A Well Worn Path (Analysis of Walden by Henry David Thoreau)

Of all of the things I’ve read this year in AP English Language, I think that Walden by Henry David Thoreau has definitely been one of my favorites. Out of my favorite book, here are two rhetorical devices from two of my favorite passages.

Sometimes I rambled to pine groves, standing like temples, or like fleets at sea, full-rigged, with wavy boughs, and rippling with light, so soft and green and shady that the Druids would have forsaken their oaks to worship in them; or to the cedar wood beyond Flints’ Pond, where the trees, covered with hoary blue berries, spiring higher and higher, are fit to stand before Valhalla, and the creeping juniper covers the ground with wreaths full of fruit; or to swamps where the usnea lichen hangs in festoons from the white-spruce trees, and toad-stools, round tables of the swamp gods, cover the ground, and more beautiful fungi adorn the stumps, like butterflies or shells, vegetable winkles; where the swamp-pink and dogwood grow, the red alder-berry glows like eyes of imps, the waxwork grooves and crushes the hardest woods in its folds, and the wild-holly berries make the beholder forget his home with their beauty, and he is dazzled and tempted by nameless other wild forbidden fruits, too fair for mortal taste…These were the shrines I visited both summer and winter. (197)

Here Thoreau’s ethereal imagery and descriptions of nature and references to ancient mythology in his writing show that there is beauty in even the simplest things in life, but one must look for these finer things first. He describes pine groves that “stand… like temples” and look “like fleets at sea,” which connotes places worth of worship and power respectively (196). According to Thoreau, nature is not unlike places of heavenly gods. Thoreau describes a particular swampy area in a decorative fashion: “wreaths full of fruit” are present, “lichen hangs in festoons,” “beautiful fungi adorn the stumps” (196), and then proceeds to call toadstools “round tables of the swamp gods” (196). This evokes an image of an ancient dining hall for ancient gods, elaborate and decorated, brimming with food and drink, showing how there is power and legend in even simple things, like swamps, if the perspective is correct. Moreover, the beauty of nature can make people “forget [their] homes” (197). Visitors are “dazzled and tempted by… forbidden fruits” (197). This allusion to both the story of Persephone in Hades’ garden with the forbidden pomegranates as well as Adam and Eve with the forbidden apples in the Garden of Eden furthers the beauty and fable-like qualities that Thoreau imbues nature with.

Additionally, Thoreau references ancient literature and cultures to show how nature can be beautiful and wondrous as well. In his descriptions of the pine groves, Thoreau claims that the trees are so majestic, the ancient Celtic race of Druids “would have forsaken their oaks to worship them” (197). The reference to Druids, who are known for worshipping their oaks, serves two purposes: first, it links nature and the pine groves to ancient mythology, and second, it elevates the status of this particular set of trees. The cedar trees that Thoreau discusses are “fit to stand before Valhalla,” which according to ancient Norse mythology is a great hall of immortality where only great heroes achieve afterlife (196). Both of these references to ancient peoples and beliefs emphasize the majesty of nature and show how nature, often underappreciated, can have characteristics similar to those of mythological gods.

Overall, this passage, by showing how there is beauty in simple things such as nature, supports Thoreau’s belief that there is beauty and fine details in all life, and that one simply has to search for them.

And the second passage:

Though the view from my door was still more contracted, I did not feel crowded or confined in the least. There was pasture enough for my imagination… Both place and time were changed, and I dwelt nearer to those parts of the universe and to those eras in history which had most attracted me. Where I lived was as far off as many a region viewed nightly by astronomers. We are wont to imagine rare and delectable places in some remote and more celestial corner of the system, behind the constellation of Cassiopeia’s Chair, far from noise and disturbance. I discovered that my house actually had its site in such a withdrawn, but forever new and unprofaned, part of the universe. If it were worth the while to settle in those parts near to the Pleiades or the Hyades, to Aldebaran or Altair, then I was really there, or at an equal remoteness from the life which I had left behind, dwindled and twinkling with as fine a ray to my nearest neighbor, and to be seen only in moonless nights by him. Such was that part of creation where I had squatted…

The morning, which is the most memorable season of the day, is the awakening hour. Then there is least somnolence in us; and for an hour, at least, some part of us awakes which slumbers all the rest of the day and night. Little is to be expected of that day, if it can be called a day, to which we are not awakened by our Genius… by our own newly-acquired force and aspirations from within, accompanied by the undulations of celestial music, instead of factory bells, and a fragrance filling the air—to a higher life than we fell asleep from; and thus the darkness bear its fruit, and prove itself to be good, no less than the light… All memorable events, I should say, transpire in morning time and in a morning atmosphere.

