Macbeth Trailer

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r2Kjbm2B1rA

Enjoy

Good night, Macbeth

Fair blood and foul blood,

It matters not.

Quench my thirst.

Against my honours,

I shall wade in your life wine.

With my silver skin laced in direst cruelty,

Innocent and delicate day shall wake no more.

Smoke of hell, drown the wind

As my mortal murdering hands

Knife your wound twenty.

Your assassination will borne valour.

Your death will let stars shine.

Play, hell spirits.

Come haunt our gentle senses

As daggers scream and babes cry

In the fatal entrance of heavy night.

Good night, Macbeth.

Neverwish

Where shall we meet again,

In thunder, lightning, or in rain?

If you can look into time,

The future in the instant,

Will my tears drown the bloody earth,

Or will we, like stars, shine?

To hold thee to my wither’d heart,

The delicate welcome in your eyes, 

The heat of your hand.

Let not light see my desires.

My wish must not be thought of,

It will make me mad,

Because it will never become reality.

So love hath left me unattended, lost.

Our separated fortunes exposed upon the glimmers of day,

The unguarded thoughts in my heart not known,

You depart.

My tears,

Let them come down.

TFA Monologue: Mgbafo

Brother, I’ve come to you for advice. What should I do? As you know, it has been nine years since I’ve been married to that man Uzowulu. This is hard to say... I thought that I’d be happy, but all these years, there has not been a day where he didn’t leave me on the floor, curled up, beaten. I had hoped that having another child would please him but because of his actions, that child is no longer with us. Now, all I am is a useless mouth to feed because... Because... I... It... I am no longer able to have children.  He veils his violence  through excuses that say I was with another man, or that I have been stealing cowries and using them for my own luxuries, but all of those are lies! All of them! He thinks that by lying to himself, he would be able to make me think that I deserved his fury. I try so hard to please him, but, is this really worth it? Is it? It’s fine, I guess,  since I’m the one he releases his anger on, but what if one day, I’m not enough anymore? What if one day, he decides to hit  my Nneka or Obialo? I have thought about fleeing many times but I have nowhere to go. Sooner or later, he would come find me, wherever I am. And even if I ran, it would have given him more of an excuse to beat me! You understand, don’t you? Plus, I was born here, I grew up here. To completely separate myself from him would mean that I’d have to leave this village. But for me, someone who has never been outside these familiar lands, I don’t know anyone out there who would help me; they may not want to have anything to do with me! No brother, I can’t move back home. I would not want my beloved family to have to suffer the burden of caring for me, I am afraid. I fear that one day, I will not be able to get up again once he beats me down, that he will crush my soul and  I am afraid that he will destroy what is dearest to me, my children. I must admit, this is where it gets complicated. I still love him, but at the same time, I fear for my life. Brother, you are known to have wisdom beyond your years... How do I make this man see me as something of value? Or maybe to just make him stop his violence or just … Or just... I’m lost, what should I do?  Which path should I choose?

Okonkwo the unhero

          Unfortunately, even after finishing the novel, my view on Okonkwo hasn't changed. In my eyes, he is still just a human being with violent tenancies. Again, I stress the point that for a person to be considered a hero in my eyes, he must have done something that has benefited a person or a society etc. Okonkwo may have been a war hero, but to me, that is a totally different type of hero.
          Although Okonkwo died for his beliefs (or maybe he was just really fed up), he didn't really accomplish anything apart from murdering an overly talkative/egotastic village-mate. Perhaps his action led the village into finally rebelling against the missionaries, but I doubt it.

I just realized that I forgot to define post-colonialism in my previous post ;_;

The Polygamous Dilemma

          As you all know (Or for those of you who don't know), I have recently switched my INS from the novel The Grapes of Wrath to The 19th Wife. Therefore, I'll just briefly introduce the main character in a condensed version of our first INS post.

