Start here (Chronological Order)

I apologize for making the choice of an online journal for this project. I thought that if I created a blog, it would feel more personal, and I would be able to conjure more feeling and thought for this project than I would have while staring at a blank piece of paper or an empty word document.

I changed the dates. Each post is in order, from oldest to newest.

See? Feel? Hear? Know?

See, feel, hear, know.

Mr. G asked us to apply these things to three paintings. Surely these are first hand natures, but in truth I couldn't bring myself to do any of them. They were just random photos. You know what really got to me? It was the silence. Because as everyone was writing their emotions away, I was sitting there staring at my pencil, panicking because I felt like I didn't know how to express myself.

English intimidates me. It is not the course's content I'm afraid and unsure of, but my capabilities. Literature has no limits, but I was feeling weak. There is no trust between myself and the mighty pen. It's depressing. I don't have a vast vocabulary, nor do I have impeccable grammar or creativity that wows a crowd... I depend on my endless stream of thoughts. Sometimes it's handy, other times it's overwhelming. And then, at that moment, when I needed a bombardment of feelings and ideas, none came to me. None. Zero. Nil. None... That is, not until we looked at The Hollow Men.

The Hollow Men by TS Eliot. How intriguing. The title, the name of the author. It excited me because at once I knew this poem had some kind of dark aura to it. I was excited because I've come to conclusion that it's the darkest of artistic mediums that are the most interesting; they attract more question, theory, and mystery. How could one resist? The first reading of this poem, I have to admit, was empty. Empty in a way that I was not absorbing the poem as I read, and empty in a way that scared me. I could feel the goosebumps on my arms; this happens when I witness (by witness I mean read, hear, see) something that bewitches me. See, the poem was meaningless, yet its words engulfed me, suffocating me with the same question: why? Why are we reading this? Why did TS Eliot write this? Why, why, why? I wanted reason, and I wanted to know what the hell this all meant. The fact that I was already stressing over the meaning had lead me to think that this poem would torture me to no ends. The rest of the class was probably just as frustrated as I was because I noticed the way *blank* scratched his head as he read, and how *blank* rushed to finished and sighed at the very last word. The Hollow Men left my head "filled with straw". Empty, yet full. You know, like a needle in a haystack. I was desperate to find the answer, like it would do some good for my crappy day. A sort of redemption. If I knew the answer that no one else knew, maybe it would make up for all the answers I didn't. At least for today, you know? But empty-handed was what came of this class. Hollow. Empty. Those are the same things right? Is that the meaning of 'hollow' that Eliot was referring to? Empty?

Today, there were no answers; just too many questions. Maybe tomorrow I could make sense of something.









And no, I'm not referring to anything in particular.

What comes first? Thoughts or feelings?

A journal project? I don't know how to feel about this. Recently I've told myself that honesty will be the key step to maturity. At this point, I am having a hard time holding myself back from telling a lie, and so a journal project will be quite interesting...

I am a Molina. Does that mean anything? Is that relevant to this project? Heck yes. Molinas are absolutely psychotic. Well probably not, because psychos don't really know that they're psycho.

It is 5:54 AM, Sunday morning, and here I am with The Hollow Men in hand. I have work in about 6 hours and I am running on four cups of coffee. Where is my mind? So whether I am warning any readers to brace themselves for something mental, confusing, insightful, boring, obvious, or just down right disturbing, I have no idea. I do not know why I think the way I do. I just do. This assignment will get personal. Should you be so scared and apprehensive or should you be excited and entertained? Once again, I do not know.

But what I do know is that I have a nasty habit of word vomit. You have been warned.

Hollow hollow hollow stuffed stuffed stuffed English AP is so tough

I am exhausted. I should stop working so much and focussing on extracurricular activities. The stress is literally eating me alive, but I know I need to stay strong. Bills don't pay themselves and stress doesn't relieve itself, right?