If [men] had not been overcome with drowsiness they would have performed something. The millions are awake enough for physical labor; but only one in a million is awake enough for effective intellectual exertion, only one in a hundred millions to a poetic or divine life. To be awake is to be alive. I have never yet met a man who was quite awake. How could I have looked him in the face? We must learn to reawaken and keep ourselves awake, not by mechanical aids, but by an infinite expectation of the dawn, which does not forsake us in our soundest sleep. I know of no more encouraging fact than the unquestionable ability of man to elevate his life by a conscious endeavor. It is something to be able to paint a particular picture, or to carve a statue, and so to make a few objects beautiful; but it is far more glorious to carve and paint the very atmosphere and medium through which we look, which morally we can do. To affect the quality of the day, that is the highest of arts. Every man is tasked to make his life, even in its details, worthy of the contemplation of his most elevated and critical hour. If we refused, or rather used up, such paltry information as we get, the oracles would distinctly inform us how this might be done. (93)

In the chapter Where I Lived, and What I Lived For, Thoreau explores the extent of his imagination and comments on the careless way that most people live their lives through comparisons of his home and the universe and using the morning as a symbol for wakefulness and careful thought. This passage begins as Thoreau explains that his home at Walden Pond, though small and isolated, was not “crowded or confined in the least” (84). Although there are places in the universe -- “parts near to the Pleiades or the Hyades, to Aldebaran or Altair,” all of which are constellations and stars -- that are “far from noise and disturbance” (84), with his imagination and his thoughts, Thoreau can travel anywhere he wishes. With his mind and with his own thoughts, Thoreau delves into his own world and his own constructed fantasy, a place where “both place and time were changed… as far off as many a region viewed nightly by astronomers” (84). Thoreau’s comparisons of his imagined world and far-off galaxies show how vivid his imagination can be, and how even though he has little materialistic property, Thoreau still enjoys his life. This first part of the passage answers the question that the name of the chapter poses: “where [Thoreau] lived” (78).

In answer to the second half of the chapter’s title -- “what [Thoreau] lived for” (78) -- early morning symbolizes the awakening of man’s self-awareness and emphasizes the importance of active thinking and living. Thoreau claims that men are “overcome with drowsiness” (84). Although many are awake for “physical labor” (84), only a few are intellectually awake. Thoreau even claims that to be “awake is to be alive” (84). In this way, the morning represents awakening, represents man becoming aware of himself and aware of the world around him. Other times of the day, man sleeps and works mindlessly, without thinking of the finer things in life, the valuable fruits in life. Being awake and staying awake are essential, and there must be “an infinite expectation of the dawn” (84). This means that people must always be living actively, living deliberately, and not mindlessly going through the motions of life. In this way, every hour of man’s life becomes important and elevated, thus elevating man’s life as well; man elevates his own life, consciously, and improves the quality of his time. This analogy between morning and awakening highlights the significance of living deliberately and, combined with vivid descriptions of Thoreau’s imagination, Thoreau illustrates the power of thought and the importance of active thinking.

I think Walden is a culmination of Transcendentalism and naturalism, while also representing various ideas like spiritualism and isolationism. Thoreau brings together concepts from these areas in a memoir that carefully analyzes modern society and materialism, reflecting on the changes in people’s lives due to the industrial revolution and rise of consumerism. Walden accurately depicts the modern Transcendentalists’ values in a way that combines several interdisciplinary areas: Thoreau carefully observes his bean plants and records his every purchase in display of the meticulous, careful values scientists had at that time; the vivid descriptions of life around Walden Pond and the animals that Thoreau encounters are categorized in the same way an attentive naturalist would; in his first chapter of Walden, Thoreau analyzes the fault of a modern man, drawing upon various sources such as Hinduism and the hierarchy of needs to highlight the materialism that has taken over society; and Thoreau’s own personality shines through in Walden as well, as he scrutinizes the human condition and speculates about loneliness and man’s place in the world. All of these ideas and movements reflected in Walden are worthy of analysis: from science to philosophy and literature to satire, Thoreau imparts many ideas that combine together in a memoir that is still relevant today, perhaps even more so than it was when Walden was initially published. In particular, Thoreau’s criticism of materialism and consumerism become increasingly relevant as supplies are more and more readily available for consumption; Thoreau’s belief that such surplus of the lower levels of the hierarchy of needs will ultimately prevent society from moving forwards towards the higher, more intellectual levels of need. And in a time when there are furious debates over environmentalism and global warming, Walden remains a timeless piece worthy of analysis in many areas.

