Here We Go

             If we were given a choice to forgive all of the  or die; There would be so many of us lined up to engrave our headstones, buy our polished coffins, to grieve for ourselves. Marching into the day, ready to die needing to feel the wrong and the hate all the way because there is nothing else left. 

          In the very first chapter of The Secret Life of Bees, Lily describes her mother, beginning what will be a forever complex and beautiful theme throughout the novel. Lily suffers tremendous guilt for accidentally killing her mother, and at night she dreams of dying, meeting her mother in heaven, and asking for her forgiveness. Lily has little doubt that her mother will kiss her and forgive her for thousands of years.

          Later in the novel, when August tells Lily about Deborah, her mother, Lily is pained and angry about her mother's abandonment and leaving for another family. Leaving Lily behind, alone, wallowing in her self pity and all the wrongs done against her. She also doesn't want to let go of the romantic pictures she has created of her mother, bathing Lily, feeding her. Lily can't grasp the concept of a nervous breakdown; all she hears is that her mother left her to come to August's Boatwright's. The kind woman who took in lily's mother then Lily, a home miles away from all of the heart-ache in Lily's town. Lily can't stand the idea of  being left behind of not being loved enough. Can anyone, after being left with a cruel bitter father in the depths of South Carolina. She isn't ready to forgive her mother for seeking her own health first and leaving Lily with her father, T. Ray.

          Lily goes back to the honey house and throws jars of honey against the wall, making a huge mess but letting out her anger. And then, Lily cries. She vacillates between being angry at her mother for leaving on the one hand, and better understanding her mother's motives on the other. Lily ponders the idea of why it is so difficult for people to forgive. Why she can't find a little bit of peace with her mother's fate.

          There is someone else Lily must forgive: herself. Lily's first reaction, when August tells her Deborah married T. Ray because she was pregnant with Lily, is that it was all her fault that Deborah was saddled with such a terrible husband. And poor Lily's guilt comes back full force, the hatred she has been desperately suppressing for years of bitterness. Lily tells August her story about how she happened to come to the Boatright house, she explains with tears and sorrow that she loathes herself and is a worthless person who isn't worthy of love. "I'm unloveable".

         And dear August, patient August Boatwright takes her by the hand and tells her that  though whatever terrible things haunt lily, she is the most lovable girl August knows. Before she can become whole and love herself, Lily must forgive herself for killing her mother, and she must understand that this was an accident that she can't go back and fix. She has to go on, realizing she is a human being worthy of love. 

         Lily comes close to forgiving her father at the end of the novel, when she chooses to stay with the Boatrights. She sees what an unhappy man he is and how his pride has been broken by her mother's abandonment. She understands how much he loved her mother and how well he treated her, and although she chooses to stay with the Boatrights, her understanding and care of her father is a first step toward her own forgiveness.

         Lily has a long road to walk before she can love herself and be forgiven. But because she is surrounded with so much love and compassion it will be just a little bit easier. It's still hard, we live, we are misunderstood. We can all make something, do something, understand, forgive; and when there is nothing left to make, to do, to understand, no one to forgive, we die.

Love and Empathy

          I'm sorry everyone I know we are studying coming of age and growth & development of young characters but I couldn't help but write about one of my favorite characters of the book 
The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk-Kidd, May Boatwright. Oh and.. *SPOILERS*

          I love May because of all her depth and complexity. The character of May Boatwright is known for feeling the world's sorrows so deeply that most sadness crumbles away at her. After May’s twin sister April died, something in May died too. "It seemed that the world itself became May's twin sister," When nothing has upset her she is lovely, always caring for Lily, Rosaleen and all of her sisters even though she herself is so unstable. May is care-free, carrying the weight and innocence of a child, but very broken when pulled into the throws of her sorrows. Her sisters, August and June, bathe her and hold her to calm her down. They are always standing by to help carry May's weight.

