The first blog should be safe.
Should it? I’m not sure.
The idea of creating a blog for an AP Literature class feels contradictory. On the one hand, I’m supposed to freely express thoughts and opinions that I carry. The Chipotle we got during lunch contained a bit too much rice. Echen drives like a drunken squid. The sheep brain we dissected in psych smelled disgusting (and probably tasted disgusting too). Human geography is a class of freshmen that I willingly shackled myself to. Both of those last two sentences end in “tu”, and I kind of want to change one of those endings. Does there need to be a purpose to the blog? If I title this post “A Free Association Update”, am I allowed free reign over any thoughts that I type?
On the other hand, this piece is supposedly an assignment (and it’s also visible to the class). How do you grade a blog? The purpose of a blog should be to remain genuine. Does polishing a piece of prose create distance from the raw thoughts of the writer? If I write a blog about a personal anecdote, and the blog by itself has great content but poor structure, does that count negatively? Is it disrespectful to “mark down” someone’s beliefs? “Degrading” takes on a whole new irony with this pseudo-diary.
I’m not sure how I feel about this piece being shared with the rest of the AP Lit class. Inevitably, some curious sets of eyes will land upon this page, and I’d be lying if I said I won’t check out others’ blogs. Maybe I just won’t tell Mrs. Trowbridge that my page (site? blog?) hasn’t been accepted into the class yet. Actually, that last sentence counteracts its own proposition.
I could write about the superfluous aspects of daily life. That would be a safe option.
Coffee without sugar is a concoction of unparalleled toxicity. Really, it’s probably where the coronavirus began. I require a minimum of four packets of sugar for every 14 fluid ounces. Also, the natural composition of black coffee looks cheap. Without creamer, there’s no texture to the drink; it’s just a pool of diluted–
No no, that topic is already beginning to shrivel. Writing without boundaries on thought is strange. Here, I can express the most unfiltered notions without restraint.
Fear tastes like citrus.
No, it doesn’t. Of course not. But here, there’s no one to deny it if I wa–grapes.
At this point, the blog is approaching 500 words, and I’m not sure whether this sentence would be considered filler or another expression of thought. I don’t think you could argue against the latter, but the former stands true as well.
Sometimes, Naperville North tastes a little like black coffee.
This past summer, I spoke with a professor from North Central College on the declining value of the humanities.
“It’s as if we slashed-and-burned the fields of academia and the only two remnants of woodland were computer science and economics”.
Perhaps it’s a bit cynical, but I don’t doubt the statement’s verity. There’s a pervasive culture of career-driven study here, and this mentality likely stretches to other schools as well. Financial stability isn’t a bad thing, and neither is having a plan in mind. But if these are the two end goals, what is the purpose of education?
I read an article recently in an MIT blog called “sellout’s conundrum” by Rona Wang. A friend in Cali introduced me to it. It has stunning prose, but I think the underlying message strikes a deeper chord than the craft. She talks about sellout culture in higher education, and the tendency of students (especially in supposedly “elite” universities) to drop their pursuits in favor of chasing a career.
“And by age thirty, we would make six-figures annually; we would have a mortgage, two-point-one kids, and a nice house in a nice neighborhood, and we would have grown into the boring-ass adults we swore we’d never be.”
I don’t want to be a boring-ass adult.
When college students come back to Naperville North and tell us that “everything will work out”, I think that’s partly bullshit. I don’t subscribe to “fate”; it takes away accountability. I’m confident that any college or major or career path that someone ends up pursuing looks (at least somewhat) rosy in hindsight, and that’s where the sentiment of “everything works out” comes from. Sure, there’s a certain guarantee that (at least on this current trajectory) we won’t plummet into the standards of what would be considered “failure”. Yes, we’ll likely end up going to college. Yes, we’ll choose majors that we enjoy. Yes, we’ll do x, y, and z in an order that’s competent and satisfactory enough to the point where we can reflect back on the experience with fondness. But I know that there is always a “better” to any option. “Everything will work out” ignores the fact that although everything will work out, some timelines of “everything” are undeniably better than others.
Granted, I won’t know what those timelines are. Ignorance is bliss I guess?
How do you conclude a blog? Is it cheating if I ask that question and then proceed to abruptly end this train of thoughts with a quick sign-off?
I just realized that the MIT article I read is a “blog”, yet it’s craft is infinitely better than this amalgamation of ideas tossed onto a page. Perhaps, in the future, it would be better to play it safe–find a topic, arbitrarily discuss it’s nuances, hit “publish” and call it a day.
I suppose I’m soft; I can’t prioritize form over function.
This was my first blog post. I’m curious to see how well it goes over. So I guess, until next time, I’m going to have to abruptly pause.
-zx