that] Transcends the wrath of Zeus" (near the end of Scene 2) has ordered that no living soul is to grant the traitor the honor of burial, lest they lose their own lives to the gallows. Yet, a sentry finds the body buried, and is quick to turn in the culprit. I sided with  Creon, saying "Never may the anarchic man find rest at my hearth"(last line of Scene 1) Then the identity of the criminal came to light. It was none other than Creon's niece, Antigone, sister to both Polynices and Eteocles. The girl was "like her father Oedipus, both headstrong and deaf to reason" (Scene 2, about a quarter of the way in). She was in folly to have buried her brother in direct disobedience to the law of the land. She deserved her imminent death.

Then I think of sweet, desolate Antigone. The poor girl has been left with only her fiance, Haemon, son of Creon, and her wisp of a sister Ismene, for a family. She honored her abandoned brother with a proper burial that is in fact prescribed by the gods themselves. She holds to a higher law than that of her uncle, "working the will of heaven" (last line of Scene 3) Her sister took her side, but did not stand on trial with her; her lover turned against his father in her defense, and still Creon resolved to kill her for her transgression. Antigone died a more noble death in her suicide than could be afforded by the gallows. Haemon takes his own life to be with his bride, his mother Euridice following suit in sorrow. Creon is left alone in the world, having been too late in his attempts at appeasing the gods in the burial of Polynices. His law has faltered to that of the gods, although he initially meant well.

In the end, the old priest Teiresias' prophecy was not wrong. He has never been wrong, and the reason as to why Creon ever doubted him lies with his reasoning for his hubris. Creon has learned a valuable lesson only tragedy could teach.


 

Simply Complex

"I just don't know what to do Rach," I sputtered through my tears, "I'm literally so scared."

She sat there on my bunk, my head in her lap, her eyes cast downward toward the mattress on the floor. For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then I heard her take in a shaky breath, as the door was opened, and my camp roommate came in, intending to turn in for the night. Rachel spoke up, and asked if she would wait just a minute, and thankfully, she consented, closing the door behind her as she went.

Rachel turned to me, and through the fog of tears in my own eyes, I saw her large brown eyes glistening, yet they were looking hard at me.

"How long has it been since...you know.." she stammered. I couldn't meet her eyes; I felt so ashamed of myself. Instead of answering her, I began to cry harder. I felt her hand resting on my shoulder, cool against my warm skin. We sat in that moment for what seemed like forever; eventually I calmed down enough that I could breathe normally again. I looked up into Rachel's face. She took a deep breath and wiped away the tears lingering on her cheek. Then she spoke, with a voice I had never heard before. I think she may have even surprised herself, judging by the way her words flowed so much more easily than usual.

"I don't know what to say," she began, "but all that matters right now is that you know that I am here for you, no matter what happens from here on out. I think that we just need to take this one day at a time, because all we can really do now is trust God for the best. We make our choices, we live with the consequences, but God is the only thing that will get us through our own messes."

I was taken aback by her words. This was the girl that always came to me with her problems, though I must admit, it did take some coaxing to get her to speak. She wasn't the type to just dump her problems on people; at least not until they asked. Even then, there was always something she held back. This was the girl that fell mute near strangers, and even around me, her talk consisted of frivolous things, things of no consequence to the value of life. Yet when she spoke that night, she did so with an even voice and a determined tone.

I sat up on my bunk, and she unfolded her legs and let them dangle to the floor. We talked for a few more minutes, and realizing that lights out had long since passed, she said good night and left me on my bunk, entering her adjoining room.

The next day, she wore a smile on her face, as if nothing had happened that night. Anyone who didn't know about our exchange would have thought so. I knew better, and when I looked in her eyes that morning, I saw the question in them.

"Are you okay?"

Personal Statement RD (insert witty title here)

There are few statements that I have chosen to commit to memory. Some have been ingrained into my mind by repetition, others go in one ear and out the other. But the few statements that I choose to hold on to came in the moments that I needed them most. To some people, a simple congratulation is something that leaves their mind as quickly as it entered. To me, being congratulated is an honor in of itself, especially when it comes from the most unlikely of sources.

I remember that night clearly. My team was out on the court, the bleachers were full of spectators from both our team and the opposing team. It was the last home game of the season, my last chance to really prove myself as a valuable part of the volleyball team. I remember sitting on that chair, the pleather surface sticking to my exposed thighs, my kneepads sliding down over my sweaty knees. My water bottle sat at my feet, the water inside untouched. I watched each volley, hoping that Coach would put me in the game, even just for a second, but I knew it was a long-shot. This wasn’t like my band class, where I could just set my flute down and pick up my trombone when I wanted to. I just didn’t have the physical aptitude Coach was looking for. I screamed my head off, cheering for the team I wanted so badly to belong to, when it happened. We lost the second set in the game, leaving us at a stalemate. Coach called me over to her chair. I looked in her hand, and my number was written on her rotation sheet. I was excited, but nervous. I was up to serve first. Out of all three seasons and all the summer camps I had been to, this was the one thing I had never mastered. None of my calculus experience had helped me to formulate how to do it correctly, and the laws of physics seemed to fail when the ball was in my hands. Nevertheless, I didn’t turn her down. This was my chance to prove myself.