I can't stop thinking about The Hollow Men. No matter how many times I've read it, the meaning is still a blur to me, and I don't think it's because I'm a complete failure in the field of poem analysis. I'm finding a hard time coming to conclusions because my thoughts endlessly contradict eachother. I can't entirely blame myself for that though, because the first section is all about the contradictions. "We are the hollow men, we are the stuffed men." Great. "Shape without form, shade without colour, / Paralysed force, gesture without motion." Awesome, that's fantastic. Now what the hell does that even mean, Eliot? I love the device of paradox, but currently it's not my cup of tea. I've also noticed TS Eliot's combination of "soft" and "harsh" words. "We whisper together / Are quiet and meaningless / As wind in dry grass / Or rats' feet over broken glass / In our dry cellar". What's the purpose of all these oppositions that make everything so confusing? What's the purpose? Is the confusion Eliot's way of telling me that, perhaps, I'm not the only one whose confused? Are the men, hollow and stuffed, in the same boat as I am?

My brain hurts.

Just a few questions before I'm able to get some Zzz...

Are all of these sections still in the perspective of the Hollow and Stuffed Men?

First section:
First of all, who's Mistah Kurtz? Why are these men Hollow or stuffed? Are they referring to two different groups, or are they the same group altogether? What is Eliot's purpose of all these opposing words?

Second section:
What are these kingdoms? What is this star? Why does Eliot once again mention the wind?

The third section:
What happened to death's dream kingdom? Why are the speakers now taken to the dead land, the cactus land? Again, what is death's other kingdom? These lines that capture most of my attention, "Waking alone / At the hour when we are / Trembling with tenderness / Lips that would kiss / Form prayers to broken stone.", what do they mean?

Fourth section:
The speakers are now taken to the valley of dying stars. Why? What has happened that caused them to move? Why are the kingdoms now lost? Now there's a twilight kingdom? Is that heaven or is heaven the dream kingdom? Why does Eliot now refer to the men as empty? What has happened to cause this transition?

Fifth section:
Why does the opening of this section appear so familiar and start in italics? A shadow is mentioned that falls in between multiple things. What is the shadow? Why is there this shadow? For thine is the... what? Why does the world end this way? What is "this way"? Why is this section also in italics?

I'd like to say good night to the hollow and stuffed men, but I know I'll be seeing them more in my dreams (kingdom).

Nursery rhymes and murdering times

Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o'clock in the morning 

I feel that I cannot succinctly express myself unless it's well into the night... Or morning.

It's frightening how easily something so "innocent" can hold so many dark, twisted secrets. It's frightening how one could take something so innocent and corrupt it with ease. TS Eliot takes lines from the nursery rhyme Here we go round the Mulberry Bush and turns it into his own dark rendition to fit his disillusioned poem The Hollow Men. It starts and ends the third section of his poem. Here are the first few verses of the original nursery rhyme.

Here we go 'round the mulberry bush,
The mulberry bush, the mulberry bush.
Here we go 'round the mulberry bush,
So early in the morning.

This is the way we wash our clothes,
We wash our clothes, we wash our clothes.
This is the way we wash our clothes,
So early Monday morning.

This is the way we iron our clothes,
We iron our clothes, we iron our clothes.
This is the way we iron our clothes,
So early Tuesday morning.

Notice how the following verses each contain repetitive instructions, beginning with "This is the way...". Sound familiar? Now recall the last stanza of The Hollow Men:

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

I think Eliot's transformation of an innocent nursery rhyme into a morbid chant suggests how easy it is to corrupt something that is meant to be pure.

I've come to realize that many of my favourite childhood fables and nursery rhymes are actually downright disturbing. Take King Midas, or Rock a Bye Baby, for example. King Midas is about a greedy king who loves gold to such an extent that he is granted with the "power" to turn everything he touches into gold. Guess what turns to gold? His daughter. Regardless of the regret that followed, it is disturbing how one's greed leads to such grand mistakes. Rock a Bye Baby is a lullaby about a baby in a cradle that falls from the top of a tree. What a comforting melody to fall asleep to, isn't it?

So what I can extract from The Hollow Men, so far, is an innocence that is corrupted. 

More to come.

Here we go round English AP
At 5 o'clock in the morning

Kingdoms

Theory number 1:

This poem is religious. 