          The main character, Jordan Scott, is a twenty years old young man who is a son of the nineteenth wife in a polygamous family. He was kicked out of the community of Mesadale at the age of fourteen for holding hands with a girl, and has lived on his own since. He is described to have "a face like a ****ing doll", and a "high kinda girlish voice [he] used to wish was lower but [he] doesn't bother worrying about anymore"(23-24). The color of his eyes was compared to blue sea glass and sapphire gems. Later in the book, it is assumed that he has blonde hair like everyone else in the community due to the small gene pool.
          In the beginning, we watch as he sees his mom on the title of an online newspaper, stating that she murdered his dad. He drives to the jail to visit, but when his mom begs him for help, he was torn because a part of him was angry at her because she "tossed [him] on the highway at two a.m. in [God's] name" (29).

          Since then, he has decided to help get her out of jail, because he believes that his mom was not the murder. In order to gather the evidence to set her free, he faces many man vs. man, man vs. environment, and man vs. society types of conflict. He tried returning to Mesadale to gather evidence, but many residents (his brothers, sisters, aunts, cousins, etc) tell him to leave.  His mother's lawyer, Mr. Herber, isn't exactly getting along very well with Jordan. Jordan can never tell whether "[Heber] wanted [his] mom out of jail or [him] out of his office" (165). So far, Jordan is travelling with another lost boy who was recently thrown out of the Mesadale community named Johnny. On top of finding evidence to get his  mom out of jail and taking care of Johnny, Jordan is running low on money because in order to help his mom, he had to leave his already low-paying job to travel from California to Utah.
        
          So far, the conflict hasn't been resolved yet, since I'm only halfway through this novel, and because this is such a unique situation, with the polygamy and whatnot, I have yet to think of a similar conflict from another piece of literature or any personal experiences. In fact, I'd be worried if I had an experience similar to Jordan's. Not counting the polygamy factor though, the novel does remind me of the television series "Prison Break" though, because of the whole he-didn't-do-it-so-I'm-going-to-get-him-out-of-prison thing. Then again, that's a whole different meaning to "getting someone out of jail" (laugh).

Post-Colonial Colors

          Without even realizing , the meaning that we traditionally associated with certain colors have changed over the years into a more European one for many of us. For example, white is the "pure" or angelic color. (White isn't really a color, but you get the point.)

          Now, since I'm Chinese, I'll be using "Chinese" colors as an example.

          Traditionally, red was the good color. Gold represented nobility and wealth but red was the "happy-day-feel-good" color. It is the color of traditional wedding attire, for both male and female, which looks something like this.

          Although traditionally, white could be used to represent purity or clarity ( 明白 = Bright white= Clear= "Understand"), the character "white" was also used in other words which means "emptiness" or "moron". Not only that, it was a color of mourning. Therefore, traditional Chinese mourning attire was in white, like so. 

          This brings me to my main point. Due to post-colonialism and major western influences, many weddings now look like this.

          So white. 

How the heck am I going to be able to afford this?! *Panic*

Costs (2011)
Tuition: $39,482 USD
Student activities fee: $295 USD
Housing: $6,686 USD (Double room)
Dining: $4966 USD
Supplies: $2000 USD (Estimated)

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I don't think that this is the "international" fee...  *Facepalm*
IT'S NOT SO SURPRISING NOW, THAT AMERICANS WOULD RATHER BUY McD's.

America needs to make their post-secondary education cheaper. Seriously. I can't even imagine all the smart people that they're losing because they can't afford the tuition.

People, post your fallacies so I can comment! ;_;

Fallacies are not fallacious, you n00b.

          All over the world, English teachers are trying to ban the use of fallacies because they claim that since fallacies are not a proper form of argument, they must not be used. They are obviously wrong. Nowadays, fallacies are extremely commonly used therefore it has become a proper form of argument. Either you use fallacies, or you go learn to speak another language, because the English language does not need anyone who refuses to use fallacies. Even my mom said that, "If God didn't want us to use fallacies, he wouldn't have put that idea into our heads in the first place". Trust me, my mom is always right. My dad said so. If you don't believe me, then you're just stupid. Only ugly people think that fallacies are fallacious, so you there, you're ugly. If we force fallacies to remain fallacious, the English language will cease to evolve and no one will want to learn it any more. Then, English speakers will go extinct, and everyone on Earth will burn to death. Do you want to burn to death? No? I told you I'm awesome.

