Kafka on the Shore- Hauntingly Beautiful

The title tells it all. The story really is one of a kind and unlike any book I have previously read. While depicted as a fast read, the book is not meant to only be read once. It does take multiple readings to grasp the outermost shell of Haruki Murakami's unique philosophy.

Lots of people agree that the book is confusing. I believe this too. I don't believe that the confusion was without purpose, nor was it without a point. Modern writing calls for the unconventional and the abstract. No longer can a book captivate its audience with predictable elements and straightforward themes. A reader must hunt for them. Kafka does exactly that. Each dialogue and stream of consciousness from the characters birthed a concept unlike those I witness and am a part of in reality. The book's magical realism is what makes it an excellent read.

What grips my attention the most is how devoted my attention must be onto the plot and events. The thick curtain between reality and the abstract in life are open and flood into each others dimension. In this book, an event does not happen with an explanation- it happens with three. Like a book where you pick an ending to your liking, Kafka on the Shore allows the reader to explore the plot and develop their own understanding of the characters and their relationships to one another.

This book is an excellent example of a philosophical work, but only for the type of reader that wishes to be left pleasantly confused. The ideas will linger in the readers mind and truly make them a better philosopher. With this book, each question y possesses an answer within itself.

Losing Myself

There have been many times where I found myself to be physically lost, but never had those moment compared to the times where my mental compass had escaped me and left me alone with my thoughts. Never had they come close to the panic and fear felt with losing yourself in a familiar place.

On warm summer nights, I stargaze. I love to find the constellations and track the planetary movements across the sky. Each burning dot of energy glowing millions of miles away challenges my sense of identity. What am I in this world? What purpose do I have? Why do I exist now?

I can't help but to bring those questions to mind  They linger willingly and patiently.They gently remind themselves to me with arguments of fate and destiny.My choice and no choice. Whispered secrets of life pull at my capacity to comprehend the meaning behind my existence. 

It's hard for me to believe that I can control every detail of my life. There's a nonrefundable commitment to saying that I can't. I feel lost when I think that something greater than my being drums the tempo I follow day in and day out. But I also feel lost when it is me playing the drummer to my life. 

It's not the stars pressuring feelings of inferiority or helplessness onto me that make me feel lost. It's not how everyone around me seems so well put together. It's the idea that a third realm of being exits somewhere between my mind and the universe. An invisible thread rallies messages between the two worlds and coincidentally catch on fire to my thoughts, spreading doubt like wildfire. 

I can't choose to side with fate, nor can I choose to side with creating my own path. But I can choose to get up and walk back inside of my house and have these existential thoughts wait outside my door. They can patiently wait to accompany me on yet another night, on another day.  

Advice for the "Rents"

Dearest Moms and Dads,

I cannot express in words my gratitude for all that you have done for your children. Raising a tiny human and molding them into an adult is the toughest job the earth has ever seen. It is a job as old as procreation and as confusing as the task of defining our existence. There are no definite rules engraved in stone that tell you how to bend and shape your creation. There are guidelines, but never has a person created a manual to raising your tiny bundle of joy.

You come home from the hospital carrying a complete stranger and smiling like an idiot. Years pass by. You and your child become acquaintances. More years pass by, and you reach a point where you can even call each other friends. Then a short year or two later, and you're back to living with a total stranger that you "just don't understand, God." Where did you go wrong? What sort of twisted plot is this? Why were you not given any warning?

There really is no way to explain this. It's not your fault. These kids are changing and learning their identity. They're experimenting and testing their self control. There is no such thing as making mistakes- everything happens for a reason. Your are not to blame for your child. Do not feel ashamed of how you raised them. Do not feel ashamed for who they are or how they make you look, because their satisfaction with themselves is much more important to your relationship than what other parents think.

While you do this, don't become their best friends- that will happen once they move away from you for the first time. You are responsible for them, so set boundaries and enforce them without exceptions. Children need a strong provider, so that when tough times come along, they can look to you and see a force that the mishaps of life will not break down.

Each child is special and different from the next, so learn their strengths and weaknesses and work with them. Each child also deserves alone time with their parents away from their siblings.Never pick favorites, it only causes problems within the family.

Do not amend the mistakes of your childhood by living them out through your kids. Your almost professional golf career should not be thrust upon your clueless toddler.But do appreciate your children's talents and unique qualities. Honesty is just as much of a talent as wiggling your ears.

