Women Breaking Boundaries

If the boundaries for women never evolved neither would society. The story of Antigone is about a young girl who stands up for what she believes in even if death is her consequence. Like Antigone, Madea too puts her foot down and demands her place in society.  These two women are unlike any of their time. They do not for the play their society’s stereotypical role for women of their day and are not afraid of the consequences their actions receive.

Antigone wants to bury her brother Polyneices, but according to King Creon that is a crime punishable and most certainly inevitable by death. Antigone does not care however. She thinks it is only right to bury her brother and does not care what happens, “But I will bury him; and if I must die, I say that this crime is Holy: I shall lie down With him in death, and I shall be as dear To him as he is to me”(Fitts, 192).  She knows exactly what she is getting herself in to but she does not care. Her passion is to stand for what she thinks is right, and she knows that burying her brother is exactly that. Death is not a factor and she goes through with the deed. Unfortunately Anitgone’s fight ends with the death from her own hands. She commits suicide after being sent away to live her life imprisoned in a dark cave excluded from her only immediate family left, Ismene, her sister, her husband to be and her hometown. In her time the women were suppose to be quiet and listen to what ever men told them to do. It was unheard of for a girl to stand up to her husband never mind the king. She thought for herself and only herself.

Medea struggles wit her husband’s, Jayson’s, decision to remarry his new wife, the daughter of King Creon. She comes up with a gruesome plan to kill her children out of spite, and Jayson’s soon to be bride. She sends a dress of poison to her and she dies almost instantaneously after putting it on. Along side of her, her father, the king dies also. Then Medea completes the act with the murders of her own children. When Jayson confronts Medea, she rides off on a chariot provided by her father, the god of the sun.  Medea is a mother. Stereotypically she is supposed to watch over her children. She is supposed to do the housework and raise her family. She does not fit the guidelines of a nurturing mother at all. Her hunger for revenge out ways the value of her children’s life.

            Although both these women lived in a time where women with opinions and voices were unheard of they made sure they were heard loud and clear. Antigone and Medea did not fit the stereotype of women in their day. They were far more evolved then the women of their time and much braver then most women today.

Genocides of Today

Numerous Genocides are happening in the world today.  After the Holocaust people thought that it would be next to impossible to have another genocide happen, but as people sit back, they ignore the desperate calls of the modern day genocides happening.  To find a solution to putting a stop to these horrific events we need to find out why they happen in the first place.

 Most often I have read and come to find that these genocides come from disagreements between two groups of people, usually one is being neglected and refused their rights. As Grant Solis has mentioned the Tutsi and the Hutu people had a disagreement over power.  In 1933 the Hutu president was assassinated. The Tutsi wanted nothing to do with the Hutu. A year later the president of Rwanda’s plane was shot down, violence erupted.

Another genocide of today takes place in Darfur, Africa. This one also began after disagreements between different groups. As Holly Mathews has mentioned, the African people in Darfur were being neglected. They need protection from outside groups so they went to the government to ask for their rights. The government responded by sending a militia group known as the Janjaweed. The people of Darfur have been raped and brutally murdered. The violence continues to go on today.

Genocides happen because one group of people is being neglected compared to another one. Something needs to happen to ensure fair rights between all people. Genocides will continue to happen until this ongoing, and growing problem continues to happen.

A Genocide in the Present Day

People would imagine that after the Holocaust genocides would be almost impossible to happen. Still to this day genocides are happening. Does history repeat itself? Of course, over and over again. Genocides have been happening repeatedly since the Holocaust took place and still people are just standing by watching, doing nothing. History will continue to repeat itself while bystanders continue to sit by and not take action.

Out of the many genocides in present day takes place in Darfur, Africa. In 2003 the SLA (Sudan Liberation Army) and JEM (Justice and Equality Movement) went to the government to demand better treatment and protection against outer forces. The government’s response was not what the village people were looking for[1]. Now a government supported militia, Janjaweed, is murdering the African farmers along with others who live in that area.[2] So far in this genocide alone, 400,000 people have been killed, on average that is 5,000 a month. Almost 2.5 million people have had to move due o he danger in their villages.

However the government does not admit to being associated with Janjaweed, also known as the Devil’s on horseback. The International Criminal Court (ICC) has started to investigate the crimes involves in Darfur, merely just a first step to a huge problem. Although the ICC is trying to help Darfur’s situation and the government claims that they do not have any association with Janjaweed, they refuse to cooperate with the ICC.

As the genocide continues peace between the North and the South continues to diminish. In 2005 a peace agreement was signed by both regions. Now that the genocide has been going on for over seven years tensions are growing. The Sudan’s People Liberation Movement has accused the Khartoum government of providing weapons to regions in the South. This ongoing problem is only enabling the genocide to continue.[3]

Men and boys have been killed in large quantities. Women and girls are raped daily. Entire villages have been destroyed. Since all of the villagers and farmers are being murdered it is estimated that 3.5 million civilians will be in urgent care of food soon. The climate in Darfur has made it increasingly hard to bring any aid to these desperate souls in need. Darfur is a remote region in Africa. There are no close by bodies of water and the rainy season has made it almost impossible to get to. Any aid that was coming into Darfur has almost come to a halt completely.  Not only is this genocide due to horrible violence, but also lack of nutrition and food. [4] The people in this region are desperate for help. People say that the world learns from it’s past, but as time goes on it just seems t repeat itself.

