Reflective Essay – The Meaning of Life
When I was fifteen, I started to go to sleep late whereas everybody else at this time had already been asleep for hours. Although it was 1:00 AM, I was always awake in my bed, waiting to fall asleep for at least two hours. Although my body was tired from my long day that started at 8:00 AM in high school and finished at 8:00 PM after an intensive course of taekwondo, I couldn’t get to sleep because my mind kept thinking. I wasn’t thinking about something in particular, but my brain was on and ready to reflect about anything.
Then one winter night, around 1:00 AM, I turned on my TV hoping it would help me to sleep and ended up watching channel “France 3” that was broadcasting a very old episode of “Tintin au Tibet.” I was captivated by this animated movie that had been part of my childhood along with many other things. Everything started from that episode of Tintin. When it was finished, I turned off my TV and began to see my childhood flash before my eyes. A lot of memories, sometimes insignificant, that I had forgotten suddenly came back to my mind. From that night, I couldn’t fall asleep before 5:00 AM the next day, even if I was exhausted and overwrought. I was focused on the past and was nostalgic about this period. Will I feel the same nostalgia about high school sooner as I think too? Will I look always to the past while growing as an adult? Sometimes, looking too much behind you are prevented from advancing. However, it’s good to determine what mistakes were made in the past so as not repeat them later.
Later, always during the night, I would reflect about dozens of questions, like how and why I arrived where I am today and how and where I would go in the future. What would I become? What would I like to become? I had to find the answers to these questions before it was too late because I hadn’t noticed how time passed so fast. I was scared because when I found one possible answer; I immediately found ten new questions. I was overwhelmed by various unanswered questions like the creation of the universe, paranormal activities, extraterrestrial life, etc. Therefore, I started to think about the existence of God who might be able to answer all my questions. Why was I born? What should I do? What would I become after death? However, I knew that I wasn’t the only one not to find answers. For thousands of years, humans have sought answers to these questions.
After thinking about this I have tried to develop some answers to these questions, like for instance, the existence of God. Since the dawn of time, prehistoric men have always been afraid of the darkness of the night and of what they didn’t understand like lightning, which was long interpreted as the wrath of God until we were intelligent enough to understand this physical phenomenon. Today, this belief is still justified because it reassures men when they face questions that science cannot solve all existential issues about life and especially death. Indeed, men are the only living beings who know that they will die, and this is what most frightens them. The fact of imagining a paradise after death helps many people who have a miserable life (like the majority of men) which allows them to believe in a better life after death and gives meaning to their lives. Moreover, it has been the means to establish the rules of living in our society to avoid anarchy. The Church has always maintained a semblance of peace and harmony by scaring men who didn’t follow its rules with the threat of going to Hell after death for eternity. However, a few thousand years after the onset of religions, we can see that it has caused millions of deaths instead of bringing peace and tolerance (as advocated at the base of all religions). Instead, many wars and many immoral acts are still committed to date on our planet. Nowadays, especially in France, we see that people believe less and less in God. I think that the development of our country and education makes people less gullible in this regard. Therefore, also being Cartesian, rational and pragmatic, I am an atheist.
Regarding paranormal activities and having had no experiences, I don’t believe in this either. At the same time, how can we believe in something that we have never seen? Of course, we hear a lot about it, but why believe it when we know the bragging and exaggeration of men. There may be things that are true in these stories, but I remain perplexed. Men always try to find explanations for phenomena that surround them and that they don’t understand. Firstly by science, then by any means if the solution isn’t obvious. Phenomena called supernatural are only those that we cannot explain! The solution may be too complicated for our simple minds, so we invent all sorts of causes that are more and more wacky. But the worst is that in the end, we begin to believe them! Men don’t like the unknown, it scares them. This is why they are willing to believe in their own inventions, such as God, in order to reassure themselves.
Concerning the existence of aliens, this is definitely not paranormal! Why should we be alone in the universe? Why would there be life only on earth and not anywhere else? According to me, there's a good chance there is life elsewhere, but it can be very far from here because the universe is infinitely large! Maybe we will never see aliens. However, to say that they don’t exist is ridiculous. Scientists keep saying that life is not here or there because there is no oxygen or no water. Why wouldn’t a different life form from ours exist; a life form based on different molecules with a different cycle of energy storage that allows living.