Never. Count. Down. From. Three. To. A. Teenager. This method will only get you a nasty remark and a slammed door in your face. The only exception to this rule is if you're counting down the seconds to the New Year or if the three of you are about to skydive out of an airplane.  

It's alright o be afraid of letting your child grow up. It's okay for you dads to want to lock up your daughters in their rooms until they turn 45, because that way, those bad boys on the street won't be able to influence her sweetness. It's okay to want this, but don't do this.

Courtesy. Manners. Respect. Those are words in the dictionary, you know? They've become less and less visible in public places with the passing years, but that doesn't mean proper etiquette should go extinct altogether. You never know how far these skills will take them in life.

Find a medium ground between raising a brat and raising a robot. Over gratification and under gratification are both unpleasant traits to have and hard to get rid of later in life. How to find that medium balance-I don't know. But when you work it out, the reward will be sweet.

The '50s had it all wrong with parenting methods. Your standard mom n' pop n' two kids suburban family should not define what you consider family. The bonds you create with your children and the relationship you end up having with them cannot be laid out by a thirty second ad. You create the meaning and definition of family.

Whatever they wish to do, always support them. After all, you are the guiding forces in your children's search for meaning. Men and women can be mothers and fathers, but only truly special parents can be called Mommy and Daddy.

Truth is, all we really want from you is unwavering love, approval, and acceptance. All that we do, we do it for you, so throw us a bone.

Make Like It's Rumshpringa

Rumshpringa, or "Rumspringa," is a period of adolescence for some members of the Amish community, during which a youth temporarily leaves his or her community to explore and experience life in the outside world. Pop culture and media define this as a time period of massive abuse of drugs, sex, and alcohol. In a traditional context, it is an adolescent milestone, for youngins get to choose to follow Amish practice or go astray and mainstream themselves into English life (non-Amish life).

By no means am I saying it is a civic duty of every person to convert themselves to Amish practice and then walk the tight rope of legal and illegal activity. What I mean is  for people to allow themselves a break from tradition and to explore the unknown; to get to know themselves and not the identity which was thrust upon them.

What seems to be our life, our choice, our freedom, often turns over to the authority of their. "Their" can reference multiple people from whom we choose to defy or receive guidance from: a parent, older sibling, teacher, mentor, etc. Our expectations of ourselves are often times created by an outsider within the world of "I." Our self guiding steering wheels are being handed over to people who should have never been in our car in the first place.

Yes, you might be saying "but this is what college is for." And you are right, if that is how you define and experience freedom. Not everyone does.

I believe everyone should be given the right for self exploration. There are people tied to familial and work duties that won't allow them to self reflect and analyze on all which they think they understand and believe to be true. There are people who don't make college out as "me time". There are people who never go to college, yet alone never have the opportunity to do so.

You don't have to be indebted a quarter of a million dollars to an educational institution to discover yourself once, twice, or thrice over. You don't have to be included in a secret society, or a not so secret social club. Hell, you don't even have to travel to India to have "an awesome freakin' time of self revelation, maaan."

Temporarily factor out the known. Explore the unknown. Breathe in something new. I don't care how you go about doing it, so long as it gets done. It is your civil duty.

There is nothing more tragic than a lack of sensation and perception of yourself. Float your own stinkin' boat. You're the captain of that damn contraption. Own it (and give it a cool name like "Dragons Black Plunder" or "The Black Pearl").

Be the Captain Jack Sparrow of your own crummy ship, and never let a soul other than your own call it crummy.

Poverty: All the Wrong Ideas

As we all know, a society deemed as a haven for all mankind does not exist due to human error. We live in a country which relies on its impoverished citizens and exploits them for the “greater” benefit of everyone else. There can be no subdivisions of people and classifications without what is considered to be the lowest of the low.

The classification of people according to their annual income bears more weight to how people are perceived. There are cultural differences which people assume based on income and an image which they try to maintain or abandon at all costs. The initial image people recall upon hearing anything which resembles the word “poor” is that of a person or family dressed in rags, homeless, and begging on the streets like a victim of the Great Depression. In this day, this is not an accurate representation of everyone’s circumstances in such a situation. In fact, a poor American is far from that.