[1] "United Human Rights Council." The United Human Rights Council. Web. 01 Mar. 2012. <http://www.unitedhumanrights.org/genocide/genocide-in-sudan.htm>.

[2] "Genocide in Darfur, Sudan." Darfur Scorecard. Web. 01 Mar. 2012. <http://www.darfurscores.org/darfur>.

[3] "Sudan." Genocide Intervention Network. Web. 01 Mar. 2012. <http://www.genocideintervention.net/area_of_concern/sudan>.

[4] "Genocide in Darfur - How the Horror Began." - Sudan Tribune: Plural News and Views on Sudan. Web. 01 Mar. 2012. <http://www.sudantribune.com/Genocide-in-Darfur-How-the-Horror,11445>.

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Mentor Text

          As I continue to wright my story I find it hard to create several differant voices. One or two isn't bad but I find myself continuing to re-use the same vocabulary and slang. My mentor text was a colaberation of short stories from a variety of people.
          My favorite story among stories was that of, "The Janitor". He had an interesting story to tell. I could almost picture exactly what he looked like and what his job consisted of. I found myself drifting off and living the lines he wrote. I felt I too was a part of the story watching him from abroad. I know that I need to do this also. I have several differant stories but I felt like there was not enough individuality between my differant characters. My mentor text really helped me to colaborate a short story with variety. I want the reader to feel like they are really reading stories of the differant "shoes" and not ones that I myself just made up.
         The janitor doesn't tell his life story. He tells just his routine and what his jobs consists of. He has to clean apartment buildings,continue to shovel coal  into an oven all night, and shovel walk ways in the snow. He never tells of his personal life. He never tells of his chilhood or what great struggles he has been through. He tells a minor part of his life and the reader is able to identify who he really is. His hole entire character is put out on a plate just from a small excerpt of his job. I want to be able to share a small factor in my character's life but lay out an entire story, unwritten. I njoyed my mentor text a lot. I feel that short stories also entice the reader more. They are never getting bored because there's always a new story to be written. So far I am confident in my story, and using a mentor text helps a lot in the wrighting practise.

Soles of a Thousand Words

            So originally my story was about Gadublees. They were made up forest creatures who found themselves fighting off the intruding Japanese beetles. After that idea faded I decided to wright a story of a sister's bucket list which incorporated many of my own bucket list items. It wasn't until this past Tuesday that my story found me.
           I often spend many hours on the T. I take the redline all over Boston numerous days through out the city. I am a very in depth observer. I am oblivious to the obvious but some how susceptible to the small things. My favorite part of taking the T is looking at the passenger's shoes. I have never seen the same pair of shoes. There are so many different pairs. Sometimes not matching ones. I believe that a person's shoes tells a story about them. A story of where they have been, the things that they've seen, or the places they've come across. Now I know that my short story will incorporate several pictures with a story from the shoe's owner for each picture.


Here's the first of many to come:


 






               I bet you think I'm a loser, don't you? My beard unshaven, the faint smell of whiskey on my breath. The 




layers of clothes worn as my blankets for the cold mid December night.




               I've traveled all across the country, and learned that these streets of Boston is where my homes at. It




may be an untraditional home, but this is where I rest my head at night, where I relax in my spear time. What 




would you call it? I am certainly not homeless for these streets provide me the same comforts your homes do. 




Houseless would be the correct term. For I do not have a house, but a home I do. There are no beams that hold a




roof over my head when it's raining, but rather two arms that hold a newspaper and deflect the raindrops as the 




wet ink runs down the palms and down my sleeves.




               I was just sixteen when I ran away from home. I didn't run because I had a bad home life or no friends, 




I ran to find something. I had no idea what, but knew it wasn't in that house or that town. I felt suffocated. It could 




have been my anxiety or the fact that my metal health was deteriorating but there was no way I could stay and 




grow. I needed to free myself and my mind. I needed to grow and explore.










(The story is still in the making. There will be several different ones that make up this one 




short story. I plan on righting one every time I go into Boston which is roughly twice a week. 




The passengers are my inspiration.) 

Rage over Fear

That 3 year relationship I spent him were the best and the worst years of my life. He put me through Hell but taught me so much. Taught me not to tolerate anything from any guy. He taught me that if someone really loved you they would not pin you up against the wall and threaten the ground you walk on. He taught me that someone who loves me would not leave me with scars on my back and on my knees for the rest of my life. This story however is not how he hurt me or made me stronger, but how his foolishness changed my sister’s life forever.

           

It was two weeks after we broke up for the last time. My sister and I were walking home from the bus stop. I remember hearing the squeal of Jason’s tires as he took the sharp turn on to my street.  Me and Beth had moved over because we knew teens flew down the street, excited to be out of the “seven hour torture”.  Only this car was different. This car had my ex, Ryan, in the passenger seat. He egged Jason to get closer to us. To scare us. He loved to taunt me to play with my mind like a puppeteer. Jason did as he was told for my ex not only put fear into me but anyone he was associated with or met by.

