the essay's (finally) done
Well. Happy Ides, everyone. Happy birthday to Elle and the boy. I'm so sleepy.
The Human Rights Commission of Rockville says:
Question #2: Nobel Peace Prize winner Elie Wiesel said, "I swore never to be silent whenever and wherever human beings endure suffering and humiliation. We must always take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented." Describe an instance when someone speaking up or taking action made a positive difference in others’ lives.
Emily says:
I have committed so many of her words to the most sacred tomes of my memory, those words nearly Biblical in the gravity of their influence, almost narrating the truths and progress of my life. Every self-respecting teenager loves music, with obsessions ranging from Beyoncé to the Dave Matthews Band to Marilyn Manson, and with bedroom walls plastered with posters of pop starlets, thugs with bejeweled teeth, country stars, spindly, effeminate men in too-tight pants. My favourite musician is Tori Amos, a pianist and singer-songwriter hailing from our own Rockville, not because I think she has style or because I think she has ‘bitchin’ tunes,’ but because this woman has been an invaluable example of strength and fortitude for me, and has helped me to believe that my life is worth living.
That’s how Tori first touched me, through her music. I have played piano myself from my earliest years, despite my woefully short fingers and their rather complete inability to stretch much more than an octave. Each of her songs was, to me, a proverbial glimpse into her soul, a beautiful vista depicted in lively poetry and wit, framed by fortissimos and eighth notes. I remember jumping up and down on my mother’s bed, a hairbrush-imagined-microphone in hand, with winded fatigue in my voice but the inexplicable verve of camaraderie in my heart. When you gonna make up your mind? When you gonna love you as much as I do? My insecurities, about my grades, my body, my very worth as a person. Dressing up everyday. I wanna smash the faces of those beautiful boys. My formative teenaged frustrations towards the opposite sex. I considered my parents’ irritated knocks on the door as only a metronome, just another means for keeping time other than the lilting melodies, crashing chords, the voice that has come to define music for me.
I understood that Tori’s a capella song ‘Me and a Gun’ was a serious matter, but I couldn’t say that it meant very much to me or that I understood its gravity. I was young, inexperienced. I simply didn’t dance to that song, didn’t mouth the words to myself on the bus rides to and from school. I’d seen the Lifetime movies in passing, of course; women sitting in austere circles, bursting into tears and falling about each other every two minutes, their ceaseless talk of feeling “dirty” and “emotionally damaged.” The overturned and empty medicine bottles on nightstands, sparse pills scattered in among the pages of some light bedside reading. Dark clothes and homophonic organ music, the click of a casket closed. And we’re supposed to get out the tissues, we’re supposed to cry because it’s sad or because we have that grim understanding that comes from one’s own experience.
Tori co-founded the Rape, Abuse, and Incest National Network (R.A.I.N.N.), and has worked to raise awareness and funds to benefit those touched by these events. She has further spoken up and reached out to people by writing several songs about her experience. To attest that this seemingly simple act of putting one’s thoughts and feelings into words takes profound courage and substance of person is, I hope, not necessary. In growing older, I have gained new experiences, as we all do. I found solace in Tori’s words, a long-sought salvation in the parts of our souls that we shared and that touched, even though we had never met. We didn’t have to know each other personally for us to share the ability to feel, certain aspects of experience, the humanity inborn in every person.
With her strength as an example I have found myself empowered to write on my own experience with rape, and I only hope I can stay as true to myself as she has done. For two years I have been downtrodden into silence, not believing myself to have any right to speak. I lied to everyone, to my friends, to my parents, furthered my own oppression by enforcing upon myself an indissoluble silence, sickly sacred in its profoundness, all the while believing there to be an untraversable separation between myself and the life I had known before, that life in which I had seemingly thrived compared to now. Through this catharsis (seemingly willful and fruitless self-destruction, at times), I hope to come to terms with my own humanity and right to a full and happy life, as well as speak out about this human tragedy. I feel within myself an admittedly maudlin desire to help my fellow man; I want to open up to people after my self-imposed silence, and tell them how I feel, and embrace the beauty that is our common humanity. I want to be a part of the world they’re living in, instead of the one I inhabit in which I am resigned to sign my life away in twenty word increments to its one defining event.