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My mom has yet to say the phrase "If God didn't want us to use fallacies, he wouldn't have put that idea into our heads in the first place", because she doesn't know what fallacies are. Yet. BUT, my dad does claim that my mom is always right. *Hrmph*

Grapes of Wrath: Tom Joad

          Tom Joad is the protagonist of the novel Grapes of Wrath, which takes place during the great depression. He was described as a man who appeared to be under thirty years old. He had extremely dark brown eyes and high, wide cheek bones with strong creases that went down his cheeks and around his mouth. His teeth protruded and his long upper lip stretched to cover them. We learn that he was in the McAlester prison for four years for killing a man with a shovel who stabbed him while they were both drunk at a party. His original sentence was seven years, but he was let out on parole. Combining that with the fact that "his hands were hard, with broad fingers and nails as thick and ridged as little clam shells", and that "the space between [his] thumb and forefinger and the hams of his hands were shiny with callus" leads us to think that he has lead a hard a life, perhaps even before he was sent to prison. Therefore, it is safe to assume that he has a fit, if not muscular, build.

          When we meet Tom's mother, Ma Joan, we realize that she is the motivation for not only Tom, but her whole family to stay together through the hard life of living in the Great Depression. Almost immediately after the whole family moves to California in search of jobs because they were evicted from their farm, they are harassed by police officers and have to try even harder to stay together as a family.

          Unfortunately, Tom Joan does not remind me of any characters from other literature, movies, or television shows. That may be because I have yet to finish the book, therefore I'll come back to this question when I do finish.

Cobalt Helix (Shakespearean Sonnet)

The mellow blues hidden beneath lashes
The oceans of mystical solitude
Contained by her smooth porcelain beaches
Her soul seems to spill over to be viewed

When looking just underneath the surface
We find it scattered with valor unclear

Entwined dolphins for evermore careless

Azure flames of life burn within her tears

But darkness bleeds into the depthless haze

Her shattered dreams and nightmares resurface
The bold facade is riddled and decayed
Air leaves her as though she wore a bodice

So she implores for help but is too late;
Her voice has drowned within t he depths of fate.

Dear Code-name Night Crawler,

They say,
"The poor want to be rich
While the rich want to be richer

The hungry are left to die

While the full complain about apple pie

The minority want rights

While the majority only care about tights."

Aren't we greedy?
I must admit, I am too.

But I don't need money
When I can have you

Your laughter feeds me
Don't worry, I'll feed you too

Though I'd have to say
You would look funky in tights,

My heart is certain
That you're Mr. Right

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NOTE: Ms. Mah! This is my second post for the valentine message thingy. There's another one if you scroll down (:

To those who know who he is, please know that I'm fully aware of our age difference. *Laugh*

I chose to dedicate this Valentine message to him as a "thank you" for helping me through my midlife-crisis-at-the-age-of-sixteen, putting up with my hyperactive insanity, laughing at my totally-not-lame jokes, and making me laugh with his also-totally-not-lame jokes.

So thank you, Night Crawler, my partner in being forever single.
 Happy belated Valentine's Day.

To my missing puzzle piece .

Dear you
Where are you now? What are you doing?
Are you under this endless sky?

Though it hurts, I keep on repeating
I can't stop, love love love

Because you make me feel like I'm living a teenage dream
My heart stops when you look at me

Maybe I should keep this to myself
I'm trying not to tell you, but I want to
I'm scared of what you'll say
But I'm tired of holding this inside my head

The feelings that pull me to you
They're kind of like an apple pie
Dry on the outside, but on the inside
Soft and sweet
Where do I start?

You don't have to be rich
You don't have to be handsome

'cuz you're amazing, just the way you are.

On my own, pretending you're beside me
All alone, I walk with you 'til morning

All by myself,
I don't want to be all by myself anymore

So I won't hesitate no more
It cannot wait, I'm yours

I just need a little of your time
To say the words I never said

In this crazy life, and through these crazy times
You're my everything.


