Author: cparedes (Page 2 of 2)

The clicking of the linoleum built the anticipation that I was about to see my uncle for the first time after the accident. Entering his room, the cramped feeling of the corridors slipped away. I must have arrived at the right time of day because God was peering through the window and into our lives. There was a warmth to the room, the kind that you feel in your soul and not on your skin. There was a leather chair in the corner of the room, which seemed untouched. I took my place on the window sill, the sun beaming down on my back.

The once firefighter struggled to sit up in his bed and put a smile on his face. Out of everything in the room, he appeared to be the one thing out of place. He hunched over, trying to adjust his johnny as if not to reveal anything. My mother rushed over in an attempt to help him, all the while he sat there scratching his head, adjusting his hair. His thin wisps of hair could not attempt to hide the gash above his left eyebrow that he received from smashing his face on the pavement. My mother tucked in the light green knitted blanket on all sides of him, as though he was about to sleep.I sat there pushing my black converse into the white floor, knowing the true problem wasn’t my Uncle’s hair, johnny, or even his concussion.

I found this piece of writing to be exceptionally difficult to read. I had to keep putting it down and picking it up because the author was doing such a great job at describing what she was feeling while her mother was going through this. To be honest, I am going through something very similar with my mother as well. She just had a surgery to remove a lump in her breast the doctors described as a borderline phyllodes tumor. Basically, the tumor she had was both benign and malignant. My mom is very confident that they have fixed her. But, As I know so much about health care and the anatomy and physiology of cancer, I am not as confident. I am proud that the doctors were able to soothe my mother, as often she overthinks her many illnesses. But, as Cheryl Strayed demonstrated, the doctors are often not that concerned about calming the people down around the situation, the people most closely related to these tragedies. The author eventually turned to heroin as a form of release from these emotions no one was able to calm, but where will I go? I feel unprepared to be able to take this burden with me; the doctors may have saved my mom, but they failed me.

The cockroach in this piece of work by Sherman Alexie obviously was a metaphor for something. I think the cockroach may have represented his father. The father and the cockroach were both dead. He considered the cockroach at one point the angel, something he could also have called his father. He wanted his father back, and he believed a dead cockroach may have represented his father perfectly. He even said at one point, “For who is lonelier than the cockroach without his tribe?” Not only does this work perfectly towards the fact that they are Native-American, it also works because at the end he wants to tell his father about how the white doctor thought that his brain was beautiful. He only really wanted to tell his father, but his father is not there. Sherman has lost his tribe, his father.

I feel this piece points out a lot of problems in healthcare and a patient’s feelings towards it. The most random of encounters in a pharmacy line really put it all into perspective for me, showed the true pain of Sherman, who tries desperately to hide behind his humor. “Miss, how is this any of your business? Please, just fuck all the way off, O.K.?” She was just trying to join into the conversation and have this connection which so many of us wish to have. She was basically trying to show, yes I too know what happens on these drugs. Sherman blew up at her, not because she was being nosy or anything, but because he does not want to accept that there are others like him. Finally, at the end, he understands that he is one of those people who have had fingers in their brain. This explosion at a random women shows that he could not hide and that he had to accept the reality of his situation.