Too often we are silenced by the collective apathy of all those around us, by a sense of propriety, by our own unwillingness to speak up for ourselves. Everyone has felt claustrophobic, stifled by the indifference of others, and we are egocentric beings by nature. We want nothing more than an audience for our self-destruction. I apply this thought to my own struggle to make atonement with my past, but this idea is relevant to such a vaster aspect of our life. I have seen my peers turn to alcohol and drugs to escape their problems only to compound them further; I have seen the scars traversing their arms from self-harm, and I have to say that yes, I understand these compulsions to be difficult. I do not pretend to understand the causes behind their thoughts and behaviours, but I know what keeps them silent, what makes them internalize their pain.
When we ourselves contribute to our own oppressions because we believe ourselves worthy, when we have been made or allowed to believe with absolute conviction that we are deserving of such degradation and subjugation, this is the worst violation of human rights there is. There exists no sorrier state of affairs in the human experience, no worse abuse of our fellow man, no worse failure of self.
Tori has taught me that we may only be oppressed in this way only if shut ourselves off from other people, if we allow ourselves to drown in our own miseries. We cannot expect Mahatma Gandhis and Martin Luther Kings to miraculously appear and work for our benefit - yes, we can look up to these people and hold utmost respect for them as role models, but we ourselves must be the activists. We have to stand up and say what we believe; we have to recognize ourselves as human beings and thus deserving of respect, consideration, love, a place in the thoughts and attentions of others. We save ourselves, raise ourselves from the depths of submission and prejudice, or we are not saved.
Tori has secured her freedom through her music, a freedom we should all attempt to emulate in ourselves. By our nature as human beings we are entitled to the fullest life possible, and there exists no transgression that would merit the deprivation of these basic rights. When we respect one another and ourselves, we begin to touch upon the shared humanity, the shared essence that lives within all of us, which defines us as human. This life to which we are all entitled is made beautiful by our sufferings, displaying in bright relief the potential for fulfillment which is always open to us. We must simply never forget that no matter what happens, we are capable, and we are deserving.
...please don't pay any attention to the fact that I'm not sure I believe most of what I said, okay? :/ Maybe when I'm more awake or less mer in general. Now is time for sleep, mm, sleep.
The Human Rights Commission of Rockville says:
Question #2: Nobel Peace Prize winner Elie Wiesel said, "I swore never to be silent whenever and wherever human beings endure suffering and humiliation. We must always take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented." Describe an instance when someone speaking up or taking action made a positive difference in others’ lives.
Emily says:
I have committed so many of her words to the most sacred tomes of my memory, those words nearly Biblical in the gravity of their influence, almost narrating the truths and progress of my life. Every self-respecting teenager loves music, with obsessions ranging from Beyoncé to the Dave Matthews Band to Marilyn Manson, and with bedroom walls plastered with posters of pop starlets, thugs with bejeweled teeth, country stars, spindly, effeminate men in too-tight pants. My favourite musician is Tori Amos, a pianist and singer-songwriter hailing from our own Rockville, not because I think she has style or because I think she has ‘bitchin’ tunes,’ but because this woman has been an invaluable example of strength and fortitude for me, and has helped me to believe that my life is worth living.
That’s how Tori first touched me, through her music. I have played piano myself from my earliest years, despite my woefully short fingers and their rather complete inability to stretch much more than an octave. Each of her songs was, to me, a proverbial glimpse into her soul, a beautiful vista depicted in lively poetry and wit, framed by fortissimos and eighth notes. I remember jumping up and down on my mother’s bed, a hairbrush-imagined-microphone in hand, with winded fatigue in my voice but the inexplicable verve of camaraderie in my heart. When you gonna make up your mind? When you gonna love you as much as I do? My insecurities, about my grades, my body, my very worth as a person. Dressing up everyday. I wanna smash the faces of those beautiful boys. My formative teenaged frustrations towards the opposite sex. I considered my parents’ irritated knocks on the door as only a metronome, just another means for keeping time other than the lilting melodies, crashing chords, the voice that has come to define music for me.
