The Twelve in Depth Understanding

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Cry, The Beloved Country

Although Cry, The Beloved Country displays many examples of symbolism, the symbolism of the land is used prominently in this novel to tie to the superior theme of family. In the beginning of book one, Stephen Kumalo begins with a meticulous description of how he views the land and what it means to him. In his portrayal he dexterously embeds foreshadowing and other literary devices. Also a description of the land was used in book two, when James Jarvis (Arthur Jarvis’s father) came to Johannesburg for his sons’ funeral. All in all, the description of the land sets the stage for how the duritation of the book will flow and his overall message of how sacred family is.

In book one Paton goes in to detail describing the land saying that “… the earth is torn away like flesh” foreshadowing how the families are being torn apart (pg. 34). The earth, as used in book one, is acting as if it were the people itself. Whatever happens to the land is what is truly happening to the people. An example of the earth being torn away like flesh is when Arthur Jarvis was torn away from his family when he was murdered by three blacks. His family showed great remorse when he passed by when they initiated, “Pain does not go away so quickly” (pg. 189). This is showing how the land tells the story as well as the story its self, reminding us how priceless family is.

 Paton also says “The men are away, the young men and the girls are away
“, denoting to how Stephen Kumalo’s family are away (pg.34). Stephen Kumalo cares greatly about his family. It says “She [Stephen Kumalo’s wife] mustered up her courage, and said, it is not from our son. [Stephen Kumalo said] No, he said. And he sighed” which indicates Stephens’ melancholy from the absence of conversation between him and his son. This gap is tearing away at Kumalo because he can literally feel the world tearing away his family destroying the sacred bond that should stand with a man and his son.

 Paton says “The soil cannot keep them anymore” implying how Stephen Kumalo’s child has gone to Johannesburg leaving the protection of the mother land (pg 34). Once he left, the land could no longer protect him anymore. Which entailed that the land could no further act as if it were his mother by feeding, clothing, sheltering, and fulfilling other duties by the fruits that it had bared. In leaving the protection of his land, he also strayed away from what Paton feels that is most essential, which is family.

All in all, the land by its self tells the sorry. It voices the account of how families were unraveled apart and how they were once whole. The book Cry, The Beloved Country would be incomplete without the descriptions of the land setting the platform for the book. Paton demonstrated astute skills by using the land as an icon for the people. Which only goes deeper in meaning to the true gist of family.

The Most Powerful Tool

            When I was little, I was very insecure. I was insecure because people always made fun of me. They called me a “clown” , a “freak”, and even “Chucky” the evil little red head doll from The Curse of Chucky, all because I was different. I didn’t act like them, I didn’t dress like them…I just wasn’t them. They often made me feel that I was doing something wrong. Even when I “tried” to act like them, I stuck out like a big red sore thumb.

I often felt that my red hair was a curse instead of a blessing. I thought that since I had it, they took it as a target. You know, the bull see’s the red and chases it, that sort of thing. It took a lot of me to just be myself, and when I grasped the concept of being myself... everything changed.

            In life I figured out that children can be and were cruel. They could make you feel like a bucket of slop if you let them. They could even dictate the way your day flowed. Children were like my enemies. I believe that’s why I was often found being to myself. My silence was my sword...it was my shield from the world. My silence was everything that I needed it to be. I think that over time I even learned to block people out with my silence. I blocked them out to the point to where I would only see their mouth moving but no words coming out. But, as time went by I came to the realization that it wasn’t the silence that helped me get through the years. It was during the silence that I realized who I was.

            The silence was good. It was very good. It was almost as if I was addicted to the safeness that its presence gave me. But, the feeling of finally being bold in myself during the midst of my silence was the best feeling ever. So as I look back on my childhood, I now thank the children that were cruel to me. They helped me master the most important tool of all. The tool that I needed for life. The tool that is called knowing and being proud of who I am. This I believe is the most important tool, knowing  my true full identity.

Mama's Lemon Merauigne Pie

Ingredients:
3 lemons
1 cup of sugar
1 cup of lemon juice
1 egg
1 graham craker pie crust
1 can of condensed milk
1 tup of whipped cream


Preparations:
First, wash your hands. Like Mama always say, " You don't want any germs in your food." Next, get out a medium sized bowl. Then take the lemons and roll them (so it will be easier to squeeze them). When done rolling the lemons, cut them in half and squeeze all of the juice out of them. Make sure that you also cut the pulp into the bowl and remove any seeds that may have possibly been squeezed into the bowl.

