A Smile like the Cheshire Cat

     It's often said that a smile is worth a thousand words. In my 16 years of life experience, I've found this to be the case a majority of the time. To me, they are the gateway to a person's heart, and can hint at someone's thoughts and feelings in a matter of moments. For example, a forced smile indicates duress or a degree of unease; A genuine smile paints a picture of comfort and joy; A smile laced with malice serves as a warning to others.
     I like to think that I'm decent at interpreting smiles and the motives behind them, but Jay Gatsby's smile just confuses me. When the narrator Nick first meets him, he is described as having a "rare...irresistible" smile as if he sees only the best in you. It's a genuine smile that makes it seem as though he cares.
     However, the smile abruptly vanishes, and Nick's image of Gatsby is shifted from an ideal, compassionate young man to a "roughneck" who tries too hard to impress others by using formal speech bordering "absurd[ity]".
      So, which is it? Is Gatsby truly a kind-hearted person, or is he just a small man looking to impress others? At this point in the novel, a few chapters in, I'm leaning towards the latter. He learns from an early age that "people lik[e] him" when he smiles, and, since he smiles a lot, he might just be groveling for attention.
     I really hope I'm wrong, not only because it'd make me feel better knowing that not all characters in books are complex but terrible people (see The Bluest Eye for examples), but also because it would be a pity if someone as handsome as Leonardo DiCaprio played such a cold person.

Leo is mocking me with the uncertainty of Gatsby's smile

It's Called a Flapper, Alice

     Last Christmas, I was obsessed with Downton Abbey. For those who don't know, it's a British T.V. show set in the English countryside during and the years following the First World War. It follows the life of the wealthy Crawley family, whose members all live an extravagant lifestyle filled with servants, parties, and more.
      At the time, my absolute favorite part was the way the female characters dressed, especially during the later seasons of the show. Their dresses, which began as long and simplistic, gradually evolved into "flapper dresses", which had ornate beads and designs sewn upon them and were often trimmed with fringe. In later seasons, girls' hair was either cut short or curled and then piled atop the head.

The longer, more simplistic dresses of the 1910's.....

...versus the flapper dresses of the Roaring Twenties

     I was surprised to learn last night (while I was researching the background of The Great Gatsby) that these flapper dresses were a product of women's rebellion against social norms during the 1920's, also known as the Roaring Twenties. Traditionally, dresses always fell below the ankle, and long hair was a symbol of beauty. However, flapper dresses defied these standards; They were shorter than the dresses of the previous decades and girls often cut their hair to a daringly short length.
     I'm sure that was enough to give the older generation a heart attack, but young ladies in the 1920's also began to pick up 'improper' slang such as "the bee's knees" and "that's so Jake". Well, I've never seen the any of the Crawley daughters say any such thing, but that's probably because they were too posh.
     The funniest thing I found through my research, though, is the fact that F. Scott Fitzgerald, the author of The Great Gatsby, wrote a collection of short stories called “A Story of Flappers for Philosophers.” I can't help but wonder what the Crawleys would have thought of such a collection... -MC

Source: https://www.loc.gov/rr/news/topics/flapper.html

I Must be Hallucinating...

I used to smile a lot.
     When I was younger, I nearly always had the beginnings of a smile splashed across my countenance as I walked through the winding halls of Smith Middle School or Troy High. I had little wrinkles around my eyes from smiling so much, so it looked as though I was ready to burst into a full-fledged grin or open guffaw at any moment.
     It was around the November Paris attacks and the ever-increasing police shootings last year that I sobered up and saw the world for what it really is. I saw the violence and death that comes with extreme jingoism; I saw the pain and anger that comes with racism. Everywhere I looked more people were dead or dying, with the world’s most powerful countries seemingly crumbling in front of my eyes. I couldn’t stand it. That was when I stopped smiling as often.
     On Tuesday evening, as I watched ABC News and the electoral college votes piling up for Donald Trump, I thought I was hallucinating. Never in my wildest dreams did I think he would be elected. The rest of the week I didn't smile. Well, not genuinely - just a well-practiced upturn of the lips that did not reach my eyes. I felt defeated.
     The very being that promotes racial intolerance and dangerous hatred is now the president-elect of the United States of America. It is supposedly the land of the free, but we as a nation are now chained to his bigoted views. How ironic.
     The other day in English, though, got me to reevaluate my perspective. We discussed the New York-based painter Kehinde Wiley, who is famous for recreating notable old paintings by replacing the old dead white guys with African American men and women. His subjects are painted with a powerful stance and defiant looks on their faces.

Wiley's paintings replace white men with strong African Americans.

     It goes without saying that African American culture is not well-represented in the fine arts. It's far easier to find a painting of a white man than of an African American man. Even so, Wiley still paints with his own flair. He says that in "going against the grain" of what is commonly accepted in society, he is "finding value" in things that aren't always appreciated.
     His words have helped liberate me from the grasp of Trump. If this painter can make a stand for himself and what he believes in through art, then I can do the same. I will stand through the next four years of wind, rain, and snow with the rest of the nation, and I will fight harder for all the things I believe in.
-MC

Today is the one-year anniversary of the attacks on Paris, France, which resulted in 130 unnecessary deaths. Please take a moment out of your day to acknowledge all those who have lost their lives through violence. 

Free to Be Me in my Wonderland

When I was in elementary school, I was free.
     I was free from the prejudice that is too often acquired as people age; I was free from the hurt that comes with it.

Those were simpler times.

     I still remember running around the grassy playground on a warm school day, pretending I was the Pokémon Pikachu battling my friends Charmander, Bulbasaur and Squirtle. Our role- play was complete with lively sound effects and hand gestures. None of us cared what others might have thought. In fact, being the curious toddlers we were, our classmates were more likely to join in than to judge us.

But that was when we were all naïve. 
     As I got older, I began to notice more differences between myself and my classmates. It was small at first: asking to borrow scissors from a particular person or sitting by a particular group at lunch. But, this chasm inevitably grew wider as I progressed through elementary school. By the time I hit middle school, distinct groups formed - the Asians, the Populars, the Outcasts, and so on. Sure, there was some overlap, but people almost always reverted back to those groups.
     Usually this grouping didn't bother me. I was content with sitting with my fellow Asian friends. Even so, sometimes I couldn't help but look over at the group of popular girls who all looked so incredibly happy in their Ugg boots and tons of friends and wonder "What [is] the secret? What [do I] lack?" 
     Fortunately, these thoughts were never more than a small nag. Unlike what happens to Pecola in The Bluest Eye, they never became an obsession. It took me a few years, but eventually I came to the conclusion that it's okay to be different. I've learned to be proud of who I am, and to not be ashamed of how others may see me. -MC