Dreadnought
02-25-2007, 11:14 AM
This is a rather impassioned essay that I wrote as an assignment for my AP English Composition class. The purpose was to create an (informative or redefition type) "Definition" essay on a topic of our choosing. I chose passion, yet more specifically the passion and lack thereof in the school system.
How exactly do you define passion? How can you extrapolate let alone even begin to ponder on the driving force behind the greatest of poets, leaders, and even the humblest of common man? Passion is a term that has been so watered-down and liquefied by the meat of society that it is now no longer a madly flowing river, but a trickling stream. It has been said that “if we master our passions it is due to their weakness, not our strength.” Such a statement will help us to understand the true nature of what passion is, and thus, what it is not. Passion is not something that the rest of our minds and body must be bent around in order to stifle and contain. On the contrary, passion is that single entity which so discretely and strongly separates us from the animal kingdom, it is the pool that allows all of our creations, our destructions, our love and our hate to spring from. We must enshroud ourselves with our passions, and we must not sacrifice ourselves in order to settle for anything less.
“They”, and the school system in general, say that we, as pre-collegiate students, must have the passion to learn, to strive, and to always push ourselves to the near brink of intellectual oblivion. But what do “they” truly desire from us, and what do we truly end up doing to satisfy this deceivingly easy desire of us? Somehow, in the cosmic equation of human irony, these answers work out to be the same. We sit in our desks and we get it into our head that we have to “make the grade”. We have to do the problem-solving homework that, I must admit quite honestly, is a proven method to enhance our learning and comprehension of certain materials through a somewhat complex process of the learning potential between the reading/writing duality. Now do not take me as one who is arguing the importance of homework. Rather, I am disputing the wantonness and lack of care with which we approach homework, and with which homework has come to be assigned. You see, we have built within ourselves, from external and internal influences alike, a miscalculation of where the true end lie; we view the homework only as a means to an end – that grade in the book.
People, this is not passion! We students cannot be arrogant enough to claim that we are passionate about learning when we simply flow with this system that was designed to raise and support the baseline. We, as intelligent and supposedly “gifted” children, must never flow with this system. We must FLOAT through it, we must weave in and out of its edifices, never allowing it to snare us with it’s ever-entangling and reaching sensors. We must have the passion and drive to stand up for ourselves and say “Yes Mrs. Johnson, I did not do the homework assignment. Give me that F. I will accept it with the utmost dignity and pride, because I know that this little discrepancy will NOT, in ANY way or by ANY means, with complete disregard to whatever someone else will try to tell me, affect my desire to learn this subject.” We have to be able to understand and relish the sparkling clarity and beauty of an unadulterated passion for not only learning, but for becoming the great thinkers of society.
For example, you can tell me that you have a passion for the Spanish language, and that you want to learn it to the utmost of your ability. Then you can tell me that you want to do this because you have heard and know for a fact that it will benefit you when you go into the business world, and will thus open the doors for your expansion as a working citizen. If you tell me the latter, I will call you a liar. I will denounce you on the spot for lying to my face; you have no passion for this language. You have a passion for using it as a tool, a tool which will ultimately only increase your paycheck opportunities at some point in your life. Again, you see it as means to an end. This is not passion.
Passion is sitting in class and not caring at all what your grade is. Passion is being too busy doing all the things that you love, while still paying attention in class because you know deep in yourself that you love this language, that you really want to be able to speak it, and read it, and understand it. Passion is knowing that no matter what your teacher may say, you DO love and know this material. You will not let anyone convince you that you do not care simply because you did not do this assignment. No one will be able to shake you off of your mountain. You will stand at the tip of it and scream in anger at the wandering souls that simply flow through the system.
Sit in the back seat of the classroom. Forget to do assignments now and then. Better yet, do them and then leave them somewhere. But learn, and love while doing it.
So often do I see, within my own school, a complete lack and disregard for any form of passion. Yes, I have just explained the importance of being passionate about learning, but this is only the tip of the iceberg. Our young men and women are, by a majority, black and white, and I am not talking about race. Look straight at me and I can see that there is only a front, a back, and no matter in between.
These kids wander to and fro their classes like neurons being fired. They have no purpose or exhibition to their walking, merely a destination. What is their destination? The next class. College. Those good grades. A high-paying job. Sometimes I feel as if I am one of the only people walking through the halls of Academia; I look around me in class, out of class, in school, out of school, and I am ashamed and embarrassed for ourselves. I am ashamed to think what the most passionate learners and teachers of history would think of our cattle-herding lot. Would Plato condemn us? Surely he would; he and Leonardo da Vinci would laugh from their precipice of colored life and passion, laugh at our grayed and worn repetition of schooling.
I want to scream at these kids. Hell, I want to grab them by the shoulders and shake them until the fog is lifted from their brains, until the shelves of their mind are emptied of the spider webs and dust.
Feel, children, feel! Feel in your bones the passions that drive you, the beautiful desires to grow and expand your mind in such a manner as to make a supernova jealous!
But then, whenever I try to voice to these people my concerns, to relate to them why I, sometimes, feel so resigned to a complete state of being lost in a jungle of moving souls, no one listens. Or maybe some deep hidden part of their brain is listening, screaming to get out. I feel like I am talking to a wall. Maybe my purpose and point is simply so vague, immature, and clichéd. But I don’t care. I will continue to scream from my mountain, letting the winds carry my words and the forests echo with the genius of past men.
Only then do I think that the greatest of passion is shown only by the acceptance of not caring.