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Note: Since I technically didn't "write" this, I'm going to post another entry later just in case.
Note: Some of the lyrics are slightly different. Very Slightly.


          I chose to write my a letter to my valentine using lines from the love-related songs that I know.
          This isn't "written" for anyone in particular. If I had to choose someone, then let this be for whoever I will be with in the future. (Hence the Dear You)
          Music is an important part of my life. That's why I chose chose to use lyrics from songs. I want him to be someone who would share my passion for music.

Some of these lyrics are translated from other languages, because not all the songs are in English.

Song List (In Order):
Dear You - Vocaloid (Kaito)
Love Love Love - Epik High
Teenage Dream - Katy Perry (Boyce Avenue Cover)
Fallin' For You - Colbie Caillat
The Love Bug - M-flo & BoA
Say U Love Me - Jason & Lara
Just The Way You Are - Bruno Mars
On My Own - Les Misérables (Lea Salonga)
All By Myself - Eric Carmen
I'm Yours - Jason Mraz
Little of Your Time - Maroon 5
Everything - Michael Bublé

↑ They're youtube links for those who are interested.

The Bipolar Pianist

          Three years ago, within the realm of one of my favorite hobbies, I fought an epic battle against my mother's harsh expectations. There, I learned that sometimes in life, the greatest challenges we face are with ourselves.
          Over ten years had passed since I first started playing piano. At age thirteen, I was nearing the final levels of the Royal Conservatory of Music for Piano. I leaned out of my window and closed my eyes. The soft summer breeze brought the smell of freshly mowed lawns and heated asphalt to my nose as the warm sunshine soaked my hair and face. I sighed as I thought about what happened that morning.
          "I passed!", I announced triumphantly. My heartbeat slowed from the gallop three seconds ago to a content "ba-dump" as I leaned back in my worn-out red chair, proud and relieved at the same time. I took a deep breath to release the remaining tension in my body and let my feet swing as I sat quietly, waiting for my mom's verdict.
          "Eighty-nine percent, huh...", she said in a slow, monotone voice, "That's not an A."
          "But I passed!" I protested. The tension that had left my body a mere two minutes ago returned with a vengeance. I picked up a pen sitting on the table and attempted to squeeze the life out of it as I glared at my mom.
          "What", she continued in Chinese after noticing my death-stare, "Your lessons are expensive. If you had practiced more, you would've gotten a higher mark." With that, she strolled slowly back to the kitchen, and I left for the sanctuary of my room, giving the stairs a thorough beating on the way.
          That same night, I had a piano lesson. My teacher, Mrs. Lai, congratulated me on passing my exam with a warm smile. She then treated me to a delicious cookie that magically appeared while I was not looking. After finishing the cookie in approximately two giant bites, stuffing my cheeks to the point where I resembled a chipmunk more that I did a human girl, I sat back down on the black piano bench worn with age. With slightly sweaty hands, I handed the level nine piano books to Mrs. Lai. She stashed the books back into her collection of piano books, scores, and pieces and fished out the level ten books for me. I shakily scanned through the new and much thicker book while feigning confidence as I tried to reassure myself that I had plenty of time, almost two years, to practice for the next exam. Two years was what all my friends got to prepare for their final exam before entering the world of ARCT, the Associate of the Royal Conservatory of Toronto. With one last deep breath, I told myself, "I can do this!", and the lesson carried on.
          Soon after, high school started, and I became lazy. I neglected my need to practice once again. Whenever that happened, my mom was guaranteed to be there, snapping at my heels like a rabid Doberman at every corner I turned and every step I took. The more she did that the more I hated piano. The more I hated piano and refused to practice, the more she nagged. Every tune coming out of that wretched instrument from hell sounded like a nightmare and my fingers burned every time they touched the keys. I only played during these times so my mom would stop nagging and leave me alone. Fortunately, I did willingly practice at times because my attitude was very different when the monster was not home. That was when I didn't need to defend myself, and my piano-loving side would venture out and convince me to practice. She was horribly worried that I wouldn't get enough practice to pass the exam, since it was my goal to get to ARCT Performers. We both knew that if I didn't pass the coming exam, my piano career would be over.
