Reflection

This semester has been one long hard look in the mirror. One really long, really hard, yet very refreshing look in mirror. For the first time in a long time, I have confidence while writing and my abilities to articulate my thoughts. I have also been able to actually delve into different emotions and feelings that I never have expressed through writing before.I used to think of myself as a meek and inadequate writer. Everything I ever wrote was the same redundant five paragraph essay proving my knowledge on some book we read some war we learned about. Opening, evidence, evidence, evidence, closing. The last time I wrote something about myself was sophomore year, and since then, writing has been an enemy of mine. Hearing the word “essay” makes my heart stammer and causes stress and if anything was damaging to my emotions rather than helping move through them. There was no self-reflection or personalization. There was no thinking about how I related to the text. My writing was like an assembly line, same thing, over and over again. I never considered my writing a part of me and I didn’t really take pride in what I wrote. Now, every piece was a reflection of a piece of me I tend to rarely show in everyday conversation and life.

My very first piece, “Friday Night Lights” was my very first breath of this fresh new air. When we were first told to write about a memory, I had no idea what to do. I am only 18, and yet I can tell dozens of sob stories about how things have gone wrong, and I was not comfortable with explaining those difficulties at the time. I instead was inspired when we had to draw a blueprint of a house we are familiar with. Missing my friends at home, I drew Collin Wilson’s house. He is my closest friend and I have been to his house quite close to a thousand times. While drawing the family room for the blueprint, it all suddenly hit me. It was not a specific memory, but a feeling. The feeling of being kings, the feeling of family that reached beyond blood, also known as high school football. This piece was filled with nostalgia and reminiscing on the good ole days. I never labelled whose house it was, any of the players names, not even my girlfriend’s name. None of those details were important, because we as individuals were meaningless, but as a family and as a unit we were very important. It was very difficult to put an ineffable feeling into words, but I think I did a great job explaining how it was more than just a simple feeling of “happiness” or “joy”. What I really liked about this piece, is that since I left everyone nameless, it is incredibly easy to relate to. Especially for college readers, a quick flashback to the days of high school is refreshing and very thought provoking.

My second piece was very unique. “The Art of The Cheesesteak” was again the first time I was excited about writing a research. Since I was just a young whippersnapper, I have always had a deep connection to Philadelphia. My family has lived in Philadelphia for most of the history we can find, and I lived there until I was 7. Most of my family still lives there, and I spend time there at least every other weekend in The City of Brotherly Love. When my group decided we should write about the East Coast, it very easy for me to decide what part of the coast I was writing about. However, it was very difficult to pick a single thing to represent the 5th largest city in the United States. I needed something gritty and blue collar. Maybe something that often gets overlooked and something that has the characteristics of a hard worker. However, after reminiscing for a little bit, I got hungry and was really craving a cheesesteak; and in that point of exhaustion and hunger I discovered my topic. I have eaten cheesesteaks for as long as I can remember, so very little research had to be done other than talking to my Dad a little bit about what streets certain restaurants were at. This piece was not supposed to overload you with information or excitement, if anything it was supposed to fill you with hunger. It was a light hearted and informative paper about a food, who if it was a person, would be a lot like me.

Cerebral Civil War, my first poem, does not follow a similar storyline the other pieces do. Often times when my friends and I are bored, we freestyle rap. For those who don’t understand, you simply try to rap and think quickly so you can rap without ever having the lines written down or thought of previously, it is just whatever sparks in your mind first. This came in handy when having to write poems. I could not think of a topic I wanted to write about, so I simply tried to think of witty yet simple to break down lines that had an impact of some sort. “Mind spinning like roulette, I am not able to let my thoughts reset, and clear the table” was my first line that I tried to build off of. I then tried to think of scenarios that cause my mid to spin, and I began to think of my past relationships. In said relationships, I tend to doubt myself, never think I am good enough, and tend overthink things. This lead to the line “Blaming myself by nature, questioning my competence my own biggest hater, me, being the confluence”. The poem was not necessarily a bash on the girl, but on how I would assume things and doubt myself, so I never could let myself be in a relationship. After that, I had a pretty good vision of what relationship I wanted to talk about, and the rest of the lines came quite naturally. This poem definitely helped me express my issues with both relationships and myself. I always liked rhyming, because it helps me keep things kind of organized and fluid in a sense. I threw in a lot of lines where the middle and the end rhymed with the next line just to give it better flow, and before I knew I wrote my first poem.

The next poem, “Melody of The Macula” was much more difficult to come up with. Being given the parameters that the poem had to be about an object, I couldn’t try a similar approach to the previous poem. I knew I wanted to do an object that is on the human body, because it can relate to just about everyone. I wanted to write about people on the inside, and how they cover that. After writing failed poems on skin, veins, and hearts, I fell on the eye. Looking back, the eye was also the best object for what I was trying to express. Not only does the eye act as the gateway to soul, but it is our prime way to analyze and read people. For as much as they are used to learn about people, they are also the holders of our own soul, and prevent other people from learning about us.All four people I wrote about were specific people. They all are good at hiding their inner struggles and putting on a facade, but they all are destroyed internally. Think of it as an ode to them and everyone else, including myself, who hides behind their eyes. This poem is can be universally applied. Everyone has something they hide from others. Too often people are scared to come off as weak so we all just put on a smile and fake a lack of pain. The Macula is used to see the small details for your eye, so it is a poem telling the story how although it can see physical detail, it can not hone in on emotional details. Thus, the “Melody of The Macula” describes the struggle people have of being open with their struggles

The final poem was actually the hardest for me to write but by far my favorite. I was first very unexcited about having to write poem about art. Art has been shoved in my face this entire time in Italy, and while when I can take my time and really appreciate art, I never was compelled enough to write a strong poem about it. I have always loved the movement and the strength statues had that a flat painting could not possess, so my search started there. After surfing google for a little bit, I then again refined my search to “warrior statues” because the extra dose of testosterone piqued my interest. Then suddenly I fell upon a statue of Achilles. He was laying on the ground, taking his last couple of breaths while trying to pull the infamous arrow out of his heel. He lived nearly a perfect life, yet he is remembered in history for having one imperfection; his heel. I began to see myself in Achilles. No matter how much I excel in various subjects, my ambition is never satisfied and I never think good is good enough. I refuse to be average, thus I am very well rounded and have very few weaknesses. Much like Achilles, I do not find myself defined by strengths, and I am instead torn apart by my weaknesses. I saw myself laying on the brick, exhausted from constant pursuit of greatness, and being held back by my mortal vices. Achilles drawing his last breath sent shivers down my spine. I soon labelled him, as well as the poem, “The World Famous Perfectionist” and it came together just as I wanted it. I slowly built him up, and then ripped him down just one line later. I did not rhyme, and instead relied on a heavy amount of repetition in both words and sentence structure. For the first time, I saw myself in a piece of art, which led to a very powerful, relatable poem for everyone who is a perfectionist.

This semester, I have turned a new leaf. I have been excited about writing assignments for the first time in what feels like forever. I have actually had a passion for what I am writing about. This semester has made me think harder about what words and phrases I use so I can come across as powerfully as I want to. More importantly however, this semester has caused me to look at myself in the mirror. I am not a very emotional person. I am never flying too high or dropping too low into my emotions. With this lack of a natural jump into these feelings, I often do not experience them completely. This semester has given me the opportunity to really explore and actually feel emotions I usually don’t feel. By feeling these different emotions brought out by my writing, I learned more about myself and how I am as a person. This semester made me look at myself and actually gain some confidence in my abilities to write. It was the mirror I needed to learn more about myself and genuinely reflect.