A SIlent Power

"I had to stop talking. I discovered that to achieve perfect silence all I had to do was to attach myself leechlike to sound."

Coping with pain. A concept portrayed differently by every individual. How can someone, like Maya Angelou, find solace in attaching herself to others sound, while other people depend upon their own sound for recovery. Growing up, my two best friends took on each of these approaches. In one case, I knew everything that affected my dear friend's life, from the quarrel between her and her mother at breakfast to the details of her grandfather's funeral. In the other case, I knew nothing. This difference did not make me grow fonder to one over the other, but it showed me that pain is an area that defines who we are. As the two girls remained my best friends all throughout high school and even to this day, I wondered how two very similar people managed to cope with pain in two completely different ways. Maya Angelou's story centers around the various ways of coping with the past; not only in her own life, but even in the lives of those around her. While many can relate to Maya's reclusive attitude, others may wonder, how. Maya's story of pain and silence is unique and defines the person she has become today.

Home Is Where The Heart Is

In most instances where one inquires about the definition of the word home, they will find answers such as 'the place where one lives', 'a dwelling place', or even 'a physical structure'; definitions so broad that it can often be difficult to put emotions behind them. At the start of Maya Angelou's, I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, instead of referring to her and her brother's destination as her fathers home, she says that she is going home to her fathers. This shows that her sense of home lies in the broad definition of home being a place. Angelou's novel is based upon her finding herself over the course of her life, discovering herself after many series of events. Her interpretation of home is most likely one that will change due to the circumstances she undergoes.

Home to me may be Fort Wayne, Indiana, because that is where I have lived for my entire life. Although to someone who has lived in seven different states over the course of their life, home is not one place. To understand home on a deeper level, one must find what gives them a sense of security in life. I find security in various aspects of my life. Hearing my mothers comforting voice on the phone will forever be the medicine for putting my mind at immediate ease. I also can find a feeling of home in another literal place. Church bells ringing remind me that no matter where I go in the world, my religion and God will be with me. No matter the location, the familiarity of the church makes me feel "at home" and literally in a place where security rules all. Feeling at home brings one happiness. It is in turn my favorite 'destination', 'place' or structure to go in my mind,

Sharing Thoughts

As I read Mary Gordon's memoir Circling My Mother, I often found myself questioning her purpose for writing such a work... As Gordon clearly states in the preface her intentions for the book, it is difficult for one to infer the real meaning behind the words that follow. "Memoir suggests that the writer is the central character, and although, certainly, I am writing about my mother because she is my mother, I had hoped to step aside and give her center stage". And center stage is exactly what she gets. As I continued into the text of the following chapters, although I did find myself mildly entertained at the content being offered, the questions of "why" continued to linger in my thoughts. Why does one recount such stories, and at that, such stories of despair? These stories were not ones that made you smile or take breaks to look out the window and admire the outdoors, but ones that left you with feelings of sorrow and discontent. A similar question can be asked based on this analysis. Why do people feel a need to share their troubles with others? Thinking about this question makes me question if the answer is even one that is worthy of praise. Maybe we are pathetic. Our troubles should not be verbalized if they will only bring the opposite of happiness to others. But then I think of Virginia Woolf, who devoted her life to helping women find their place in society; to solving mysteries that the ignorance of men have kept secret for so long. And then I remember The Yellow Wallpaper. One woman who, without the resource of a pen and papers, could have driven herself into complete and utter instability, ultimately leading to life's inevitable. We share out thoughts, our concerns, our troubles, for the sake of giving purpose to our lives. To trap our emotions within ourselves is toxic. Without verbalizing, telling the world what we have learned, we will never learn ourselves.