          When an unpleasant or sad topic would be brought up in a room, she would hum, "Oh Susannah" with such feverish intent. She built a wailing wall as a catharsis for her pain, but she struggled so much under the literal weight of the world. May has an outstanding capacity for empathy. This characteristic isn't shown in the book as a weakness. It's implied that she is almost stronger than everyone else because she is able to feel so deeply and care so fiercely for others. That May can carry her heart on the world's ragged sleeve and go on shows incredible strength.

          I like to think that the way to combat the pain was to surround May with love. The same love that August, the oldest Boatwright sister sends her bees that she keeps, love whenever she can. As ashamed as I am, there is a small part of my being that firmly believes that love can overcome any force of nature or mortal corruption. I think that through May's condition the sisters have learned how to love more fiercely than anyone. They send love to the tiniest leaves and the oldest buildings. Love sets the sisters free from worries and the cruelties of their lives, it protects them from whatever harm, whatever problem may come.

          What I love most however, about May is how much she teaches the inhabitants of the pink house. Lily, that out of death good things can also come, and May's death causes August to embrace the concept of rebirth. And at last when May is gone she will have taught them more than they could even learn, to live.  

The Profound Weight

We have names, for the weak and the and they are not very complimentary.” wimp”, “wuss”, “girl”, “baby”, “hysteric” and others all convey the tendency we as humans have to admire a degree of stoicism when faced with any sort of situation. 

When people cry they are not trying to tell us how much it hurts but how much they are suffering.  We all cry as children, usually due to emotional distress or even the anticipation of a painful or scary event. But we cry for the attention, we cry to make ourselves heard. As our brains mature (the well-adjusted) cry a whole lot less and actual pain hardly ever does it. Yet it doesn't mean we don't cry, as adults we cry when for joy, when we are moved, worries , stress and just sadness. Crying is the emotional response that comes out of breaking theses emotional limits stretching the senses until they pop, and your body? It just cries and weeps tears, pools of saltwater drop out from the puckered clenched rims of your eyelids, rolling and sliding all the way down.

At best we may refer to an emotionally high-strung friend or family member we like as “sensitive” or "empathetic" but weepiness is not a trait we associate with our heroes, some of the more personal ones being Mahatma Gandhi, Aron Ralston and Marie Curie. We do value strength and our twisted notions seem to point towards that if we don't show our feelings, those which make us vulnerable, we don't seem to have them at all. While it might be a necessity to be stoic in situations like in a rock and a hard place, where Aron Ralston has to saw off his arm. There are other moments where stoicism isn't always the best route, but is certainly is the more well-travelled.

Being a tough girl myself, who has cried maybe  twice in my adolescent life, I don't like the wetness or the heavy absurd feeling that come with it. I have to be profoundly moved or sad to really cry. I don’t  like the clinical implications of crying, that the tearful human gets coddled if they can't hold themselves together and I do like the idea of stoicism, even though it is impractical. But maybe, for once, I could be wrong.

On Innocence and Lipstick

                Innocence isn't something that is given to us. We barely notice it's there until we lose it, which stands true for so many simple pleasures in life. Evie is no exception to loss. In “What I Saw and How I Lied” by Judy Blundell, Evie Spooner is fifteen in 1947; like all fifteen-year-olds, she dreams of being grown-up. Her story begins with a trip to the candy store with her best friend; they buy candy cigarettes so they can "practice smoking." Her friend considers smoking the ultimate in adult glamor; Evie finds that glamour in lipstick, which she's forbidden to wear until she's 18.

It's nearing the end of summer and Evie's stepfather Joe, recently returned from the war, wants to take his girls on a trip to Palm Beach. They stay in a glamorous, but near-empty resort, where Evie is reduced to playing hopscotch on the hallway carpet for lack of entertainment. 

But that all changes when Peter Coleridge shows up, Joe seems nervous around his former army comrade, but the Spooner girls take to him quite easily. Evie begins spending time with him, taking moonlight strolls, running along the beach and kissing, finding herself in the middle of her whirl-wind of a first love.

Although the first love plotline is the fluff of a typical coming-of-age story, What I Saw and How I Lied uses it (the fluff) as an introduction point for Evie's true growing experience. When Evie loses Peter tragically then becomes swept up in a murder investigation focused on her parents. The second half of the book centers on Evie's decisions about what she's capable of doing and her own decisions about moral right and wrong.