I apologize if the essay appears to lose it's point or purpose because of over-emotional phrasing and diction. I got an 8 out of 15 for this essay.
Any comments would be appreciated :)
How exactly do you define passion? How can you extrapolate let alone even begin to ponder on the driving force behind the greatest of poets, leaders, and even the humblest of common man? Passion is a term that has been so watered-down and liquefied by the meat of society that it is now no longer a madly flowing river, but a trickling stream. It has been said that “if we master our passions it is due to their weakness, not our strength.” Such a statement will help us to understand the true nature of what passion is, and thus, what it is not. Passion is not something that the rest of our minds and body must be bent around in order to stifle and contain. On the contrary, passion is that single entity which so discretely and strongly separates us from the animal kingdom, it is the pool that allows all of our creations, our destructions, our love and our hate to spring from. We must enshroud ourselves with our passions, and we must not sacrifice ourselves in order to settle for anything less.
“They”, and the school system in general, say that we, as pre-collegiate students, must have the passion to learn, to strive, and to always push ourselves to the near brink of intellectual oblivion. But what do “they” truly desire from us, and what do we truly end up doing to satisfy this deceivingly easy desire of us? Somehow, in the cosmic equation of human irony, these answers work out to be the same. We sit in our desks and we get it into our head that we have to “make the grade”. We have to do the problem-solving homework that, I must admit quite honestly, is a proven method to enhance our learning and comprehension of certain materials through a somewhat complex process of the learning potential between the reading/writing duality. Now do not take me as one who is arguing the importance of homework. Rather, I am disputing the wantonness and lack of care with which we approach homework, and with which homework has come to be assigned. You see, we have built within ourselves, from external and internal influences alike, a miscalculation of where the true end lie; we view the homework only as a means to an end – that grade in the book.
People, this is not passion! We students cannot be arrogant enough to claim that we are passionate about learning when we simply flow with this system that was designed to raise and support the baseline. We, as intelligent and supposedly “gifted” children, must never flow with this system. We must FLOAT through it, we must weave in and out of its edifices, never allowing it to snare us with it’s ever-entangling and reaching sensors. We must have the passion and drive to stand up for ourselves and say “Yes Mrs. Johnson, I did not do the homework assignment. Give me that F. I will accept it with the utmost dignity and pride, because I know that this little discrepancy will NOT, in ANY way or by ANY means, with complete disregard to whatever someone else will try to tell me, affect my desire to learn this subject.” We have to be able to understand and relish the sparkling clarity and beauty of an unadulterated passion for not only learning, but for becoming the great thinkers of society.
For example, you can tell me that you have a passion for the Spanish language, and that you want to learn it to the utmost of your ability. Then you can tell me that you want to do this because you have heard and know for a fact that it will benefit you when you go into the business world, and will thus open the doors for your expansion as a working citizen. If you tell me the latter, I will call you a liar. I will denounce you on the spot for lying to my face; you have no passion for this language. You have a passion for using it as a tool, a tool which will ultimately only increase your paycheck opportunities at some point in your life. Again, you see it as means to an end. This is not passion.
Passion is sitting in class and not caring at all what your grade is. Passion is being too busy doing all the things that you love, while still paying attention in class because you know deep in yourself that you love this language, that you really want to be able to speak it, and read it, and understand it. Passion is knowing that no matter what your teacher may say, you DO love and know this material. You will not let anyone convince you that you do not care simply because you did not do this assignment. No one will be able to shake you off of your mountain. You will stand at the tip of it and scream in anger at the wandering souls that simply flow through the system.
Sit in the back seat of the classroom. Forget to do assignments now and then. Better yet, do them and then leave them somewhere. But learn, and love while doing it.
So often do I see, within my own school, a complete lack and disregard for any form of passion. Yes, I have just explained the importance of being passionate about learning, but this is only the tip of the iceberg. Our young men and women are, by a majority, black and white, and I am not talking about race. Look straight at me and I can see that there is only a front, a back, and no matter in between.
These kids wander to and fro their classes like neurons being fired. They have no purpose or exhibition to their walking, merely a destination. What is their destination? The next class. College. Those good grades. A high-paying job. Sometimes I feel as if I am one of the only people walking through the halls of Academia; I look around me in class, out of class, in school, out of school, and I am ashamed and embarrassed for ourselves. I am ashamed to think what the most passionate learners and teachers of history would think of our cattle-herding lot. Would Plato condemn us? Surely he would; he and Leonardo da Vinci would laugh from their precipice of colored life and passion, laugh at our grayed and worn repetition of schooling.
I want to scream at these kids. Hell, I want to grab them by the shoulders and shake them until the fog is lifted from their brains, until the shelves of their mind are emptied of the spider webs and dust.
Feel, children, feel! Feel in your bones the passions that drive you, the beautiful desires to grow and expand your mind in such a manner as to make a supernova jealous!
But then, whenever I try to voice to these people my concerns, to relate to them why I, sometimes, feel so resigned to a complete state of being lost in a jungle of moving souls, no one listens. Or maybe some deep hidden part of their brain is listening, screaming to get out. I feel like I am talking to a wall. Maybe my purpose and point is simply so vague, immature, and clichéd. But I don’t care. I will continue to scream from my mountain, letting the winds carry my words and the forests echo with the genius of past men.
Only then do I think that the greatest of passion is shown only by the acceptance of not caring.
I apologize if the essay appears to lose it's point or purpose because of over-emotional phrasing and diction. I got an 8 out of 15 for this essay.
Any comments would be appreciated :)