I understood that Tori’s a capella song ‘Me and a Gun’ was a serious matter, but I couldn’t say that it meant very much to me or that I understood its gravity. I was young, inexperienced. I simply didn’t dance to that song, didn’t mouth the words to myself on the bus rides to and from school. I’d seen the Lifetime movies in passing, of course; women sitting in austere circles, bursting into tears and falling about each other every two minutes, their ceaseless talk of feeling “dirty” and “emotionally damaged.” The overturned and empty medicine bottles on nightstands, sparse pills scattered in among the pages of some light bedside reading. Dark clothes and homophonic organ music, the click of a casket closed. And we’re supposed to get out the tissues, we’re supposed to cry because it’s sad or because we have that grim understanding that comes from one’s own experience.
Tori co-founded the Rape, Abuse, and Incest National Network (R.A.I.N.N.), and has worked to raise awareness and funds to benefit those touched by these events. She has further spoken up and reached out to people by writing several songs about her experience. To attest that this seemingly simple act of putting one’s thoughts and feelings into words takes profound courage and substance of person is, I hope, not necessary. In growing older, I have gained new experiences, as we all do. I found solace in Tori’s words, a long-sought salvation in the parts of our souls that we shared and that touched, even though we had never met. We didn’t have to know each other personally for us to share the ability to feel, certain aspects of experience, the humanity inborn in every person.
With her strength as an example I have found myself empowered to write on my own experience with rape, and I only hope I can stay as true to myself as she has done. For two years I have been downtrodden into silence, not believing myself to have any right to speak. I lied to everyone, to my friends, to my parents, furthered my own oppression by enforcing upon myself an indissoluble silence, sickly sacred in its profoundness, all the while believing there to be an untraversable separation between myself and the life I had known before, that life in which I had seemingly thrived compared to now. Through this catharsis (seemingly willful and fruitless self-destruction, at times), I hope to come to terms with my own humanity and right to a full and happy life, as well as speak out about this human tragedy. I feel within myself an admittedly maudlin desire to help my fellow man; I want to open up to people after my self-imposed silence, and tell them how I feel, and embrace the beauty that is our common humanity. I want to be a part of the world they’re living in, instead of the one I inhabit in which I am resigned to sign my life away in twenty word increments to its one defining event.
Too often we are silenced by the collective apathy of all those around us, by a sense of propriety, by our own unwillingness to speak up for ourselves. Everyone has felt claustrophobic, stifled by the indifference of others, and we are egocentric beings by nature. We want nothing more than an audience for our self-destruction. I apply this thought to my own struggle to make atonement with my past, but this idea is relevant to such a vaster aspect of our life. I have seen my peers turn to alcohol and drugs to escape their problems only to compound them further; I have seen the scars traversing their arms from self-harm, and I have to say that yes, I understand these compulsions to be difficult. I do not pretend to understand the causes behind their thoughts and behaviours, but I know what keeps them silent, what makes them internalize their pain.
When we ourselves contribute to our own oppressions because we believe ourselves worthy, when we have been made or allowed to believe with absolute conviction that we are deserving of such degradation and subjugation, this is the worst violation of human rights there is. There exists no sorrier state of affairs in the human experience, no worse abuse of our fellow man, no worse failure of self.
Tori has taught me that we may only be oppressed in this way only if shut ourselves off from other people, if we allow ourselves to drown in our own miseries. We cannot expect Mahatma Gandhis and Martin Luther Kings to miraculously appear and work for our benefit - yes, we can look up to these people and hold utmost respect for them as role models, but we ourselves must be the activists. We have to stand up and say what we believe; we have to recognize ourselves as human beings and thus deserving of respect, consideration, love, a place in the thoughts and attentions of others. We save ourselves, raise ourselves from the depths of submission and prejudice, or we are not saved.
Tori has secured her freedom through her music, a freedom we should all attempt to emulate in ourselves. By our nature as human beings we are entitled to the fullest life possible, and there exists no transgression that would merit the deprivation of these basic rights. When we respect one another and ourselves, we begin to touch upon the shared humanity, the shared essence that lives within all of us, which defines us as human. This life to which we are all entitled is made beautiful by our sufferings, displaying in bright relief the potential for fulfillment which is always open to us. We must simply never forget that no matter what happens, we are capable, and we are deserving.
...please don't pay any attention to the fact that I'm not sure I believe most of what I said, okay? :/ Maybe when I'm more awake or less mer in general. Now is time for sleep, mm, sleep.