Gaya's LIT310 Blog

Earlier this week, my friends and I went to the Musem of Fine Arts in Boston, to check out the “Women Take the Floor” exhibition. An issue that is often brought up in society is the inequality between men and women in the workplace. Going to this exhibition has given me the opportunity to pay more attention to the issue, but specifically in the field of visual art.

This week, I learned that there are roughly the same amount of men and women artists in the world. However, the majority of artworks displayed in many art galleries are those made by male artists. The “Women Take the Floor” exhibition showcases artworks made by female artists like Frida Kahlo, in various forms of artworks, such as paintings, sculptures, poetry, and cinematography.

One of the things that intrigue me the most is the way the artworks are so different in their own ways but somehow are able to be tied together through the way they are displayed in the exhibition. The walls of the exhibition are plain white with bright red texts on them (quotes of various female artists, the purpose of the exhibition, etc). The contrast between these two colors really makes those texts stand out. On top of that, the color red is often associated with the idea of bravery, which also plays a role in achieving the goal to not only empower female artists but also visitors at the exhibition like myself.

The exhibition also consists of several interactive elements with its visitors, such as one where we are able to write our version of a structured and short poem that they have on their wall, on a piece of paper and hang it on the wall.

So here is my version:

say my name & i’ll sing

call me out & i’ll harmonize

i reimagine the euphony

and i announce my voice

The Tragedy of the Commons

Ashy air fills my full-grown lungs while

sound of footsteps reminds me of 

hourglass, reflections of the invisible

time, hour, minute, second, no

time, just your sin, yours, not

mine.

Three hundred eighty-five steps bring me

closer to school, closer to a

degree that should have taught me

how to breathe without guilt.

But no matter where I walk, 

grey clouds hover over my presence of

constant anxiety desperate to go back

home, now empty space filled without

My Favorite Vacation

When I hear the word “vacation,” I would always think about the time my high school friends and I went to Nepal for some volunteer work. It was a 9-day trip back when we were in our junior year.

We spent the first two days and the last day of our trip in the capital of Nepal, Kathmandu, where we explored the city and the famous temple, Swayambhunath. I found it most intriguing to see how people from Nepal are ethnically and racially diverse. It consists of many different tribes but somehow they manage to co-exist peacefully. On top of that, I also liked the colorful prayer flags hung at almost every corner of the city.

After exploring the city, we spent most of our days hiking from villages to villages, where we witnessed the beauty of the Himalayas and Mount Everest from a far distance. Although the Nepalese nature was unlike something I have seen before, the heartwarming people in Chisapani, a village we spent most of our time in, were just as exquisite. We helped them build a safe shelter for them to hide during an earthquake. Even though they were unable to speak English and my friends and I were not able to speak their language, they still managed to make us feel welcome in their home by trying their best to communicate with us through physical movements. Their smiles and laughter also made the days go by faster and the heavy work we had to do easier and more fun to do.

       Goosebumps on her skin like

blades of grass on a field frost-covered.

  Unlike her, I’m filled with warmth from

        tucks of her embracing gum.

         Late to our               hideout.

          Take my                    time

            while her                time

              is filled                with

                  pain.              oh

                    poor

                        her.

                                                                                                                 Light jean pockets carry bottles

                                            of pills she thinks will kill her pain. She

                                         doesn’t know. Pellets not my enemy. They 

                                              are like parents who don’t want their 

                                                   kids to grow                  up but 

                                                     insist to                         take 

                                                       their                          time. 

                                                          I’m                       that

                                                             kid.                 I’m

                                                                 so

            Deep in bed fills with sympathy.