I've been reading a lot of books from the Young Adult section lately, but this is the first that really tries something different. Judy Blundell writes with a sharp  tone that adds a dash  melancholy to Evie's transition into adulthood. There's also a cinematic quality to the story in general - Evie's narration has that cynical, mysterious and the locations are very stylish, grand, and again, mysterious. 

Evie strives for glamour and poise every little decision is a lifetime of reputation. But she has a very innocent quality to her, Evie is smart and she knows her way around a dark city street. The reasons he feels so little, so unintuitive is mostly because of her mother, Beverly. Evie’s mother wouldn’t do anything to give Evie a sense of growing up, she wouldn’t buy the kind of clothes girls her age wore, she wouldn’t let her wear her hair the way she wanted, and she certainly didn’t let her date boys. It has less to do with the actions themselves but the gravity they hold. “It’s not all polka dots and moonbeams.” Beverly tells her daughter Evie about being grown-up, partially because Evie's mother was forced to be a grown-up so abruptly by getting pregnant at 17 and raising Evie on her own. And innocence is hardly issues when you have been taken care your whole life.

It's a story that stays with you, a stylish, thought-provoking, a believable coming-of-age story. But mostly, it's was a lovely book that I really liked reading.

Oh, Romeo

O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?

Deny thy father and refuse thy name.

Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,

And I’ll no longer be a Capulet.- Juliet (Balcony Scene)

Romeo and juliet has always been revered as a classic, a gorgeous novel with unparalleled description and cleverness. So how does an eighth grader tackle the text? They watch the film adaptation of course. Though Baz Luhrmann's film adaptation was powerful, dramatic and beautifully shot. The first time I tried to watch it I had to turn it off because, the opening fight scene was so painful and I felt that the shakespearian language and the modern setting clashed so horribly. But as I watched it again I saw the symmetry, the beauty the unparalleled cinematography and I was smitten.

What's in a name? ponders Juliet. Just another way to distinguish the individual, and another way to be judged and objectified and addressed and titled. Why are we Sarahs and Johns and Rajeets and Starshines aren't we all just as sweet and logical and ridiculous without that thin layer of protection, the emptiness of a name. If our Romeo and Juliet could leave behind their names. If only they could leave behind all but themselves, but could they leave behind a fuel for their passionate love, their empty names.

Family has been compared to a second skin, a net, an ocean. That cocoon of warmth, love, protection and frustration that is family will shelter and care for you as long as you live and think consciously. Through birth, infancy, childhood and the painstaking heavy moments of adolescence.  Your parent's views and knowledge build onto layer after layer of your own. Their eyes, teeth, hair, weak bones; their short tempers, shyness, fortitude. their cooking, their jewelry, heirlooms their homes you all share but where does family end and your individualism begin.

Their mistakes repeated fade into yours, you develop quirks and heirlooms of your own and most importantly your own thoughts, your own body and certainly your own mind. Adolescence is the time for huge emotional growth where you become aware of your perspective of the world and other's perspectives. All though we come from different worlds and have different scruples and values from 1500's europe we all must slowly sever our ties and float free from our families, they will always stay in our minds, hearts, and intimate personal lives.

So romeo and juliet our young lovers find themselves passionately in love . The kind of love that moves nations and breaks ages of hate. Could they exist in any other age, of course. But I think that the grudges and the "their only love sprung from their only hate" makes the love so much more meaningful and powerful. Could they really leave their families, their names behind without losing themselves? Because the conflicts of life have more to do with love than hate anyway and who doesn't love some good conflict

The Significance of Teeth

Growing up in park slope is wildly different, from say growing up orphaned in a village in southern Uganda. Although us true Park Slope residents are ridiculed mercilessly by the outside world about our Food-Coop, our private, selective preschools and our viscous, competitive, spiteful mommies. Yet, part the air of pretentious, self-centered malcontent, and you find a lovely thriving community of families, who are damn well happy about any thousand dollar dentist practice.


