The most interesting aspects of Kingston’s last two chapters is her portrayal of life an immigrant and life as a first generation Chinese American.

I will contrast Moon Orchid’s attempt at cultural adjustment to Brave Orchid’s daughter’s assimilation. Though Moon Orchid ends up “in a California state asylum” (159), I believe she is the most obvious example to use.

A 40s asylum.

This is because her reactions to the ghosts in America truly communicates the confusion that most immigrants who’re unfamiliar with Western culture and custom must feel. Brave Orchid’s daughter is another obvious example, but only because she narrates the last chapter.

Moon Orchid thinks of America as a wilderness with ghosts. There is a high degree of foreignness to everything she witnesses, which is why she “[spends] the evening observing the children” (140) and “defends them, sweet wild animals that they were” (134).
A chinese-american wild animal.


She is curious about objects that appear foreign to her, and describes them in a very simple manor. For example, she describes whisks as “the spiders are spinning with legs intertwined and beating the eggs electrically” (139).

what Moon Orchid equated with spider legs.

On the other hand, Brace Orchid’s daughter was subjected to… strange customs at the hand of her immigrant mother. For example, “she pushed[her daughter’s] tongue up and sliced the frenum” (164). Also, I believe a manifestation of Brave Orchid’s daughter’s frustration with the double life she was leading can be found in her explanation of her paintings: “I spread them out (so black and full of possibilities) and pretended the curtains were swinging open, flying up, one after another, sunlight underneath, mighty operas” (163).

black canvas that Brave Orchid's daughter constantly creates.

Moreover, she has trouble understanding the term “I” in English, because “the Chinese ‘I’ has seven strokes, intricacies” (166). She also has to “invent an American-feminine speaking personality” (172).

4-30 WW 2

One of the most prominent themes in the assigned readings has to do with life as an immigrant. Each character reacts differently to their life in America.

Brave Orchid tries to harmonize the experiences she gained in China with her life in America. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to work as she’d hoped. For example, “none of Brave Orchid’s children was happy like the two real Chinese babies who died” (132) and her American children “had no feelings and no memory” (115). The dynamics of a traditional Chinese family doesn’t develop as expected. Also, Brave Orchid “never explained anything that was really important” (121) to her children because she didn’t feel like they would understand—“ they certainly didn’t seem like much” (129).


Maybe the reason Brace Orchid's children weren't as happy as the "real Chinese babies" [like the one in the photo above] is because they weren't being torn between two completely different cultures.

Moreover, Brave Orchid was robbed of her youth in America. In a discussion with her daughter she says, “human beings don’t work like this in China. Time goes slower there… I would still be younger if we lived in China” (106).

This leads one to conclude that there is nothing that Brave Orchid really enjoys about her life. She only exhibits positive feelings towards her children once throughout the readings, and that’s when she says, “I can’t turn around without touching somebody. That’s the way this house should be” (108). The rest of the time she tries defining them by traditional Chinese standards; she doesn’t understand—almost refuses to understand—that her children could never uphold and embrace the same traditional philosophies as she does. This doesn’t subtract from her love for them, but it clouds it. Also, Brave Orchid worked hard (if not harder) in China as a doctor, yet she notices that she has aged considerably more in America.


It's as if Brave Orchid's love for her children is like this maze. They no it's there, it surrounds them, but there are so many barriers preventing them from reaching her and each other.

Moon Orchid has a completely different reaction to her life in America. Initially she is taken with everything that Brave Orchid seems to doubt or dismiss. For example, when Brace Orchid shows Moon Orchid her children’s trophies Moon Orchid exclaims “’Oh my, isn’t that wonderful…. Your children must be so smart” (129), while Brave Orchid finds it “hard to believe that they could do the things the trophies said they did” (129). Moon Orchid even admires the children’s lack of modesty. However, in the end Moon Orchid finds the transition to America too much to bear “and all variety had gone from [her]” (159). This means, at least to Brace Orchid, that her sister had finally gone mad.


A bunch 'o trophies to be proud of... or to doubt.

Perhaps this was due to her softness. Moon Orchid’s husband—who had “black hair and no wrinkles. [Who] looked and smelled like an American…. (152)—says “’it’s a mistake for you to be here. You can’t belong. You don’t have the hardness for this country” (153).