The kingdom talk. The different kingdoms... Is Eliot referring to Heaven, Purgatory, and/or Hell? 

"For Thine is the Kingdom" --- why is this so familiar?

More to come later tonight.



*5:51 AM*
I've come to a decision that I'm going to continue taking a religious approach to this poem. It can't be pure coincidence that an elaborated talk of stars and kingdoms appear in the same poem. I remember in Catechism, one of the very first things we learned about was the birth of Christ. (Well, duh.) Do you know the the story about the Three Wise Men? I've learned that on the night of Jesus Christ's birth, three men followed the star of Bethlehem to the stable Jesus was born in, and presented him with three gifts: myrrh, gold, and incense. (I don't even know what incense is.) These three men read and heard of God's word that this great, bright star would lead them to the King of Jews and the King of Heaven.

It's no wonder I connect this poem to religion and such; I grew up off this kingdom and star talk!

Each time I read this poem, the only thing that never alters is this feeling of hopelessness. I can't seem to make a connection between hopelessness and religion, not unless I think about the idea of sinfulness and Satan. Could that be what the poem is talking about? Sinning? If so, I assume that these Hollow Men and Stuffed Men could be those that are holy, and those that are sinners. I'm not too sure, though, because in the first stanza, it seems as though they are in some kind of predicament, together. I can't find a separation between the two groups of men that lean together, whisper together. If they support eachother, I guess they can't really oppose eachother, being sinners and men of holiness. Scratch that theory then, I guess. I should probably head to bed now before my brain decides to pain my bedroom walls.

I'm still wondering, what is death's other Kingdom, if my assumption stands that death's dream kingdom is Heaven? 

The Shadow (of the poem's meaning)

I feel that I am so close, yet so far. Here is my (pitiful) interpretation of each section. Good effort?

Section 1:
The speaker introduces two groups: The Stuffed Men and the Hollow men. These two groups lead lives of meaninglessness and hopelessness. They lean together, support each other, because they are frightened.

Section 2:
The Hollow Men are too ashamed to face and take responsibility for their mistakes. what they’ve done and stand behind their actions.

Section 3:
The speaker explains that where they are is void of life; hence the mention of cactus, a plant that grows in the lifeless of lands. These men cannot form prayer.

Section 4:
The hollow men are stuck in limbo (emptiness, where they do not want to beg God for redemption, but do not want to go to hell). They can only hope for God's forgiveness as the apocalypse approaches.

Section 5:
The hollow men still cannot complete their prayers.

Eliot suggests that the world will end pitifully. There will not be a great climactic ending. The world will end and that would be that, the final whimper.




In class we've learned that Eliot is a disillusioned man. He lost hope in humanity when he realizes that man's faith in God has faltered greatly (1925 - during WWI).

I still don't know what the Shadow is.

Joy

I asked my sister to read The Hollow Men, and then tell me what she thought it was about. She's in grade 10.

Well, she seemed to capture the essence of this poem under 10 minutes. How in the world...

Quest for Questions (not answers)

hol·low
ˈhälō/
adjective

1.
having a hole or empty space inside.
"each fiber has a hollow core"
synonyms: empty, void, unfilled, vacant More

2.
without significance.
"the result was a hollow victory"
synonyms: meaningless, empty, valueless, worthless, useless, pyrrhic, nugatory,futile, fruitless, profitless, pointless

My understanding of The Hollow Men is no longer hollow, but neither is it stuffed. It is the Shadow that falls in between... I still don't understand what the Shadow is.

Alas! This is not goodbye, hollow men, for we will see eachother again in another kingdom, in the Heart of Darkness.

The journey continues.

In God we trust

I fell asleep in church today. This happens often, actually. I am ashamed.

I recall a time where I heard the words "why is it that people can sit through a three hour movie, engaged and all, but not a one hour mass?"

Hope in humanity and religion has not changed much, Eliot. Sorry.

Rivets

People must learn how to cherish what they are granted, no matter how small, before it is too late.