I don't often read my mother's articles, she has worked for major news corporations all over the world and is maddeningly good at her job. But yet I found some heart in an extensive project on the massive turnout for a free medical and dental clinic in southwest Virginia. More than 1,800 volunteer doctors, dentists, nurses and assistants collectively worked on the small town In the Appalachian Mountains, setting up enormous field-hospital-style tents in which they saw 2,500 patients over two and a half days in late July of 2008. 


When you see a young woman begging, pleading with the doctors to take all of her teeth even the healthy ones out, because she she knows they will just get infected again, it's awful. Beyond cavities, the doctors deal with people with such badly infected gums they have to take out pieces of the jaw bone. Splinters of rotten teeth in the gums, fleshy sensitive nerves exposed.


 More than painful to watch, its the desperate people trudging on that is so devastating. They camp for days to get the only medical care they can, the free clinic's annual trip down to the ravaged southern Virginia.I can't imagine the pain of waiting for days with an infected jaw bone, mouth tumors or rotten splintered teeth. The poor souls up in the mountains also give us a little bit of hope to grasp, horrifying fearful hope for their sakes to get to the end of the line, over the hill and into the white, beckoning tents of the clinic.


But what's in a tooth you may ask, a tooth is not like a fingernail or a strand of hair. No a tooth is a bit more permanent, they have been in your mouth for decades, chewed every meal felt every clink, grind and chatter. It a part of you and therefore it becomes so not immediately but overtime , this silly little piece of calcified enamel and nerve, now has personal attachment to your life and your shared experiences. This little tooth is you and will always be


So for every tooth yanked, splintered, rotting inside, and for every infected gum and jaw we can only sigh as the little part of us if savagely twisted and wrenched out and send it on it;s way as a separate entity entirely.

Let me just start with a few words

Let me just start with a few words about last week's assignment. I love, love, love my darling commenters even when some of the comments were above and beyond the post itself ah, anyway, Thank you Izzy, Audrey, Sammy, The Futtermans (collectively Annie) and Max. And I might just have to write a paragraph about you each to make up for your wonderful blogs I have so not not been commenting on. Love- Pia

Dedicated to Audrey, Annie and

As Busy as James Franco by Anne Futterman 


During grueling 15 minutes of battle between me and the control key I hung my head in defeat, as I toggled between tabs, angrily re-typing my links in to the boxes, I had time to think about one blog post and one in particular My favorite thing about Annie's posts is that they are so creative and she is not afraid to write about non-fiction or put what ever she is thinking into her blog. This particular one was my favorite because she started talking about James Franco of all celebrities and all he has (or is trying to) accomplish. But then she moves into much more weighty and thoughtful writing towards the end about how we perceive famous people as more accomplished and interesting because they are good-looking and well known, it's preposterous that we allow them to parade around acting like they own everything is sight and there are countless more unrecognized and downplayed heros of the working class, who suffer through everyday life and a whole lot more. She makes thought provoking statements about our society all with sharp wit, a threateningly expansive vocabulary and a knack for rants and thought pools of all kinds.

All Hail Oskar Schell, Daddy Come Home by Audrey Bachman 


It's really a shame that I don't comment Audrey's blogs enough. One of my favorite things about her writing is what a great voice she has. She expressed deep, deep thoughts and emotions in the post about Extremely loud and Incredibly Close as if she had experienced them herself. Talking about Oskar searching for more than the a lock to fit the mysterious key, but a new father to love him more than the adults in his life who always tip-toe around him. She has vivid description and small fragments of her personal life a lot of the time to bring us in to the story. Audrey writes passionately and you can tell each and every blog post is real, most of the real and vivid blog posts I have come across are almost painful, rambling on about plastic spoons or other strange fixations. But in Audrey's writing we can take refuge and really explore the meaning or the books she blogs about or the beauty of reading out-loud, she really has the gift of story telling. Her blog posts are neat and crisp each paragraph perfectly formatted each sentence deeply analyzed, she often writes about childhood and analyzes personalities. What I also love is she always keeps the mood light but she goes into such detail and complexity of a story or a person that you feel not just up lifted or wistful, but nostalgic. And it's that earnest writing that I have been longing for the thought provoking innocent blog posts always leave me with a sense of wonder and i always look forward to reading them great job Audrey and thank you.


