Earth's Protection

Author’s Note: Throughout chapter four, I noticed how earth symbolizes the role of femininity in the soldiers’ lives. In the midst of brutal war, all emotions are basically shunned. But beneath all the so-called “men” are boys yearning for comfort. Remarque uses earth as a symbol of a womb or safe haven. He writes, “…he stifles his terror and his cries in her silence and her security; she shelters him and releases him for ten seconds to live, to run, ten seconds of life; receives him again and often for ever” (55). I connected the death in the battlefield (earth) to birth from their mothers.

No matter the in-between, they start and end in the same place
In the comfort of her womb
Shielded, sheltered, secured

Behind their masks of masculinity
Lays children
Full of fear and loneliness

She offers support
She offers comfort
She offers refuge

Stifling their terror
Their cries are heard by her silence
Her security

In the midst of revulsion
Her tender grace grants serenity
Forgiveness

Her touch of femininity radiates warmth
She not only becomes a safe haven
But a home for their death

No matter the in-between, they start and end in the same place
Born from the womb of their mothers’
They die in womb of mother earth

Take a Stand.

Dear generation,
Orders, commands, rules; we live in a world full of them. Created by adults to better our future, we’re stuck listening to their advice. Well here’s what I have to say about that: screw it. We may be young. We may be hostile, but one thing’s for sure, we’re not stupid. Sure, they’re more experienced, but would they really follow their own advice in our position? Would they really go along with what they’re asking of us? It doesn’t seem right for them to expect us to kill and bring death on others while witnessing our own friends’ deaths when they’ve never been put in that situation before. Our only role models are the very one’s guilty for such a persuasion. Yearning to make them proud, we put forth our trust in them, and we are left in betrayal. We’ve been misled, and now there’s no source of guidance. As the younger generation, we must look to each other to determine what is true and right because the older generation has proved itself incapable of teaching us. We call the shots now. We are the leaders of our own lives now. We will set the path for the future.

Sincerely,
A fed up soldier

The Loss of Sentimentality

Engraved somewhere deep in our emotions there’s a guard; a shield that prevents too much reality to be accepted. Going from school to warfare and being completely encircled in death changes not only a person’s perspective, but creates a dent beyond repair in sanity. With war being simply too much to handle, the soldiers in All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarque, block out feelings by focusing on insignificant objects, which is displayed through the author’s symbolism.

Life for the soldiers is dangerous, dirty, and depressing; with little food and clothing, the soldiers’ day-to-day simple survival instincts take priority over any strong emotion. The soldiers decide that, "We have lost all sense of other considerations, because they are artificial. Only the facts are real and important to us. And good boots are hard to come by." In this way, the boots become one of the novel’s most important symbols of the cheapness of life. In the war, a soldier’s boots live longer than its owner, and each time the man wearing them dies, the question of who will inherit the boots overshadows the death. Dwelling on each friend’s death would lead to madness, so in order to cope, they simply neglect all feelings. The soldiers’ feelings become as dangerous an enemy as the opposing army.

The Intoxication of Temptation

Author’s Note: While reading the last chapter, I kept relating Jekyll’s potion to alcohol. It almost seemed as if Jekyll was addiction to his potion was like an alcoholic would be addicted to alcohol. When drinking, we leave our reasonable self behind and embrace our wild, reckless side. When describing his feelings of his darker side, he explains, “I felt younger, lighter, happier in body; within I was conscious of a heady recklessness, a current of disordered sensual images running like a millrace in my fancy, a solution of the bonds of obligation, an unknown but not an innocent freedom of the soul. I knew myself, at the first breath of this new life, to be more wicked, tenfold more wicked, sold a slave to my original evil; and the thought, in that moment, braced and delighted me like wine” (107). I tried representing Jekyll’s two sides, his addiction, and his death through a story of an alcoholic.

