For now I am keeping this blog for my English class, but who knows, maybe this could become something bigger.
I am nineteen.
I love food.
I try to follow the meaning of my first name everyday. Some days go better than others.
My middle name is after my dad's favorite musician, Ian Anderson.
My last name is tricky, it's not possessive or plural and "i" does not come before "e".
East of Eden will always be my favorite.
I have been accused of being a hipster from time to time.
I had five wisdom teeth.
I really enjoy getting dressed "to the nines".
I like anything spicy.
I enjoy a listening to vinyl, but don't worry, I did it before it was cool.
My birth mark is over two feet long.
Puns are great.
Traveling is amazing.
I really like the word "hablabamos".
I hate the word "ointment".
I wear girl socks, they're more comfortable.
All my instruments have Hispanic names, they are: Ana Lis, Mercedes, Lucia, and Gabriella.
I've been known to be really loud, I blame my Italian heritage.
I love the Pacific Northwest.
In case you were wondering, "Hoppipolla" is Icelandic for "jumping in puddles". If you haven't jumped in a puddle recently I would highly recommend it.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
He is Joaquin (But I most certainly am not)
I Am Joaquin, a poem full of both intense national pride and contradictions. Rodolfo Gonzales' lines of free verse sing with allusion to the illustrious past of Mexico, from the invasion of Cortez to the immigration of thousands of Mexican laborers into the United States. Much like the Rio Grande, these lines twist and turn, flowing from lines of a single word to extended metaphors filling half a page.
Throughout the piece, the tone remains that of one filled with national pride, a pride fueled by images spanning hundreds of years. Yet at times this pride seems almost contradictory as Gonzales writes about the accomplishments of the Aztecs, only to describe their slaughter at the hands of Cortez further on. Or the rich belief of the indigenous people of Mexico, only to praise the adoption of Roman Catholicism. Because of this, Gonzales makes statements such as being "both tyrant and slave", almost as if he feels stuck between two worlds. Through this, Gonzales both accepts the European influence on Mexico, (even going so far as to reference the Moorish invasion of Spain during the 8th century and claim this is where Mexicans got their indomitable spirit), and revere the natives living in Mexico before the Spanish invasion.
To further his connection to these everts, Gonzales repeats "I am..." throughout the poem, personifying himself as the people recorded in these events. During these statements Gonzales adapts the tone of those he is describing, further forwarding his connection to his country and its heroes he writes about. As the poem continues and Gonzales builds on his identity rooted in his country, crescendoing constantly to the end of the poem until it ends at a roaring fortissimo.
As I read this poem, I am amazed at Gonzales' pride in his country and its people. As a third generation American, I have found myself distant from both my family's ancestry and the patriotism typical of Americans. I know my history. I could describe the events of the American Revolution, of the moral uprightness of Honest Abe, and how thousands of courageous young men stormed the beaches at Normandy and helped bring an end to a tyrant opposing the God-given rights of millions of his fellow humans. Yet if I were to tell you these tales, there would not be passion in my voice. The image of a flag does not bring a tear to my eye, nor does the playing of The Star Spangled Banner give me chills.
As for my family's heritage, the only connection I have to them is the smell of roasting garlic, the sizzle of hot oil in a pan, and a passion for food that runs deep in all of us and brings us together. However, I still find my identity to be just as strong as Gonzales. Instead of finding my connection to those in the past, my identity is rooted in the relationships I maintain on a daily basis. I find brotherhood not with the fallen heros of my country's past but in the people confide in. A soldier staying behind to man the walls is a pleasant enough symbol, but he will never be as heroic as a friend who sees me as I am, faults and all, and still accepts me.
So my question to you is, where do you find your identity? Is it in the stories of your country? The people around you? The activities you fill your day with? Or somewhere else entirely? In the end, one is not better than another, one not more profound. We simply are wired differently, and whatever way we choose to establish our identity, we should live it with a passion that matches that of Gonzales.
Throughout the piece, the tone remains that of one filled with national pride, a pride fueled by images spanning hundreds of years. Yet at times this pride seems almost contradictory as Gonzales writes about the accomplishments of the Aztecs, only to describe their slaughter at the hands of Cortez further on. Or the rich belief of the indigenous people of Mexico, only to praise the adoption of Roman Catholicism. Because of this, Gonzales makes statements such as being "both tyrant and slave", almost as if he feels stuck between two worlds. Through this, Gonzales both accepts the European influence on Mexico, (even going so far as to reference the Moorish invasion of Spain during the 8th century and claim this is where Mexicans got their indomitable spirit), and revere the natives living in Mexico before the Spanish invasion.
To further his connection to these everts, Gonzales repeats "I am..." throughout the poem, personifying himself as the people recorded in these events. During these statements Gonzales adapts the tone of those he is describing, further forwarding his connection to his country and its heroes he writes about. As the poem continues and Gonzales builds on his identity rooted in his country, crescendoing constantly to the end of the poem until it ends at a roaring fortissimo.
As I read this poem, I am amazed at Gonzales' pride in his country and its people. As a third generation American, I have found myself distant from both my family's ancestry and the patriotism typical of Americans. I know my history. I could describe the events of the American Revolution, of the moral uprightness of Honest Abe, and how thousands of courageous young men stormed the beaches at Normandy and helped bring an end to a tyrant opposing the God-given rights of millions of his fellow humans. Yet if I were to tell you these tales, there would not be passion in my voice. The image of a flag does not bring a tear to my eye, nor does the playing of The Star Spangled Banner give me chills.
As for my family's heritage, the only connection I have to them is the smell of roasting garlic, the sizzle of hot oil in a pan, and a passion for food that runs deep in all of us and brings us together. However, I still find my identity to be just as strong as Gonzales. Instead of finding my connection to those in the past, my identity is rooted in the relationships I maintain on a daily basis. I find brotherhood not with the fallen heros of my country's past but in the people confide in. A soldier staying behind to man the walls is a pleasant enough symbol, but he will never be as heroic as a friend who sees me as I am, faults and all, and still accepts me.
So my question to you is, where do you find your identity? Is it in the stories of your country? The people around you? The activities you fill your day with? Or somewhere else entirely? In the end, one is not better than another, one not more profound. We simply are wired differently, and whatever way we choose to establish our identity, we should live it with a passion that matches that of Gonzales.
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