Glimpses

[IceM]

The premise of this piece of non-fiction is that it's a class assignment. I have two weeks before it is due. I've never written creative non-fiction, so bare with me.

In a sense, I'm writing about my outlook on life, using my current outlook (described through a pastoral scene) and working backwards, describing how I got to that point through 5 time periods in my life.

This is a rough rough draft. I have a lot to go. I tried to use childish language in childish moments. When (rather, if) you read this, you'll notice some sentences don't fit. If you choose to respond, let me know how I can refine this.

I stand at the coastline of wasted opportunities. A chilling wind numbs my skin, making my veins visible in the pale moonlight. Turbulent waves pound onshore while salty mist stings my face. Rain pelts me overhead. It is in the midst of a storm. Grimy water black as sludge oozes between my toes, tainting my skin before it recedes into the ocean. As I walk across the shore, my toes cut by the coarse sand, I look out across the horizon and see dark, billowy clouds approaching, signaling the beginning of a perpetual misery I experience on this coastline.

I fondly remember the days when Life seemed much more optimistic. Childhood beckoned the formation of hopes and dreams while imagination made them seem possible. Cartoons allowed for the escape from the vices of our industrialized world and the enjoyment of adventures in another. Video games invited me to eat with Yoshi, explore with Pikachu and save the princess with Mario. And the eternal embrace of my favorite blankets combined with the warm hugs from my grandma were all I needed to get through the night. Life was bliss…

Then comes reality. Altruism loses priority to self-interest and economic standing. Happiness is drowned by death and societal obligations. Dreams soon find their limits as job opportunities promote compromise and chastise ambition. And endless desires meet limited possibilities. Oh, how the fairy tales lied!

My high school peers call me an epistemological nihilist. They say I see no hope in the world, that my reading has narrowed my senses, that my studies have limited my thinking. They say I think too hard. But when people intentionally try to damage your self-esteem, you cannot relax. How can you be optimistic when the grandmother whom raised you died? How can you be optimistic when you are the figurehead of public scrutiny? How can you be optimistic when Life continually attacks your dreams for her entertainment? How can you be anything?

Of course, you have not met me, seen me, felt me, heard me. You cannot know my struggles, my pains, my memories, my fears. So allow me to explain…

Chapter One: Youth, ages 0-6
“Grandma, my favorite show won’t come on anymore! My life is over!”
“It’s okay dear, I’m sure they’ll make another episode. Now come give Grandma a hug!”

I love my grandma. She’s always found a way to be there for me. When I cry, she hugs me. When I’m hungry, she feeds me. When I’m lonely, she loves me. Grandma lets me spend weekends at her house when Mommy and Daddy are away at work. She makes me smile. I love my grandma.

But I still miss Mommy and Daddy. Often times I’ll be getting tucked in my grandma around my bedtime (9 PM) and they still won’t be home. But they say they love me. We’re always together for Thanksgiving and Christmas, decorating the house together. They love me and I, them.
I just keep getting this feeling that our family is slowly falling apart though. My brother Eduardo always argues with Mommy—she grounds him for talking back. Mommy and Daddy are always tired and never say “I love you” to each other. I worry. But as long as I have Grandma, life will be fine.

But I’m still upset Pokemon is over.

And so the summer sun shone on the coastline. Purple lilacs dominated the background while glimmering waves gently lulled in the foreground. Foamy water tickles my toes. A gentle breeze lazily floats through the coast, tousling my hair and relaxing the skin. Life is calm. Let us hope it lasts.
Chapter Two: Hopefulness, ages 6-9

Dad said I’d be good at making friends in school. He never said I’d be bullied.

I hate the people I go to school with. My school is a small school—approximately 200 students per year—with a variety of races represented. There are only two “white” kids in my class, I being one of them (although I’m only half). My classmates are jerks. To them I’m a Nazi, a cracker, a white boy, a supremacist, a snob and an ingrate. But I’m just me. Why must I be their victim?

Things at home aren’t much better either. My brother has a girlfriend and argues about when he’s allowed to talk to her. Mom and Dad get more orders at work and come home later than before—often times well after midnight. We rarely do anything as a family anymore. Everyone is always “busy” and “tired.” I can’t even remember the last time we sat at a dinner table together.

