The Things They Carried

It is difficult to describe life's changes when you have only been alive for seventeen years. I have yet to reach a point in my life where I can look back and think, "Wow, I've been through a lot, " and be able to compare the different stages. Tim O'Brien's quote from The Things They Carried is an interesting look into the future. One must wonder whether they will feel the same way or not at that age.

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I disagree with O'Brien and his assertion that humans do not change in the important ways. One example comes from Elie Wiesel's memoir Night. "The night was gone. The morning star was shining in the sky. I too had become a completely different person. The student of the Talmud, the child that I was, had been consumed in the flames. There remained only a shape that looked like me. A dark flame had entered my soul and devoured it" (Wiesel 34). In tragedies such as the Holocaust where people lost their families and friends in the most horrific ways, it is understandable how they would lose themselves. Being denied so much and offered only work and coldness, many felt their old selves dying with those in the gas chambers and the fire. Starting a new life once they were liberated seemed the only way to forget what happened. In many ways this is a good thing. By losing the person who suffered so greatly, they are able to rebuild a life unaffected by the memories. O'Brien states that after all he experienced he was the same boy in the photographs. I question how he was able to live after coming back from Vietnam, the sound of gunfire and screams always in the back of his head.

One does not need to be involved in or witness a tragedy to lose their essence. Some are transformed by the people around them. An example of this would be William Golding's Lord of the Flies, in which several of the main characters join together against several others after they are marooned on an island. Rather than focus on themselves, they grouped together and became a savage gang. This mob mentality completely erased who each of them was and replaced it with one communal identity. This way, they could protect one another and not have to worry about themselves as individuals. Even today there are gangs that focus more on what's good for the group then what's good for you. Like the victims of tragedies, these groups feel safer than before with the new life.

Why I Write... by Jeanette Walls

My parents always pushed for academic excellence. No matter where we were or what hardships we faced, school was always a priority for us kids. And this is where it started, at the kitchen table (or wherever else we did homework depending on our current situation) completing assignments while Brian did his work and Lori helped Mom grade her students' papers. I learned all about the technical aspects of writing, the fine detail,s the do's and don'ts, but I still found no connection. It was a task I was expected to complete whether or not I wanted to. That is why I am able to write. I had the necessary skills, I just needed some inspiration.

I first discovered my passion for writing when I was in the seventh grade and began working as a proofreader for The Maroon Wave, our school newspaper. It was a tedious job that enabled me to see another side of life. So much happened in the world that I was not aware of since my parents always put their own spin on the stories. It felt amazing to be able take in and interpret the events as I saw them. Ninth grade was when I first stared writing articles for the paper and by junior year I was editor in chief. I was finally allowed to express my creativity without worrying about being judged or made fun of. Not only was I writing for myself but also for society. Reporting news was my way of helping others find the truth in the world.

It is difficult to talk about anything without mentioning my family's history. Everyone, no matter who they are or where they come from, is affected by their past. I write in order to share a little piece of myself with the world, so if anyone else has a story like mine they will be inspired. Not only do I report facts but also a story about the life of a girl who started out looking for food in the Dumpster and ended up living in New York City. It is not a coarse of self-pity or even regret, but a way of connecting with those who are or have been in similar situations.

The sentence "I write because..." is almost impossible to complete with only one word. I write because I want to help others see what is beyond their doorstep. For some, it is a interview with the famous comedian that they idolize. For others, it is about the story of survival. Writing is my passion and my life.