The standards of poor have kept up with society’s new gadgets and aids. No longer are tattered rags the standard, as they have been replaced with 21^st century necessities that some like to label as “luxuries,” such as air conditioning and cars. People in America forget that even as an impoverished citizen, they have more financial wealth than a lot of middle class citizens in other countries.  A poor American has a life which many dream and hope to receive one day.

No one likes to be labeled as poor, unless being so gives them benefits from the government. Poverty is a choice for those well off from benefits and a trapped lifestyle for those desperately trying to thrust themselves out of it. Only those who wish to work the system and are comfortable living within their means choose such a lifestyle. There are people who are not given government benefits and aid and find themselves a way into comfort, by working themselves harder than their bodies can handle. There are people sacrificing themselves because no bones were thrown their way as they were excluded by belonging to such an inclusive class. There are millions of people that would trade in their lifestyle just to be considered and part of the lower class in America.

You don’t know true poverty without understanding true sacrifice.

Here are some links to statistics about poverty

http://blog.heritage.org/2011/07/18/morning-bell-what-is-poverty-in-america/

http://www.census.gov/hhes/www/poverty/

SeparationSegregationIntegration Sandwich

Sometimes, I forget how I attend a liberal school in a liberal city in a blue state in the United States. I don’t have many experiences of meeting and talking to someone who I would not consider to be a part of the “liberal bubble” within which I find myself and most of my contacts to live in. Sure, a few comments may be slurred here and there, but seldom have I met someone who believed it down to the core of their existence.

I don’t really know what to say about Malcolm X’s idea for separation. In all honesty, I don’t feel so high and mighty to have an opinion to back him up or oppose him. If he would like to separate himself from the white people, that’s fine by me. If he would like to go up and hug every white person within a five block radius, I would find that odd but still accept his decision. (Quite a strange visual that is, imagining him running up and kissing white people on the cheek).

It seems understandable to me that everyone should have the right to decide whether they want to be a part of society or not. Sure, they may be looked at funny for their choices, but a person’s decision to do so does not offend me. I know that Malcolm X wishes to separate from the white man, and I don’t blame him. I would separate too if I had his history and ancestry woven into my identity as well.

I do note that we live fifty years after his time, where racial tensions quietly flicker in a dying fire of hate (or so people tell me). I do note that integration is very common, but I also see it being rare in Chicago, one of the most separated cities today. People still keep to their own kind, so how can I call Malcolm X a sissy or any other name when what he speaks is being practiced in the futuristically present time of 2013? I can’t yell obscenities at him or cruel words, because his idea is actually a foundation for Chicago’s layout.

And you don’t hear people yelling about their quiet separation today, now do you? We consciously or unconsciously chose the path which Malcolm X wished for the Nation of Islam in the 60s. Only those who purposefully seek out integration have the right to judge his idea.

If he wishes to separate, so be it. 

Malcolm X Does Not Wish to Be My Friend

I’ll tell you this-this book is a hefty piece of work. It’s everything but a quick read.  Preparing to read it feels like training for the Olympics- I can’t dive into it until I’m in the right frame of mind.

Every word which Mr.  X poured into this biography was written with an agenda. Because of this, I usually find myself rereading sentences and paragraphs, sometimes entire pages. This book may as well have been written in a foreign language. It’s not that I’m too ignorant to understand all which Malcolm wishes to say (safe to say, we’ve all been drilled with lessons on racial turmoil and injustice). It’s actually the fact that with each chapter, I find myself wishing with more urgency to somehow slap the people who thought it was a good idea to oppress entire continents of people.

The more Malcolm preaches in his book, the more loose ends I tie together in my mind. His commentary on the leaders who acted as parrots, his specific conclusions on historical accounts, and firsthand experiences rivet me in a mental chokehold. His enlightening perspective on the topic of race gives me a larger framework to work with when formulating my opinions. I can’t imagine the myopic perspective of history the education system taught and continues to teach to fragile minds.

This book in no way justifies my thinking and opinions, but it does give me a real perspective. The “whites and black peacefully fought for justice hand in hand” is a bullshit picture that many an educator has tried to pass off with dignity and pride. History is brutal and bloody, but most importantly an account of perspective. Malcolm X could not emphasize that enough for me.  He’s right to provide a different account of oppression and slavery. He’s as right as he thinks he is.