Something I had learned long before this moment is that if one thinks about doing something too much, they will eventually talk themselves out of it. It had taken me years to learn how to ride a bike, simply because I was an over-thinker. But I learned to overcome my  overly cautious nature over time. It was in the milliseconds before my hand made contact with the ball that I remembered my bike. I realized that I had worked hard to get to where I was, and that even if this serve bounced back from the middle of the net, nothing could take away the pride I had in the fact that I had made it this far. To my utter shock and disbelief, the smack of my hand on the ball was not followed by a swish and a light thud; rather, it was followed by two loud thuds: the ball on the floor and the player who missed her dive. I had aced my serve. The rest of the game was a blur. I managed to land two more serves before I was subbed out for the next rotation, but I hardly noticed the cheers and whoops anymore. As I sat back down in my chair, Coach looked me in the eye and said one of the statements I will never forget. “Well done, Rache.” 

So simple a statement, but it was that statement that made the hellacious season I had gone through that year, even beyond volleyball, worth it. I had been trying for so long to please my coach, and I finally did, and I was proud of myself. I felt like I belonged. I had fought so hard  for something that I wanted. When I think about my future, I know that I won’t necessarily be good at absolutely everything, but I am willing to fight for what I want in this world. I am willing to do my best in everything I do, whether it is my strong suit or not. 

Personality Tests and Affirmation Solicitations

Here's my score from the Myers-Briggs test: ISFJ

• Introvert 78%
• Sensing 50%
• Feeling 75%
• Judging 33%

In case you're wondering which Harry Potter character my results align with, apparently I'm Neville Longbottom. Not my ideal, but the description definitely fits.

Accurate Descriptions of Me:

"Like most Is, ISFJs have a few, close friends. They are extremely loyal to these, and are ready to provide emotional and practical support at a moment's notice. (However, like most Fs they hate confrontation; if you get into a fight, don't expect them to jump in after you. You can count on them, however,  to run and get the nearest authority figure.) Unlike with EPs, the older the friendship is, the more an ISFJ will value it. One ISFJ trait that is easily misunderstood by those who haven't known them long is that they are often unable to either hide or articulate any distress they may be feeling. For instance, an ISFJ child may be reproved for "sulking," the actual cause of which is a combination of physical illness plus misguided "good manners." An adult ISFJ may drive a (later ashamed) friend or SO[significant other] into a fit of temper over the ISFJ's unexplained moodiness, only afterwards to explain about a death in the family they "didn't want to burden anyone with." Those close to ISFJs should learn to watch for the warning signs in these situations and take the initiative themselves to uncover the problem."

I think that this accurately describes me and my inner workings with people. I can identify with what was said quite easily, which surprised me, in all honesty.

"While their work ethic is high on the ISFJ priority list, their families are the centers of their lives. ISFJs are extremely warm and demonstrative within the family circle--and often possessive of their loved ones, as well. When these include Es who want to socialize with the rest of the world, or self-contained ITs, the ISFJ must learn to adjust to these behaviors and not interpret them as rejection. Being SJs, they place a strong emphasis on conventional behavior (although, unlike STJs, they are usually as concerned with being "nice" as with strict propriety); if any of their nearest and dearest depart from the straight-and-narrow, it causes the ISFJ major embarrassment: the closer the relationship and the more public the act, the more intense the embarrassment (a fact which many of their teenage children take gleeful advantage of). Over time, however, ISFJs usually mellow, and learn to regard the culprits as harmless eccentrics :-). Needless to say, ISFJs take infinite trouble over meals, gifts, celebrations, etc., for their loved ones--although strong Js may tend to focus more on what the recipient should want rather than what they do want."

This also accurately describes me. I have been told numerous times that my "work ethic" is great, and I find the part about how family is everything to be completely true. The part about getting embarrassed easily is true too, though I don't always tell the truth about that when people ask me if I get embarrassed by certain things. The last sentence that talks about taking trouble for their loved ones is true too: many a time I have gotten someone something as a gift that was something I thought they should want, rather than what they actually wanted.


Affirmation Solicitations:

I'm not going to post who gave me this one, but a few of you might be able to guess anyway.