 Only on special occasions, I would wake up early Saturday morning and come down stairs to see mama rolling the lemons on the table. Once she had rolled them I would see her cut the lemons in half and begin to squeeze them. Mama was the best lemon squeezer in town. She would squueze the lemons so hard that it almost look as if she had the arm of a famous boxer. Once she was finished squeezing them dry, she would cut the pulp out of the lemons and take a spoon and remove the seeds. After she completed the lemon squeezing process she would meet my rock solid glare and smile and say,"Goodmorning, did you sleep well?" Now of coure I would respond. I would stare back up at her and say "yea" or " I slept perfect", you know, something along the lines of that.

Next, she would "try" to open the can of condensed milk to add to the sour bowl of freshly squeezed lemon juice. But as usual, she had forgotten the can opener. I tried to sneak away but she read my mind ( like clockwork) and popped her hand out holding the can signaling me to go open the can. I grumbled  ( not loud enough for her to hear of course) and went obidiently to go open it. After I opened it I brought it back to her.

She poured in the can of condensed milk. Then she craked the egg and opened it over the bowl and handed me the shells. I threw them away. While washing my hands I heard her pour the store bought cup of lemon juice in. Once she had did so I would heard the clashing of the bowl and the spoon which let me know that she was stirring the mixture. After she had did so she added the cup of sugar.
When she had poured the sugar she told me to go and bring her the blender. I did as I was told.
Then she blended the mixture with the blender for five minutes.

" Kia, go and turn the stove on to 350," said mama.

"Yes ma'am," I replied.

I did so. I watched her pour in the mixture into the grahm cracker crust then shove it into the oven. She let it stay in there for 10 minutes then she took it out. Then she placed the hot pie into the freezer for 15 minutes. Then she took the pie out and carefully spreaded the whipcream over the pie and put the pie back in for 30 minutes. Then she took it out and cut me a single slice and put it on a plate. She sat the plate in front of me, kissed my forehead, and whisperd in my ear and said, "Enjoy." AsI ate my first bite, I quietly watched her walk away.

Love So Close Yet So Far

Could you picture yourself saying that a dead man is "handsome" or "hot"? In the story "The Handsomest Drowned Man In The World" by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, all of the women in the village referred to the dead corpse, Esteban, as rather "the best built man they had ever seen". As being a lady if you are to say that about a boy and/or a man you typically think that he is attractive. In addition to you thinking that he is attractive then you give your heart a gateway to form feelings for the corpse. The key to it all starts with your imagination, and if you let your imagination run wildly long enough you can be in love with a corpse and not even realize it.

"Not only was he the tallest,...". Most ladies I know prefers a tall man over a short man. Being a tall man is one of the many qualities a woman looks for in a man. It's as if it's natural for a woman to want a tall man! I am sure that is how the village women felt in "The Handsomest Drowned Man In The World".

In the story it even says that they went to the extreme of comparing this gorgeous corpse to their husbands. "They secretly compared him to their own men,...".  If a woman takes out enough time to compare Esteban to their actual husbands this shows signs of interest. It also gives you the opportunity to read between the lines and see that they are fantasizing how their relationship with Esteban might have been if he was alive. Which is showing a secret forbidden love forming.

Love can be so close, yet so far away. Love for the women in the village was laying as close as the table, but since he was dead their love for him felt millenniums away. A forbidden love it was indeed. This romance went on as long as they wanted it too. Because in the end, the romance with Esteban could always play out as long as they wanted it too in their hearts'.

My Love for Cotton Candy

            Many people do not understand my love for cotton candy. My passion for cotton candy is deeper than the ocean. The poem that enticed me to tell about the love of cotton candy is found on the following web page: http://www.wattpad.com/8519798-cotton-candy.

This poem not only relates to me, but it is me! The way that they describe cotton candy relates to my everyday craving for cotton candy. I not only crave it, I need it. There’s not one thing about cotton candy that could make me stop wanting it. Not one.

            “…Too much of it will rot your teeth.” People frequently tell me that cotton candy destroys my teeth. I feel that they tell me lies and are just trying to steal me away from my beloved cotton candy. If only they could feel the sense of fulfillment that cotton candy brings me when it melts on my tongue, they would understand too.

            Even though that cotton candy comes in many different colors, all of them tastes wonderful. Every different flavor that they have of cotton candy are all equally good. From the time that I drop it on my tongue to the time that I swallow it, I enjoy each and every bite of it.

            This poem is not just a poem, it is who I am. It talks about my one true love and that’s why I love this poem the most. Every word reveals bits and pieces of my character and I love it.