Initially, I chose Walden to read because I was interested in how Thoreau could combine literature and nature. After completing Walden, however, I learned so much more than that.

Economy, the first chapter of Walden, deals less with nature and literature and more with Thoreau’s satire on modern society and materialism; reading the chapter reminded me of Ralph Waldo Emerson, and I enjoyed reading Thoreau’s discourse on how is prone to man losing himself in work much more than I thought I would. In his writings, Thoreau employs beautiful metaphors -- he uses fine fruits to represent literary and intellectual values -- to explain his argument, and the style of writing is just complicated enough that I have to slow down to understand every point Thoreau makes. Though his beliefs are not radical -- in Economy, Thoreau illustrates his belief that materialism can be detrimental to higher thought -- Thoreau presents in his arguments in a way that forces me to reconsider my own values.

In regards to science and nature, Thoreau meticulously catalogues the things he notices in the woods in an interesting and descriptive way, using references to ancient mythology and careful rhetoric to describe nature and the animals around him. Then, Thoreau combines those descriptions of nature with his philosophical beliefs, often using Walden Pond or small pieces of nature as microcosms representing the world: to Thoreau, an eagle might represent the solitary man and a path might represent the pressure society puts on people to conform. As he uses nature as a segway into many philosophical musings on the human condition, Thoreau raises many probing questions that caused me to reevaluate some of my definitions and values: he dissects the definition of loneliness, of existence, and questions the way many people live their lives. In my opinion, Thoreau combines a plethora of topics -- nature, animals, the human condition, materialism, consumerism, human existence -- in a memoir that is difficult to read at times, but often rewarding in the ideas and rhetorical devices that it imparts, making Walden a book to be read in the years to come.

Superhero Swap! (A Quick Write on Which Superhero (or Villain) I’d Trade Places with (Magneto!))

A quick write on which superhero (or villain) I’d trade places with! Here I choose Magneto, for neither category:

The soft clicking of fingers against a keyboard fills my room, harmonious with the symphony of rain whispering at the window and wind rustling the trees outside. It’s stormy today.

Every tap of a key sends a current of electricity to the computer, like a trickle of sweat down skin, a soft secret whispered in your ear.

My metal necklace hangs heavy. I reach up to touch it, feeling the molecules, the very structure of each atom resonating with a reservoir of energy. With a twitch of my pinky, the metal melts into the shape of a raindrop.

Outside, the storm grows angry. Every lightning bolt that splits the sky in half feels like energy splintering into spidery veins, like soft but fizzy soda under your tongue.

It seems like I’m working, but the superpowers of Magneto make even ordinary tasks extraordinary.

Even if it weren’t the age of technology, magnetism and metal are everywhere.

The iron in my blood sings to me quietly, humming a song in concert with the storm and the rain; every heartbeat is a wave, like the pulse of the ocean. Even quieter is the low rumble of the electromagnetic fields that surround the earth, encasing all of us in a nearly inaudible song. Quieter still is the earth and all of the metal within, breathing softly, so as to not disturb its people.

And, at the forefront of it all, I am the conductor, bringing all of these sounds together in cocktail that fits into the curve of my ear, transforming metal into song.

