how simple love can be
I imagine slipping out of my dress and into the tub, lying in the gentle light from the window, my eyes closed against the insistence of the mid-summer heat. I allow my body to remember the rhythms of the water, and I dream of the green spring which first drew people to this city and centuries later still bubbles up between the stones and the sand. I can hear those first horses and men snort as they drink, so near death and then saved by a crevice in the earth that sings of a cool darkness and a hundred thousand rains.
But the heat of this August night pulls me back. Reality is a street café in Nimes, where Cam is nursing his last cup of coffee. As I struggle to let go of the daydream, a young dark haired girl with chubby arms and tired eyes places a card and a small, stuffed blue bear beside my cup. After looking for a moment into our faces, a moment when no one's expression changes, the child quietly makes her way to the next table. When all the tables have been served, she rags her feet to go stand by her brothers and father who wait on the sidewalk. At the sound of the father's mandolin and a nod of his head, the brothers join in on a rough rendition of an old Spanish folk song.
The café's patrons, in deference to the little girl or in a desire for the music to stop, begin to lay money down on the cards, and after a few moments of voiceless scuffling with her brothers, the young girl is pushed toward the tables. Once again wearing a blank but intense face, she gathers the bills and coins into her hands, then quickly walks back and hands them to her father. He nods at his inattentive audience, touches his hat, and without a word, he and his family drift down the street to the next café.
I reach for the bear, study its polka dot bow tie and swing it on my finger by its gaudy golden thread while smiling at Cam. He tears it out of my hand to throw it after the family, but I hold on to his wrist, and still smiling, open his palm, take the bear back and drop it into my pack.
The situation with Mandy in Ed Vega’s short story “Spanish Roulette”, portrays a young women’s innocence being stolen and the distress that was brought upon the family thereafter. The narrator focuses on Sixto Andrade, the brother of Mandy, and how he deals with the situation. Although Mandy’s character is not directly introduced, she is significant because she is the purpose of the plot and she impacts the actions of her brother.
As a young child, Rodriguez finds comfort and safety in his noisy home full of Spanish sounds. Spanish, is his family's' intimate language that comforts Rodriguez by surrounding him in a web built by the family love and security which is conveyed using the Spanish language. "I recognize you as someone close, like no one outside. You belong with us, in the family, Ricardo.? When the nuns came to the Rodriquez?s house one Saturday morning, the nuns informed the parents that it would be best if they spoke English. Torn with a new since of confusion, his home is turned upside down. His sacred family language, now banished from the home, transforms his web into isolation from his parents. "There was a new silence in the home.? Rodriguez is resentful that it is quiet at the dinner table, or that he can't communicate with his parents about his day as clearly as before. He is heartbroken when he overhears his mother and father speaking Spanish together but suddenly stop when they see Rodriguez. Thi...
On an everyday basis teens all around the world fight and disagree with their parents. In the passages Confetti Girl and Tortilla Sun this very thing is clearly demonstrated. Both stories feature two teenage girls that have lost one of their parents. They both now face the daily struggle of agreeing and relating to their remaining parent. In Confetti Girl, the narrator is constantly overlooked and out shadowed by her father’s favorite thing, books and literacy.
It was a warm sunny day in the summer of the nineteen nighties nine, at the Jersey Shore. Sally stood outside her grandparents ' house with hesitation. Should Juan and I have come? Sally thinks to herself. Sally then begins to gaze out at the ocean 's shorelines. As if time had stood still and the world faded away. She closed her eyes and took it all in. It made her think of all the wonderful childhood memories that they had achieved there. Sally remembered playing in the sand, swimming in the ocean, the bright sun gazing down upon her and a boy. This place had memories that Sally would never forget and treasure forever, for that kid now a man was always in her heart and her life.
In many of his plays, especially tragedies, William Shakespeare examines the relationships people have with one another. Of these relationships, he is particularly interested in those between family members, above all, those between parents and their children. In his play Hamlet, Shakespeare examines Prince Hamlet's relationships with his dead father, mother and step-father. His relationship with Gertrude, one of the only two women in the play, provides Hamlet with a deep sense of anger and pain. Hamlet feels that Gertrude has betrayed his father by marrying with his brother. Throughout the play, he is consumed with avenging his father's death and all the mistreatment the former King had suffered and still suffers after his life is over. Gertrude adds to the dead King's tarnished memory by not mourning and instead rejoicing in her new marriage. Hamlet is thus extremely angry with Gertrude and expresses this anger towards her directly and indirectly through his words, both to himself and to other characters.
Standing on the balcony, I gazed at the darkened and starry sky above. Silence surrounded me as I took a glimpse at the deserted park before me. Memories bombarded my mind. As a young girl, the park was my favourite place to go. One cold winter’s night just like tonight as I looked upon the dark sky, I had decided to go for a walk. Wrapped up in my elegant scarlet red winter coat with gleaming black buttons descending down the front keeping away the winter chill. Wearing thick leggings as black as coal, leather boots lined with fur which kept my feet cozy.
