Amy Meyerson

Ms. Tompkins

World Literature Honors

April 23, 2015

Never Easy, Always Worth It

My feet continue to rapidly slap the ground in a sprint, bent arms swinging like a pendulum in opposition with my legs, but I fear I will not be able to keep this up for long. As the sweat dribbles down my face and my fists clench with complete and utter pain, all I want to do is stop. I forcefully close my eyes and try to control my sharp, heaving breath, but the air continues to enter and exit my lungs without a fraction of enough time to make me feel refreshed. My heart thumps against my ribcage faster and faster, about to shatter my ribs and break out of my body, and any attempt to calm it is only in vain.

“You CANNOT stop,” I scream in my mind, trying to capture the voice of an angry drill sergeant. “You won’t stop, not now, not until this is over. You need to prove to yourself you are more than a history of constantly giving up.”

But my mind and body do not coexist. I shift my eyes to Carmen. Look at her. She seems to be having no trouble. It's a walk in the park for her… even though this is actually a marathon. A leisurely run in the park? Whatever.   

I examine her outfit; it looks like she pulled it straight out of a Women’s Running magazine, and she has the body to go with it, too. Her bouncy brown ponytail whips around as she turns to face me. "Doin’ okay there Alice...?" She asks, in possibly the most condescending tone I have ever heard.

“Is she serious? I know you are better than I am at this; do you really need to treat me like a child?”

“Shut up,” I coldly whisper through my teeth, but I can’t even do that without becoming more exhausted.

My annoyance is apparently evident.

“Fine, I was just asking." Carmen bolts forward, and at a rate too fast for me to ever catch up, might I add.

The fury at her convinces my legs to try to propel me through the path faster. I feel unstoppable… for about ten more steps. Then, my pace reverts to the just-barely getting by tempo. My shirt has become an entirely different color, tainted with sweat stains.

I am at war with myself. Half of me wants me to trip on a twig or something and just be done with this. Half of me wants to stick it to Carmen and beat her.

My weary body does not want to keep going. My mind begins to fog up, a chaotic flurry of emotions taking me over.

What motivation do I access when I wholeheartedly feel like all of my limbs and organs have given up on me?

I look down at my dirty, worn out pink and black Skechers. I haven’t pulled these out since freshman year PE, and with the way they fit, my feet must be purple underneath the ugly grey socks I’m wearing. I am so out of place. I suppose pondering this has kept me busy, since I am actually beating a few people over here. Somehow realizing I don’t feel terrible is a cue for the disgustingly unbearable emotions to return.

“OH MY GOD.”

No one has slashed my stomach open with a sword before, but now I know how it feels. I cringe at the intrusive cramp in my stomach and sides.

I cannot tolerate this pain. I can’t. I can’t do this. Make it stop. I am going to die.

“Deep breaths,” I tell myself. However, the exhalation of my first breath comes out as an agonizing high-pitched whine. I hold my stomach with my arms and continue running at a much slower pace, with highly unattractive form. My whole body is at a state in which I would believe you if you told me that someone has taken out all of my bones and inflated me like a balloon.

Every inch of me hurts terribly, from my sore throat to pounding headache to incarcerated feet that do not want to keep moving, but do so regardless.

...and that’s the weird thing. That my feet keep moving. Every single step, they take me further, even if the steps are barely steps at all. It is insane to me that I have actually made it so far.

I see Carmen nearing the big red banner and white chalk line signifying the finish.

I want more than it just to end. Through all the pain I have inflicted upon myself, I deserve more than for it to simply end.

Something comes over me, something so foreign and surprising. I still feel the rampant agony, but my body surpasses it, telling me that this will all be over soon. I have never felt faster or more powerful. My legs take reassuring strides, carrying me to the finish. Everything feels like slow motion…

I am at the moment I never thought I would reach. Two more steps.

One………………. two…..

“That’s it! I’m done!” Tears spill down my face, tracing every sweaty pore. While I wipe some of them away, I catch a glimpse of Carmen rolling her eyes, distracting herself on her phone instead of looking at me. As she walks in the other direction, she comes face to face with a tree. She fixes her hair and looks around, concerned, hoping no one saw that. But I did.

Suddenly, my mind feels like it is crashing. My feet can’t hold my weight. I try to keep myself upright but I wobble and let go of my balance.

My head has hit the ground. An eerie blackness rushes over as the paramedics frantically run to me, and one last thought emerges through it all.

I didn’t give up.