Summer Poetry (Entry to the Live Poets Society “JUST POETRY” Contest)

Summer arrives with a storm one quiet night

Rain knocking gently at the windows, wind whispering at the door

And every day the children play in the sun

Their metal zippers and shiny buttons and deciduous teeth blinking up at the endless sky

As they pretend to be princesses and peasants and dragons

Summer carries reminders of the old country

The smell of earth before rain, blue Niltava feathers, wooden fishing boats, and sweet lychee

And every night the children sprawl on the grass

Staring up into the blinking sky

Their faces open and unreserved and endless just like the world seems to be around them

Summer unearths warm stories of the past, once buried with dirt and dust and disuse

A princess adorned with rings and phoenix feathers, a boy with a boat and a pocket of dreams

A dragon older than time, living in the cracks between the sky and the shoreline, endlessly

The children listen to the storm, to their parents’ stories, to the rustle of the wind and rain

Their limbs grow tan and supple with the day’s warmth and play while

Their greedy fingers tug on father’s earlobes, mother’s elbows, demanding more

More stories to fill their heads, to fill their days, to fill their dreams

Summer leaves quietly, and it turns into another autumn that is crisp as an apple

But every evening, when the sky yawns and the dragon bellows out its orange fire

There remains the sweet refrain of imagination, echoing endlessly.

This poem was my entry to the Live Poets Society of New Jersey annual “Just Poetry!” contest! I am grateful that my work will be published in the 2016-2017 topical anthology entitled "My World," a "meaningful study of introspective poems written by teenagers for teenagers, which explores how today's teens view their world and where they see themselves fitting into today's complex moral and social issues." It is scheduled for publication in late June.

Experiencing Teton Through the Lens of Science

A worn path winds around Walden Pond, separating the woods and a wooden hut. The earth of the trail is soft and molded to the shape of bare feet. For Henry David Thoreau, this path represents a track for someone’s life, the distinction between nature and society, society and science. For different people, the path can mean many different things. For me, the path is less of a line and more of a bridge, less of a barrier and more of a bond that brings people together.

From events in Science Olympiad -- like Topography and Forestry -- to high school courses -- biology, chemistry, environmental science -- learning about science is learning about the world around me. The two subjects often blur: for me, science is a lens that you can use to view nature, and I love it! Especially hands-on activities: working in labs, using micropipettes and centrifuges, neutralizing reactions and determining species of trees from leaf structure. And although I’ve learned much from my classes, laboratory experience pales in comparison to researching in a national park. There’s still much to learn about science, and through science, nature: how can I use chemistry to learn about soil, or use Punnett squares to predict the color of young sprouts? How can I use science as a tool to find the optimal balance between conservation and development?

Moreover, for me, science is a way to connect to the people around me. In my community, there are no lone scientists; science brings people together. As an editor and regular contributor to the international Journal for Youths in Science (JOURNYS), I review and analyze new scientific discoveries before putting together what I’ve learned in an article, sharing my research and knowledge with friends and teachers. Readers and editors pore over new articles together, learning together. Additionally, given opportunities such as the San Diego Festival of Science & Engineering, I participate in outreach programs, volunteering to demonstrate pH indicators, meeting students interested in science and working with professional scientists. I also coach Science Olympiad at a local middle school, putting together materials for my students to study. Through volunteering and teaching, I’ve realized the importance of cooperation and communication and built importance bridges to other people around me, all thanks to science.

I’ve learned much from science: how to use gel electrophoresis; how to cooperate in team efforts like Science Olympiad; how to analyze and compile data in a research project. To further this education, I’d like to participate in camp at Grand Teton National Park and apply these skills -- both people skills and science skills -- in a hands-on environment, alongside students with similar aspirations and under the guidance of instructors, bringing all of my skills together in the best ways possible, continuing to explore the areas where science, nature, and people overlap.

I submitted this essay to the Elementary Institute of Science and was fortunate enough to win a scholarship to attend the Jackson Hole Expeditions in Yellowstone and Teton National Park for a month this summer! I will write all about my experience as soon as I can!

Lapis Lazul Across the Map and the Ages

Mesopotamia, the fertile valley between the Tigris and Euphrates rivers, home to the world’s earliest civilizations: the Sumerians, Akkadians, Babylonians, Assyrians. From the Epic of Gilgamesh to cuneiform to Hammurabi’s code, this land has birthed many great accomplishments still recognized to this day. However, not all of these ancient works were literature. One of the most influential kings of Babylon -- Nebuchadnezzar II -- was known for his extravagant architecture and decoration, from the hanging gardens of Babylon to his ziggurat tower.

One of my favorite remnants from this time period is the enormous and intricate Ishtar Gate, which is decorated with giant lions and bulls in honor of the goddess Ishtar. Constructed in ancient Babylon, the entryway is a capsule of values and traditions from Mesopotamian times, covered in shimmering blue lapis lazuli that would’ve been brilliant in the context of a desert. Here is an image of the gate:

Nebuchadnezzar, recognizing the cultural and aesthetic importance of his gate, wrote an inscription: “I, Nebuchadnezzar, laid the foundation of the gates down to the groundwater level and had them built out of pure blue stone. Upon the walls in the inner room of the gate are bulls and dragons. And thus, I magnificently adorned them with luxurious splendor for all mankind to behold in awe.”

