He Said, She Said

Yesterday in English class, Ms. Serensky said that after reading John's where he referred to her as "she," she felt "weirded out."  It seemed to her (sorry for doing it again, Ms. Serensky) that by using condescending diction, such as "her," he created a tone of animosity.  This starkly contrasted with Gogol in The Namesake, becasue when he read a book in which "the main characters were simply referred to, for hundreds of pages, as He and She," he envied them (245).  I personally agree with Ms. Serenksy because when I overhear my parents talking about my brother and me, and they refer to us as "he" and "she," I become increasingly frustrated.  Although I should take this as a sign of love-they do it because we are the loves of their lives-I dislike the fact that the degrade us to simple pronouns that could be ambiguous or used for anyone.  This realization caused me to have a lot of sympathy for Gogol, which I definitely lacked, especially toward the beginning of the book.  I felt that if he desired to be called "he," and was jealous of those who were, he must not have that innate connection to his name that I just recently found.  I am not even particularly fond of the name Elizabeth, but I would take it any day over the pronoun "she."

We Doesn't Speak So Good

Last Thursday in Spanish, I had a rude awakening due to many of the issues our class had with grammar not only in Spanish, but in English as well.  While we studied indirect and direct object pronouns, I realized that only about half the class knew what an object of a sentence actually was.  It was very frustrating for me, as I am one of those people who tell you to say "whom" instead of "who," which I can understand is frustrating in its own way as well.  Now I know that no one can be flawless, but I have heard even AP English students remark after a test "I think I did really good on that," and I want to blow my brains out.  Sometimes, I'll hear "Where are you going to?" and I want to hurt someone.  I know this is a touchy subject, because people, for some reason, seem to be very defensive of their bad grammar when I correct them.  My instinct was to paradoxically thank and berate my education in English; in AP English I feel like I have the tools (and the brain) to fix my own mistakes, but I wonder why others have felt like they haven't learned basic rules of grammar, such as when to use present or past perfect tense, or the difference between indirect and direct objects.  I vaguely remember learning something about underlining and boxing different types of words in a sentence around fifth grade, but I wonder why so many people, including myself, have lost this memory (I only remember the rules due to my obsessive need to speak correctly).  Why is it so hard for us to speak properly?

So Much For My Happy Ending

The last chapter of The Namesake caused my opinion of it to become more positive.  I felt that most people would be unhappy with this ending, like many were with The Kite Runner, one of my favorite books.  I especially liked the ending of that book because the repetition of "For you a thousand times over" creates a parallel between the protagonist's childhood disappointments and tragedies to the new hope he creates in the last scene, by growing and changing who he is.  During The Namesake,  I was constantly reminded of this book because each protagonist has difficulty letting go of his past, and has a hard time becoming an independent adult.  I love the conclusion to each of these books because neither of them have the perfect fairy-tale ending that most people want.  Yet, they show a sliver of hope that gives the characters something to work towards in achieving happiness.  The last sentence of The Namesake, "For now, he starts to read," ironically signifies a new beginning and leads the reader to believe that Gogol will somehow, through perseverance, learn to become, for the first time, satisfied with his life.

A Name: A Nuisance Better Kept or Left Behind?

After learning of Gogol's choice to change his name, I ended up stumbling over some old "notes" I wrote on Facebook in tenth grade.  I had written them when it was a "cool" thing to do one Facebook.  I only had two, and immediately deleted the first one, realizing how dumb it sounded and how profound I thought I was at that age.  I went through the second note, which was a survey.  It asked me questions like "What was your last text message?" and "What was the last thing you had to eat?".  With each question, I was repulsively reminded of my past self and all my previous ideals.  Eventually, I came across the question "Would you like to change your name?".  To my surprise, I had undoubtedly and unquestioningly answered "yes," with no explanation, and moved on to the next question.  Now that I think about the consequences and the loss of identity that go along with changing my name, I realize how much I do NOT want to change it.  Although I have never been particularly fond of "Elizabeth," it is who I am.  This realization caused me to understand how important a name truly is.  We are what we make it.  It changes along with us, and we have complete control over how we interpret it.  Although I did not find my past answers wonderfully engaging, or as smart as I considered them then, I found that my name encapsulates all that I am, including the parts I do not like.  My willingness to accept that, then find who I really want to be helps me to not only accept, but cherish my name, which I believe will come to help me in the future

Confidence in Children With Parents From Different Countries

Throughout The Namesake, I've contemplated how much a parent's choices affects their child, and how much they can prevent their child from dissatisfaction in their life.  I believe that both Gogol's and Moushimi's parents' decisions positively affected each of them, yet their unwillingness, or inability, to see this caused most of the problems in their lives.  They each neglected the Indian part of themselves solely to spite their parents and did not learn to cherish what made them different from other American children.  When I was shopping the other day, I saw two women in burkas, talking rapidly in a different language.  They seemed to be happy, and did not care that they looked like no one else in the store, but they were shopping with their daughter and she acted very differently.  She wore average American clothing and kept her eyes downcast, never making eye contact with anyone.  I wondered what her life was like, and if it beared any resemblance to Gogol's.  She seemed to feel left out of the American culture, as she did not shop freely like the American children, yet she did not belong to the culture of the women with whom she was shopping either.  I felt that this was a very confusing state in which to remain as a child and, watching this girl, I felt a lot of sympathy for Gogol, and even Moushimi, even though I strongly dislike her at this point in the book.  I feel that I have seen a realistic version of Gogol's situation and can sympathize with him much more easily now.