To be honest, it is easy for me to forget that a large piece of our conversation in class Thursday was based upon something that I had written (or more aptly, blubbered,) in my Web Paper.  In that paper, I spoke it like I saw it: through a lens of self-consciousness and doubt, and I called you all “a group of women who are clearly flourishing in this environment.” I don’t mean to sound callous when I say thank you for proving me wrong on that point. But you all did, and I am grateful. When your self-confidence is rock bottom, it’s easy to assume that everyone else is passing you by, standing on a higher level that you can’t even begin to see. After Thursday’s class and our lunch on Friday, it is clear to me now that that’s not necessarily the case. I commend the struggle that we’ve all undertaken – to understand ourselves as 360ers, as learners, as people – because I know that the struggle can be beneficial. Showing each other our cracks and admitting that we don’t have it all together is, in my opinion, something our group needed. Thank you for your honesty. Because, as many of you said during our read around, honesty is what we need to flourish here. 

For the second time, I returned to the Bryn Mawr Labyrinth to observe. I planned to devote myself to the surrounding itself. I wanted to record the vision, the feel, the smell and the sound. I brought so much curiosity with me when I went. I wanted to figure out if there was anything new? What was different as I went at a different time of the day? Any changes happened during the past seven days? However, as soon as I stayed for just a couple of minutes, I could not help thinking about the word "anthropocentric". This is a word that was accused by one of the writers we had read (I can't specify because I don't remember exactly). As I walked around the Labyrinth, sat on the bench, lay in the hammock, the instinct that - what I saw, felt, smelt, heard was really my own perception only - became stronger and stronger. Every time I moved, my experience was different. Even two places were only one meter apart, the fact that one was in the shade, the other was in the sun changed their property drastically. If there was a writing assignment that asks people to describe the lawn under their feet. One might say the grass was wet, it was true because the area was in the shade. The other person could say the grass was dry, which is no less true as well if the area was in the sun. In most cases, what is recorded is determined by the writer's stand point.

Original:

    Pinecones bloom on bare branches like impossible flowers. I don’t think they look real. I have no idea what makes me think so. Maybe it’s the hum of the electrical green box just outside the tree. Maybe I have just forgotten pinecones over the summer and replaced them in my mind with underwater grass beds. They now constitute a fake tree, apparently.

Rheomode:

    Blooming and flowering impossibly on branches, defying assumptions by existing as a pinecone, pineconing. Processing in the brain and opposing this vision. Knowing nothing about the causing. Humming of the perceiving to be green box invalidating visual clues. Forgetting pinecones and replacing with swimming grass and breathing of water by animals. Leading to confusing the seeing of pinecones during the happening. Changing the vision to being deceiving.

I drew this image while watching the rehersals of a circus dance troupe in the cloisters Sunday morning. At this partiular point, I sketched them singing Bread and Roses, a popular protest song of industrial workers at the turn of the last century. The tune also happens to be dilivered in a most enthusiastic manner en masse at one college's nighttime rituals. 

Yesterday was Moon Cake day (or Mid Autumn festival). Vietnam and China were the first countries to celebrate this day, on which people can see the full moon from the earth. Nowadays many other Asian countries also celebrate this festival. It is a day for moon cake, green tea and lanterns.

I visited the longue behind Rhoads South in the evening, after coming back from Haffner’s Mid Autumn festival, with a cup of hot tea and a piece of moon cake (grilled moon cake with lotus seed paste and salted egg yolk – my favourite!). The night was cold and I was lucky to have the cup of tea as a companion. I like the feeling when I hold the cup, take a sip and let the flow of warmth travel inside my body, in contrast with the cold outside. Thanks to the tea I could have been able to stand the night’s cold.

Doris Sommer’s reading was not the most accessible text. It was quite difficult for me to understand the implications that arise when secrets are used in texts to distance the reader and to understand her thinking around why authors, like Rigoberta, would choose to withhold information. But I will admit that, similar to thoughts I shared in class, my dislike for the focus of this reading dominated my thoughts and ultimately distracted me from what the author was trying to prove. So,  as I read,  I kept thinking, “Okay, so she used secrets in the book, why does her reasoning for doing that matter? What satisfaction will the reader and Sommer get by knowing? Who cares if we don’t know if her story is completely factual, why should that take away from the genocide? Hello! Remember the genocide?” Even as I write this post, I can see how my thoughts were  a bit close-minded.  Although I am reluctant to acknowledge that there is some value in knowing the answers to the questions raised about Riogberta’s book, I now feel—I can’t fully articulate it—why the urge to know is so strong.

How do we cite our peers on serendip?

I couldn't remember if we were supposed to post about "I, Rigoberta Menchu" or this Tuesday's readings so I'll just stick with posting about Rigoberta because we haven't had a full discussion about her story yet. As I looked through my notes, I came across a quote that I guess I thought was significant enough to write down. In Chapter 4, Rigoberta describes the horrid conditions of the lorry and how terribly the Quiché were treated. While my experiences will never ever compare to hers, I felt like I could relate to her when she said, "The children, who are hot and hungry, are always asking their parents for treats and it makes parents sad to see their children asking for things they can't give" (26).

A friend of mine just sent me this video, which features Steven Powers, who is the artist behind the "Love Letters" murals that you can see  from the El.

http://www.psfk.com/2011/11/graffiti-artist-paints-a-love-letter-to-brooklyn-video.html

I thought you all might like it!