Moon Orchid's husband does have a point- she found it very difficult to work in a dry cleaners folding towels.

It seems that Brave Orchid, Moon Orchid, and Moon Orchid’s husband can be placed on different parts of the spectrum of assimilation. I would say that Moon Orchid is on one extreme and her husband is on the other. I say her husband belongs on the other extreme because of the way he talks about his homeland: “it’s as if I had turned into a different person. The new life around me was so complete; it pulled me away. You become people in a book I had read a long time ago” (154). Brave Orchid belongs somewhere in the middle. She retains enough of her experience in China, but still has that hardness that Moon Orchid’s husband mentioned. For example, she “… did not wear any rings. They got in the way of all the work” (127).


Hands that don't wear rings because of all the work they have to do.

In "The Woman Warrior" Kingston offers her readers a perspective on what it is like to be "in the first American generations [and] figure out how the invisible world the [Chinese] emigrants built around our childhoods fits in solid America” (5). In exploring this role, Kingston also scrutinizes the role of both Chinese American and Chinese females.

This is what I imagine the new immigrant family to look like... minus two daughters. The woman's face doesn't not strike me as particuraly pleased, but maybe that's just because the Chinese don't smile in photos.


In understanding the role of the former however, one must first understand the latter. In my attempt to do this I found myself asking what perpetuated the mindset that "'girls are maggots in the rice... [and] it is more profitable to raise geese than daughters'" (43)? I found countless examples of "the liability argument" throughout the text, but I also found obvious contradictions.

However symbolic the refrence may be I don't feel like it's appropriate. Not because I take offense necessarily at being- inherently called a maggot- but just because it's so cliched to call someone you don't like a maggot.

For example, when Fa Mu Lan is taken her mother says, "'we'll have to harvest the potatoes without her help this year" (22), and when she returns home her parents "killed a chicken and steamed it whole, as if they were welcoming home a son..." (34). What confuses me about these specific examples (and the chapter as a whole really) is how they're an utter contrast to what was actually practiced. Instead of expressing happiness at being relieved of a daughter (as one would expect), the mother understands that the family has just lost a valuable worker. She even grieves! Though one could argue the merits of a male over those of a female it still remains that a female plays a valuable and significant role in the traditional Chinese family. How well would a family get along without their two daughters helping them harvest an entire field? How would a mother be able to keep up the sewing for an entire family without a daughter? Though women were assigned miniscule tasks they still played a vital role within a family.

The other contradiction would be Mu Lan's reception. If this story is set in traditional China-- where “’the midwife or a relative would take the back of a girl baby’s head in her hand and turn her face into the ashes” (86)-- why was the family so happy to see Mu Lan had returned? Perhaps it was because she was 22 and no longer a liability, but they wouldn't have had silent tears and they wouldn't have cooked her an entire chicken.


The chicken the family probably ate... at least something similar to it.

However, I feel that the greatest contradiction- and, in turn, the most confusing aspect of this chapter- is the fact that Kingston's narrator's mother tells her this story. Why is a stroy that has such strong themes of feminism and family a popular children's story? It doesn't make since! Why teach your daughters through stories that they need to be Woman Warriors, when you're also telling them that "[they] failed if [they] grew up to be but wives or slaves” (19)?! And, if I can extend my tangent on this soap box jsut a bit more, I think that the possible feminist movement within this story is completely squashed when Mu Lan says, “only now I would get so lonely with the tent so empty that I slept outside” (41) because her husband and SON aren't there. wtf.

In reading about the narrator's life as a girl in a traditional Chinese family, the reader is also forced to bare witness to the difficulty of being a Chinese American. Aside from realizing that “[her] American life has been such a disappointment” (45), the narrator's "successful days" are defined as follows: “..successful days, when so much laundry came in, my mother did not have to pick tomatoes. For breaks we changed from pressing to sorting” (87). I wonder if this is a result of the family's low socio-economic background (not likely) or of the dynamics of the mother-daughter relationship. Perhaps one could argue that it's a combination of the two, but I feel that when confronted with accusations like “’During the war, though, when you were born, many people have older girls away for free. And here I was in the United States paying two hundred dollars for you” (83) puts a severe damper on one's ability to enjoy a day (much less a life) with a mother whose "enthusiasm for me is duller than for the slave girl…” (82). The narrator can't enjoy her American life because she lives in a household that doesn't appreciate her, and that insist on maintaining the traditional ways.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qe3Y-nXHsFI
(Bring Honor to us All, Mu Lan)

This song reminds me of the single purpose females- in China or in America- served for most traditional Chinese families.