           

That’s when it happened. The corner of Jason’s car sent my sister flying forward. Her glasses surpassed her own body’s height. The glass of the cracked frames met each of the sun’s rays that pierced through the turned trees. My sister laid on the ground in a heap. Her arm was clearly broken. I dropped my books and ran to her side. I put her head in my lap. Not a word could break the overwhelming search for breath. My mouth was open but only sobs could make sound. The tears ran down my face and splashed onto hers. She was so still, so peaceful. How could she look so calm? I didn’t want her to look calm. I wanted her to cry or to scream with pain so I knew she was alive. But nothing happened. I screamed to my neighbor to call for help.

I looked up to see Jayson and Ryan standing there. Jayson’s face was paralyzed with fear. Not fear that he had hurt my sister but fear that he may get in trouble. The fright of my sister’s life quickly changed to rage over the two men that stood before me. I looked from Jayson’s face to Ryan’s. The corner’s of his mouth were tweaked upwards. He looked me in the eyes. Looked straight to my sole. He tried to toy with me, but I was done with his mind’s authority over mine. I lay my sweater over me sister’s body. I shot up and charged toward that malicious piece of dirt. My mind was far gone, to far for him to control. Only the revenge for that stupid smile of his remained. I tackled him to the ground. “You son of a bitch! How could you be smiling right now!?” I punched him square in the nose. Instantaneously his nose let a river of blood appear. He grabbed my hair and ripped me to the ground. “You think your tough now?” The only defense I had was to hit jam my knee into his crotch. He let go, his knees flew to his chest. He heaved for a breath of air. “HOW DOES IT FEEL!?” I continued to slap, punch, scratch, as much as I could. He fought back too, but this time I couldn’t feel anything, the pure determination to hurt him like he had hurt me for the past three years, and now my sister, made my body incapable to feel any physical pain being inflicted. I could hear the sirens racing down the street. The loud piercing harmony of the ambulance and cops brought the battle to a sudden stop.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Bucket List

            No one knows when their time is up. Even with technology these days the exact time and date can not be exactly targeted. It may be a pre-determined thing. You may be born with a ticking time clock, counting down the days to your pre-determined death. Even so you yourself will never know. There is so much in this world to do before that buzzer wrings. So many places around the world and beyond, seen by only few. The fact that most people do not explore blows my mind. How can you follow the same routine day in and day out? Do you realize that every minute you spend here is a minute less you have? Most live their lives in fear. The fear of knowledge, the fear of heights, the fear of spiders ect. I am not saying I am not afraid of anything because certainly I am; But my imagination and determination to travel around the world has made me decide to stand up. I will not curl up into a ball and watch the minute hands tick away. I have a need to go further beyond the land I was raised and the streets I have walked. I want to experience even simple acts, one that someone just takes for granted, or sees but never does. This is how I came up with my own bucket list. Simple tasks or actions, and some not so simple, that I have been writing down since I can remember. It is not that I am preparing myself for death but the exact opposite. I am preparing myself to live and carry out any dream or wish that I may have. I know that life is short. The past sixteen and a half years have flown by, and I know that when I come back and read this when I am thirty I will be saying the same thing. The difference is that I will be fully content with how I spent those last thirty years.
           A bucket list is a list of things a person wants to accomplish before their time on Earth is up. Some things on these lists may be reachable, others may just be dreams. No two people have the same bucket  list. My Sister's List, by Maura Kathereine Flaherty is a story of a girl who discovers her deceased sister's bucket list. From there she is taken on a crazy journey. Her sister's list is fully duable but not with ease. The things on the bucket list have been inspired if not extracted directly from my bucket list. A few items a reader my learn about is the dream to run across Fenway Park's field during a Red Sox game. I will be fully clothed with no drugs or alcohol in my system. This is not some intoxicated canter across the field this is just one check mark on my list. To feel the field's grass between my toes. To feel so small out there while the walls of the park tower over me with hundreds and thousands of spectators. To feel that adrenaline pump as I run from security. The only thing that could make this any better is if I could get away with it. If I could somehow devise a plan with a  friend or two. To map out Fenway and create a route. To have someone waiting in a getaway car. And a day later when I am being brought out in handcuffs in my classroom by police, the grin on my face, ear to ear, will not budge. I know the fee is a thousand dollars, I already have 650 saved up. So come at my security a grand for a dream that I will never forget and never regret is well worth it to me. The list is filled with actions like these and also actions less extravagant. My goal is to fulfill as many of them as I can. Checking them all of may be impossible because with the more time I spend here the more I come up with. Although there is an ending in the story, there is no ending to my list.
          A bucket list is something that gives someone hope for he future. It excites them with the knowledge of the journey awaiting them. Some may want to jump of skyscrapers, others may want to crochet a blanket. There are no rules to this kind of list, no guidelines, no person to tell you no. Do what you have got to do, you only live once.