A Little Ha-Ha in the Jungle

5:53 PM @ the Auditorium

By 5:30, our dance practices become your average jungle of teenage tomfoolery and shenanigans. It's quite a glorious sight, I might add. You have your baboon-like 16 and 17-year old boys challenging one another's macho-ness to one side, and your sassy adolescent female nutcases yammering away about gossip and whatnot to the other. And then there's me: cool, calm and composed, sitting in the high head chair amongst them all.

I'm totally lying. I am the queen of nutcases and the jester of the baboons, but anyway, on this very particular day, the baboons happened to be running around the stage like complete idiots. Perhaps if you'd seen it, you would have envisioned the Congo. Again, I'm lying. It was a jungle, but nothing in comparison to the Hellish place described in HoD. Now in truth, KurtZ was present before me. That's right. Yours truly is a dear friend of KurtZ. Do you see where my story is going? Probably not, but that's okay, because I've learned that writers are allowed to write complete nonsense whether the readers like it or not. *Scoffs* Bowering.

Anyway, back to the story. So there I was, deep in the jungle. Kurtz was leading his little baboon fellows into the hands of danger before... Before he fell. I screamed "KURT!! HE DEAD!" before I collapsed to the floor in a fit of giggles. Yes. I had witnessed the fall of Kurtz. The idiot fell off the stage while chasing one of the girls around. Kurt Zapanta: my dear friend, and the heart and soul of the Jungle.

It's a shame nobody shared my moment of laughter... Poor simpletons are missing out on the Ha-Has of Heart of Darkness.

Ha Ha...



How lame was that?

Wendy's girl versus Starbucks' Girl

Today, I found out the Starbucks girl across my Wendy's was familiar with our little friend, Kurtz.

There I was, ordering a grande white peppermint hot chocolate at 6 in the evening. I set Heart of Darkness on the counter so I could grab my wallet out of my backpack.The Starbucks girl said "that's a good book." Truth be told, I hadn't begun to read as far as I should have, and the beginning was painstakingly boring, so I was a little puzzled at her remark. "Really? Why'd you like it?" I replied. She hesitated before saying "Umm... yeah, I mean it's a hard book, but it has a pretty deep meaning. Useful stuff once you get into post-secondary (earlier I had mentioned I was reading it for English 12). Just keep reading. You'll understand if you pay more attention."

You know, I think Starbucks girl was wrong. I don't believe it's because I'm not paying enough attention to HoD that I am not enjoying it, in fact, I think I'm paying too much attention. The only problem is, I'm paying attention to all the wrong things. In the Belief assignment at the beginning of the year, I can recall my very last comment being "Overall, I can't decide whether Bowering is an over thinker or we are all just under thinkers?" I think I'm beginning to find the answer to my question. Alas, a (partial) answer, instead of a question!

Initiating my pathetic attempt to understanding Conrad and Bowering's narrative style in 3, 2, 1..

Conrad and Bowering: two complete pain in the asses, two exceptional writers. Both these artists write from "outside the kernel". Now what the hell does this mean? (Yes, you have explained it, but because it is such a complex concept, I feel that I must attempt to interpret it into words of my own. Let us call this The Kernel Concept 4 Dummies: Sequel Uno.)

Marlow, the second narrator in Conrad's Heart of Darkness, is described as not your typical story teller. "But Marlow was not typical (if his propensity to spin yarns be excepted), and to him the meaning of an episode was not inside like a kernel but outside, enveloping the tale which brought it out only as a glow brings out a haze, in the likeness of one of these misty halos that sometimes are made visible by the spectral illumination of moonshine." In Belief and The Box, it is evident right off the bat that Bowering is not the average narrator, either. Metaphorically speaking, many writers tell a story that begins "within a nutshell" and reveals its nature as the "nut cracks open", this referring to the progression of the story being told. Bowering and Conrad, on the other hand, narrate in a way that demonstrates the importance of the way a story is told (its narration) rather than the story itself; it is the "shell of the nut" that will present the true meaning of a story. It is literally a think outside of the box concept.