As stated in Khan Academy’s video, “And [here] we are in awe two and a half millennia later. Nebuchadnezzar understood his place in history… wrote inscriptions in his [creations] that not only identified them but also asked future rules to rebuild them for him. It’s as though he knew that empires come and go, and that he could speak across history.”

This same ultramarine lapis lazuli is valued across many cultures and nations, from Badakhshan to Siberia to the Hindu Kush mountains. The deepest blues of lapis lazuli were most valuable; the highest quality lapis lazuli could be turned into a pigment by grinding down the rock and carefully purifying the powder.

This beautiful blue can then be used to decorate manuscripts from all over the globe, including European, Persian, and Armenian manuscripts.

Sources

"Ishtar gate and Processional Way." Khan Academy. Web. 22 Apr. 2017.

"Exploring Ultramarine." Bodleian Libraries. Web. 22 Apr. 2017.

A Feast for Samurai Warriors, And Me (A Study of Japanese Bento)

Hello Kitty made of onigiri rice balls, hot dogs shaped like octopus and snails, colorful carrots and apples in the shapes of rabbits and bunnies -- all of these cute characters and animals are stars in the Japanese bento meal, a hallmark of Japanese cuisine since the 1600s.

Even in Japanese culture today, traditionally, the Japanese do not eat while walking. This polite etiquette can be traced back to the samurai. In fact, the samurai were the ones who carried elaborate bento meals in tiered, lacquered boxes on long journeys, because it was not customary to eat in public places. Though originally designed for mobility and practicality, the bento has become a representation of Japanese culture and Japanese values today, as I discovered in my bento project for Japanese!

The most important aspect of the bento is its longevity. For samurai warriors, travelers, or people who worked outdoors, the pickled foods inside bento are convenient. Also, bento do not need to be warmed necessarily to be delicious, making it the perfect food for the traveler!

Now, bento are available everywhere in Japan: department stores, convenience stores, train stations, and even through take-out! But the essentials of bento -- underneath the cute decorations and colors modern-day bento are now adorned with -- are still visible! For example, like I mentioned earlier, pickled foods, or “tsukemono” in Japanese, such as pickled daikon, radish, and eggplant can be found in most bento. Bento are traditionally very healthy, and contain various types of foods: steamed, boiled, fried foods; and vegetables, fruits, and meats. They offer an array of colors, shapes, textures, and tastes, delicious both in taste as well as looks! Moreover, bento are neat and compartmentalized, with each separate food in its own section; the sections are often divided with ornamental plastic grass.

With this history and these values in mind, I set off and created my own bento -- using pickled foods, vegetables, meats, rice and various colors, tastes, and textures to try and capture the essence of bento and Japanese culture. Here are a few photos!

Here's a reflection in Japanese!

メルバ ヌゼン, 2017 年 4月14日, 弁当 の プロジェクト

日本 の 弁当 の 中 に 日本 の 文化 と かちかん が あるし,  おいしいし, 私逹 は 日本 の 食べ物  が 大好きだ。日本 の 弁当 と 西洋的 な お昼ご飯 は ちょっと ちがう。 最しょに, 日本 の 弁当 は とても けんこう的 で 長持ちする。 いろいろ な 色 が 見られ, 弁当 は きれい で 美しい。 弁当 は とても そしきてき で きれいだ から, 弁当 を 食べる事 は べんり だ。私逹 の 弁当 の テーマ は 動物 だ ! とくに 森 の 動物 と 海 の  動物 だ。 私逹 の 弁当 は 二そうだ。一そう は 森 の物 で, 二そう は 海 の 物 だ。

