This sketch sees the life of sprouting Sam. Sam's parents are young, divorced and seeking. Too much of a burden for them to bare, Sam is given to her aunt and uncle. This couple is much older than the last and cannot produce children of their own. They value Sam and raise her as well as any child could be raised. Sam appreciates her aunt's and uncle's kindness and lives up to their expectations fully. In this house by the sea, there is respect, kindness and generosity. They all live reasonably well.
In Sam, her uncle can fulfill his idea of success. He is an aging fisherman. He has good enough lodging, food to feed him daily, a wife to tend to his needs and enough money saved up to buy him a good resting place. He cannot cease to work, however. He is a fisherman. It is not only his job, but his identity. So on he works everyday. In his old age he continues to work hard and only in the last few years of his life has he begun to question the purpose of his life. Sam is the answer to his call. For her, his child, he can continue to work. She can give his life meaning. She will one day inherit all that is his. Sam is his idea of life.
The aunt sees no such thing in Sam. For her, Sam is not an oversimplified symbol of false hope. Sam is alive and breathing. She is a daughter to make one proud. As a retired school teacher, Sam's aunt enjoys teaching and counseling. Sam gives her the opportunity to attend parent-teacher-conferences, award ceremonies and graduations. Sam is a picture pulled out from her purse to show up the cousins and neighbors. Sam is fulfillment.
Sam pieces together her life and finds everything in place, good and standard. Her family is in every way wholesome and happy. She is grateful for life and for kindness. She cannot, however, help but sense the emptiness in this life by the sea. Some days as she walks past her aunt and uncle, she can almost hear their regret. What if they had not chosen her but instead continued to try for their own child? They can ask no more from Sam, but the thoughts linger in their minds: Would it be different if she were our own? Would this feeling of like and appreciation become love? Is this love?
Maternal love, the aunt thinks, is unconditional. I care for this child more than anything in life. If she were my own, can this love be greater still? Am I missing out on the best joy of motherhood? Or is this it?
Life, the uncle says, is about goals. My goal is to provide for this child. I will give her everything. That is life. That is everything.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Friday, February 6, 2009
Live Your Art
Part I: Confession of Klotho
I was known as the stubborn, irritable child. I genuinely did not like the others; I never saw them in a flattering light. People, I knew, were endlessly selfish and acted only to fulfill their own needs. Acts of kindness were entirely insincere. And why should they not be so? The best of liars fool themselves into thinking that they are selfless and caring.
I rebelled against what seemed to be the world. I misbehaved, resisting the gentle uniformity. They called me disobedient among other things. I accepted their stupidity, but could not come to terms with the unfairness. I was honest and righteous in my judgment of mankind, yet no one willed to understand.
I now feign signs of selflessness and goodness to obtain my momentary happiness. In order to be accepted, I must conform to conventions. Though it is difficult to contently live a lie, I must adapt to happiness. I will think that people are good. I will sometimes think that I am good. I know that my life is but an act; a constant acknowledgment of such a fact is not required. My ultimate goal should be to lose myself in my act or to remove myself completely.
Part II: Judgment of Klotho
It is her assumption that momentary happiness is more satisfying than anything she will learn of or come across in the long run. She assumes that in order to achieve such "happiness," she must conform to conventions. It is not in her best interest to allow art to control her life, however, for art does not breathe as humans do. To give one's life to an artificial form such as art is to take one's life ruthlessly and incompletely.
I was known as the stubborn, irritable child. I genuinely did not like the others; I never saw them in a flattering light. People, I knew, were endlessly selfish and acted only to fulfill their own needs. Acts of kindness were entirely insincere. And why should they not be so? The best of liars fool themselves into thinking that they are selfless and caring.
I rebelled against what seemed to be the world. I misbehaved, resisting the gentle uniformity. They called me disobedient among other things. I accepted their stupidity, but could not come to terms with the unfairness. I was honest and righteous in my judgment of mankind, yet no one willed to understand.
I now feign signs of selflessness and goodness to obtain my momentary happiness. In order to be accepted, I must conform to conventions. Though it is difficult to contently live a lie, I must adapt to happiness. I will think that people are good. I will sometimes think that I am good. I know that my life is but an act; a constant acknowledgment of such a fact is not required. My ultimate goal should be to lose myself in my act or to remove myself completely.
Part II: Judgment of Klotho
It is her assumption that momentary happiness is more satisfying than anything she will learn of or come across in the long run. She assumes that in order to achieve such "happiness," she must conform to conventions. It is not in her best interest to allow art to control her life, however, for art does not breathe as humans do. To give one's life to an artificial form such as art is to take one's life ruthlessly and incompletely.