     Her head aches for desperation to wake

   me up but mother forces me to stay. Mother

   has no say in the ways I grow. Gravity pulls 

         me away from              her nurturing

           arms. It’s time                    for me

                to stop                      her pain.

                    not                          hers,

                      but                      mo     

                          th                 er

TPC, Page 92, #3

TPC, Page 72, #4

I decided to choose potato chips as my object and here are some fun facts that I found:

- Invented by a Native American/African American chef, George Crum

- 1853

- Crum worked at the Moon Lake Lodge Resort in New York

- His customers were complaining that his fries were cut too thick

- Crum cut them into thinner pieces but his customers were still not satisfied, hence, he decided to cut them into even thinner pieces (thinner than the gaps in a fork), to annoy his customers.

 - Surprisingly, his customers were satisfied with the extremely-thin-cut fries

- He opened his own restaurant and his potato chips were initially called Saratoga chips and potato crunches.

Source: https://www.enchantedlearning.com/inventors/page/p/potatochip.shtml

If I am being honest, I don’t think my sister and I have changed much since the picture above to now, physically. However, our relationship and personalities have developed so much ever since. The picture above was taken more than ten years ago and the picture below was taken this summer. Considering the big time gap between the two pictures, I can only remember some of the major events that happened in between. First of all, I would just like to point out that my sister, Shanti and I, did not get along with one another as kids. I would say that I got along better with my other two sisters. She would always get mad at me for copying her, I would get mad at her for playing with my Play-Doh, and any other fights that siblings usually get into. Shanti then went to Singapore when she was entering middle school. By the time I went to Singapore to study abroad just like her, she was graduating high school and ready to move to the States to begin her college experience. Compared to the years I lived with her when we were kids, the years we spent away from each other were far more significant to me. They gave us time to grow up separately and taught us to appreciate each other’s presence when we do see each other. It amazes me to think that between these two pictures, we both graduated high school, entered college and that I am now in my second year in college and she currently has a full-time job in Singapore.

Things that I dislike intensely:

- When people chew with their mouths open

- The taste of ginger

- The feeling and sound of nails scratching against the wall

- Public speaking

- People who think they are better than everyone else

- Dry lips and skin during winter

- When the omelet line is long

Munch, Crunch, and Slurp

Here is a draft of a poem that I am still currently working on. These are only some of the lines taken from that poem, which I will be experimenting with, by changing the length, lines, and stanzas:

Why I Miss Home (Version 1)

Because I love the yolk-yellow sun with my morning breakfast

Because I hear the thump of my father’s favorite boots through my pillow, to the roots of my hair

Because I feel my mother’s fingers swimming through my dark-brown flowing river

Because I miss reaching to my left shoulder for the seatbelt of the passenger seat

Because I miss the warm breeze brushing against where my arm hair is marching

Because I miss the shiny starfruits hanging above my head in my sleep

Why I Miss Home (Version 2)

Because I love 

the yolk-yellow sun morning breakfast

Because I hear

the thump of my father’s boots

Because I feel

my mother’s fingers swimming 

through my dark-brown flowing river

Because I miss 

reaching for the seatbelt 

on my left

Because I miss 

the warm breeze

against where my arm hair is marching

Because I miss 

the shiny starfruits hanging above my head 

in my sleep

Here is the finalized version of my poem:

Why I Miss Home

  Because I love

yolk-yellow sun with my morning breakfast

Because I hear

the thump of my father’s favorite boots through my pillow

to the roots of my hair

Because I feel

my mother’s fingers

swimming through my dark-brown flowing river

  Because my dog’s paws

tik tok against the floor to welcome me

home

Because no one can tell the difference between

me and my sister

Because my eyes erupt lava from biting

a taste of home

Because of the number of hours spent in the car going

from places

to places

  Because of night owls who seek comfort from each other’s presence

Because the beach water is as blue as Cold Stone’s cotton candy ice cream flavor that reminds me of

summer

all year long

Because the sound of

bell echoes around

temple walls

Because my sister slaps my arms when

she laughs

Because the flowers light up my

field of view

  Because I miss

reaching to my left shoulder for the seatbelt of the passenger seat

Because I miss

warm breeze brushing against where my arm hair is marching

Because I miss

shiny starfruits hanging above

my head