This morning I wake early from the light that creeps underneath my blinds and my bed next to the window. I wake floating on the streams of light, heated, like white wax spilled across the floor, dripping, soft. In bare feet I walk down the stairs, cold on the wood, and find my father in the kitchen, also awake early. Together, we leave the house, the house that my parents built with windows like walls, windows that show the water on either side of the island. We close the door quietly so as not to wake the sleepers. We walk down the pine-needle path, through the arch of trees, the steep wooden steps to the dock nestled in the sea-weed covered rocks. We sit silently on the bench, watch as the fog evaporates from the clear water. The trees and water are a painting in muted colors, silver and grays and greenish blue, hazy white above the trees.
Sitting in the back seat between two towering piles of clothes and snacks we drive up the abandoned streets of Adell. I see vast open fields of corn and dense wooded forest filled with life, along with the occasional, towering grain house. We pull into a dry, dusty, driveway of rock and thriving, overgrown weeds. We come up to an aged log cabin with a massive crab apple tree with its sharp thorns like claws. The ancient weeping willow provides, with is huge sagging arms, shade from the intense rays of the sun. Near the back of the house there is a rotten, wobbly dock slowly rotting in the dark blue, cool water. Near that we store our old rusted canoes, to which the desperate frogs hop for shelter. When I venture out to the water I feel the thick gooey mud squish through my toes and the fish mindlessly try to escape but instead swim into my legs. On the lively river banks I see great blue herring and there attempt to catch a fish for their dinner. They gracefully fly with their beautiful wings arching in the sun to silvery points.
The mindset of the unequal genders in the past is thought to have influenced the way playwright William Shakespeare portrayed females in his plays. Shakespeare exemplified this in his revenge tragedy Hamlet, written in 1601 with one of the most significant characters, Gertrude. She is central to the plot due to her relationship with the main character, Hamlet, being his mother. However, not only is she the mother to the tragic hero Hamlet, she is also widow to his laid father, King Hamlet Senior, and also newly wed to Hamlets uncle, Claudius. In this tragic play, we witness not only the downfall of women of the play in general, but specifically the falling out of Gertrude as a mother to Hamlet, as a wife to the new King Claudius, and as a woman herself.
...course, ultimately infuriates and intensifies his urge for revenge. Because of Gertrude’s refusal to acknowledge her sins, Hamlet becomes even more personally motivated to kill Claudius for revenge. Queen Gertrude, though ignorant, has a huge impact on the play because her betrayal and abandonment motivates Hamlet to get revenge.
Ophelia is a beautiful and simple-minded woman, easily molded by the more powerful opinions and desires of others. The thoughts of her father and her brother influenced her the most. The love letters from Hamlet also swayed her opinions and confused her mind. Ophelia wasn't able to realize herself because of all the pressures exerted on her to be something she's not. That weakness of mind and will, which permitted her obedience to her father and thus destroyed her hope for Hamlet's love, finally resulted in her insanity and death.
The boy sees the bazaar at Araby as an opportunity to win her over, as a way to light the candle in her eyes. However, the boy is more awkward then shy, his adolescence is an impediment to his quest and he lost for words to speak. I vividly recall those times in my young life, driven by desires and struggling with the lack of experience to get through the moment.
Around the world people love. They live for love, they write for love, the sing, eat, cook, die and kill for love (ForumNetwork, 2009). Since the beginning of recorded time, people have wondered why love is such an intense and universal feeling. There is no culture in this planet that does not have love (ForumNetwork, 2009). This essay will only talk about romantic love were sexuality and attraction are involved. Romantic love, is one of the most powerful energies on earth (ForumNetwork, 2009), it is indeed one on the most addictive substances we can experience at least once in our life. The rush of cocaine and the rush of being in love depend on the same chemicals in our brain (ForumNetwork, 2009); we are literally addicted to love. The feeling of being in love does not depend whether the other part loves you back or not, it will help you feel more happy that is for sure, but the intensity of the feeling loved or heartbroken is the same, they both depart from the same principle: the love and desire of the other. Love remains in the most basic system of our brain, under all cognitive process, under all motor impulses; it is placed in our reward system, the most ancient systems of all (ForumNetwork, 2009).
What exactly is love? Is there an absolute meaning to the word - love? Or is it purely subjective? The concept of true love is what we search for all our lives. Yet love is one of the most misunderstood concepts of all. What people really want more than anything else is to be loved unconditionally; to be accepted for who we are, and still be loved. Sometimes we will do some crazy things, "in the name of love."
“Prayer in action is love and love in action is service.” –Mother Teresa. To me, service is an obvious outlet for love. I went into my CSP excited and ready to serve, only to be majorly disappointed. Over the summer, I volunteered at Overland Park Regional Medical Center in the Mother/Baby Unit because last year someone in my class did and they were able to hold the babies, as well as running errands for nurses, new moms, etc. This sounded like the dream service project to me, but the week before I started, the volunteer department completely changed. So, my service at OPRMC instead consisted of sitting at the desk in the waiting room, printing out nametags for visiting friends and family, controlling the security door, keeping the waiting room orderly, and intermittently running errands for the staff.