What is Love?

As I was reading the psychoanalytic view of The Great Gatsby, I stumbled upon an intriguing quote:

"..romantic love is the stage on which all of our unresolved psychological conflicts are dramatized.." 

This made me think deeply about what love truly is, which forces me to ask:

Is there such thing as love, or do we only love what we psychologically need based on our past?

I know that in The Great Gatsby, each relationship had their own problems, and it was because of the fact that they were merely using each other for their own benefits, which ultimately related to how they were raised.

But let's face it: The Great Gatsby is not the best book to rely on for love advice.

If love were solely based on psychology, then why is it possible for two people to care more about each other than themselves? It takes two to love, and it would be extremely invalid to say that every single relationship in this world consists of two people who are only drawn to one another because one contains the psychological needs of the other... everyone getting struck by lightning is more likely than this being true.

And love isn't only an emotion you have toward someone, but it is composed of many emotions that two people feel for each other; it has to be felt by both in the relationship. Love combines two people into one, creating a brand new human being.

Love DOES exist, but it's one of those things that is rare to find and hold onto; but when you find it, your whole world will light up and you will know, deep down, that you're in love.

Please Don't Remind Me

In "The Great Gatsby," the message of how people cannot repeat their past, no matter how hard they try, is thoroughly enforced. Although, I see myself and Gatsby as two tremendously different people.

Why do I say that? For one, as Gatsby becomes addicted to recreating something that was once lost, I have no intentions of attempting to rebuild damage that was done in my past. 

"Your past comes back to haunt you." That's how my mind interprets thoughts from back in time. I think of it as a ghost that shows up in my worst nightmares, or a cloud that soaks me to the point where my whole body shrivels up like a raison. 

For example, it's when I see a chubby photo of myself from the fourth grade, or when I remember the time I had gotten into a fight with my best friend; I would never want to relive these painful memories.

And that's what I don't understand about Gatsby. A girl he loved had left him for another man because she was impatient. I don't know about you guys, but wouldn't that ring a bell in your head telling you that she's not the right girl? Isn't her leaving you awful enough, or do you really want to go for her again and eventually have her ditch you once more?

The past is something that shouldn't be messed with. There's a reason why we are not allowed to turn back time, because if we were capable of doing so, our lives would be full of despair and destruction.

A clock keeps moving. It keeps ticking. It never stops. This is our life; always moving, always ticking, never stopping; and we need to be okay with that.

So, "tomorrow we will run faster, [and] stretch our arms farther" to create a life that we can continue to build on, without wishing to start all over again. This way, we can focus on our future instead of being held back by our pasts.

Spread the Love

"'Whenever you feel like criticizing anyone,'" he told me, "'Just remember that all the people in this world haven't had the advantages you've had'" (Fitzgerald 5).

This quote stands out from the rest of the novel as it is extremely blunt, although accurate. Much of our population is quick to judge people over just one measly action or word.

We have to be honest with ourselves; we put a title on people way too fast and that needs to stop. Obviously, this isn't always the case, but we do it without even noticing most of the time.

For example, just a few days ago, I overheard two girls talking about a young man that had just walked by. Their exact words were:

"Who is that?"

"I don't know, but he's creepy."

He hadn't even speak to them! They didn't give him a chance to prove himself, because they had already conjured up a conclusion with no evidence to back it up.

Sometimes, the people we judge aren't having the best day or are going through a difficult event in their life; and we only make it worse with our harsh words.

And don't get me wrong, I probably do it all the time without even realizing it, because like I said earlier, this is a common flaw that is built inside of us. We cannot control it, but we can try to overthrow it. We have to try our very best to understand if what we're thinking is actually logical and inoffensive. If we can successfully do this, there won't be those "loners" that have been secluded from the rest of the school because of inaccurate rumors. Problems with bullying should decrease exponentially. Kids will acquire more friends that they can love and trust.

We would be one step closer to achieving true happiness for each and every one of us, because there would be less hatred to spread.

Google is Wrong

Google defines beauty as "a combination of qualities, such as shape, color, or form, that pleases the aesthetic senses, especially the sight."

As I look at this definition, I begin to ponder and question what this whole world deduces beauty to be. I mean if Google defines it, then it must be true, right?

WRONG!

Nowhere in that definition does it mention beauty being an inner quality, rather, only gives examples such as "shape, color, or form." In other words, Google is saying that one's body shape, skin color, and weight is what makes a person beautiful. 

Are we as a society going to continue to believe this fallacy? Will we resume to try and live up to what the typical "beauty standards" are? 

These conjectures of beauty produce many problems within the female population. Women want to reach the bar of what is considered to be "beautiful."

Take myself, for instance. I have never thought of myself to even be able to compete with other girls at Troy High. Through my perspective, every other girl has qualities that I can never even strive to have. They are all either taller than me, better in shape, skinnier, have cuter outfits, or an infinite number of other reasons.

And I know for a fact that I am not the only one with this mentality. In every other girl's mind, something is always wrong with the way she looks. I have literally heard girls say,

"My thighs are too big."

"My eyebrows are weirdly shaped."

"My hands are ugly."

Even Hagar from Song of Solomon was having difficulty squeezing into a skirt smaller than her usual size. She "sucked in her stomach and pulled the fabric as far as possible, but the teeth of the zipper would not join" (Morrison 310). In her head, if she is unable to fit into this desirable size, then she is "overweight," at least, according to Google's definition of beauty.

I just want to slap society across the face for shaping women into what it thinks they should look like! They do not have the authority to control women mentality, yet women continue to listen, as if it's their master.