The only certainty I have is to be in doubt...there are so many things I don’t understand about the meaning of life and our universe. Why should we worry about something as frivolous as to perpetuate its kind? When I observe the climate change and ecological issues that are so often reported, I don’t really feel concerned. Maybe men are going to their extinction, they will not be able to breathe or eat anymore…but life will take over and the most adapted species will survive, evolve or die. So another era will begin, nothing catastrophic would happen. What about if the earth explodes? The universe is so big! There are so many planets! There are some that regularly die naturally; it doesn’t change the cycle of life and the laws of the universe. In other words, life will continue even without us.
Consequently, why should we continue to get up every morning at 6:00 AM to be hassled all day at work? In so far as it adds nothing to the world except our satisfaction and personal enjoyment? Only that remains. Thus, we must enjoy life without asking too many questions about the purpose of our existence. Life may be valuable, we don’t know, but in doubt we should take care of it. For those who have a hard life or who are depressed, tell yourself that you are not less useful than your neighbor who seems to have a fulfilling life. Having a hard life may be better after all because it is a kind of challenge; it spices up our flat life. We have to enjoy the present moment, then we will have eternity to think about it.
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
STUDENT WRITING: Reflective by PATRICIA ROMAGOSA
A Different Culture
“Mom,” my son told me, “try to remember not to get so close to the American people when you talk to them and especially be very careful about not touching them.” I said, “I am aware I need to restrain myself from doing it, but it is difficult for me to act differently, it just comes naturally.” I know Mom,” he said, “but some of the Americans may not understand that you come from a different culture.” I recall having this conversation with my oldest son several years ago. At that time, I tried to follow my son’s advice to certain degree, yet it was still hard to change my attitude completely. Well, I have to admit that it has been a little bit challenging to get used to the American culture and way of life.
There were some things that I had to change when I started living in this country. For example, in Colombia, you can be more expressive when you talk to acquaintances. We get very close to them and very often we touch them, grabbing them by their arms or padding them on their backs. We feel very comfortable showing them demonstrations of sympathy and trusting since most people there are very warm and friendly. We are also allowed to get very close to someone else’s babies. The culture even allows us to admire them close up, talk to them and caress them. Parents are usually very proud of this attention. In this country, I really need to restrain myself. This was true, especially when I lived in Pennsylvania and Connecticut, where people were less friendly and more suspicious. Living in El Paso as a foreigner, has giving me a little bit more freedom to be myself because many of the residents here come from Mexican ancestors and in general are more friendly and trusting. However, I still have to study the occasion carefully when I approach some of them and respond according to the situation.
As mentioned, my son gave me guidance regarding the American culture. It took a while to assimilate his recommendations, but eventually, I yielded. I assume now that my son was probably embarrassed of the way I acted. Even though I might had responded a little bit defensive to my son’s observation in the past, I had to recognize that he was born in the USA and was more familiar with the American culture. It was interesting to notice that once my son became a teenager and I had the opportunity to take him to visit my family in Colombia more often, he told me one day, “Mom, now I understand more your culture and the reason why you are the way you are, I can tell your Colombian family is very loving and likes to hug others all the time.” After this comment, I felt much better because I knew I had given him the chance to get familiar with my culture and to know some of the reasons why I was somehow different to the American culture. I could observe my son felt very happy spending time with my family and was always looking forward to seeing them every summer. After these experiences, I noticed he started to have more freedom to express his affection and feelings to his American friends in a more open way. Today, I remember very vividly the day when he approached me and said, “Mom, now I had realized that I am in some ways like you and I honestly enjoy getting closer to people and showing them my feelings with some touching and hugs.” After listening to him, I sighted, smiled in approval, and gave him a hug.