While her lips pressed against the glass’s opening, her seventh shot left a stinging, tingling sensation as it slid down her throat. The room fogged, clouding her mind. A current of youth flooded her soul, but not one of virtue. She was touched by the hands of evil that had, since then, been held down by resist. Once innocent and tied down by perfection, nothing lived up to her expectations. Now liberated, set free, unleashed, she slid into the comfortable recklessness of destruction. Here, in this state, she was set apart from her reality. Finally lured into the enticement of intoxication, all morals, all lessons learned were left behind in the body of her more stable, perfect self.

With all principles vanquished, all that remained was the inner devil craving the very substance that never fully quenched her thirst. Desiring the weight of disappointment and innocence to be lifted, she fed this dark, wild side, fostering its strength. As this devil continued to drain the perfection built within her sober side, it left her unsatisfied; wanting more. Hungry for further irresponsibility, her brighter side was enslaved by the reins of her darkness. With these frequent surrenders, she began to wonder whether her so-called perfect side always contained this slice of wickedness. Wherever it came from, it persistently devoured her.

What once brought her ease and freedom, now imprisoned her. What once granted happiness and pleasure, now left her miserable, depressed. With this total loss of control, there was no good left to hold on to. Before the temptation could completely consume all that was left to save, she took its life by sacrificing her own. With one final sip, she drowned what remained of her split soul.

Third Jekyll and Hyde Response

Author’s Note: When reading of Hyde’s transformation, it reminded me of werewolves for some reason. By day, werewolves are known to be normal people walking around, but then change into an evil creature, as Jekyll does when turning into Hyde. I tried to incorporate the author’s theme of darkness vs. light, heaven vs. hell, his fog theme, and symbolism through colors. After picking out these words from the passage, I tried including most of them in my poem:
Blood red, White, Lightness, Darkness, Midnight, Insanity, Lock, Door, Cerebral disease, Crystalline, Abnormal, misbegotten, creature, curiosity , origin, deeper in the, nature of man, principle of hatred, Disgustful curiosity , personal distaste, somber, excitement, throat, heart, audibly, metamorphoses, keen eye, fumes, vapour, mortal, disease, injected eyes, a cry, terror, night and day, start of horror, confession


Locked in the mystery of disgustful curiosity
Waiting and watching the peculiar pale man
Lightness shadowing his misbegotten face
I develop a personal distaste for him

Clouds unveiling the final remains of the full moon
Midnight strikes the night with a stillness
Out of curiosity of the deeper nature of man,
I blend with the darkness, watching the transformation

A sombre of excitement shocks the abnormal gentleman
A start of terror in the fog of the night
With a cry and an audible snap, he hunched in pain
Creature emerging, overpowered by moral disease

A werewolf in place of the man
A metamorphoses right before my eyes
Was I overtaken by cerebral disease
Or simply involved in the confession of duality?

Blood red flooding the creature’s eyes
A deep principle of hatred mixed with insanity
An ear-splitting howl breaking the innocence of the darkness
A man by day, a Satan’s creature by night

Jekyll and Hyde - Second Response

Author’s Note: "He went to call indeed; but he was perhaps relieved to be denied admittance; perhaps, in his heart, he preferred to speak with Poole upon the doorstep and surrounded by the air and sounds of the open city, rather than to be admitted into that house of voluntary bondage, and to sit and speak with its inscrutable recluse." After reading this passage, I realized how Mr. Utterson persued the mystery out of curiosity, but was scared of what he would find. He appears to me, to be living in the mystery of another’s life. With so many signs that he shouldn’t be involved and with so much fear, it hardly seems worth it for him to spend so much of his time on this issue. I felt as if I could relate to Mr. Utterson. I used my locker as symbolism as Robert Louis Stevenson uses doors to represent how shut out Mr. Utterson feels and the feeling of being trapped.