Omnivoracious- Daphne Kalotay reviews Stalina 



One of the things I liked about this blog post was optimistic. It was bright engaging and cheery which isn't always what I specifically look for in a blog post but for the story it fit well. Stalina, the book is about a russian-jewish girl who immigrates to the United States during the nineties and her assimilation into the new culture with both spunk and grace. The author again had a very nice voice, and the sentences were fluid, which really makes a good blog post. One of my favorite things about it was it was such a personal blog post Daphne Kalotay's vocabulary was perfect her history sharp but in the end it was the author's personality which showed through, her casual praise and recounting the novel with just a little bit of re-tell. It was lovely and I would love to get my hands on a copy of the book.

Death and Life by Gustav Klimt

Lift up your heads
nestle in the comfort of each others
not for very long now
slip out from under your covers

After your days, to wither and fray
while cold fevered fingers beckon away
the rosy peak of spring ripens on a breeze
your bodies buckle in my arms like old willow trees

You moan you weep in despair
about the magnitude of your last great affair
I grasp as if to console
the fear and the sorrow brooding in your soul

Lift up your heads

nestle in the comfort of each others

not for very long now

slip out from under your covers

When I come for the small the loved and the old 

All sin and greatness dissipates

none are bold

I Shall Imagine Beauty

i shall imagine life
by e e cummings


i shall imagine life
is not worth dying,if
(and when)roses complain
their beauties are in vain

but though mankind persuades
itself that every weed's
a rose,roses(you feel
certain)will only smile


When I read this title in our old faded e e cummings collected works book, I thought great, another dull, saturated poem about life and death. It turned out, that most of the poem is about the ever changing conflicts and opinions of beauty. The poem deals mainly with mankind's perception of beauty. Each individual is entitled to their own opinion of creatures and things. But they are only judged to be beautiful if the public eye considers them beautiful. 


In the very opinionated first two lines he seems to be saying that he will only say that life is only worth dying when the real beauties say that their beauty is meaningless, or 'in vain'. Because life's not worth dying, life is worth living, and the struggles and disappointments are all part of one brilliant experience. The idea that life isn't worth dying makes sense to me but only because of the way we treat and accept the concept of death. Life is just too meaningful to make such a fuss about.

In the next two stanzas e e cummings refers to roses as a personification of all the beauties of the world and describes them as scared that once they have wilted, that they won't be beautiful. But he almost assures us and the beauties that if you're are truly a beauty that we will know in our heart of hearts and that the real beauties will only smile. Since, after all, that's the beautiful thing to do. If our minds are convinced that all weeds are roses then let them. because physical beauty can die but not the beauty of the clear cut soul.


Sadly, I don't see much in the world to support this optimism. The world has nearly succeeded in persuading us that every weed is a rose. So the "real" beauties will die in silent. How long before they and we proclaim that beauty is in vain? To not be afraid for when they are old and dying and or hopefully sometime before they will realize that we are beautiful and we are not. That beauty should hold sway over no one and people need to all accept their themselves, their lives, their fates and other. All in a perfect world.

A Life on facebook

A wonderful video about our social need for the Internet,wonderfully filmed and directed by Maxim Lumiere. PG-13

A Sense of Normalcy and Perfecting Our Image

What if we didn't have such big egos, could we stop killing, end world hunger or find social acceptance? Maybe not yet but we certainly can start to relax a little bit.

In Fraction of the Whole by Steve Toltz we are lead into the long novel by our main character, Jasper, and for about the next 600 or so pages we are submerged in his incredibly serious and skeptical yet hilariously witty and satiric voice. He recounts his distorted childhood raised by his cynical and hopelessly rambling father. The book is so raw and captivating that you have look up from the page and take some deep breaths and remind yourself to laugh and that there is light in the world still, even though Jasper's father's twisted philosophies and life lessons reveal a pitiful and melancholy soul who has just plainly given up.