*Update*

I've come to realize that Conrad writes his narrative almost like poetry, with his switch of physical to metaphorical to speculative use of words within a single sentence. The effect that this writing method has is the way it allows for its audience to be engulfed into the story. Though many may think of it as tedious, this style of writing lets the audience truly feel the writing in its slow rhythm. This is especially demonstrated in The Heart of Darkness as Conrad really draws us readers in to experience Marlow's narration as if we are on the boat ourselves. To really experience Heart of Darkness in its full glory, Conrad doesn't aim to explain why or how things have happened, but aims to recreate these dark episodes for each reader personally--- into their own thoughts, feelings, and hearts.

This pushes a better understanding of Heart of Darkness, by allowing us to enter its world and letting it become a part of our own experience.

Without a minimal understanding of this style of writing, I feel that this is the reason many readers misinterpret or overlook the morals of Heart of Darkness. I know now that the Starbucks girl had been wrong. My understanding of Heart of Darkness would not be revealed in the book itself; it would be revealed inside of me.

Bonnie and Clyde, Beyonce and Jay-Z.... Marlow and Kurtz?

Marlow and Kurtz are the only two characters in Heart of Darkness that are given names. I would assume Conrad wanted to display that these two share a connection, a sort of parallel, that go beyond any understanding.

Perhaps Marlow and Kurtz share more similarities than I'd like to think. Is that why Marlow's interest in Kurtz continues to grow, regardless of the terrifying things he begins to hear, as he ventures deeper and deeper into the Congo?

What colour is a mirror?

Apocalypse. Alpaca-lips. 

Not related at all, but I find it most enjoyable finding words within words, even if they are not exactly... exact, per se.  Word play: the greatest entertainment known to the literate man. (That is, in my opinion.) Now can you imagine the enjoyment one would feel when playing with a string of words, a string of paragraphs, or a string of stories? Yes, imagine the greatness of a story WITHIN a story. Ay, but it is not of imagination, because you can witness its greatness yourself! Belief by George Bowering, Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad, and Hearts of Darkness: A Filmmaker's Apocalypse all demonstrate the technique of a "story-within-a story". Heart of Darkness and the show time presentation based on Apocalypse Now uses two narrators, a literary device called a frame narrative. A frame narrative allows for the inner story to reveal a sort of revelation, a grand truth if I may call it, in the outer story. This device also draws attention to the way a tale is told, which I have mentioned in a past entry (Wendys Girl vs Starbucks Girl) of the significance that narration holds in the meaning of a story. Frame narratives expand or shrink the distance between its story and its audience. Each frame creates multitudinous meanings and can imply certain issues regarding psychology, sociology, history, politics, and/or ethics that reach beyond the binds of the book.

Have you ever asked yourself  "what colour is a mirror?" 

Now perfect mirrors become the colour of the image placed in front of them, but since we live in the real world where perfect does not exist, there is a single "light" that mirrors find it most difficult to absorb. If two mirrors face each other on opposite walls, what you see is called a "mirror tunnel". It reflects the same image over and over, and with each new reflection, a little bit of visible light is lost. At the very end of the tunnel, the image becomes dimmer, and reveals its true colour.

What I am trying to project is the great discoveries that unfold when you really look into something, or in this case, something within the something. Frame narratives are like mirror tunnels. Within each image, or story, comes a greater understanding of the mysteries and questions that are initially pondered. 

And without further ado, ladies and gentleman, a mirror reveals the colour green. How is that for discovery?

I wish I was an artist

Heart of Darkness educates its readers about the horrors of Western Imperialism. Our eyes are opened to a haunting history, the corruption of materials, and parts of us we never knew. 

When Marlow begins to realize that evil not only dwells in the deepest of the Congo, but also in the very hearts of our cities, he compares the city to the White Sepulchre. This biblical allusion exposes the hypocrisy of misdemeaning high-class traders that claim to be civilized, but in truth, hide away a savage that yearns to be revealed in the darkness. Without the eye of civilization, the whispers of darkness that come from the wild become easier to succumb to. Marlow sees that evil is everywhere, and that only in the darkness does it show its true form. 