I've always wanted to be multicultural because I've craved the identity that comes along with having another heritage; if not multicultural then I wanted to be diverse... as in some kind of minority.


I always wanted to be Hispanic, because I think Hispanic culture is very rich.

I understand the plight of a multicultural American/ minority- the difficulty of finding the perfect balance between two opposing ideals and forces- but, for the longest time, I believe I marginalized that fight. I comprehended that someone had to deal with it, but I never understood what it had to have been like. To me the decision was easy; pick the culture or lifestyle that had a richer heritage, the one that had character and was foreign, and one that could offer you a sound identity and title. I never occurred to me how or why maintaining a different lifestyle (as a result of coming from a different culture or status) was difficult.


I imagine for a Muslim woman maintaining her culture in a country like america is really difficult.

However, after I read Lee's essay on coming out of the closet something occurred to me. We all deal with the struggle of merging two identities together- the one that our present culture demands and the one that our parents demand. For some it may be more difficult and pronounced- as with being Muslim or gay- but the underlining theme is consistent for everyone.


Telling my mom I am an atheist is the same (yet different) as Lee telling his super conservative Korean parents he was gay.

Imagine that one has meshed their multiculturalism/minority status on a linear spectrum. Every experience they have, every reaction they internally process will effect the was they'll chose to identify themselves. However, it will take a while before all of these reactions can coales into one main identity. As Lee says, "I never connected my feelings with any larger picture" (226). This occurs for everyone- whether it's someone realizing they're gay, someone realizing that they don't want to be as Chinese as thier family demands, or perhaps someone who realizes they doesn't want to be Chrisitan anymore.



There is the fear of the unknown- of what it will mean for you to finally admit to yourself that you can't hid this divergence from what you've been told is appropriate. The fear of "what they would say when they found out" (266) that you had made a conscious decision to accept that-- inherently-- a part of you had to find it's own place on the spectrum.

Regardless of our background- whether we're discussing someone who is multicultural or not- we still have to deal with the fear of admiting to other people that what we believe and the way that we want to identify ourselves is fundamentally different from their standards. We all go through a battle similar to Lee: "At that moment, I know that I had to make one of two choices. I could either tell her that she was right and that I was not really gay but only going through some problems, or I could speak honestly and tell her the truth" (229). The question is then whether we are willing to "face sever consaquences" (229) for speaking the truth. These consaquences not only affect our family and social circles, but also ourselves. For example, Lee says that "I would at least have to wait a few more years before the oppertunity to reveal who I reall was" (229). Surpressing a fundamental desire to live your life one way for a few years to please others can result in depression and resentment and insecurity.


We can either closer our eyes to our real identity, because we're afraid of what others may say. Or, we can accept that what we feel and want deep down inside will never go away.

I believe one of the strongest aspects of Morrison’s writing is her focus on “emotion as the ‘foundation of knowledge and ideology’” (330). In her novel The Bluest Eye she forces the reader to accept that “truth is emotional as well as intellectual” (330); she also “helps us recover our… sympathetic imagination” (331). She does this by offering her readers a chance to serve as eyewitness to events that compel her characters to wrap themselves “…in a shroud stitched with anger, yearning, pride, vengeance, loneliness, misery, defeat, and hunger” (172). One example of this being the night Cholly realizes “the clear statement of [his daughter’s] misery was an accusation” (161).

A skull wrapped in a shroud. Ironic because the Morrison quote above references emotions that can lead to the "death" of ones spirit.


One of Pecola's eyes. Relevant because there is something about Pecola's demeanor that Cholly translates into accusation.