最しょに, 弁当 の 中 に いろ いろ な 東洋的 な 食べ物  が あってから,  弁当 は とても けんこう的だ。 たとえば, あげ物 や つけ物 や に物 や やさい が ある。 私逹 は 天ぷら という あげ物 を 作った。 き色 な エビ 天ぷら は とても クリスピーだ。 森 の 物 の そう で, やわらかい チャーハン が ある。弁当 の 中 に, たくあん という つけ物 は エビ天ぷら の となり に ある。そして, も たくあん という つけ物 が ある。かたくてき色 な たくあん は とても おいしい だ。山 から の 物 のそう で やわらか くて むらさき な ナス や みどり な きゅうり や たくあん が ある。それから, つけ物 の となり に, やさい が ある。 たとえば, にんじん や したけ や ブロッコリー や レタス が ある。オレンジ で かたい にんじん は とても けんこう 的 だ。あかくてまるい かたち な いちご と りんご が ある。そして, 私逹 の 弁当 の 中 に いろいろな 肉 が ある。たとえば,  ホットドッグ と エビ 天ぷら という 海の物 だ。最後 に, に物 が あって, たまご と ホットドッグ が ある。

    そして, 二番目 持ちょう は お弁当 の 中 に, いろいろ な かざり と 形 が あって から, お弁当 を 見る事 は とても きれい で かわいい。私逹 の 弁当 の 一そう で 森 の 動物 が ある。おにぎりは いろいろな 森の動物 の形 だ。たとえば, ねこ や ぶた や うさぎ だ。ホットドッグ の 形 は かたつむり だ。りんご は うさぎ の 形 だ。ねずみ の 形 な たまご は チャーハン の 上 に ある。とても かわいい 形 だ! そして, いろいろ な かざり な 食べ物 が ある。たとえば, き色な たくあん と オレンジ な にんじん は 日 の 形 だ. みどり な ブロコリ は 森 の 木。それから, 私逹 の 弁当 の 二そう で 海 の  動物が ある。わかめ サラダ の となり に, タコ の 形な ホットドッグ が ある。 にんじん は 魚 の 形 だ。にんじん 魚 は ふりかけ の 海 に およぐ。 しいたけ は カメ の 形 だ。そして, お弁当 は 右 と 左 と 上 と 下 の 違い が ある。きす の 物 が 多い。 たとえば, たまご ねずみ が 一 匹 (ひき) あって, りんご うさぎ が 三匹 あって, おにぎり 動物 が 五匹 ある。最後に, 私達 の 弁当 の 中 に, きせつ の 食べ物 が ある。日本 で, 夏 の 食べ物 は ナス や きょうり や レタス だ。この きせつ の 食べ物 は 私達 の 弁当 の 中 に 見る 事 が 出来る。そして, しいたけ という 日本 の 春 の 食べ物  も ある。私達 の 弁当 の 冬 の 食べ物 は だいこん や いちご や りんご だ。

    次に, 三番目の特ちょう は, 私達の弁当はとてもきれいだ。伝統的な 弁当 で はないけど、色々な伝統的な作り方を使った。まず、最初に、とても大切なことは食べ物が小さく切ってあることだ。こうすれば食べやすいし、お弁当箱に入れやすいし、便利だ。これをさらにもっと便利にするためにちがう食べ物を分けておいてある。ちがう食べ物がアルミのカップとみどり色の草の形をしたプラスチックで分けてある。そして, お弁当 は とても べつべつ だ。私達 は 安い 食べ物 を 使った ので, 弁当 を 作る 事 は べんり で 安い。弁当 は 青い 弁当箱 (ばこ) に 入れて, 学校 へ 持って行く。最後に, おはし で 私達 は お弁当 を 食べます。

けつろんとして, 私達 の 日本 の 弁当 は とても  おいしい!  大好きだ。この 弁当 を 作りながら 日本 の 文化 の 事 を たくさん 勉強 を した。 たとえば, なぜお弁当 の 中 の 食べ物が 分けてあるか。 アメリカ で もそういうこと を習った 方 が いい と 思う。 お弁当 は 日本のきちんとした所 を よくひょうげん する。こんど 日本 の マーケット 行った 時お弁当 を 買ってね!

A Faded Fairytale (Perspective of a Melting Pot from the Daughter of Immigrants)

For as far back as I can remember, stories entwine with my memories from childhood. Memories of Harry Potter and fairy tales and oral rememberings from my parents have been worn down, soft and dull and subdued, from being handled by my clumsy hands one too many times. They are fond memories.

But recently, I’ve realized that the mystic, fantastical air with which my parents tell stories sometimes shroud the truth underneath. Here’s a poem that I wrote about it.