I wish I was an artist. Now I'm not saying that writers are not artists, and neither am I calling myself a writer, but I wish I was a real artist. One who draws, paints or sketches what fascinations that come to mind. I think the only decent thing I can draw an image of is the eye. Yes sir, I am proud to say that this sketch over here is a work of yours truly!

I had a vision the other day. I wish I could physically draw it, because I think it would have made an interesting contribution to my understanding of HoD. Basically, if I had been bestowed with artistic talents as an infant, I would have created a painting inspired by Heart of Darkness. It would have been a person staring out into chaos. (Use your imagination, what is chaos to you?) The spectator would not see this person's face, but only their back and the pandemonium that laid ahead. The only wonder would be, is this person staring out of a window or looking into a mirror? This question reckons the statement that everything is not what it appears to be.

Or perhaps I'm just trying a little too hard to be creative and clever. Oh well.

So everybody, regardless of his/her good nature, secretly nurtures a savage inside, but what about Marlow?

In witnessing the disturbances of the Congo, from bloodshed to the display of severed heads, how in the world does Marlow manage to tame the savage within, even when he is surrounded by nothing but darkness? How does Marlow keep himself from diving head on, into darkness, like Kurtz had?

Truth

An excerpt from Mark Dintenfass' lecture on Heart of Darkness...

"In short, for Conrad, 'truth' in fiction is not philosophical; it is rather, like the truth in painting and music, an appeal to beauty and mystery and pain, an appeal to our capacity for delight and wonder and loneliness and fellowship-- an appeal, in other words, to the fullness of all our multitudinous experience."

Rewind to my very first journal entry...

"I was excited because I've come to conclusion that it's the darkest of artistic mediums that are the most interesting; they attract more question, theory, and mystery. How could one resist?"

Nice to know that Conrad is among the many who cannot.

The Horror! Oh, the horror...

Isn't that the scariest part? Realizing what you've become when it's far too late?

I don't know about you, but I've always imagined a zombie apocalypse

"The film Francis is making is a metaphor for a journey into self. He has made that journey and is still making it. It's scary to watch someone you love go into the center of himself and confront his fears, fear of failure, fear of death, fear of going insane. You have to fail a little, die a little, go insane a little, to come out the other side. The process is not over for Francis." 

---Eleanor Coppola in Hearts of Darkness: A Filmmaker's Apocalypse 

In class, we watched a showtime presentation based on Apocalypse Now. Here are a few segmented thoughts and facts I was able to jot down while watching this documentary...

Coppola was inspired by HoD to create a film that would adequately portray the truth behind the Vietnam war. This documentary describes Coppola's struggle of capturing his own "personal vision". In this journey, Coppola takes numerous peeks into his own Darkness. 

Apocalypse Now adopts a vision of mist and haze. The scenes are foggy and clear, much like the images that Conrad effectively creates in HoD. This creates an effect of ambiguity and mystery. Am I right?

The documentary uses two narrators: Coppola and his wife. Heart of Darkness also uses two narrators. Significance? I believe this allows the audience to see Coppola and study him psychologically in different perspectives. Kind of cool.

Coppola's greatest struggle was the script of the story. I wonder what inspired the "Eureka!" to finish the 10-year-in-production film. They probably mentioned it, but I'm sure I fell asleep. I'm sorry, I really tried not to.

Coppola had no limitations in the creation of this film. He uses an untamed tiger in one of his scenes to show true predator instinct, madness, and fear. One of the scenes is of Marty (a main character, Willard?) going insane after getting extremely intoxicated. It is not an act; Coppola wanted Marty to really immerse himself into his role. In HoD, Conrad disturbs his readers with Kurtz' fences of heads. In Apocalypse Now, Coppola buries live people in the ground for hours because he wants the "real thing". As the production progresses successfully, Coppola celebrates with native Filipinos. They celebrate by slaughtering a caribou, taking its heart, and presenting it to Coppola in which he accepts with great gratitude. W T F.

Why does one of the characters refuse to read Heart of Darkness? Brando, was it? Did he realize how twisted it would be if it had Coppola going to such extents?