Whether her “readers remain touched but not moved” (332) falls solely on their shoulders. Though the setting and context of the story may be unrelatable for many of us, the tragedy surrounding each character is relevant to all of our daily lives. For example, Pecola wishes to “rise up out of the pit of her blackness and see the world with blue eyes” (174). This feeling—perhaps not the severity of it—is significant to us as readers, because we’ve all had physical, mental, or emotional insecurities that we believe, if changed, would make us better, stronger people.

I was the only child in my family to have brown hair. Growing up I used to want to be blond; i thought it would make me more like my family. I don't believe this anymore.

Moreover, witnessing the depth of Pecola’s commitment to having blue eyes inherently forces the reader to interrogate society with the question why—a “why” for Pecola, a “why” for the current victims of racism, and a “why” for ourselves.

A question mark made by light. The question mark symbolizes us asking why. The fact that it is made from a light symbolizes the enlightenment we'll supposedly reach when we get the answer to this question.

4-14 Bluest Eye

I realize this is supposed to be a response to Morrison’s The Bluest Eye, but I can’t bring myself to focus on anything other than Dana’s DB, so…

To begin with I feel that it is necessary to put the Ebonics argument in context: Morrison is writing about life as a black child in the mid 20th century (i.e. anywhere from the 50s to 70s, since Claudia is in a desegregated school) who is dealing with “… the most destructive ideas in the history of human kind (122)”, physical beauty. Here is some more context if one is a bit iffy on America’s view of blacks back then: Brown v. Board of Education was decided in 50s; MLK lead protests in 60s; multiple Civil Rights Acts in mid 60s. Though these were landmark events in US History, they did not coincide with a change in national consciousness; they only dealt with the norm of physical segregation. Therefore, Morrison’s choice of Ebonics is appropriate.

A simple example of what "equality" meant back then.

Just in case further clarification is needed: yes, the government claimed equality between races in Plessy v Ferguson, but it- obviously- was not practiced. Besides, even if one indulged the argument that proper English was taught so there is no excuse for colloquial expressions, they’re missing a larger understanding of cultural advancement. Just because the government demands that a group of people behave a certain way, nothing guarantees that they can or will. It takes a few generations to dispel any idea that is inherent in one’s upbringing. Especially the idea that one’s race is superior to another; moreover, a belief like this is pervasive and inherent to one’s core value system. Of course you can argue that people do it all the time today—just look at the way our classmates have reacted to the religious environments they’ve grown up in. However, I say that this isn’t a decent comparison by any stretch of the imagination, because you are dealing with two completely different generational norms/attitudes/behaviors.

Back to what I was originally saying—this period of transition (maybe 3 or 4 generations) has to occur before one will see evidence of paradigm or behavioral change. And, how this connects to Dana’s Ebonics argument is simple. Yes, blacks nominally shared equality with whites, but they (as in everyone who didn’t speak proper English, i.e. ”what name he have? (133)”) were immersed in a culture that didn’t really require equality of education; additionally, learning to speak properly wasn’t necessary because advancement wasn’t possible.

I imagine teaching and learning in classes this size was easy; there probably weren't that many distractions.

If you’re having trouble relating then try and use your sympathetic imagination to understand what it is like “edging into life from the back door. Becoming. Everybody in the world was in a position to give [you] orders” (138), no one interested in giving you the space to discover your passions or interests. For example Pauline likes to “arrange things” because she was “restricted as a child to [the] cocoon of her family’s spinning” (111).

On another note, Morrison is not lashing out against society for being racist and stereotyping blacks; and, even if she was, it would be justified because of the NOVEL’S HISTORICAL CONTEXT. She’s offering her readers an insight into what how “anger and hatred are ineffectual not only because they miss their targets, but also because they are secondary emotions, driven in turn by shame and fear” (bump 333). Moreover, Bump is right when he says “anger and hatred are by themselves not enough to defeat racism” (333), and I think Morrison, of all people, understood this as well.

Tony Morrison is a very educated subaltern, and I believe, based off of her novels, she would be the first to demand more from other subalterns. She isn't making excuses or fishing for sympathies, but attempting to aid people in understanding the psychology behind being apart of the generation of African Americans who endured the last and possibly harshest remnents of discrimination in American history.