I also remember another experience my son and I shared when we moved to Colorado. He had started his first year of high school and was part of the basketball team. One of the team members did not care for either one of us. He was indifferent and unfriendly. This situation really bothered me and I thought to myself, “I have to do something about it.” Then I decided to look for an opportunity to talk to this young man after one of the basketball games. When the day came, I told him a few kind words to break the ice. Although, he didn’t respond friendly to my approach, he seemed okay with my action. Nevertheless, some days later, to my surprise, my son told me that this boy had told him that his Mom was a weirdo. My son had tried to defend me, short of fighting with him. In spite of attempting to ignore that comment, I was very affected by the whole situation and my feelings were very hurt. At that point, I just decided to let it go and pray for peace. I told my son how I felt and after several days he told me that I didn’t have to worry anymore about what this boy said because the school's directors had found out that he was a bad boy and was in a lot of trouble. This individual had been caught not only using drugs but also selling them to other students in the high school. After being discovered, his penalty was expulsion. At that moment I was able to understand why it wasn’t worth worrying about this person’s opinion. Sincerely, I was sorry for him and asked God to bring him to the right path and keep protecting my son from bad influences. My son had confessed me later that this student had been offering him drugs a few times. I learned from this anecdote that some people have very difficult challenges in their lives and first need to learn how to like and love themselves before they have the capacity to accept and like other people who in some way may look and act differently.
Today, I feel I have become more mature and more accustomed to the American culture and also know how to respond better to these differences. These experiences involving my son’s life have given me a great and remarkable opportunity to teach him something new about my own culture and had given him the fortune to understand and feel more comfortable about certain behaviors, including his own.
“Mom,” my son told me, “try to remember not to get so close to the American people when you talk to them and especially be very careful about not touching them.” I said, “I am aware I need to restrain myself from doing it, but it is difficult for me to act differently, it just comes naturally.” I know Mom,” he said, “but some of the Americans may not understand that you come from a different culture.” I recall having this conversation with my oldest son several years ago. At that time, I tried to follow my son’s advice to certain degree, yet it was still hard to change my attitude completely. Well, I have to admit that it has been a little bit challenging to get used to the American culture and way of life.
There were some things that I had to change when I started living in this country. For example, in Colombia, you can be more expressive when you talk to acquaintances. We get very close to them and very often we touch them, grabbing them by their arms or padding them on their backs. We feel very comfortable showing them demonstrations of sympathy and trusting since most people there are very warm and friendly. We are also allowed to get very close to someone else’s babies. The culture even allows us to admire them close up, talk to them and caress them. Parents are usually very proud of this attention. In this country, I really need to restrain myself. This was true, especially when I lived in Pennsylvania and Connecticut, where people were less friendly and more suspicious. Living in El Paso as a foreigner, has giving me a little bit more freedom to be myself because many of the residents here come from Mexican ancestors and in general are more friendly and trusting. However, I still have to study the occasion carefully when I approach some of them and respond according to the situation.
As mentioned, my son gave me guidance regarding the American culture. It took a while to assimilate his recommendations, but eventually, I yielded. I assume now that my son was probably embarrassed of the way I acted. Even though I might had responded a little bit defensive to my son’s observation in the past, I had to recognize that he was born in the USA and was more familiar with the American culture. It was interesting to notice that once my son became a teenager and I had the opportunity to take him to visit my family in Colombia more often, he told me one day, “Mom, now I understand more your culture and the reason why you are the way you are, I can tell your Colombian family is very loving and likes to hug others all the time.” After this comment, I felt much better because I knew I had given him the chance to get familiar with my culture and to know some of the reasons why I was somehow different to the American culture. I could observe my son felt very happy spending time with my family and was always looking forward to seeing them every summer. After these experiences, I noticed he started to have more freedom to express his affection and feelings to his American friends in a more open way. Today, I remember very vividly the day when he approached me and said, “Mom, now I had realized that I am in some ways like you and I honestly enjoy getting closer to people and showing them my feelings with some touching and hugs.” After listening to him, I sighted, smiled in approval, and gave him a hug.
I also remember another experience my son and I shared when we moved to Colorado. He had started his first year of high school and was part of the basketball team. One of the team members did not care for either one of us. He was indifferent and unfriendly. This situation really bothered me and I thought to myself, “I have to do something about it.” Then I decided to look for an opportunity to talk to this young man after one of the basketball games. When the day came, I told him a few kind words to break the ice. Although, he didn’t respond friendly to my approach, he seemed okay with my action. Nevertheless, some days later, to my surprise, my son told me that this boy had told him that his Mom was a weirdo. My son had tried to defend me, short of fighting with him. In spite of attempting to ignore that comment, I was very affected by the whole situation and my feelings were very hurt. At that point, I just decided to let it go and pray for peace. I told my son how I felt and after several days he told me that I didn’t have to worry anymore about what this boy said because the school's directors had found out that he was a bad boy and was in a lot of trouble. This individual had been caught not only using drugs but also selling them to other students in the high school. After being discovered, his penalty was expulsion. At that moment I was able to understand why it wasn’t worth worrying about this person’s opinion. Sincerely, I was sorry for him and asked God to bring him to the right path and keep protecting my son from bad influences. My son had confessed me later that this student had been offering him drugs a few times. I learned from this anecdote that some people have very difficult challenges in their lives and first need to learn how to like and love themselves before they have the capacity to accept and like other people who in some way may look and act differently.