One day I'll watch Apocalypse Now but for the moment, Hearts of Darkness: A Filmmaker's Apocalypse will have to suffice. 

Love in the Dark

I make a lot of mistakes. I think a lot of people have a hard time admitting that. I know I do. If it weren't for my mom, I don't think I'd be sitting here right now trying to pull my shit together. I don't think I'd be sitting here at all, to be honest. I forgot the reason I've worked so hard in school for: my mother. Every morning she'd check up on me to make sure I was alright because she knew I'd be up past 4 in the morning struggling to make something of myself. I guess she knew something was up when she realized that she saw me sleeping more than she ever saw me awake. Little did she know that I would sleep for 3 hours, wake up, pull out my homework and just stare at it for a good 7 hours while wallowing in self-pity. As a result, there were none; nothing would ever get done. I figured I had lost the drive to put in work, that I had lost all motivation. And what a shame, considering this is the one year that would determine where I would stand after highschool. There have been many times where I have dug my own grave, and it's always been my mother to steal the shovel. She understands that things haven't been the easiest in the past few years, and she understands how difficult school can be especially when there are so many other issues to deal with. I can't fathom how she does it. How does she manage to stand through it all? How does she manage to take all four of her children's courage and dreams and mold it into what is only known as hope?

Love. Dear Jesus (excuse my blasphemy), the most simplest answer holds the secret to the most complex of questions. My mother loves us so much. I must have a lot to learn if I think of giving up so easily. Perhaps when I'm a mother myself, will I only know the truth behind hard-work, strong will, and hope.

Do you think that if Kurtz had real love, he would have realized his wrong doings before it was too late? Do you think that if Kurtz had real love, it would have saved him from the Darkness? With these questions in mind, surely one would bring up the African mistress and the Intended. Did Kurtz love either one of them? I can't really tell.

If coldness is the absence of heat, darkness is the absence of light, and hatred is the absence of love, is there some kind of interconnection between these relationships? If heat, light, and love can be connected, then shouldn't that mean coldness, darkness, and hatred shared something as well? So if heat = love = light, and coldness = darkness = hatred, couldn't we say that Darkness is the absence of Love?

"The last word he pronounced was--- your name." Surely Marlow did not tell this lie because he knew Kurtz possessed an undying love for his Fiancee; Kurtz had a mistress. No, love was not the reason for this lie--- it was protection.

"... I could not tell her. It would have been too dark--- too dark altogether...."

What Marlow witnessed in the wild, needed to stay in the wild. To my understanding (in a greater sense), I would say the Intended symbolized idealism and morality, and Marlow lied only to protect them from a chaos that had yet to be revealed. If society knew about the potential power and influence of these great evils, would they accept it, nurture it, and revel in it like we already do when it comes to media and money? Would we dive in head first, like Kurtz did, and realize our mistake when it would already be too late?

Now throughout this journal, I have refrained from discussing this almighty truth about Darkness within the wild, imperialism, and ourselves. Truth is, I still don't know what to make of it. I've always understood that evil lurks around every corner, but I never really understood its power. My understanding about Darkness is there are no differences. There are no shades, there is no in between. There just IS. The Darkness that lies in the Congo is the same Darkness that lies in the city. The Darkness that engulfed Kurt and his savage natives is the same Darkness that hides in all civilized men. The only difference between the Darkness in civilization and the Darkness in the wild is its ability to hide.






There is so much evil in this world, and yet, I cannot think of one force that could ever corrupt my mother's love.

"And this also," said Marlow suddenly, "has been one of the dark places of the earth."

January 27th. After a month of avoiding English class, I finally returned. The anxiety I felt was so overwhelming. I couldn't sit in my chair. I couldn't breathe properly. There were a lot of things wrong with me. The thought of failing this class did not help, so I tried to scribble a bunch of BS as distraction.

I could not be distracted.

"I DON'T WANT TO BE HERE. HOW DO I FEEL RIGHT NOW? I GUESS IT'S ASHAMED. I DON'T GET WORK DONE. I AM NOT ENGAGED IN CLASS, BUT MOST OF ALL, I CANNOT SIT DOWN
AND
JUST
WRITE.