Had she been justifying the Ebonics of black communities in the 21st century then maybe Dana’s argument might be valid. Then again, it might not. Who are any of us to think we are entitled to pass judgment on a group of people who come from a background that we arrogantly assume is similar to ours at least in respect to education?


This is a photo of an family that lives in a trailer with their single mother. It was taken in 2004. I don't think the oldest daughter is too concerned with learning proper english; she's probably worried about how she is going to help her mother put food on the table for her siblings. But maybe that assumption is just as presumptuous as suggesting otherwise?

P4

Who am I? A Collection of Letters to Myself

December 13, 2008
Dear future self:
I still remember what it felt like to think I could conquer the world: the adrenalin that ran through my veins as I passionately demanded retribution from governments around the world; the silent pleasure I experienced as I witnessed people’s reactions to my liberal, nonsensical jargon; the purpose and optimism that working with Amnesty International inspired; the moral superiority that consumed me. Do you still remember those feelings? I can also recall how I resented everyone around me—I didn’t understand their apathy.



[1.] This is a photo of a protest in England. I organized movements similar to this one when I was president of the Pearland High School Amnesty International Chapter.

It wasn’t until I came to UT that I felt the constraints of my activist cocoon. I had allowed my emotions to influence the way I saw the world, and I had become manipulable. I never challenged the information given to me. I believed everything I was told, regardless of the source. I believed in my textbook’s account of George Washington’s apple orchard. Moreover, it never occurred to me to question whether the material Amnesty International sent me on labor camps in Mexico was full of propaganda.

Do I still have that binder of labor camp pamphlets? Do I ever get nostalgic about how easy it was to be so naïve? Remember when I first encountered professors and people who presented me with opinions and facts that challenged my fundamental beliefs? They demanded a thorough understanding of every topic, and incessantly played devil’s advocate. I was frustrated at first, then ashamed.

That introduction into a wealth of understanding inspired me to change the way I looked at the world. Since then I have come to comprehend that issues cannot be categorized by good and bad. Conflict is often a result of corruption, but in some part, it is strongly influenced by the inherent differences in people’s culture. Moreover, I learned to appreciate these differences—they are as understandable as someone’s breakfast food preference. I may not agree with the justification for certain actions, but I understand why governments, groups, and people react the way they do. Do I still believe in muticulturism, or have I finally accepted the neoconservative view of culture? Did I ever get around to reading Marc Steyn’s books?



[2.] This book has been at the top of my “to read” list for the past year. It discusses multiculturism and the spread of Islam throughout the West. I’ve heard that this book will transform my political opinions.

Not only did this transition completely revolutionize the way I approached my education and global awareness, but it also devastated the security I had known in high school. I find myself still appalled by war, but now I can selfishly justify it. I understand how America’s investment in other countries- the investment that allows for the luxuries I regularly consume- will stand in the way of a country achieving self-determination. I understand what politically and psychologically motivates the conflict in Sudan, and, more importantly, I understand that I will never be able to do anything about it. I will never be able to end starvation around the world, fix poverty, or aide in the prevention of disease throughout Africa—no matter how many hundreds of letters I write and flyers I pass out. Do you remember how lonely it was realizing this?



[3.] This is a photo of an early De Beers mining site in South Africa. De Beers is world renowned for the quality of their diamonds, and owning some of their diamonds is considered a luxury; what many people don’t realize is that De Beers still practices various forms of physical, mental, and financial exploitation when extracting diamonds. De Beers monopolizes this industry, even though selling cut diamonds could play a pivotal role in the development of African countries.

My goal of world peace has always been too broad. It’s not possible, and while it took me a long time to accept the fear this realization inspired, when I finally did, I found a peace that I had never experienced in high school. However, along with that peace came a frustration and loneliness. I can’t fix the world, but I can do more good understanding this than naively leading revolutions that the rest of the world mocks.



[4.] I used to passionately participate in campaigns similar to this. However, when I came to college I understood how naïvely presumptuous it was for a group of Westerners to protest the death penalty in countries around the world.



January 5, 2009
Dear Future Self,

I’m emotionally numb. Has that changed?