Today, I feel I have become more mature and more accustomed to the American culture and also know how to respond better to these differences. These experiences involving my son’s life have given me a great and remarkable opportunity to teach him something new about my own culture and had given him the fortune to understand and feel more comfortable about certain behaviors, including his own.
STUDENT WRITING: Autobiographical by MAYELA PEREZ
My Brown Skin
When I was a child, my world revolved around two people whom I believed were firm and important for me; these people were my parents, Enrique and Martha. I grew up in a family of one boy and four girls. Their names are Carlos, Anna, Elizabeth and Erika. We lived in Parral, Chih., Mexico, which in those times was a small town. My surroundings were happy and comfortable but without any big excesses. I never had any fears nor concerns.
I was raised on a street where everything was close to my house. There was a park where we used to enjoy playing, riding a bicycle, skating, and jumping rope. The Virgin of the Ray Church was where we went to mass on Sundays and we presented flowers to the Virgin in May. At my elementary school, Federico Stallforth, we attended classes. There was also a market which sold fruits, vegetables, meats and groceries. We had a lot of neighbors.
My Mother was an only daughter and she is a beautiful white-skinned woman. My Grandmother lived with us and she was a beautiful white-skinned woman too. Her name was Adela, but we used to call her Guegue. Even though my Grandfather and my Grandmother were separated, they never got a divorce, but I think that for my Grandmother this situation was hard.
Writing about this makes memories of my childhood come to my mind, and I remember my Grandmother as a person that never loved me because my skin was brown like my father’s. I was about six years old when I began to notice that my Guegue always made a distinction between my sister Anna, who is one year older than me, and me. As if it were yesterday, I remember my mother used to dress us in the same clothes but different colors. My Grandmother always had flatteries for Anna. She would say, ”You look pretty, Annita, with this pink dress,” but she never said anything nice to me. Another memory is when we came home with our grades. She always congratulated only Anna for her grades although my grades were always straight A’s.
Time passed and when we were teenagers her feelings for me got worse. When Anna and I went to a party, she always said nice words to Anna, “You look beautiful and your hair is gorgeous, Annita.” She never had any compliments for me, but at the parties I was the one who danced with the most popular or handsome boy. I thought that my dark-skin was a strength to me. Different things such as getting good grades, learning to play piano, learning to dance, painting and helping my father in his work were more important to me than thinking of what was beautiful.
Sometimes under her breath, I would hear my Grandmother say, “I hate dark-skinned people.” She knew I could hear her but instead of resenting this or being sad, I thought, ”Why is my Guegue an unhappy, bitter person?” I never said anything to her, but my sister Anna always stood up for me. She often told my Grandmother that she was a bitter person.
Even though I never received any kind words from my Grandmother, my father and my mother always gave me good compliments. I think that the security I got from my parents shielded me from any negative feeling I might have felt.
My relationship with my Grandmother was always complicated, and I never spoke about this with my parents, but when I grew up my feelings for her definitely changed. I finally came to love her and forgive her because I understood that she had a lot of sadness in her heart.
It’s never too late to have a happy childhood.
When I was a child, my world revolved around two people whom I believed were firm and important for me; these people were my parents, Enrique and Martha. I grew up in a family of one boy and four girls. Their names are Carlos, Anna, Elizabeth and Erika. We lived in Parral, Chih., Mexico, which in those times was a small town. My surroundings were happy and comfortable but without any big excesses. I never had any fears nor concerns.
I was raised on a street where everything was close to my house. There was a park where we used to enjoy playing, riding a bicycle, skating, and jumping rope. The Virgin of the Ray Church was where we went to mass on Sundays and we presented flowers to the Virgin in May. At my elementary school, Federico Stallforth, we attended classes. There was also a market which sold fruits, vegetables, meats and groceries. We had a lot of neighbors.