Intoxicating Africa

I'm not sure why mine is formatted this way; can anyone help?

Amy Meyerson

Ms. Tompkins

World Literature Honors

3/11/15

Intoxicating Africa

“Nigerian palm-wine ‘Crazy Man in the Bottle’; Botswana’s ‘The dizzy spell’; Zimbabwean ‘Scud’; ‘I Regret’ from the Democratic Republic of Congo; and ‘Jet-5’, a liquor in Kenya that derives its name from the stolen jet fuel that gives it its kick (Lythgoe).”  These are some names of dangerous alcoholic beverages in Africa; simply their titles make a statement about what they must be like to drink. If that sounds deadly enough, it is only the start of everything alcohol has invoked on Africa. Since the introduction of the “dop” system of South Africa, where Cape farm workers were being paid in wine for their labor, the intake of alcoholic drinks has spiraled out of control. During apartheid times, the good liquor was restricted to whites only, resulting in the popularization of shebeens, unlicensed establishments selling alcohol. The shebeens created an outlet for poverty, so their selling of illegal liquors also contributed to alcoholism on the rise in Africa, even as apartheid times have faded and the natives have been granted full access to alcohol (Machinations). Currently, a competition persists between national commercial alcohol companies and unsafe homemade brews, leaving the continent unsure how to move forward with the struggle (Lythgoe). Alcohol is becoming more popular in Africa, and it is creating a lot of issues because the continent is not prepared to handle the problems that come with it.

In Africa’s current state, only detrimental results can come from an influx of alcohol. A recent study by the World Health Organization concluded that Africa has the largest proportion of binge drinkers in the world: 25 percent of the population (Lythgoe). Binge drinking is where one drinks a large amount of alcohol in a short amount of time, with the intention of becoming intoxicated. This statistic exemplifies that so many Africans want to be intoxicated, desiring a feeling of disconnection or a silence to their thoughts. Binge drinking is a different level of drinking because alcohol becomes less of a party drink and more of a tormenting addiction when consumed in excess. Making the situation more unfortunate, Africa is not prepared to handle such an epidemic. Time magazine claims that, “Primary health care providers aren’t equipped to deal with the health effects. There is little or no recourse for irresponsible acts like driving while intoxicated...” (Hatcher).” First, alcohol is commonly linked to poor health, sickness, and deaths when consumed in excess. With limited preparedness, the health care providers in Africa cannot approach the issue. This is only setting the stage for a higher amount of sick citizens, many of whom are already dealing with poverty, disease, and other immense challenges. Also, there is no help around drunk driving, which is sure to come as more Africans begin to drink, and in large amounts. The problem will increase crimes and fatalities within the accidents. Alcohol hurts life in Africa, and it is spread even more as big brewers see the continent as a perfect place to get more money.

Alcoholism has become worse in Africa as international companies continue to expand there. An article by Think Africa Press presents that “Diageo [an international drink corporation] has seen African profits rise 15% in each of the last five years, while the African market now accounts for 14% of their total profits. Meanwhile, SABMiller has plans to sink $2.5 billion investment into Africa in the next five years (Lythgoe).” This may be a good thing for the companies, but they are taking advantage of Africa, an already struggling continent, for their own monetary benefit. Because the companies have come in, African deputies would rather have the people buying the drinks by international brewers than the illicit concoctions, so they have made the corporate ones cheaper and easier to get (Lythgoe). However, changing around the type being consumed does not serve to attack the entire issue of alcoholism in Africa. Popularizing and cheapening the drinks from large companies will make alcohol more popular and create more of Africa’s drinkers: binge, to be specific. Since these companies have come in with financial ambitions, Africa has been given yet another source of the drink that is intoxicating their public.

With the negative health effects of alcohol, the high amount of binge drinkers, and the commercial growth of large alcohol companies, this fermented beverage has plagued Africa with real challenges. Its growth breeds a public with increased susceptibility to sickness and death, due to the continent’s limited resources for solving alcohol-related woes. When grand businesses solicit their drink, Africans are attracted to the popularity and price, disregarding alcohol’s negative effects. Africa has been dealing with alcoholism for some time, and time will tell when the issue can come to a close.

Works Cited

"Alcohol Abuse Has Roots in Colonial Machinations." Global Issues in Context. Galegroup, 27 Sept. 2013. Web. 9 Mar. 2015.

