Every movement I made had my heart plunging down the depths of my very own soul. It was killing me each second I opened my eyes to see a new place, when I could be very much in my old house, breathing the scent that I smelled with a grin plastered on my face. When my parents first broke the news, I pretended to not care and shrugged like it was normal business. Truthfully, I was lost inside myself. Honestly, I was broken inside, and my heart was shattered.
This statement is relevant. I have never been confident about any of the written work I have submitted so far. The thought of writing an essay frustrates me. I often don't know how to begin the essay or even end it. I feel short of words.
Many have noticed that people tend to steer away from someone they feel may be stupid. This is for a very good reason. The stupidity which they posses makes a name for themselves, a name which can be very difficult to shake. Possibly, it is a word which describes the working habits of the person. A close friend was quoted as saying, “ the working habits of a stupid idiot suck, they work like crap.” Yet, this creates a positive situation for the stupid person.
That happens with being a paranoid hypochondriac. You think of all these things that could be wrong. The difference between me and most is that I am content with just thinking I have these things. I don't let them affect my daily life, but they are there. I am finally coming to terms with an issue I have long known but only recently accepted.
The play is an eternal challenge, a lock with many keys, none of which ever fits perfectly. Every interpretation presents just a portion of the possibilities. Every new version opens up new vistas, without limiting further experimentation. Every generation comes, looks, and studies the play, but never comes up with all the answers. Below are three student attempts to use Henry Christ’s material.
The entire novel is written in his perspective with little recognition if any, of Capitu’s side of the story. Bento perceives Capitu as a “capricious [creature]” with “undertow eyes” and spends much of the latter half of the book trying to undermine her credibility (244). This is because Bento is incredibly jealous of Capitu, so he perceives the most insignificant of gestures as an act of adultery. Keep in mind, Bento admits to having a terrible memory, claiming that he “can’t remember the color of [the trousers he] put on yesterday”, so the reader must question his statements often—especially when discussing Capitu (111). Another shortcoming of his is that he is neither hero nor antihero.
Certain events in my life have molded me to be the person I am today, and define what is unique about me. As a young child I had no respect for others, and could never fully grasp the concept of how people besides myself have feelings, and emotions that matter. I, of course changed this major flaw of mine over time, and matured in to the man I am today, but it was a long road getting here. I wasn’t a sadist, or a psychopath, I just never understood the realm of emotions everyone feels. Nothing dramatic has ever happened to me, I was never bullied, I never lost any loved one, so I never knew what real agony, and what hurt felt like.
The worst part is that the fog is pervading a familiar place and once it clears I will be disappointed with myself because I should have known exactly where I was. What troubles me is why I do not know where I stand, after a semester of studying concepts I believe in. My hopes for myself in this class have not been met (for which I hold myself entirely responsible). I spent the last few months searching for answers in the material, in my dialogues with my classmates and coworkers, in my writing and through my thinking. As a feminist and a critical pedagogue I thought I would surely come to some grand conclusions, with all these theories as my bedfellows.
Improv was always an intimidating faction of theater. Though there is no planning or scripting, no matter when or where the show was it always seemed a labor of love. Something that was worked on for an extreme length of time but really it was formed from the performer's mind only a second before the audience saw it. Even though I have done theater and dance in the past, improv always seemed something that I was never good at. From watching performances, tv programs, or improv workshops, it always looked like an art form that I could never learn or use besides the stage.
The whole time throughout the story he never truly finds ‘himself’. There was a great deal of symbolism and irony throughout Battle Royal. He went through many trials to get to where he was to where he is at the end of the story. The narrator begins a pattern of doing what others expect of him, without considering his motives, establishing his own value system, or viewing the possible consequences of his actions. His propensity to act without thinking and to accept others' judgments without question keeps him from discovering his true self.