This Little Light of Mine

Caution to all blog readers: this week’s entry takes a turn towards the deep. I tried to come up with yet another witty anecdote about myself to share, but I cannot ignore the events that have occurred this past week. As I left eighth period commons on Friday, I received a text from my friend in Connecticut.  It read just this: “There was a shooting at an elementary school 25 minutes away.” I paused as I passed the central office. What did she mean? I drove home quickly to see my mom pouring over AOL news, and together we attempted to make sense of the terrible event. But, as it always does, life had to keep moving. I went to swim practice and came home to eat before I had to babysit that night. I sat down with my soup when I received an email from the University of Michigan, congratulating me on my acceptance! I could not contain my happiness, and I must admit I cried tears of joy right then and there. For a brief moment I erased all the grief from the day, and I only focused on the fact that my dream school actually wanted me amongst their student population. After many hugs and congratulations, I left to babysit. In the car, it hit me: how could I feel such joy when such a horrible thing had happened? I felt almost guilty for rejoicing in my acceptance when twenty children will never have the ability to experience the same. I came to the conclusion, however, that I should not take the tragedy in Newtown, Connecticut in this way. As my mom tells me and the disaster confirms, life is not a guarantee. Unlike the urn in John Keats’ “Ode on a Grecian Urn,” we move from day to day, scene to scene, trying to find what Jay Gatsby proves as the goal of life: happiness. If we overwhelm ourselves with tragedy and lose sight of life’s pleasures, then our lives will just become one big depress-fest. And nobody wants that. We should mourn and remember the dead, but our remembrance should go even further. We should celebrate moments like college acceptances, for they prove our vivacity and prosperity in a world with no guarantees.

 

Citizens Arrest!

            This past week, the unthinkable occurred: I, Alyssa Marquette, became a commonplace hooligan. Along with fellow AP Englisher/hardened criminal Abby Weber, I decided to leave eight period commons ten minutes early. I needed to assemble my supplies for the afternoon’s swim practice, so I figured that my necessity outweighed the associated disobedience of the insubordination. Alas, Mrs. E did not agree. Without going home, I returned to the school in a state of panic when friends called and relayed to me that Mrs. E had sent my name to Mr. Winton. I had no idea what to do, for my rebellious phase had peaked when I crossed my eyes at my eight grade band teacher. Thoroughly determined, Abby and I marched into Mr. Winton’s office to defend our honor. We earn decent grades, volunteer regularly, and do not have any sort of a record, so why should we obtain Saturday schools? Unfortunately, our punishment became just that. Our confidences crumbled, and Abby and I became blubbering messes. Every department head in Mr. Ast’s office had a perfect view of the two mutineers brought to justice, their reign of terror over the school finally brought to an end. In F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby, the author reveals the illegal ways in which Jay Gatsby incurs his money. Although many readers may frown upon this discovery, I wish to give Gatsby a pat on the back. Good for him for wanting to make a better life for himself! After my mishap with the school law, I see myself as somewhat of an expert on the subject of criminality. Consequently, I throw my wholehearted allegiance to Gatsby’s plight. Just as I simply wished to acquire a bathing suit and towel from my house, Gatsby simply wants the finer things in life. Fortunately, my punishment has consisted only of a Saturday school and perpetual references to The Breakfast Club from my family. But Jay Gatsby’s insubordination comes with a much higher risk. For me, I think I must retire from a life of crime. I mean, really, with all the annotations I have to finish for AP English, who would have time for such an existence?!

Good Fences Hide Bad Neighbors

           

            As I skim through my recent blogs, I feel somewhat surprised as to the number of secrets I have confessed in the Chamber of AP English 12. From my love for cats to an inner desire to beat small children, my declarations seem to create an image of myself that many of my fellow classmates may repel. So why stop the fun now? I have yet another admission I wish to reveal: I love documentaries. I could literally spend an entire day watching various National Geographic specials. Through my perusal of various informational films, I have discovered an immense obsession with North Korea. Since my family has learned to tune me out whenever I find an opportunity to broach the subject, I turn to my fellow bloggers for understanding. Before anyone makes quick judgments, picture this: if America would earn a five on the AP grading scale, North Korea would earn a -12 for its concentration of wealth, widespread hunger, and isolationism.  Although North Korea’s northern neighbor, China, knows of the suffering that occurs in the country, they will send back any refugees who cross the border for a better life. In this situation, I cannot help but disagree with the age-old adage “‘good fences make good neighbors’” that Robert Frost espouses in his poem “Mending Wall” (44). Throughout the poem, the speaker’s neighbor’s repetition of this mantra eventually convinces the reluctant speaker to believe the validity of it. But what if the neighbor actually beats his child behind the wall? Even if the speaker knows of the suffering that occurs, the neighbor brainwashes the speaker, just as North Korea brainwashes China, into believing that boundaries serve a purpose. This analogy may come off as slightly twisted to the point of discomfort, but the reality of the state remains very real for North Korean refugees in China. From watching the documentaries that describe the conflict, I cannot help but want to fix the neighborly tensions between the countries. But my problem remains just that—I can only watch. I sit behind a computer screen, in all my teenage wisdom, silently cursing the stupidity of a country that has existed for over 5,000 years. I hope someday that China can find compromise with the antagonistic North Korea, and maybe I could even play a role. But for now, I think I will stick to simply writing out my frustrations and confessions for the world of AP English to hear.