All of my decisions are driven by logic. I still have a reaction to the things I hear and experience, but I always stifle it before I become overwhelmed. Sometimes I feel this detachment makes me coarse—does Mom still call me callous?—but I am making a conscious effort to be more optimistic. However, there are certain obvious benefits that come from being “emotionally detached”.

Do you remember reading Siddhartha in Bump’s class? How about the discussion on detached compassion and love? I never realized this, but, for the past few months, I’ve been practicing it. I think it started after I was hired by Red Lobster. Everyone kept shoving their opinions down my throat- “you can’t be a full time student and a full time waitress, it’s too hard,” “you’ll crash and burn,” “your grades will suffer, you shouldn’t work so much,” “you can’t afford UT, just get your Associates at a community college; it’s more realistic”. I know what they say is true, but I am offended that they feel it is their place to judge my choice. I never asked for their advice, but they gave it to me anyway. Moreover, they aren’t even aware of the entire story. They made assumptions about my motivation for getting a job, and that makes me even angrier than being told something I already know.



[5.] My reason for working at Red Lobster is simple: if I do not have a steady source of income, then I cannot attend UT.

Being forced into the situation I had put countless others in—telling them I knew what was best for them and carelessly throwing my supposed moral, intellectual, or spiritual superiority in their face—has changed the way I approach conflicts among my friends and family. I may disagree with their decision- I may fear for their safety or stability, but I cannot suppress them with it; I can’t fix their flaws and mistakes. I just have to accept them.

If they ask for my opinion I’ll give it to them, but only if asked. This is because I believe that they’re the only ones who can realize something for themselves. I will always love them because they’re my friends and family, but that doesn’t mean I can intrude upon their lives. Besides, my moral foundation isn’t necessarily the right one.



February 13, 2009
Dear future self,

It has recently occurred to me that I cannot fix the world. I cannot fix my friends and family members. But—you know what I can fix? Myself.
In Houston, it was easy to get caught up in the lives of others—this includes friends who were involved in insipid drama, family members who were hurting, or politicians who were making scandalous remarks. I don’t know how long I lived my life monopolized by others, but it reached the point where I hardly knew anything about myself. However, when I moved to Austin I left many of the people whose lives I had made my own. I was alone with no one to distract me from getting to know who I really was.



[6.] I found it frustrating to be alone at first. However, I eventually learned that the time I spent by myself enabled me to reflect upon my life.

Being forced to evaluate who I was inspired a lot of questions within me. Was college a good fit for me? Could I afford it? Could I handle it? Was it worth everything that I had to give up? What did worth mean to me? Why did I do certain things? Why did I lie? Judge? Why was I disappointed in myself and others? What were my expectations?

These kinds of questions penetrated every level of my daily life, and I began to really doubt myself. I couldn’t sit down in a coffee shop to study without feeling pretentious, even though I was only there for the cheap refills; I couldn’t feign interest in people or things without feeling fake, even though I knew that that was a part of simply being social; I couldn’t participate in debates without feeling like a pseudo-intellectual, even though I knew I was only participating because I genuinely disagreed with someone.



[7.] I prefer to study at the Starbucks on 24th and San Antonio because if you purchase a drip coffee and keep your cup then you get unlimited refills for 54 cents.

These feelings forced me to look within myself and explore why I felt the way I did, and, when I confronted the true motivation behind some of these feelings, I wanted to change them. For example, after reflecting on my feelings about a political conversation I had had in the West Mall I realized that for the past six months I was allowing my academic experiences in college to determine my self-worth. What I stood for and what I was capable of was determined by my ability to manipulate the information I had learned in class; this wasn’t an appropriate use of my college education.

Realizing this was the first step, and changing it was the second. When I finally accepted how disappointed I was in myself for abusing my college experience, when I understood what I wanted from my experience here at UT, I was able to transform all of these negative feelings into something positive. It’s a hard trap to avoid, but I think I’ve done well so far. Am I still doing well? How am I determining my self-worth?

Word Count: 1,480
Pictures:
[1.] http://pro.corbis.com/search/searchFrame.aspx
[2.] www.steynstore.com/product49.html
[3.] http://pro.corbis.com/search/searchFrame.aspx
[4.] personal photo
[5.] http://pro.corbis.com/search/searchFrame.aspx