Especially as teenagers we take ourselves so seriously. We are all looking for something and if it's not "fun times" drugs and rock 'n roll. Then it's to perfect our ever changing image of masculinity, beauty, tough-ness, depth, brains or just being cool. As humans we are always seeking someone else's approval, where as the muddled philosophy lessons instilled by Jasper's father strongly advise against agreeing with anyone or following anything at all, we are all so desperately and pitifully concerned with ourselves, it makes me sick but as much as I or anyone else tries to deny it, we feel the painful sting of inadequacy sometimes whether it's an extra ten pounds of a failed job interview.

Only fifteen pages into my novel of the week and already I am presented with an interesting idea unfolding in the book. People take their actions, personas and percive the world so seriously that if they stop to laugh at the world or "smell the roses" as it were we might just find a bit of peace. We can stop killing over ipods and shoes, people will have the courage to accept themselves and other people's problems and identities. We will be unstoppable there will still be mistakes and stupid choices with stupid consequences but there will be a whole lot less of them.

So even though Jasper's lessons and father have torched his social skills and sense of normalcy (but hey who ever feels normal anyway) the premise [to not follow anyone else, make your own choices and don't stoop to other people levels or their ideas]  may not be such bad ideas after all

On the love of Hobbits

Hobbits, are curious creatures with tough hairy feet, child-like proportions, a love of the soil of their home, the Shire and the houses, the vegetables and the Hobbits that thrive on it. They aren't merely simple creatures, for they are brave and pure-of-heart and their love of simple pleasures and a simple lifestyle only adds to their earnesty and their likable qualities.

Frodo Baggins is one such hobbit he is well-liked and hopeful. Frodo is, always helpful and compassionate for the smallest of creatures. Barely out of childhood himself, Frodo and the Shire as a whole seems untouched by the spoils of war and evil, a well known Hobbit quote describes the philosophy of the people "Keep your nose of of trouble and trouble will never come to you." Frodo is one of the characters that I admire the most in this epic series. If not for his perseverance and bravery but for his purity and empathy

But as he accepts the daunting, almost impossible task of destroying the ring, life for Frodo starts to drag on, it becomes difficult to keep going, to keep up his wits, his strength, his sanity. For the ring is such a burden, a temptation. It toys with your mind, your body with it's relentless whispering and the steady assault on your mind.

Of hope, with the ring there is no hope every emotion is magnified every doubt, fear and thought. And so is the fear and doubt around Frodo, even his best friend Sam with such strong, unbreakable spirit, seems to have cracked and withered through the malicious eyes of the ring. So that even Sam seems lost, Frodo is left as one so small carrying the fate of Middle Earth and it's people. The task seems hopeless and impossible but it must be or there is no survival.

Which is a lot of the appeal of the book itself, the idea that such a small unthinkable person could carry on against terrible odds and win. Frodo is so self-less giving up so much of himself physically and mentally he is under tremendous pressure and strain and still expected to get by.

I think that we see bits of  Frodo in ourselves, whether it's a mountain of credit card debt of an unfinished science project we see Frodo, scraping by on what ever he's got left of himself and we get inspired, excited we connect with him, we face battles alongside Frodo, as equals. even though we aren't the saviors of Middle-Earth we could sure do with some hope and inspiration when all else has deserted us.

Because hey, who doesn't like to see themselves as a resilient, brave three-foot five Hobbit battling the lands purest evil... and winning.

Still Hope for Humanity

Walking through the Holocaust museum in Washington DC you come to narrow black door at the end of a narrow black hallway. You open it and stand on a round platform, there is a small square of light maybe one hundred feet up in the ceiling the sunlight is so distant so haunting like the last ember of a fading fire. You stand in awe and wonder was there ever a small child in a concentration camp gazing up at the sliver of light in the sky holding on to barley anything at all, or a mother letting the light carry her away from all of the horrifying, barbaric cruelty in the world for just a moment of hope.

Its presence makes our fight for survival, our strength and ourselves. Hope can be religion or security but most of the time its you. Your perseverance inspires other people and yourself to keep moving, keep living, keep hoping and to carry on in the most awful times. Humans can be barbaric, monstrous and there is weakness but there is courage and love and strength also. There is good left in people and in the world, to hold on to, there has to be.