My Mother was an only daughter and she is a beautiful white-skinned woman. My Grandmother lived with us and she was a beautiful white-skinned woman too. Her name was Adela, but we used to call her Guegue. Even though my Grandfather and my Grandmother were separated, they never got a divorce, but I think that for my Grandmother this situation was hard.
Writing about this makes memories of my childhood come to my mind, and I remember my Grandmother as a person that never loved me because my skin was brown like my father’s. I was about six years old when I began to notice that my Guegue always made a distinction between my sister Anna, who is one year older than me, and me. As if it were yesterday, I remember my mother used to dress us in the same clothes but different colors. My Grandmother always had flatteries for Anna. She would say, ”You look pretty, Annita, with this pink dress,” but she never said anything nice to me. Another memory is when we came home with our grades. She always congratulated only Anna for her grades although my grades were always straight A’s.
Time passed and when we were teenagers her feelings for me got worse. When Anna and I went to a party, she always said nice words to Anna, “You look beautiful and your hair is gorgeous, Annita.” She never had any compliments for me, but at the parties I was the one who danced with the most popular or handsome boy. I thought that my dark-skin was a strength to me. Different things such as getting good grades, learning to play piano, learning to dance, painting and helping my father in his work were more important to me than thinking of what was beautiful.
Sometimes under her breath, I would hear my Grandmother say, “I hate dark-skinned people.” She knew I could hear her but instead of resenting this or being sad, I thought, ”Why is my Guegue an unhappy, bitter person?” I never said anything to her, but my sister Anna always stood up for me. She often told my Grandmother that she was a bitter person.
Even though I never received any kind words from my Grandmother, my father and my mother always gave me good compliments. I think that the security I got from my parents shielded me from any negative feeling I might have felt.
My relationship with my Grandmother was always complicated, and I never spoke about this with my parents, but when I grew up my feelings for her definitely changed. I finally came to love her and forgive her because I understood that she had a lot of sadness in her heart.
It’s never too late to have a happy childhood.
STUDENT WRITING: Observation by JANETT AMORES
Take a Look!
Tepoztlan, also called Town of God, mixes mystical and Mexican tradition. Tepoztlan is located in the state of Morelos is an excellent destination to relax and take a break. Arriving in this magical town takes only one hour from Mexico City. When I visit Tepoztlan, I immediately feel myself transport to another land.
When I arrive in Tepoztlan, the highway left behind, and I get a fantastic view. In front of us appear the Tepozteco Mountain and its impressive cliffs full of trees. This hill is the opposite of Franklin Mountain in El Paso, Texas. While the Tepozteco looks charming and peaceful, Franklin Mountain seems strong and cold.
Narrow streets whose pavement and fences are made of precious natural stone lead to a hotel called “La Posada del Tepozteco.” The building is an old manor house of Mexican ancestry and now turned into a beautiful hotel. After I register at the front desk, I tell the receptionist that I am interested in a “Temazcal.” “The hotel has a Temazcal area,” she replies. We make an appointment for 6 p. m. Andres, who is my husband, asks several questions, such as how long it takes, and what kind of clothes we need. She says, “the Temazcal takes one hour and a half. Wearing cotton clothes is advisable.” “This sounds exciting! “ I say. After that, we go to our room and prepare to go downtown. While we are walking in the main place, we realize that typical clothes are sold at some of the stands of the Saturday market. This market also offers Mexican food like quesadillas, tacos and fresh fish. We really enjoy visiting the Saturday market in Tepoztlan. On this beautiful summer afternoon, the sun is shining covering the entire valley of Tepoztlan. Some people enjoy only walking, Others are having the delicious ice cream which is made of natural fruits.
It is about 5 p.m. so time to go to the hotel and prepare for the Temazcal. A charmin hostess leads Andres and me to the Temazcal bath. As soon as we get to the “Temazcal” area, a couple of hippies appear and welcome us. Someone is carrying lighted volcanic stones into the Temazcal. The Temazcal is a little circular room built of bricks and cement, and it only has a small door in the middle. It is like an igloo or dome. After a few minutes, Carlos our guide says “please stand up.” While he is praying, he is bathing us with a bouquet of herbs and a bowl full of incense. Andres looks at me and seems to disagree. When I enter the little building, I see a rustic cement bench on which fit four or five people comfortably seated. I notice that it is dark but after a few minutes I can tell that in the center are the lighted volcanic stones, two buckets of aromatic water, herb leaves, a little plate with aloe vera pieces, and maracas. There are no windows and the air is scented with aromatherapy oils. Carlos advices, “When I throw water on the volcanic stones, it will produce steam. So you must cover yourselves with herb leaf.” He tells us that Temazcal is derived from ancient Nahuatl, an Aztec dialect; Temaz is Steam- and Calli is House. He also says that the Temazcal was used widely among the Aztecs and Mayas as a therapeutic instrument.