And Grandma has taken ill. While playing my Pokemon video games in the hospital I overheard the doctor saying something about kidney failure and Parkinson’s disease. My dad dropped his head and my mom started crying, so I guess it was bad news. But I go to visit her often. When I do, she can barely speak—I can hear the sound of her hospital machinery more than her voice. Her toes are black. The doctors say they’ll have to amputate them and that she’ll need a wheelchair. But she said she loves me, and that my parents love me too. And I love them—I told them so myself. And as long as we’re together, nothing bad can happen.

But something bad can happen. I lost in my game; something bad will happen.

So the summer sun continued to shine its’ friendly rays on the coastline. But as I look out across the horizon, I see dark clouds approaching. The waves have grown larger, causing salty mist to rise, stinging my face. The lilacs, once in full bloom, have gone from a radiant purple to a faded violet; as if Life is gradually divorcing the flower. However, the sun keeps shining and the water, refreshing. The breeze is still calming and the coastline desirable. Yet those clouds worry me…
Chapter Three: Realism, ages 9-11

My grandmother died.

I began reflecting on the moments I had with Grandmother; weekends spent in Bakersfield, fresh peanut butter cookies for snacks, nights telling stories, games being played, laughs being shared. I could feel her loving embrace even as she escaped the miseries of this world and live in another, almost as if Life was her video game. And for some time, I wanted to be a player too.

Attending the funeral was rough. As my dad made a tribute in memory of his lost mother, you could hear laughter in the background. Someone just died; is now the time to mingle with mourners? Yet nothing changed. The casket almost fell because it was placed unevenly. Direct relatives arrived late and in such a flamboyant manner that occasionally the ceremonies had to be stopped. My brother never went. How could a family mourn the loss of its sole unifier when the whole family isn’t in attendance?

I cried for weeks, not mourning the loss of Grandmother but the loss of our family. We pretend to love each other. Eduardo, recently dumped by his girlfriend, would divorce us if possible. Mother and Father can’t speak without arguing, either with each other or with my brother. My attempts to stop thinking about Grandmother have only salted my water, craving for her presence at every possible moment. There was no reprieve.

Even my schoolmates offered no condolences. I was often teased for crying. Of course, their grandparents still lived; they could not feel my pain. Every time I came home I cried more, because she wasn’t there to hug me, kiss me, and listen. My parents were still at work. My grandmother still lied in a grave. Nothing changed. Perhaps nothing was meant to.

My parents still said they loved me and I, them. But now I hesitate to believe them. Do they even know me? How can they know their own son when they’re only home when I’m asleep? Dads take their kids fishing and play baseball. Mine takes me to school. I guess that’s what I’m meant for.

And now the weather started to change. Once distant, the ominous clouds continued to loom on the horizon as the summer sun crawled to greet them. Once purple, the lilacs have wilted, resembling a dried boysenberry dye. Once calming, the wind has cooled, becoming a chilling gust that trembles the jaw and frostbites the skin. Once relaxing, the waves have become more tumultuous and the tide more aggressive. But the sun still shines and the coast still calm; perhaps Life will reverse its path.

Chapter Four: Maturity, ages 12-14
It seems the winds have eased up, going from a chilling gust to a nippy breeze. The sun, while still setting, has intensified his brightness, penetrating the ominous clouds that have partially enveloped it. The tide has receded slightly. Waves that were tumultuous in nature have now calmed themselves; while they still create significant ripples at sea, they pose no threat in the foreground. Perhaps the storm is brewing, or perhaps its just bad weather. But it’s nice to have a break.
The leap from middle school to high school has been pleasant. Free from the discriminatory biases of my former classmates, I’m left with canvas and paint, free to paint the portrait of my future.

I’ve been able to escape the miseries of mourning my grandmother. Being exposed to a variety of personalities and opportunities has kept me busy. Tennis has inspired me to improve my physical shape while Academic Decathlon and Varsity Band have challenged me to expand my intellectual boundaries. People are less hostile and, while factions do exist, many are open-minded.
I’ve also met this girl I really like, Melonie Padre. She’s smart and funny, cute and charming. I feel like I can reveal my troubles to her without worry or judgment. She makes me smile.

Knowledge, however, has been my ultimate sanctuary. Literature has allowed my personality to resonate with the vast genii throughout history. Social studies are the penultimate forms of reconnecting to my culture. My imagination has broadened, and so too have my visions for the life in which I live. May the sun keep shining.

Chapter Five: Nihilism, ages 14-16
Existence is the manner in which we manifest the world; life is how we experience it. Experience sucks.