I remember back when I was dating my ex boyfriend. I can remember that drive like the back of my hand. Not that I know the back of my hand that much. But, there was always the same tired glow over this drive in my mind. I remember always have an annoyed thought in my head, “why won’t he drive to see me”. I was only 15 minutes away from him, but in Rhode Island, this is a long drive. I lived in the suburbs so that perfectly lined, fairly similar houses would fade by me and I pulled out of my driveway and down the street. The anticipation of what was to come rushing through my mind like the wind in the fake grass on everyone’s lawns. Suddenly I was on a main road. The pavement always looked new in this part of town, so this 2 minute road would be a beautiful idea in the mind of my cars shock system. Next was a right, a left past the local greasy food and ice cream joint. Then I had 5 seconds to merge into the left lane to take a left turn. This left turn was miserable, it still is. The green arrow never stays green long enough for more than 2 cars to get through, then the endless traffic comes scurrying through the intersection like the herd in the lion king. It was the death of me sometimes, as I had to anticipate an even longer drive to what already felt like an eternity. Once I turned left, oh wow, was it smooth sailing. I was only 5 minutes away from my large suburb and now I was as if I was on these little country roads. The green leaves would swirl by my head and I went 50 on a road that had a speed limit of 35. The speed due to the idea of recklessness. I had a boyfriend, I was driving to his house, noone was around, I was invincible . Now a four way intersection. No One ever came to this part of town. Right in front of me is Knight’s farm. It is a little shop, noone goes to, it almost never seemed to be open, yet it stayed in business. Left turn. Down a hill I pick up speed with apple tree farms all around me. My town was deemed “apple town”, however, it seemed to me we had more houses in the suburbs than apples in these fields. Now I am in his town. I roll into a town that has a beautiful white wooden church. Going down a street in the center of town was the only way to get to his house. It was a cute little town, the kind where you would let your kids run around by themselves and not be afraid anything would happen. They would always have a scituate art festival here, music and food was the main attraction of this event however. This town has always brought me laughter and happiness. Now I get to drive down a road with trees to my left and water to my right. This road twists and turns and seems to go on forever. I would always speed on this road, no cops were ever around, I was never caught. Sometimes going 25 over the speed limit. I am not normally someone who speeds either, I am not a risk taker, but on this drive I typically was. Anticipation I believe made me see these twisted roads as a challenge. Finally I took a left. Right by the ice cream shop in his town. Such an awkwardly placed shop. Nothing around for miles, but an ice cream shop right in the middle of nowhere. I believe it shut down the summer we broke up. Down another hill. Finally the last turn. This turn always had skid marks on it, even after it was freshly paved. I don’t blame whoever put those marks there, I always felt like it was a nice touch. Finally, in the woods, I would find his house. It was a nice house, in fact I believe it was beautiful. It was not beautiful in the typical way. It was not beautiful like a mansion, more like a country home. It had a long driveway. A well right in the front yard. This too was a white house, just like the church in his town. They had blue shutters as well, a nice touch. Whenever I would drive up, their poodle, ty guy, would come to greet me. He was a little too friendly to the car and would almost always get hit. The yard of this house was huge. My Ex’s father had obviously put in a lot of hard work on the house and its surrounding area. I realize now, I will never drive this route again. There will never be a time where I will ever go there. In fact, I have not even talked to my ex since the breakup, we never really ended on good terms. I miss that drive, but I do not miss the reason for the drive. From the suburb to the countryside in 15 minutes, how could you go from something so identical to something so natural. Maybe this isn’t a place in particular, but it is a place in my mind. It is a place that I will never see again expect through memory.

There are a lot of difference aspects I wish that I could talk about with this specific nonfiction story. The layers of this piece go deeper and deeper every page you turn. The story really starts to unfold and bring life with every sentence. At the beginning I am questioning why this is such a unique story. Yes, this is her life of being an actor, but how would this relate to me. By the end, I am connecting every thought she is having with something in myself.

There is one thing I do not feel about myself that I see in her. I believe that she may be an alcoholic, but she does not want this to be so obviously stated in the text. I started getting this feeling from the beginning, but by the end she is talking about how she drinks in excess. I do not know why this is the most important thing that I am drawing from the text. How many others must be also thinking about this? I cannot get my mind off the idea that I believe she is an alcoholic.

I believe that at the end of her story, she seems optimistic. I am hoping that in this optimism she realizes that she does not need to drink any more. By drinking she is trying to numb her pain rather than allow herself to feel it. She is afraid to see who she really is, just like in the Lucy Grealy mirrorings story. I hope that she too, had an epiphany that allowed herself to be happy with the skin she is in, just like Lucy.