Once upon a time, they are just stories. Once upon a time, she listens to them with awe: tales of magical beasts, ancient kingdoms, and endless seas that have hungry, filching hands awaiting escapees and adventurers alike. She learns of humid rain and the smell of earth before a storm; through these stories, she tastes sweet lychee and raw coconut; she learns to build boats with her bare hands and -- from her concrete jungle of a city -- she dreams of the old country, her thoughts laced with nostalgia and stained with syrupy condensed milk and blistering tropical sun.

Every night, right before she slips into the blurry haze between consciousness and sleep, her parents swirl stories into her thoughts.

Once upon a time, there was a princess who found unimaginable wishes at the bottom of the ocean: rich draperies and gold rings and the scarlet feather of a phoenix. Long, long ago, there was a young man by the ocean, who woke up early every morning to watch the sun blink sleepily, to sail out on the sea and surround himself with endless, endless water, waiting for the right day to sail across the ocean. In the old country, there was a slumbering dragon, its belly full of fire hotter than the sun and its wrath larger and older than the earth and its greed deeper and colder than the icy ocean.

Here, her parents tell her, here is the overlap between land and sea, a kingdom less of an empire and more of a land only loyal to the earth and the wind and the slow storms. Here, when summer comes, the plants unfurl their leathery fronds; the earth begins to move slowly, like a great beast stirring into consciousness. The dirt and soil drinks in the clean rain and the soft smell of petrichor releases from a yawning maw as the beast awakens. Storms crackle over the horizon and the dragon flexes its poisonous claws, unfurls its leathery wings. Here is the edge of the world, here is the line between sea and skyline, they say, and here is how you cross it.

She asks for more stories every day, reaches out with sweaty palms to ask for more, as if these stories are real, as if they are reminders that can fit into the palm of your hand, remnants of a past life that fit in the hollow of your cheek so you can bring them on a small boat across the sea.

In school, her chubby fingers grab fat red crayons to carve mountains and fire and dragons out of printer paper.

Her mother tells her of the food there: tin Tiffin boxes and enormous bowls of rich pork broth, carrying poles with enormous woven baskets on either side, the banyan trees peering down on curdling goat’s milk; her father tells her of a revolution: an endless fleet of boats -- like fish swimming desperately up a stream -- fleeing a harbor, out of the maw of the beast and into the hungry, filching hands of the sea. Here is the match that lit the flame, they say, here is the call that woke the beast; here is fire and here is fury and here is how you leave.

    Outside of her open window, the city calls, a screeching cacophony of urban traffic and the rush of life, a constant reminder of where she lives, of where she will have to go. She wonders where she belongs. She wonders where she has to go. On her desk, her notebook paper rustles with the wind. She picks up her pen.

    Once upon a time, she believed they were just stories.

    She grows older and realizes that they are not just stories.

    Once upon a time, she’d never seen anything with a knife for a tongue or creatures with poison-tipped claws; maybe she believed those stories were fantasy because it wasn’t possible to understand, it was so difficult to comprehend. How can you understand a wildfire when you’ve only used small matchsticks to keep warm? How can you understand what it takes to leave your home behind when home is where you’ve lived your whole life?

And how could she know? She will never feel the insistent flames of a revolution or that horrible, dark fear of no land past the sea, of no wind filling the sails; will never come face to face with beasts as ancient as dragons. But perhaps, she will face mountains of steel and birds of metal instead, swap out dark jungles for concrete cities.

    Either way, she has her stories.

And in the end, they are still stories. Except they’re slightly starchy with grains of truth, a little gritty on the tongue, slightly bitter with a worldliness and a deep kind of hunger too powerful to be made up; but, after all, aren’t the best stories the ones of our own lives?

Once upon a time, there was a girl who lived in a world half-fantasy and half-reality, living the best kind of lucid dream, between the sky and the shoreline, between the past and the future, between kingdoms and democracy.

She is insatiable; she is young and she wants the world. She wants blistered skin from the tropical sun and treasures from the bottom of the greedy ocean and a fang from the yawning maw of the beast. She lives with once upon a time and long long ago and in the old country tucked into the space between her molars and her cheek, small enough to fit in the hollow of her cheek, to bring with her wherever she goes. When she smiles, the edges of her lips twist with the sweetness of condensed milk and raw sunshine, with the fire of a dragon’s breath. And, with that, she lives happily ever after.