What Is a Parent?

Parent: An organism that produces or generates offspring.

Presented before you is the definition (found on Dictionary.com) of the word "parent". For most of us, a parent is a father and a mother. Yet, in other cases a parent is only one father or mother, sometimes those parents are step-parents, or adoptive parents. Sometimes a parent could be your own sibling. 

The word parent does no longer connotate to the biological production of it's nature in our modern society. Although there will never be a break between the tie of those who gave birth to you and to yourself, the emotional bond that we form between people is everlasting. 

I myself am grateful to have two loving and happily married parents. Yet, this doesn't take away the value or emotional tie that another child could have with their parent, whom of which doesn't have the same situation as mine. 

A parent is a provider, a protector, and without a doubt loves you unconditionally. Upon analyzing the essays, "Arm Wrestling with my Father" and "Shooting Dad", I realize that a parent does not define their child but a mutual understanding is formed between those that care for you your entire life.
Despite traditional standards or even modernized perspectives of what a parent should or should not do matters not when regarding the unexplainable connection between parent and child.
Though in many cases teenagers will roar in states of rebellion against their parents as "oppressors" and power-hungry dictators, a parent understands you in ways no one else will.

There is something...ominous about the way that a parent guides you through life using only their biased experiences. It's scary for them more than you'd think. Parenting doesn't come with a guide book or a "How-to" video. In many cases, parents want to continue to do better. Seek other ways to train you and optimize your future careers. And yes, parents are usually wrong in what they do. But their decisions aren't made out of spite (usually), and often times it's a game of mystery. Other times, parents truly do know what's best for you.

A parent is a person who relates to you in a way that isn't direct or even measured, but the simple understandings that are unspoken, and the bonds of trust that cannot be broken shape the relationship between parent and child.

The Starry Night by Vincent van Gogh (Extra Credit Poem)

Silenced by the darkness of the night,
not a single soul stirs in the calm twilight.
And yet, as the sun dies down,
and the world comes still,
there is no threatening alarm in this quiet wake.
The cool air pleasantly burns the skin of those wandering the empty streets,
and the swirling winds send wafts of old rain and the lilies nearby.
It is quiet.
It is calm.
A shade of blue blurs across the land,
and everything becomes one.
You cannot see,
you may even think you are deaf,
but the tranquility the nighttime brings,
carries you the peace to lie in bed and mull over the day.
Here you may question,
here you may speak without moving your lips.
Here you may breathe from the business that life brings.
It is timeless here,
unlike there where the business of life doesn't let you stop.
But no.
This is safe.
This is fresh.
Your eyelids flutter closed,
and your heart rate begins to slow.
Drowsiness overtakes you,
and the dreams play a pattern of random in your mind.
Nothing disturbs you.
Not even the owl perched outside your bedroom window.
For, the night sky is dark,
and not a soul is stirring.
Here you are safe.
Here you are secure.

Alas dawn awakes the night sky,
the sun speaks hello and the neighbors prepare for their day.
The silence is replaced with deafening sound.
Oh! Do not fret,
for the cycle will repeat itself once again.

Happiness Takes Effort

Upon reflecting the negative aspects of some of the stories we've covered in class concerning corruption and society I've come to some discoveries of my own. When I hear people say, "I'll be happy when I get this job, or this boyfriend, or graduate, etc." it makes everyday life seem tedious and sells present time as short. Life becomes a marathon of force and patience, instead of a series of sprints toward discovery.  Yet, ironically we are the true "stop watchers" in ourselves and we are in control. We don't have to wait for something to happen or magically show up to make us happy--when you find beauty in the mundane you can find happiness in your simplicity.

Not everyone is going to live extravagant lives filled with the drama or glamour of movies, and there's nothing wrong with that.  Life will always be average and it will be hard; and yes you will have to work to get somewhere. And the point of life is not to get the "best" of whatever society views as ideal, but instead to find the beauty in average that everyone refuses to believe exists.

When good things happen in life they are usually going to happen because you earned them, and not because "Prince Charming" or some magical event happened to grant you your temporary shot of joy. Because when you directly associate happiness to materialism and standards of other people, you'll never fulfill them and never gain the happiness you deserve.

Everyday is not going to be perfect. Most of the people you meet won't actually give a damn (excuse my profanity) about you, and most of the things you encounter in everyday life will be...well just plain average. But when you only focus on the average or the mundane, you won't see the beauty or happiness right in front of you. The thing about positive "energy" or perspective is that it feeds off of itself and spreads outward. Just like hard work, if you do something often times you'll gain what you worked for.

Stop waiting and go out and find something. If you live your life in fear of failure, you will forget to live. Who cares what other people think. One person's definition of smart or successful does not always correlate with someone else's. And even so, only your own connotation matters.
Find beauty in the mundane.

"Perhaps I want them to wince"

Upon reflecting over Nancy Maris' piece, I have succumbed to the conclusion that labeling is not a limitation but instead another form of identification. As though our own acceptance or rejection of who we are stifles the perspective of society.

Throughout our earlier readings characters such as Jay Gatsby, Dexter Green, and even Alexie Sherman have all attempted to assimilate themselves into an already rejecting society; and thus ultimately resulting into a cycle of failure. And yet, Mairs demonstrates the positive aspect of rejecting her community and forming her own--in which only her opinion and perspective matters.

There's something magical about starting your own life; making your own choices. Something most of us lack, a courage to seek what we've lost or not yet found.

Perhaps we all wish to start over, and begin anew. Perhaps "I want them to wince".

Where is my voice?

Upon reflecting of my past essays, I have realized that despite this stressful road of assignments and due dates, my writing has improved greatly. Looking back, my writing was chaotic and just plain confusing. Majority of my sentences contained fragments, and don't even get me started on my incorrect usage of the semi-colon. Although even now, I understand that I have an even bigger journey ahead of me. 

Now my writing overall is not terrible, in fact throughout my middle school and early high school years, my teachers praised my essays; I was the star student. This was back when we had a freedom of writing. Typically, I prefer to write in a poetic voice; an outlining depiction of Edgar Allan Poe or Mark Twain. I enjoy using extensive vocabulary that allow my sentences to flow. It's almost as though I can picture the words floating off the page into a sea of stories; which eventually evaporates into the clouds and the cycle only continues to spread  But I quickly learned that my style of writing wasn't fit for AP courses. It was "too fluffy", not direct to the point, and often times the teachers I had simply hated imagination or style in essays. Needless to say, my 8th grade teacher killed my entire dream of wanting to be an author. I didn't care about getting marked down for "fragments" or grammar mistakes; I am a writer and writing is my control--I didn't understand why I should conform myself to a grading scale and limit my voice. And as a result, I lost my passion--which was my talent. In which case, my writing progressively diminished in quality. Now not to say that I was a perfect writer back then, I made several mistakes, but if I hadn't given up on my style a few years ago, I know I'd enjoy writing more than I do now. 

Though, I have come to the conclusion that I like how far I have in my academic journey of writing; it has most significantly improved. Although, I still need to work on in-class writing anxiety; often I will blank out during an essay and my writing turns into absolute garbage. But I have slowly improved on this skill. 
My main goal is to improve my essays to a 9 average marking, though I wouldn't mind getting back my dream of being an author again.