In Sarah's Key, a overlooked, under-written about aspect of a compelling and important time in history is brought to light. In 1942, war is brewing in Paris and police round up 13,000 french jews in the night that are held in the Velodrome d'Hiver stadium. Its's a little bit like the Hurricane Katrina survivors in the Superdome but much more awful. They are held for six days with no food and water before being forced out to Auschwitz and gassed to death.

We follow two stories, Sarah, a little girl in Paris who is rounded up with the other people held in the stadium, and Julia, a journalist  in "that dreaded age between forty-five and fifty, that no-mans land of sag, oncoming wrinkle and stealthily approaching menopause." Julia's plot was rather whiny and dull like a low budget chick-flick about a strangely miserable yet content middle aged woman trapped in a marriage. Sarah's plot-line however was so much more weighty, real and poignant. As the police come for her family she locks her little brother in a secret cupboard promising and believing that she will come and get him shortly. She keeps the key as a reminder of both her brother and the old life Sarah so longs for for she would never be coming back.

Through much of her story, Sarah is in physical pain and mental desperation. The long marches, the filth, the pungent death she witnesses it all and bears burdens that no child or person should have to bear. So Sarah is left  taking care of her ghostly mother and father always away trying to take matters into his own hands, she is always giving more than she has to offer of herself. Who is there to take care of Sarah, the helplessness, the solitude even among dozens of other faces it get to us, it gets to her; She is losing her innocence and her childhood is slipping away, left in the dust while she carries her family physically and mentally on the long march to Auschwitz. So what is there to hold on to when all the joy has faded at the edge of sanity, the key.

Sarah always carries the key and when the road is long and her feet grow weary she pulls it out imagines she is holding her little brother, his smiling face. Its difficult to remember what he looks like now, when life is so miserable. She doesn't know if her brother got out or if he is wasting away iet he darkness of the cupboard all she has is her earnest hope and blind fate.The key is her brother, her family, the bustle of Paris, life before the round up and most importantly a way out of the suffering. Even if Sarah never gets out, the key will always unlock a door to her old life in her mind and is the sliver of hope she need to carry her family and herself to the end.

The key will stay with Sarah when all else is dead and gone until her last dying day even through she makes it to freedom, she escapes the events in the Vel d'Hiv roundup will haunt her forever.

No Identity Without Control

After being in a mental asylum, help captive for sixty years, you begin to question everything. So much is taken away from you, your days, the meals the bathing, the activities, the therapy, everything is planned and decided for you. You are left powerless living an empty and soulless life. For we are just vessels that identities passes through every fad, trend hairstyle, we change and grow with the days, and who would have identity without control.

In The Disappearance of Esme Lennox, we watch Esme come out of the Couldestone asylum and begin to establish who she is as a person, much like a child maturing and discovering itself. Every human being is so uniquely different and that difference gives us our identity. It all comes back to your choices for even as we hurt and love and live in the same ways the little choices and mistakes we experience make and break us, as humans and individuals. 

Making a choice may seem as difficult and confusing as ever but having no choice whatsoever is entirely more maddening and difficult. We wonder what has become of the sunken old man in the retirement home who screams whenever the blanket at the foot of his bed is moved. Or the woman who must have her food arranged in a certain way or she won’t eat. It is the little bits of control they have left being exercising in desperate attempts to finally have a say in their lives.

 Living in a bold and shameless world we forget what the passing jeans trend means to the structured and butchered lives of those on the brink of sanity. Control itself hasn’t been mastered by many and in Esme’s case and many others she doesn’t know what to do with herself. Wandering about the house, the beach she learns what the grass feels like on bare feet or the sting of frost on your cheeks. These little details are meaningless to some but for Esme they are the dawning of a new era of innocence and bliss.

So take the time to decide whether to run or to walk take your shoes off and climb the trees because when you are old and your time is all but spent, you will scream when someone moves you blanket or clip your hair off, all to preserve the bits of yourself that you carry with you. Because there is no identity without control.