High school hates me. After freshman year I expected life to continue as though the past were a figment of my imagination, never to be revealed again. Oh, how my optimism lied! The same ridicule plaguing my childhood found an everlasting geyser of enthusiasm amongst my peers—when I declared my atheism I was instantly labeled a sacrilegious heathen and estranged from many social settings. Melonie long ago left me for other men. Knowledge continually insults me for having few friends but itself.

Home life is mundane. My parents grant me no “life” outside of academic priority—I can’t even remember the last time I went to a friend’s house. And as I sit and write this essay, I wonder: will things ever change? Will the perpetual torment highlighting my youth become a fundamental aspect of my life, or will it become a moment solitary in my memory as I’ve been in life?

And so the clouds have finally overtaken the sun. A chilling wind numbs my skin, making my veins visible in the pale moonlight. Turbulent waves pound onshore while salty mist stings my face. Rain pelts me overhead. Grimy water black as sludge oozes between my toes, tainting my skin before it recedes into the ocean. The world boasts 195 countries and houses over 8 billion people. While I’ve hated being alone throughout my life, I hope I’m isolated in feeling this pain.

Please understand that I realize I start and end very poorly. Help me fix these, please? Thanks.

[hillwalker]

Nihilism with a capital N.....

This is a very difficult piece to read because the reader is going to sense very quickly that much of the story is a fictionalised account of a part of your real life that caused you pain. If that is not the case pardon my misinterpretation.

Away from the subject matter, the opening section is as good a way of starting as any. The only clumsy part is "Rain pelts me overhead. It is in the midst of a storm." which needs reworking into a single sentence - rain usually arrives from overhead even in the States I guess.

"I fondly remember" - lose the word 'fondly' as it is a horrid cliche, like something off a Hallmark greetings card.

The paragraph starting with "Then comes reality....." is a bit too sudden a change in mood, and it pre-empts much of what follows. You would be better leaving it until later in the piece, building up to the reasons why you view Life so negatively.

A tiny point of grammar - "the grandmother whom raised you" should read "who raised you". The word "whom" only makes sense if it was, for example, "The grandmother, to whom I often write, lives in New York." - and even then it is considered rather old-fashioned and would normally be rephrased as "The grandmother I often write to....."
Grammar might seem an unnecessary complication, but if the reader mistrusts your grammar he/she will also mistrust the message you choose to write.

Now crunch time : brace yourself as this could hurt.

Chapter 1 is slushy beyond belief. I accept you are trying to write as a young child might, but the over-the-top sentimentalisation of the grandmother does her no favours at all, and makes the writer appear weak and pathetic. It doesn't read like real life at all - just some episode of a sappy TV soap.

Then in paragraph 4 of Chapter 4 - there is far too much gruesome detail about your grandmother's medical condition and the complications following on from her diagnosis. Most readers would give up at this point - it's like watching someone mutilating themselves in public.
If this is truly based on part of your life experience I sympathise with you as I'm sure most people would - but this is something you are better writing down in private to help you work through the process of loss, not in a class assignment where your peers are perhaps expected to share.
Make a brief reference to the gradmother's illness by all means, but then move on to how the family readjusted (or in this case, failed to). Grandmother was the cement and stones that held the family together, not a sick woman whose private details are now suddenly on display.

Also you will get very little sympathy from the lines "Even my schoolmates offered no condolences. I was often teased for crying. Of course their grandparents still lived; they could not feel my pain." That's a straightforward case of blinkered self-pity. Most schoolmates wouldn't have a clue how to offer condolences - hell, it's hard enough for grown-ups to find the right words. And how do you know that none of them have ever lost a loved one? Because they're not walking around crying all day??
That paragraph needs throwing in the trash for your own good.

And finally, an unexpected return to negativity "when I declared my atheism" smacks of self-indulgence. You have every right to declare your belief - but the way you do it will decide the reaction you get.

On the positive side, you are intelligent and articulate. Use you words wisely. Be ruthless and get rid of anything that sounds phoney or melodramatic.
The structure - starting on the shoreline, the 'event horizon' between your past and your future if you like - is well thought out and is the right way to go.
Just hold back on those overpowering emotions that are in danger of making you out to be unapproachable and ultra-sensitive.

And that phrase "reading has narrowed my senses" - pure crap. Reading broadens the mind, you'd better believe it - and more often than not it leaves the reader realising how many shallow people there are in the world. The secret of intelligence is keeping that information to yourself.

Best of luck - and you know, life only sucks if you give it a straw!

H