          One day, my routine battle with my mom worsened by a hundred-fold when Mrs. Lai told me that my mom had signed me up for the level ten exam without telling me in a desperate attempt to force me to practice. That meant that in total, I only got less than a year to prepare for the exam. My immediate reaction was complete silence. My chest constricted painfully and my thoughts clouded. A bottled-up battle cry threatened to erupt from my voice box. Right then, I decided to show my mom that she couldn't control me. I decided not to practice on purpose.
          Now, not only did the keys burn my finger and the tunes sounded like a screeching child, my mom and I were also screeching at each other. We screamed until our throats were hoarse, doors were slammed, tears (mine) flowed. Between the screaming, silence filled the gaps. My piano-loving side would tearfully beg and plead everyday, "Just practice! You know that if we practice, she'll shut up! Please! We're running out of time!". Unfortunately, giving in was not an option. If I practiced, it would mean that my mom would be victorious. That would mean losing. I was not about to lose so easily.
          This meant that I was not only fighting one battle anymore. I was now fighting two. I became almost bipolar as I fought my mom while my two sides fought each other. I only practiced when I felt like it. Time passed like water through my fingers but while practicing it felt like if I jumped up, it would take me three years to touch the ground again. I felt like a bobble-head, my personality bobbing back and forth between piano-loving and "ego-tastic", the pleading voice in my head growing softer and weaker with every argument between my mom and I.
          In the end, I failed the exam. There was no way that I could have gotten anything done such a bipolar state. My piano-loving side screamed at me for failing, for letting myself down, but I was just tired. This war that lasted around half a year stole the energy that used to grace my fingers and strapped lead weights onto my arms. My eyes refused to look at the music sheets and my spine took on the shape of a permanently drawn bow. I told my mom that I needed a break, and so she "paused" my lessons.
          Ever since then, I have not been allowed to take piano lessons. Only after the exam and losing my lessons did I realize that maybe, if I had only listened to my piano-loving side and practiced, I would still be able to do and improve in what I love doing. Maybe then, I would have been able to reach my goal.
          Some of my friends do not understand why I do not just continue on by myself without a teacher and reach my goal that way. Many say, "If you like playing so much, why don't you just play? Just practice by yourself.". But every single time, I can only shake my head sadly and explain to them that now that I am in the final years of high school, added onto the fact that the pressure from having a piano teacher and exams looming in the future, piano has gone to the bottom of my list of priorities. Also, I am discouraged every time I play now because I can feel my skills slipping away. Funnily, right now, the type of songs that I am best at playing are the sad ones that twist your heart like a wet towel that needs to be wrung out and dried until crisp and brittle. Maybe I am playing the background music to my own life unknowingly. Maybe.
          I have asked, begged, my mom to let me take lessons again, but her answer was always, "If you promise to play three hours of piano a day, seven days a week, I'll consider it." It's almost as if she was trying to repeat those events from three years ago. I know that after a while, I will neglect practice again. As much as I love playing, I cannot stand the chance of maybe having to play something that I despise over and over again. Therefore, to this date, I still have not accepted my mom's deal. My piano-loving side tries hard to convince me that I will be able to practice three hours a day, seven days a week, but I think that even she knows, that over time, I will grow lazy once again. Even so, every time I see or hear a young piano player playing the songs in ARCT that I had picked out in advance, my heart aches, my tears flow, and I am filled with regret. My vision swims and my chest feels as if a black hole had opened up inside and was sucking everything into its murky depths. I fight the urge to curl up on the floor into a ball of remorse as I wonder if that pianist could have been me.
         If only I had conquered myself, I would have been able to please my mom, which in return would benefit no one but myself. I really wish my ego could have digested that fact. Unfortunately, it still has not been able to. Nonetheless, this lost battle taught me that sometimes, the greatest challenges we face are with ourselves.