IRONIC THOUGH.



ISN'T THAT WHAT I JUST DID?



BUT EITHER WAY, MR. GURALIUK IS TALKING AND I AM LOST. NOT LOST IN HIS WORDS ABOUT WORK I HAVE NOT DONE (WELL YES, I GUESS) BUT MORE LOST IN MY OWN PATHETIC HOPELESSNESS. I'D LIKE TO SAY THAT IT'S A DEEP AND MEANINGFUL HOPELESSNESS, BUT IT IS SO SHALLOW. HOW COME I CANNOT SEEM TO REEL MYSELF OUT? HOW COME I CAN'T USE THE STRENGTH AND BELIEF PEOPLE HAVE IN ME, TO PUSH ME? DON'T I CARE? WHY AM I IMAGINING MYSELF WALKING OUT OF THIS CLASSROOM RIGHT NOW? WHY CAN'T I FACE HIM OR ANYONE ELSE IN THIS CLASS? BEATS ME.



FALSE. IT HAS EVERYTHING TO DO WITH ME AND I CANNOT ADMIT IT TO MYSELF. HOW LOW DO I FEEL RIGHT NOW?



WHY CAN'T I JUST ACCEPT THAT THIS IS ALL MY FAULT? WHY CAN'T I JUST ACCEPT THAT THIS IS ONE SCREW UP THAT CAN'T BE FIXED?



HOW TEMPTED AM I TO WRITE 'BUT IT CAN BE FIXED'. I GUESS I'M JUST STUCK IN THE SHALLOW END."

I think that was the first time since grade 9 that I've written for myself and to myself. I remember my English teacher in grade 8 and 9, Ms. Mah. Before every class, she'd make us write a journal entry. These entries made me discover so many things about myself, so many thoughts, feelings and ideas I never knew I had. These journals made me admit things I could never admit to anyone in the world, and no matter how much they relieved me and provided an escape for my bottled up emotions, they terrified me. I never wanted to feel the things I felt when I wrote, but without these journals, I would have never discovered my love for writing. Ms. Mah never read my fat pink notebook, but she told me all the things I would be capable of if I continued to venture beyond my limits.We emailed often, and she'd always give me insight on my personal work. She is the reason I cannot stand the sight of  "The reason why...". She is the reason I will never mistake "affect" for "effect". She nurtured any passion I had towards writing. Throughout those two years, she became one of the few people that made me realize what self-worth was. When she left Gladstone without a word, nobody really understood how heartbroken I was. 

That was three years ago. A week from today, at 5 in the morning, she crossed my mind and I emailed her. I wrote about how lately I've been struggling with school and how much I missed her. I thanked her for everything, from fostering my passion for writing to the bagels that she brought every class. It didn't even matter if she replied; I didn't think she even used that email anymore. It was just nice to write without forcing it. 

She replied 4 hours later.

"... writing is like a relationship. There are times when everything is good, and you are in love with it and it with you. Then there are times when you feel betrayed and wonder if it's the right thing for you. A few years ago I had to take a break from writing. I'd felt we'd gotten stuck in a rut, so I stopped. I did other things that I loved, like climbing and snowboarding, but I knew something was still missing. I got in touch with one of my mentors and she told me it was normal. This is why I'm sharing this with you. When I went back to writing, I took a different approach. I stopped writing for everyone else (magazines, newspapers, work) and wrote for me."

What has this got to do with this assignment? Nothing, really. Journals are meant for (self-) discovery, are they not? 

I've never been a Kurtz, but I have been a Marlow. I have peered over the edge and I've been tempted to jump into my very own Darkness. I can say that I, like Marlow, have ventured to a dark place of the earth.

And I feel that here, I must conclude this journal before I ever get the chance to jump, and find what it is like to be a Kurtz. 

Although I could never really tell you the true meanings of The Hollow Men and Heart of Darkness, I feel enlightened in the utmost of ways, even in this dim room of understanding. 

This is the way my journal ends,

Not with a bang, but a whimper.