I truly hope that one day, women will wake up and realize that Google is wrong; beauty is not about the exterior, but it is represented through one’s identity and personality. A beautiful girl is one who makes others smile, not jealous.

Burdened with my Thoughts

Every day I walk into Troy High not ready for what my teachers have to offer me. What new lessons will I learn that I don't understand? Will I receive a pop quiz in one of my classes and fail it? Will I be able to successfully perform tonight's homework without difficulties?

Can you recognize what all of these thoughts have in common? 

I'll answer that question for you: they all contain negative ideas of what I can accomplish in a given day. In my mind, I will never succeed on a pop quiz or fully understand what's going on in certain classes. I will always go home and continue to be confused. 

In Song of Solomon, a peacock is described as having "jewelry [that] weighs it down" (Morrison 179), representing how wealth is preventing both Macon and Milkman from truly living their lives. This revived me, as I realized all of the opportunities I have missed out on was because I was being stomped on by my own reflections.

I think of myself as never being as good as anyone else, no matter what. Whether it's English, biology, soccer, creativity, etc... I always put myself last on a scale of best to worse.

I feel as if I am that peacock, but instead of jewelry, my pessimistic thoughts are constantly holding me back from reaching my full potential. It's as if my brain is unable to cooperate with the portion that controls positive behavior. 

Why do I do this to myself? I have absolutely no idea. Although, I have finally recognized that I do indeed acquire such characteristics and will strive to improve on no longer thinking this way. If I continue to do so, I will be able to fly and be free from the burdens that keep me glued to the ground.

We all have something that prevents us from completing certain tasks, yet we don't know why or how they developed. We've got to work hard to make sure that there isn't any jewelry weighing us down, because "nobody [can] fly with all that shit" (Morrison 179).

"Wanna fly, you got to give up the shit that weighs you down" (Morrison 179).

Large House, Enormous Imprisonment

Throughout Song of Solomon, flight is a significant motif representing how African Americans wanted an escape from the slavery they were forced into.

I can relate.

Ok maybe not exactly, but I indeed want to fly away and escape the house I so call “live” in.

What exactly do I mean by that? I’m talking about how my parents are extremely protective over me, therefore restrict me from everything life has to offer. I am bound to their feet, having to obey their every move.

I NEED an escape from this life. I feel like I’m a slave having to listen to every word of my owners, or else I won’t hear the end of it. 

Although, others may be annoyed with what I’m saying right now, because they desire the house I live in, which is huge and gorgeous. The problem is, what is a house without its roots? What is a shelter if you have nothing to live for? This passage in Song of Solomon is one that can help people understand my grief:

“[The ones] who did, who accepted her invitations to tea and envied the doctor’s big dark house of twelve rooms and the green sedan.... The others, who knew that the house was more prison than palace, and that the Dodge sedan was for Sunday drives only, felt sorry for Ruth Foster” (Morrison 9-10).

I feel like Ruth: trapped inside a huge house, unable to break free from its confinement. Only the ones closest to me know that my house is much prettier on the outside than in the deep depths of it. 

Sometimes, I am so close to breaking down the doors and just driving away from the terror. Other times, I want to scream so loud, hoping others will feel my sorrow. 

Unfortunately, I can’t do so, and I will have to deal with all my problems just as the slaves did. I hope one day, my parents will realize that their ways aren’t protecting me, rather, killing me slowly, day by day.

Where has the Time Gone?

“Time flies” (Spiegelman 39). You hear this expression throughout your life, but don’t realize it’s true until you remember your freshman year in high school as it’s your senior year of college thinking, “Wow, when did I get here?” 

It’s astonishing to think that I have been alive for 16 years, and I know that may not sound like a lot, but to me, it shows me how long I’ve had a chance to foster a change in society, but haven’t. What have I done that has impacted anyone in these past 16 years? Complain to my teachers about grades? Criticizing my parents about how they're being unreasonable? Yelling at my sisters because they are being obnoxious? None of these actions have created a difference in any way, and it’s sad to think that I have had a full 16 years to do so.

In “Maus,” Art Spiegelman lists several important dates, including how “Vladek died of congestive heart failure on August 18, 1982,” and how he and his wife were “expecting a baby between May 16, 1944 and May 24, 1944” (Spiegelman 41). He lists several dates as if they happened one after another, but they actually are 62 years apart. He fails to mention anything else that happened in his life during these years, besides of course, writing his book. 

I get to school, learn stuff, come home, watch Netflix, eat, do homework until midnight, go to bed, wake up, then repeat. I have done this for 16 years, and I know most of you reading this can relate. Is this what we plan on doing until we get a job and receive a new daily schedule? 

I certainly hope not. 

I feel as if these “time flies” are constantly surrounding me, just as they did to Vladek, screaming in my ears of how they will never stop bothering me. They are eating my time away, as if faster and faster each day.

We need to stop pedaling on our stationary bike and start going outside to ride our real ones. The stationary bikes aren’t going to take us anywhere in life, hence the name. We have to have the courage to get off and start fresh. 

We need to start doing more with our lives, and I’m not saying to stop caring about school or grades, because trust me, that is definitely not going to happen in my case either. I’m trying to say that little steps can help make this world a better place. For instance, start recycling your water bottles, when you chew gum actually throw it into the trash, do community service, etc. These small actions will soon produce a substantial change, so the next time I see those pesky “time flies,” I will be able to shove it into their faces, because I’m living the best life I can, for both me and the world.