5 Words:
Musical
Willing to adapt to a situation (couldn't find the right word)
Trustworthy
Caring (including tough love when necessary!)
Persistent, even in frustrating situations

Paragraph: (they wrote it knowing I'd read it, so it's addressed to me)

"See above--apply to band." For your application, think over all the situations you've dealt with in band-- class size and its challenges over the years, trombone, boys, siblings, timing-- and you're still doing well and have continually improved. It took the above traits to get there!

I know that this was not the most conventional response I could have gotten, but it really means a lot to me. So...yeah...here it is. :)

Vices

My favorite (well, perhaps I mean most applicable) quote, from "The Great Sin"

In God you come up against something which is in every respect immeasurably superior to yourself. Unless you know God as that -- and, therefore, you know yourself as nothing in comparison -- you do not know God at all. As long as you are proud, you cannot know God.  A proud man is always looking down on things and people: and, of course, as long as you are looking down, you cannot see something that is above you. (pg 124)

This quote really struck me as something that really should be considered logical, even obvious, yet it was something I hadn't pondered before. I have a nasty habit of trying to do things myself. From a young age, I have gauged my self-worth by the extent of what I could do myself. It started out simply: I was always at least a year ahead of my class in elementary school (this was back in public school), for lack of challenge within my own grade level, and I began to believe that I was smarter than everyone else. I took pride in the fact that I was the only fourth grader in a sixth grade reading class, and while I did have a right to be proud of myself, I took that pride too far. I remember the drama I would get into in middle school, and I remember thinking that it wasn't my fault that someone stopped being my friend. In some cases, that was true, but as I look back on those years, I realize that it was my pride that chased the people I called my friends away. I realize that my prideful tendency caused me to treat people as underlings, constantly reminding them of their position below me, in order to remind myself that I was worth something. I would try to force my way of thinking on others, believing that I was always right and that they were always wrong, somehow. Yet I was never right, because I created an even bigger void than was previously there.

Even now I struggle with this. There have been times that I will get into an argument with someone, over even the minutest of subjects, and I will find myself looking for things about them that are lacking, looking for some way to justify myself above them, because I felt inadequate in that moment. This is where God found me a few years ago. Something He has been teaching me, and in the words of my mother, is that "your brother is your brother. Let him be your brother, because you are different, and not meant to compete with each other." When I read Lewis' quote, it made me think of the times that I have wondered where God is when I can't find anyone else. It made me realize that I was "looking down" at all the friends who wanted nothing to do with my pride issues instead of looking up at the one who could fix me. Someone bigger than my proud vices.

My Life as an Analogy: Burnt Banana Bread

My life is a lot like a banana bread recipe read over and over, yet it never quite comes out the same as the last time you attempted to bake it. I grab the book, gather my ingredients on one side of the counter, and my bowls and measuring cups on the other. I read the recipe, and proceed to smash the bananas as it directs me, then adding in the butter, and suddenly I find myself looking at the cookbook only to measure my ingredients. There is no longer any particular order to what I throw into the bowl on the counter. I have made this particular recipe so many times, I begin to improvise a little, throwing in a dash of nutmeg, and using applesauce to compensate for the lacking size of my pile of bananas. I have no promise of the bread turning out the way I want it to, but I still put it in the oven, hoping I managed to remember all the ingredients and that nothing will explode. Most days it comes out fine, but each loaf is different from another. Other days, I forget to take it out of the oven and am left with something inedible. 

God gave me the recipe for my life, or at least part of it. I always start out smashing the bananas before pouring in the butter, but at some point, I always deviate from his instructions. I've done this so many times, I know where each part ought to go, but I always want to put my own spin on it. I use different spices and tactics with the people I meet, trying to see what it takes to really become friends with someone, when all along, the best banana bread comes from following the recipe exactly. Better to follow God's plan the first time than to live a life of trial and error.

Rewriting "Litany" by Billy Collins

You are the pen and the paper,

the inkwell and the ink.

You are the song on the radio

and the thumping beat of the speakers.

You are the black eyeliner of the teenage girl,

and the earbuds suddenly yanked from her ears.

However, you are not the writing on the page,

the scuff marks on the floor,

or the posters on the walls.

And you are certainly not the soles of her shoes.

There is just no way you're the soles of her shoes.

It is possible that you are the slide cream in the case,

maybe even the mouthpiece at her lips,

but you are not even close

to being the sheet music when she plays.

And a quick look in the mirror will show

that you are neither the book on the shelf

nor the backpack slouching on the ground.

It might interest you to know,

speaking of the prolific scenery of this world,

that I am the smell of homemade cookies.

I also happen to be the blue moon,

the sound of the bell after a long day

and the box of donuts in the car.

I am also the early morning mist

and the unoccupied parking spot.

But don't worry, I'm not the pen and the paper.

You are still the pen and the paper.

You will always be the pen and the paper,

not to mention the inkwell and-- somehow-- the ink.