Slammed shut, my locker door pushes my oversized backpack and ripped folders deep inside the throat of my locker. Glancing in his direction, I become flooded in frustration knowing that after all this time; I’m still the one having to initiate conversation. The only thing allowing me to continue to act on this crush being the rumors from his friends that he wants me back, I make my way over. Through stubbornness and a touch of hope, I neglect all the ignoring he’s given me. Perhaps, though, it’s his very vibe of “play hard to get” that keeps me from giving up. Before I reach him, however, I’m blocked by the conversation of a close friend of mine. While with anyone else, I would be annoyed by the obstacle, with this particular friend, I embrace this banter. Speaking to this specific boy brings ease and subconsciously, I’m relieved to have missed out on the forced, awkward conversation that would have happened between me and the boy a few lockers down. The other boy is forgotten in a moment, and I am absorbed in the smile of the boy in front of me. His warm eyes grant me an unreasonable familiarity. Strangely enough, I hardly know him; I’ve only been talking to him for a couple of weeks now. Before running off to my next class, he finishes with a playful, clever tease that flatters me.
Drifting off in next hour’s class, instead of playing Bubble Shooter or going on Tumblr like the rest of the students, I catch myself ruminated in the silly remarks by the boy who has been blocking the path between me and the boy I’ve been stuck on. While to the boy who I’m supposedly “with” I feel like an unobtrusive piece of chopped liver, coming and going as he pleases, I feel like I’m this other boy’s main focus. His eyes are warm and they don’t just look at me, they look in me; I matter to him. And while his intense gaze is intoxicating, nothing’s quite brighter than when they squint because of one of his quiet laughs; from where beneath his lips, a smile breaks free, resulting in a smile of my own to escape. With him, I find comfort in knowing there’s no such thing as judging, simply acceptance of any dorky statement I happen to spit out. Beneath his genius and sweet manner, there’s an edge. A rebel side that lets loose, that lets his crazy, carefree character come to life.
Suddenly woken from my daydream, I’m brought back to reality where I’m not allowed to think of him in that way. I’m supposed to be with the other boy, aren’t I? I’ve spent the past months waiting to be where I am now with this other boy, and yet here I sit, disappointed and unsatisfied. Unfulfilled with the goal I finally reached because, perhaps, I was more in love with the idea of being with this boy than I actually was in love with him. What made me so interested in him was the mystery behind what I couldn’t have. But while he neglected me, I neglected the person that deserved my attention the most. Blinded, I didn’t take the time to notice that what I was looking for was right in front of me the whole time.
Strolling to my locker after the hour bell sounds; I struggle to open my stuffed locker. With a final tug, my smashed school work, once prisoned in my locker, releases and sprawls across the hall floor. Frantically picking up the crumpled, torn papers, I’m joined by another. Helping me pick up the pieces, with a relaxed smile ready to playfully tease my clumsiness, I became entranced. The only thing holding me back now is absolutely nothing at all. And with this final realization, I close the door on the past and open one to the boy who would mean more to me than anyone else before.

Our World of Secrets

Author’s Note: Like always, I had a hard time getting this started. But after hearing the topic, I knew I wanted to do something along the lines of secrets. Because afterall, being two people at once is one major secret. We all have Jekyll and Hyde sides to us, however, that we cover up behind secrets and lies. So this is what I managed to spit out of what I read from the three chapters so far.

We live in a world of secrets. Not the small ones about crushes; those we don’t mind to share, but the ones that not even those we trust most can know. Behind the masks we display, there’s always something more to everyone’s story. Perhaps, it’s shame that drives us to secrecy or the fear of being exposed, but either way, there’s two sides to every person. Robert Louis Stevenson shows through Jekyll and Hyde, how little we really know what’s going on in others lives. Driven by curiosity, Mr. Utterson assumes Jekyll is being black mailed by Hyde because of the means of his will. Mr. Utterson presumes, “’This Master Hyde, if he were studied,’ thought he, ‘must have secrets of his own; black secrets, by the look of him; secrets compared to which poor Jekyll’s worst would be like sunshine” (54). The very dark secret of Hyde, however, is that of Jekyll’s. Each living in their own twist of a secret, they are one, but act as two. While the absurdity of this lie may seem extreme, it only represents all of our very own ways of living.
Stevenson’s character may have had two opposite faces, but so do we all. Forced to be ideal in this orderly world, we strain for perfection. There’s no denying our other side, however, it is ever present and impossible to ignore. Almost daily, it releases itself in small doses, but in attempt to mask our flaws, we create secrets; hiding, not only our regrets, but our very disgrace of our second self.