On Hemingway

My second journal entry. I’m not sure what I’m going to write about. I will say, though, I am disappointed in myself; I should be writing every day to hone my skills: tact, syntax, eloquence, and so forth. I used to do it, but as expected of myself, I lack the self-discipline to continue my routines.

Many would claim that the night is silent. It is not. Silent is the dawn. What do you see in the darkness? Aberrations? Shadows that resemble house burglars? Or maybe yourself? Do you see your failures in the dark? I do. Sometimes, in the peak of the darkness during long, lonely nights, I see myself walking in the shadows – lost and in despair. I fear that I cannot accomplish anything in life. I worry I cannot get out of this hole I dug myself into. I’m fearful of many things. I wish I could take everything back and start over, but that’s not possible nor is it responsible. I suppose we are all bound to make mistakes, but maturity, wisdom, and civility comes from mending and learning from those mistakes. I won’t say that I have, but I won’t say that I haven’t; I learn from some of my mistakes, and other times, I find myself too stubborn or scared to admit my faults – until it’s too late.

Let’s talk about something less gloomy for once. I’d hate for my journal to be known only for depressing topics. Let’s talk about one of my passions: writing. Ernest Hemingway is definitely one of my literary heroes. His writing is so meaningful yet simplistic at the same time. I liken his writing to a long series of winding roads – dozens of them – that intertwine and cross over in a near infinite number of ways. Yet, when reading Hemingway, you don’t get lost in the deliberate vagueness of his style. In a weird sort of way, he leads you, by hand, through the twisting roads but does not show the exit. He leads you just far enough away from the exit so that you can figure it out for yourself. In doing so, you appreciate the effort of finding your own meaning, but suddenly, through all this, you start to understand the patterns behind those twisting roads; that’s why a second read of Hemingway’s books always seem more insightful and meaningful. That’s why I love his style.

However, I actually stopped for a moment to analyze each individual sentence of Hemingway’s writing, completely disregarding the overall theme or ‘big picture.’ It has come to my attention that Hemingway’s sentences are written with the tact and eloquence of a 4^th grader. There is no complicated language, cryptic punctuation or grammar, or even any kind of hard vocabulary. I’m not saying that one needs those things to write a wonderful novel, but I find it odd that what I shun most – the simplistic writing often found in amateur short stories (known as fanfics) – is what one of my most favorite authors implements and uses on a regular basis. I’m sort of torn here, but perhaps, this is a lesson to me that over-analyzing is unnecessary at times. Maybe I should look more at the big picture. I’m not sure what to do yet, but that’s what life is for, no?

Greetings in the worst of times and the best of times

I write to you all for the first time, and for my first time, I am stricken with misfortune and conflicting emotions.

Oh, where are my manners? Allow me to introduce myself; since this is the internet, you may refer to me as Cororu. I am a college student – though not a very good one – and I work part time. I’m in a long distance relationship with a person I greatly love, and I have a family – a mother and father – I love but have a hard time with (more on that later).

I am of Chinese descent, but my life in America has slurred my Chinese, clouded my culture, and left me more American than Chinese. Do not mistake me; I do not blame the government or American culture for any of what I just claimed. I merely suggest that given the current circumstances, a loss of one part of my identity was inevitable. I am not here today, though, to discuss the consequences of my life in America. Today, I discuss the conflict between spouses, partners, and fiancées and the family.

I love my parents dearly, or at the very least, I’m sure I do. Being the way I am, I cannot be sure of anything unless there is a clear and obvious definition. Love does not have one. I do know, though, that not everything will always work out in such an organized manner. I’m not stubborn, but I cannot tell if I love my parents out of obligation or if because I am grateful of what they’ve done for me thus far. I do not, by any means or definition of the word, feel comfortable with them; they do not make me happy. I believe I liken them to more of a gracious, kind landlord than I do my actual parents. I feel bound to them through debt and servitude than I do through so-called familial bonds. In fact, my parents are just counting down the years until I graduate so I can take over the mortgage, electric bill, and so on and so on. Even from the days of early understanding, I was infused with the concept of money, riches, and financial independence. In all honesty, I think I value money over almost everything (more details later). I’m not sure if this is normal, but I feel as if this is how a parent is supposed to treat their child; a child is like an investment. You put money down raising the child, and in years to come, the child pays for everything else. Is this normal? Am I just an investment? Enough about my parents for now, though.

I said earlier that I value money over almost everything. Well, I don’t value money over my beloved fiancé. I love my fiance dearly, and again, I think it’s love; I feel comfortable around them; I am able to truly express myself around them; and they know all about me – the good and the bad. I’m not going to say I don’t love my parents. As I said earlier, I do, but I believe it’s a different kind of love from the love I feel towards my fiancé. Is that to say I’m happier with my fiancé than I am with my parents? I will not lie; a part of me says yes, but at the same time, I understand the hard work and suffering my parents went through in order to raise me to what I am today. I’m very lucky and privileged.

Even now, as I’m in school, I live with my parents. I don’t pay rent, food, or even for utilities. I only pay for the internet, TV, and phone bill – around one hundred seventy a month. I also pay for my own gas and minor trinkets like snacks and some clothing, but for the most part, I live a very luxurious life. When my dad passes on – Heaven forbid – I will have two homes to my name, which is more than some people today. I’m not sure what to make of things right now. I’m torn between the family that has raised me and the fiancé who supports me. You know, in my earlier years, mother once asked me who I would choose when conflicts would arise: my partner or my family. Naturally, and hastily, I said family; there are plenty of people for me to date. Now that I actually have someone I feel so strongly for, the answer just isn’t quite as clear as I hoped it to be.

Let’s not go into more detail. I think I’ve written enough. Hello, world, and hello, wordpress.