What would happen if an Asian girl tries to steal a bike?

Obtained from: The University of California, Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory, and the Department of Energy.

Heh. What is wrong with this picture?

When I first came upon this title, I thought this book was about how wonderful motherhood is; upon finishing the novel, I understood its irony.

This book starts off with a young and naive Nigerian girl who idealizes motherhood - she believes that her sole purpose and function in life is to become a good wife and mother.  After conceiving 9 children, reality settles in as she desperately tries to raise her huge family on a meager income.  She gives up her friends because she has little time for them - she spends all her time looking after her children.  She gives up her possessions by selling her most precious beads and lapas (traditional African clothing) to feed her family. And she pretty much gives up her life; illegally selling goods on the street and endangering her life. 

Towards the end, she realizes that a mother's role is one of servitude, of sacrifice: "Her love and duty for her children were like her chain of slavery." 

"She had been brought up to believe that children made a woman.  She had had children, nine in all, and luckily seven were alive, much more than many women of that period could boast of.  Still, how was she to know that by the time her children grew up the values of her country, her people and her tribe would have changed so drastically, to the extent where a woman with many children could face a lonely old age, and maybe a miserable death all alone, just like a barren woman?" (219).

And she begins to feel regret, wondering: "God, when will you create a woman who will be fulfilled in herself, a full human being, not anybody's appendage?" she prayed desperately.  "After all, I was born alone, and I shall die alone.  What have I gained from all this? Yes, I have many children, but what do I have to feed them on? On my life. I have to work myself to the bone to look after them, I have to give them my all.  And if I am lucky enough to die in peace, I even have to give them my soul.  They will worship my dead spirit to provide for them: it will be hailed as a good spirit so long as there are plenty of yams and children in the family, but if anything should go wrong, if a young wife does not conceive or there is a famine, my dead spirit will be blamed. When will I be free?"

But even in her confusion she knew the answer: "Never, not even in death.  I am a prisoner of my own flesh and blood" (186-187).

By the time her children grow up, society has changed so much that the children are encouraged to lead a life of their own.  They disobey their mother, ignore her traditions, and ultimately, leave her to die alone.

"She used to go to the sandy square called Otinkpu, near where she lived, and tell people there that her son was in "Emelika", and that she had another one also in the land of white men - she could never manage the name Canada.  After such wandering on one night, Nnu Ego lay down by the roadside, thinking that she had arrived home.  She died quietly there, with no child to hold her hand, and no friend to talk to her.  She had never really made many friends, so busy had she been building up her joys as a mother" (224).

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sadly enough, parts of this novel remind me of my grandmother. My grandmother sought to be the best wife, mother, and grandmother that she could be; but even though we all tried to visit her as much as we could (my uncle and I flew / drove down almost every weekend to see her), she ended up spending her last minutes on earth alone, in the middle of the night.

---

While reading, I've been watching "Jazz" by Ken Burns in the background. It's an amazing, 10-part, 19-hour, introduction to the history of Jazz, and absolutely perfect for a Jazz neophyte like me.

To be honest, I was never much of a Jazz fan,  but watching this series made me appreciate and understand some of the the stories behind the music. Most importantly, it stirred my curiosity; I spent many hours googling various artists and youtubing a variety of different songs.

TBD Pictures are below; words will come later.

@ Bryce:

End-of-day Drive:

Angel's Landing @ Zion National Park

The Hike: Cliff on both slides (Yes, I got to the top of that rock)

The View (to the left):

The View (to the right):

The View (down below):

Post-hiking Drives
By the side of the road:

Some of the most beautiful roads I have ever seen:

No matter where I looked, I was surrounded by gently rolling hills, colorful rocks, and vibrant trees:

On page 537 of 802

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"And though she felt sure that his love for her was waning, there was nothing she could do, she could not in any way alter her relations to him. Just as before, only by love and by charm could she keep him. And so, just as before, only by occupation in the day, by morphine at night, could she stifle the fearful thought of what would be if he ceased to love her."

-- Anna Karenina, thinking about her lover

10am: Randomly found this photo on Google Maps...

2pm: Planning a trip to Utah.

Must... drive... on... this... road....

Actually.. it'd be even better to ride through it. But I don't think I can ride for 14 hours straight, just to get here.

I remembered something on my recent trip to New Haven..

I realized that it wasn't my first trip to New Haven.

My first trip occurred years before I even considered graduate school. In high school, I (somewhat unwillingly) joined a Chinese tour group, and visited famous Ivies. One school, in particular, stood out on my mind.  Constructed in Neo-Gothic architecture, the sandstone-colored buildings and open courtyards portrayed a powerful, yet serene and inviting atmosphere.  I remember walking down a corridor of trees, falling in love, and whispering: I will come back.

But memories of this school started to fade as the years passed. The harshness of reality and the difficulty of life made me a much more realistic person. I didn't even bother applying to this school for college. 

When I returned to New Haven this time, I found myself walking down that same corridor.  I retraced my footsteps, laughed quietly, and astonishingly realized that I've returned to a promise once made.

Sometimes, I am truly amazed by the fortuities of life.

---

the road not taken
robert frost

two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
and sorry i could not travel both.
and be one traveler, long i stood,
and looked down one as far as i could, to where it bent in the undergrowth.

then took the other, as just as fair, and having perhaps the better claim
because it was grassy and wanted wear
though as for that, the passing there, had worn them really about the same
and both that morning equally lay
in leaves no step had trodden black.

oh, i kept the first for another day
yet knowing how way leads on to way
i doubted if i shall ever come back.

i shall be telling this with a sigh,
somewhere ages and ages hence.
two roads diverged in a wood
and i, i took the road less traveled by
and that has made all the difference.

---

Frost's poem, "The Road Not Taken" expresses my exact sentiments about attending school here.

I once memorized this poem for a speech in high school and, even though I didn't quite understand it back then, I've always thought that it contained a dual meaning.

Back then, I believed that this poem encourages people to take the "road not taken," and promises that choosing this road will lead to wonderful outcomes. 

Now, I truly understand and appreciate its air of uncertainty.

"though as for that, the passing there, had worn them really about the same
and both that morning equally lay
in leaves no step had trodden black"
When Frost first looked down the two roads, he thought that one path was less taken than the other.  But as he took steps down that path, he realized that both paths were about the same.

"oh, i kept the first for another day,
yet knowing how way leads on to way,
i doubted if i shall ever come back"
Frost starts to express a bit of regret here.  He knows that his path is not necessarily "less taken," so he want to take the first path too.   Unfortunately, he's kind of stuck on his second path..  and he knows that he can't go back.

"i shall be telling this with a sigh, somewhere ages and ages hence.
two roads diverged in a wood, and i, i took the road less traveled by,
and that has made all the difference"
What kind of sigh is this? A sigh of accomplishment and happiness? Or a sigh of regret and longing?
What kind of "difference"? A good difference? Or a bad one?
He doesn't know - he can't see that far into the future, he can't see past the bend in the road.  All he only knows that his choice is significant - that he will be sighing and thinking about it somewhere down the road of life. He doesn't know whether it will be a sigh of accomplishment, or a sigh of regret. He doesn't know whether it will be a good difference or a bad one.

And neither do I.

---

Do you know this poem? What do you think it means?