Hatcher, Jessica. "Africa’s Drinking Problem: Alcoholism on the Rise as Beverage Multinationals Circle | TIME.com." World Africas Drinking Problem Alcoholism on the Rise as Beverage Multinationals Circle Comments. TIME Magazine, 9 Aug. 2013. Web. 10 Mar. 2015.

Lythgoe, Luke. "Trouble Brewing: Africa and Alcohol Problems." Think Africa Press. Think Africa Press, 14 Jan. 2013. Web. 10 Mar. 2015.

The Bloody Truth

“I noticed three blood spots in his left eye, one large and two small, all the same shade of bright red.”(3)

“Was it a ploy to get rid of the Red Guards, who were slipping out of his grasp? Or was it the fantasy of a great revolutionary dreamer, wishing to create a new generation?” (7)

Analysis: The three blood spots represent three stages of life; childhood, adolescence, and adulthood. Also, there are three main people, whether it is Luo, the Narrator, and the Seamstress, or Luo, the narrator, and Four-Eyes. The Red Guards consisted mainly of teenagers who banded together to support Mao, they left their childhood behind because it was of fashion then to forget about past civilization and embrace Mao’s new form of life.

Before:  “‘They’re waiting for the blood to congeal,’ he replied. “It’s a remedy against cowardice. To gain courage, you must swallow it when it’s still lukewarm and frothy.’ ... When he had finished he sucked his fingers one by one, to make sure not a drop was wasted.” (94)

After: “A few minutes later, while he was making a knot in the rope, I heard Four-Eyes exclaim: ‘Shit!’ ‘Mind your language now, my son.’ ‘I’ve got the runs,’ Four-Eyes wailed. ‘Use the bucket in the bedroom!’ To our immense relief we heard Four-Eyes running out of the house. ‘Where are you off to?’ the mother cried. ‘To the maize field.’ ‘Have you got some paper?’ ‘No,’ replied the son from afar. ‘I’ll get you some!’ the mother called.” (104)

Analysis: Four-eyes drank buffalo blood for a rite-of-passage kind of event. The blood was supposed to give him more courage and make him more manly. However, the graphic description of his “disposal” had an air of a little baby getting diarrhea- vulnerability. I think this speaks to the idea of the fact that trying to grow up too fast does not work, because, as this happened, it led to a gross situation. He was so excited to grow up and lose his old ways that he forgot that he needed to step back and let things happen. Also, his mother was a big shadow over him meaning that he just still needed to be in her nest. A lot of the coming-of age quotes speak to the role of family in growing up.

The color Red & Three Blood Spots in Headman’s eye and Drinking Buffalo Blood are symbols in Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress that emphasize the coming of age in the main characters of the novel through other themes throughout the plot. For the color red and blood spots, it shows how events mark life and that life has different components and different stages of life. For the blood-drinking, there was a negative consequence showing if you are too vulnerable you will not grow up and have courage. Together, they represent the negative parts of blood.

Red Eye

Nobody Wins the Race

Your

Black

Could be someone’s

White

Could be someone’s

Black

Both are colors just the same

But do you think yours is superior?

Maybe you are arrogant or

Maybe you just don’t know any better than to put yourself at the top

Yet if you walk through life on stilts

You are looking down on everybody

Those sticks are not stable ground

You are

Alone

You will fall

Or sometimes you feel like an ant scurrying along a seemingly neverending path

And it appears easy for everyone else to walk through it.

You know you’re never going to get there before they will,

Even though you are running as fast as you can.

They are taking easy strides with less effort and still finishing first

So why should you try?

You are at the bottom

You think you are looking up for inspiration but really

You are only setting standards you can’t reach and it isn’t because your arms are too short or you aren’t strong enough to touch it or your tippy toes just can’t point enough

It is because that tree was not growing for you

It’s not your property and it’s not your life

There’s no harmony in comparing yourself to others until the point where you are not satisfied with your own being

It isn’t about ranking on a scoreboard or arranging people like a stacked pile of freshly folded laundry

Please try

Next time your eyes jealously gloss over to another person’s paper and you wish you wrote what they wrote and you want to see what they saw and do what they did

Don’t let your stomach become queasy and let the tears rush to your eyes

Relax

Breathe in

Find peace when you embrace the differences instead of picking a side that is better

And there is no point in putting yourself in someone else’s shoes if you are going to tear them apart and cover them in dirt

or polish them when the other person didn’t want them touched

You can look at their shoes

Observe them

Embrace them

But maybe you are not ready to put them on yet

They aren’t your size and aren’t for your aching feet

Emotion+Values+Memory; the Equation For Perspective