The little door is closed with leaves. Now I really have no idea what to expect. I feel nervous and anxious. The Temazcal ceremony begins. When he sprinkles some aromatic water onto the volcanic stone, the heat in the room intensifies. Carlos swirls branches with leaves around the room. I almost stop breathing when they touch my face. The prayers and singing begin. The energy in the room intensifies and I feel a little dizzy. I get the herb leaf, I drop some water and rub my body with aloe vera. I start to feel better. Carlos prays for the four elements: earth, wind, fire, and water. Carlos and we focus on giving thanks to God. During the ceremony, I really want to leave but I feel a sensation of heat, humidity, and relaxation. When the ceremony is over, we go outside. A friendly hippie lady wraps me in a towel and I admit I feel very good. I realize that my beautiful clothes are stained by water. I rest sitting on the floor for about fifteen minutes. A lady offers us a delicious tea. The Temazcal is an excellent spiritual and therapeutic experience,
Tepoztlan, also called Town of God, mixes mystical and Mexican tradition. Tepoztlan is located in the state of Morelos is an excellent destination to relax and take a break. Arriving in this magical town takes only one hour from Mexico City. When I visit Tepoztlan, I immediately feel myself transport to another land.
When I arrive in Tepoztlan, the highway left behind, and I get a fantastic view. In front of us appear the Tepozteco Mountain and its impressive cliffs full of trees. This hill is the opposite of Franklin Mountain in El Paso, Texas. While the Tepozteco looks charming and peaceful, Franklin Mountain seems strong and cold.
Narrow streets whose pavement and fences are made of precious natural stone lead to a hotel called “La Posada del Tepozteco.” The building is an old manor house of Mexican ancestry and now turned into a beautiful hotel. After I register at the front desk, I tell the receptionist that I am interested in a “Temazcal.” “The hotel has a Temazcal area,” she replies. We make an appointment for 6 p. m. Andres, who is my husband, asks several questions, such as how long it takes, and what kind of clothes we need. She says, “the Temazcal takes one hour and a half. Wearing cotton clothes is advisable.” “This sounds exciting! “ I say. After that, we go to our room and prepare to go downtown. While we are walking in the main place, we realize that typical clothes are sold at some of the stands of the Saturday market. This market also offers Mexican food like quesadillas, tacos and fresh fish. We really enjoy visiting the Saturday market in Tepoztlan. On this beautiful summer afternoon, the sun is shining covering the entire valley of Tepoztlan. Some people enjoy only walking, Others are having the delicious ice cream which is made of natural fruits.
It is about 5 p.m. so time to go to the hotel and prepare for the Temazcal. A charmin hostess leads Andres and me to the Temazcal bath. As soon as we get to the “Temazcal” area, a couple of hippies appear and welcome us. Someone is carrying lighted volcanic stones into the Temazcal. The Temazcal is a little circular room built of bricks and cement, and it only has a small door in the middle. It is like an igloo or dome. After a few minutes, Carlos our guide says “please stand up.” While he is praying, he is bathing us with a bouquet of herbs and a bowl full of incense. Andres looks at me and seems to disagree. When I enter the little building, I see a rustic cement bench on which fit four or five people comfortably seated. I notice that it is dark but after a few minutes I can tell that in the center are the lighted volcanic stones, two buckets of aromatic water, herb leaves, a little plate with aloe vera pieces, and maracas. There are no windows and the air is scented with aromatherapy oils. Carlos advices, “When I throw water on the volcanic stones, it will produce steam. So you must cover yourselves with herb leaf.” He tells us that Temazcal is derived from ancient Nahuatl, an Aztec dialect; Temaz is Steam- and Calli is House. He also says that the Temazcal was used widely among the Aztecs and Mayas as a therapeutic instrument.
