“Return” –
I found this story really especially interesting because here you have a half Somali and half Vietnamese girl returning to her “home” which is Cambodia. I also found it interesting that I initially got the impression that she left Cambodia as a young girl when she was actually 21 years old. The narrator mentions on page 35 that her father would only like for his children to be somewhere under his personal protection. With that, he took them from Cambodia in 1970 to “protect their skins.” As any father would think to do, he did what he had to protect his family. Though their escape could be referred to as refugee status, Fatima was able to later return.
A critical incident in this story is a reoccurring one. I noticed in here writing that a certain emotion was apparent on a few occasions whiting her arrival. Though she is not “Cambodian” the Cambodian land is where she was raised and made quite an impactful moments of her life. Her feeling is almost unexplainable but the expression speaks for itself. On page 29 she says, “On foot we crossed the border and I mentally went and kissed the little sign in Cambodian Khmer land. My eyes filled with tears, I took a fistful of earth and I put it in my pocket, my earth.” For her, Cambodia is obviously more than just a place on a map; it’s on her heart. On the following page she says, “There was no longer the innocent serenity of carefree life, but rather melancholy in the eyes of the elderly, and resignation.” Though this can be interpreted as depressing, if one were to red between the disappointment of what Cambodia has turned into, they could imagine her reminiscing about what it used to be. Which once again gives her that sense of home and comfort. Ending her day and recapping thoughts she explains her current thoughts as she falls asleep, intoxicated by recollections deep in my memory, I finally fell sleep and slid into the night. Throughout all of these quotes, even if it has to be implied she is overwhelmed but emotion and overjoyed for her “return” home.
“Give Me Back my Coat” –
I’m almost completely speechless. I’m unsure how I should respond to this story. I’m quite confused actually because at first there wasn’t much enthusiasm in committing suicide, it was actually depressing at first, as any death would be. The narrator speaking of all of the ways he thought to kill him made me believe that he would never actually bring himself to condoning his own suicide.
Then while he was walking to the café his tone changed. I could hear it being spoken sarcastically, maybe as though his happiness was only a trick to trick him into going through with it. He says, “I had taken a short cut and after 15 minutes I had arrived in the square. I felt uplifted who has just finished his performance and sits in a sweet peace to smoke a cigarette behind the scenes…The wind made me feel and the idea that on that very day I would kill myself.” Something about this statement seems unreal to me, like he shouldn’t be serious. However for the rest of the times he would only get happy at the thought of killing himself. Since his coat seemed to mean so much to him I thought that maybe that would make him even more excited to commit suicide. No, it was the opposite, as though he felt like he needed to say goodbye to hid coat as he went to the café to secretly say goodbye to friends. But if he truly wanted to rid himself from the world that badly, his coat would have done it anyway. Whoever stole his coat was like fate giving him another reason to hang in there.
“Light Bear and Peanuts” –
As we have talked about continuously, identity is the main point of this story. Truth is based off of her parent’s perspectives, she does not know who she is. As many “mixed girls” have complexes, in her case it was her parents that were making it worse on her by degrading her natural beauty that made things harder than they had to be. I found that she went through two breaking points throughout the story. The first one is when she admits to herself that she just wants to be accepted by everyone and not to be stared or judged but either Italians or Indians. On page 477 she says, “I wanted a whole population to accept me and put aside its traditions, its dogmas, and its castes. I wanted it to put itself away in order to reach out to me: for how I am. I wanted an entire population to accept me: to compensate for the refusal of one single man.” Being able to group her father into the same category as strangers. Even with her coming to this point of articulating her feelings I can only imagine the feeling its like she’s exiled for existing. Her second breaking point is more towards the end of the story when she’s fed up, for just getting by without understanding why it’s so important to fit in so badly. On page 52 she says, “Now, I don’t really it: why is it okay to have a black husband but not a black daughter? If you get pregnant by an Indian man do you think that the result can be pink, so it goes well with the bathroom too?” Here she questions whom she has allowed to shape her views of herself as well as of India and Italy as countries. With that she began to liberate herself of expectations and the built her own identity to be what she felt she should be.
“The B-Line” –
This captures every emotion anyone from any ethnicity or place embodies when they are suddenly in a place where a language barrier no longer is just a barrier between communication with more than one person, but also a barrier between oneself and comfort. Any man who has allowed himself to push the boundaries of comfort and contentment can relate to what many teenagers would call an “awkward turtle moment” there he is on the B-Line without the ability to understand and be understood. The feeling of his incompetence is indescribable. I love the analogy that he starts the story with, “I have buried all of them. And now I have a graveyard of words inside of myself. The words I use to use at work, on the metro, in encounters on the street, these words are all void of memories, I speak with people, without touching the words inside.” The story doesn’t give much background but I am assuming that this is an immigrant who does not speak the language of the country that he is now. It is not that he does not know words; his brain just doesn’t currently hold the capacity to hold a conversation in that particular language. Even with that opening statement, he is a bit uneasy. The tone seems to be one of shame and discouragement yet with a bit of frustration. But who wouldn’t be frustrated under those kinds of circumstances. It’s things like that, which make me wonder how lives for immigrants who don’t initially have a network are. Also, how is his life once he gets off the B-Line? I almost wish that there was more to the story, I feel like I’ve been left to hang to dry.
“The Beggar” –
I found this story intriguing because a lot is left out in the beginning. I was unaware that he was a blind man and even that he was begging for words. It wasn’t until in the middle of page 58 when the narrator announced that he is a poet did I know that he was indeed a poet. I found it interesting that he would read the words with his hands, making the shapes out by sharpness of the edges. I was reminded of Helen Keller because she too was blind and read with her hands. It is a bit different being that she would read Braille, but the power and sensitivity of their touch is amazing.
I loved this story actually. I’m not sure if it is because I too consider myself to be a poet, but the entire story seemed like a poem. The metaphors and figurative language when talking about the different words was almost overwhelming. When it says, “He would have to wring our MERCY for it was drenched,” I thought of the mercy of God and how much he gives to people. So that could be why it was so drenched, because it soaks so much up. And when the young man gave him the word ABSENCE and it took up more space than UNCONSTITUTIONALLY, I would say that is because absence takes the form of a void and though the word it’s self shorter, the impact it has is greater. I almost feel like the poet was the narrator because the story was poetic. I still don’t quite understand how the poet found his way around and knew what he was looking at if he was blind. Either way, poetry is left up to interpretation, and unlike the other stories this one is like a poem, left up to interpretation.
No comments:
Post a Comment