Lights coming through my window have always been my favorite. They seem to inspire and relax me with every way they break as they come through the delicate sand. Sand because, it is pressed down hard and melted to create what we know as window. Maybe I am just being silly though, maybe I am thinking of mirrors. Windows have always seemed like a protection for me. From the elements, from the noises of the chatty kids on the street, but never from the light. The only protection from the light is the turning of the earth. The light is the one thing I do not want protection from! The light is so pure, bright, warming, amazing. The best time of day to have the blinds up is right in the morning or at sunset. This is when there is no protection from the sun, the sun blares straight into the window and in the eyes. It is blinding. I know I should not look into the sun, it can damage the eyes and could affect me for my whole life. But my eye sight is already shit and looking into one of the only soluses in my life is worth the pain. At night I find myself missing the sun. I love the long day of summer when you can run around in the sun and let it kiss your skin in every part of your body. Winter can be depressing with the short days and the covered bodies. Night is almost worse than winter. I have Christmas lights that I have always expertly put up near my windows. This is maybe to mock the light which I miss so. The light of life is my love, and in return it visits me most days and gives life to everything around me. I mean, without the sun, there could really be very little life. Without life, what purpose would the sun really have? I suppose the sun owes me one too. Maybe, secretly, I am the only one the sun rises for. Wouldn’t that be an interesting idea. Everyone always says how, oh honey, you’re the only reason I wake up in the morning. Well me and the Sun must have that same kind of relationship.

The light coming through my window is kind. It gives me creativity and clarity of the head. It creates a productive Caitlin who would rather do homework and work on chemistry than sit around and watch Hulu all day long. I can be in the worse mood, but spending a few minutes soaking in that warm beautiful sun is all I need. It centers my soul. I don’t always think so figuratively about the sun, don’t get me wrong. It sounds like I am in love with the sun and we have an affair that no one knows about. No, the sun is just the sun. The light through my window is just something that helps me save money on my electricity bill. It is plain and simply the sun.

The light coming through my window is normal. Everyone had light that comes through there window. This is no unique experience for me. Why does it feel so unique? At times, I believe I am the only one who must be living in the moment. Feeling the sun on their skin. Having the sun peak through their window and place lines on their desk. It feels like an intimate moment of isolation. Yet, how many others are also having this moment? Is anything that I really feel ever in isolation. When I look into my loves eyes and feel the spark, how many others also feel the tingle of love running through their bodies? When I lay on the grounding sobbing, how many others are sobbing with me? Are we ever alone in how we feel? Should I feel more solus in knowing I am never alone, or should I feel more a sense of individuality being ripped from my bones? Inside, how different are we? Too many questions, with a very simple answer.

The light coming through my window might not be so different. The feels I feel may not be so different. The person that I am may not be that different. However, I am special. I know I am the only person who walk, talks, and looks like me. I am the only person who can truly identify what is going on inside my head. I am the only one in my room watching the light go through my window. I cannot explain this feeling of individuality, but it is forever lurking in my psyche. I love the feeling of being the only one. I prey on that feeling inside my own mind. If anyone else is like me, I throw those allegations out into the garbage and I find the ways that they are different than me. Mostly I find the reasons that they are lesser than me. Isn’t it normal to find the worst in others that may be competing against you for the resources you seek? The light coming through my window is just my light and it is no one else’s. I am the one who deserves that moment and that warmth and that understanding. No one else is allowed to be there in that moment with me.

The light coming through my window. Its yellow. Maybe it’s orange. But it always does the same. Makes the darkness a little bit lighter. Maybe that’s why I will never let myself live in a place with no windows. In fact, I insist on being near windows constantly.

Everyone seems to have something that they always feel self conscious about. In many cases, this “terrible” aspect of themselves is not quite as severe and isolating as having part of the face missing. However, for people, it may have the same gravity in their mind.

For years I was bullied by even my closest friends about the size of my forehead. Yes, it is true that the size of my forehead is larger than others, but not in too large of a significant manner. In my brain, I thought I was a monster. In highschool, I could barely take the bullying and got a full set of bangs just to hide my “five-head”. This made getting ready in the morning even more unbearable. I have extremely curly hair, and every morning I would have to get up and straighten my bangs into place. When it became time to cut my bangs, this was also an extremely stressful time. Much of the time, they would be cut too short, and the resulting look would be an awkward looking hairdo. I would then, subsequently, be bullied for my bangs being too short. My outward appearance could not seem to please the people around me, which made myself become utterly unpleased with myself.

In the end, not everyone is going to agree with how you look, or even find you attractive. We put so much weight on ourselves to look like everyone else, to be loved by everyone else, that we never look within and love ourselves. Self love can be hard to find, but we need to forget about how we look and more how we feel.