The little door is closed with leaves. Now I really have no idea what to expect. I feel nervous and anxious. The Temazcal ceremony begins. When he sprinkles some aromatic water onto the volcanic stone, the heat in the room intensifies. Carlos swirls branches with leaves around the room. I almost stop breathing when they touch my face. The prayers and singing begin. The energy in the room intensifies and I feel a little dizzy. I get the herb leaf, I drop some water and rub my body with aloe vera. I start to feel better. Carlos prays for the four elements: earth, wind, fire, and water. Carlos and we focus on giving thanks to God. During the ceremony, I really want to leave but I feel a sensation of heat, humidity, and relaxation. When the ceremony is over, we go outside. A friendly hippie lady wraps me in a towel and I admit I feel very good. I realize that my beautiful clothes are stained by water. I rest sitting on the floor for about fifteen minutes. A lady offers us a delicious tea. The Temazcal is an excellent spiritual and therapeutic experience,
STUDENT WRITING: Observation by ARTURO GARCIA
UTEP’s Library
When I hear the word “library,” my mind automatically registers: tranquility, peace, silence, and books. However, now that I am in UTEP’s library I notice that the concept that I had is wrong.
When I was in my university, you could see just smart guys in our library whereas here everyone is different. They do not have a specific pattern. I can see people who look like smart students but others look as if they were going to a rock concert. A kind of peaceful place it is not exactly.
Some people seem to think that they are in the Chamizal Park. For example, there is a young couple of students behind me who think that they are on a park bench. They are watching a movie on a library computer. Every thirty seconds, they kiss each other, and the man is sharing food as if she were a baby. Maybe they have forgotten that they are in the library.
I also notice that this library is not a silent place because everybody talks a lot. Instead of whispering, they are talking however they want. For example, there is a help desk in front of me where a female worker stands up every time that she sees a chair or table in the wrong position. She walks in front of me wearing a pair of brown boots with big zippers that sound like bells and she has a large amount of keys hanging from her belt loops. Can you imagine this kind of person working in a library?
It is funny to see how we disrespect the purpose of the library and we do not respect the rules, not even the employees do. For example, there is a sign on the wall that says: “Please use cell phones outside the center,” but everybody is talking on the phone inside. It looks like an AT&T customer service center.
In addition, this library is divided into two sections. One is the park that I have already mentioned and the other is where the books are. In this specific section, there are no people. Nobody wants to take a book when they can use a computer which has the same information. Obviously, some students have to check out some books, but most students go to the computer room to enjoy their time in the library.
I like the library. It is very organized and everything is clean. It has a lot of very nice details. However, I think that the name “library” is a misnomer; I would call it “The Fun Library.”
When I hear the word “library,” my mind automatically registers: tranquility, peace, silence, and books. However, now that I am in UTEP’s library I notice that the concept that I had is wrong.
When I was in my university, you could see just smart guys in our library whereas here everyone is different. They do not have a specific pattern. I can see people who look like smart students but others look as if they were going to a rock concert. A kind of peaceful place it is not exactly.
Some people seem to think that they are in the Chamizal Park. For example, there is a young couple of students behind me who think that they are on a park bench. They are watching a movie on a library computer. Every thirty seconds, they kiss each other, and the man is sharing food as if she were a baby. Maybe they have forgotten that they are in the library.
I also notice that this library is not a silent place because everybody talks a lot. Instead of whispering, they are talking however they want. For example, there is a help desk in front of me where a female worker stands up every time that she sees a chair or table in the wrong position. She walks in front of me wearing a pair of brown boots with big zippers that sound like bells and she has a large amount of keys hanging from her belt loops. Can you imagine this kind of person working in a library?
It is funny to see how we disrespect the purpose of the library and we do not respect the rules, not even the employees do. For example, there is a sign on the wall that says: “Please use cell phones outside the center,” but everybody is talking on the phone inside. It looks like an AT&T customer service center.
In addition, this library is divided into two sections. One is the park that I have already mentioned and the other is where the books are. In this specific section, there are no people. Nobody wants to take a book when they can use a computer which has the same information. Obviously, some students have to check out some books, but most students go to the computer room to enjoy their time in the library.
I like the library. It is very organized and everything is clean. It has a lot of very nice details. However, I think that the name “library” is a misnomer; I would call it “The Fun Library.”
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