Looking through Lindsay’s work, I think she has improved significantly since the beginning of the semester. I am primarily looking at her recent paper, “My Future at Stake” and I am really impressed. It seems that her more recent writings have a whole lot more “life” in them, as if she finally allowed her voice to be heard. It’s not like reading about writing is particularly exciting, but she somehow made it that way. The way she continues to bring us back into the story is really effective. I have always thought she has an uncanny ability to make assignments work well, like in the imitation essay (which was an awkward essay), I thought she was the only one in the entire class to really transition smoothly between paragraphs.

Lindsay Y:

 I really loved most of Lindsay’s writing, her flow and voice is really impeccable, even soothing to read. While her writing is overall very good, I think that I liked the pieces that she brought more emotional aspects into, like the first paper and especially her memoir. That kind of writing really becomes captivating, and I’m not just saying that. Overall I liked this memoir best; the poetic music lyrics were really effective. This is probably unhelpful, but I don’t have any criticisms due to solid writing. I also think that Lindsay’s unwavering commitment to detail helps her writing stand firmly, because it is has foundation.

Mateja:

                Mateja’s writing is terrific! I was floored by her first memoir, because out of every memoir I have read in the class hers made me feel most involved with the story, I could really identify with the characters and the situations that she brought to the table. It was awesome! I guess my main observation in Mateja’s writing is that she seems to be a much better writer when she really allows her voice to flow in the paper; it seems like by truly freeing her voice in the memoir, she was taking a risk, and that risk really paid off. I think she is truly at her best when she adopts the Elbow philosophy of writing.

Beatriz:

                Probably what I like most about Beatriz’ writing is that I can always hear her distinct, undoubted voice. Whether it is critical analysis, an imitation exercise, or a memoir, I can still here her voice loud and clear when she uses words like “tweak” and “yeesh.” She doesn’t shy away from her personality or voice, no matter what the assignment, and I think this kind of originality deserves applause! I think that her distinct voice is somewhat malleable (for example it is most recognizable during her memoir, and less recognizable during a reading response), but it is always still there and it is always effective and perhaps even endearing. I also admire her ability to attack an assignment creatively, often times deviant from conventional approaches, most notably through her memoir called “The Sandwich.”

Dr. Allen

Art of Persuasion

11/18/08

My Memoir

A Cultural Transition

            I have always considered my upbringing to be quite disparate with the prototypical child of this country, but I’m not always certain the reasons why this is true. Perhaps it was because by the time I was around eight years old or so “I had been diagnosed with Malaria more times than I had eaten at Pizza Hut,” this was a random statistic that I would tell teachers and my third grade classmates at Frontier Elementary school, a phrase that I learned to masterfully articulate and deliver when they would ask me about my early childhood. I believed this was a clever string of words, that helped them garner an understanding of just how foreign Colorado Springs was to me, and how remarkably alienated I was there. I probably formulated more phrases that were similar to this one, but the one about Pizza Hut I remember most distinctly. Unfortunately, with my limited childhood understanding, I had no idea that almost all of these attempts were completely in vain, and regardless of my struggle, no one would ever really comprehend the cultural transition that I had experienced, and even more importantly, the cultural transition that I was yet to experience.

If you are still dwelling on the fact that I had Malaria, just realize that it wasn’t really a life threatening illness in the perspective of my family, because we had the medication and knowledge to easily treat this disease spread by the local mosquitoes. Not that having Malaria was a walk in the park, because I assure you it was hell for about two weeks, but because of our resources we had the luxury of not worrying about its life taking capabilities.

            The reason why we were in Ghana was because my parents used to be vocational missionaries there, probably one of the few occupations that would cause a self-efficient American family to leave the safe haven that resides within the borders of their own country, and pioneer into the uncertainties of the realities outside of their comfort zone. They maintained a sensational amount of faith all the years we were there, and even though this is something I wouldn’t fully understand until years later when I developed a faith of my own, I realized that this faith they had was all that was enabling us to live there. They decided it was time for us to leave because my siblings were approaching the age for secondary schooling, and to set us up for success, it was necessary to move us back in America to get us adequately educated, and perhaps the continually increasing health risks of this third world country also helped spark the decision.

Regardless of temporary illnesses, malaria and a lack of America’s most notarized Pizza place were probably two of the least significant culture shocks when I moved from Ghana to, a place within close proximity to the geographical heart of the United States, Colorado Springs, Colorado. Absolutely everything was different. I say this emphasizing the fact that Ghanaians and Americans themselves were probably the most noteworthy variation, indeed I have discovered that a culture is facilitated through the people living in it, and is a product of their attitudes and compassions.

Looking back I truly feel blessed to have made the move, but more importantly I feel blessed to have transitioned when I did. I had just turned eight years old when my parents told me we would be moving within the year, but this truth did not become a reality until I boarded the plane. It was an early morning and I remember walking through the desolate airport briskly because we were running slightly behind schedule, all the while my parents were taking care of the logistics, such as tickets and luggage, and all other airport obligations that permit international flying.

 This must not have been easy for my parents, not because of airport procedures, but because they had do to do it while juggling their three children, who were also my 12 year old brother, Grady, and my 10 year old sister, Charity. My siblings seemed to be handling the move with a blissful sense of apathy, or perhaps it was excitement, but either way it was dreadfully ironic, because they were totally ignorant to the heavy and inevitable ramifications of culture shock that would become palpably real in the sequential months and years to come.

This leads me to something that I need to make clear, yes the culture shock was difficult, but it would have been much more difficult if I had been a little bit older, like the age of my older brother. He came home at a socially difficult time to say the least, and because of the relationally brutal nature of fellow middle school classmates and peers, it caused more psychological turbulence down the road for him than it did for the rest of us. Neither of my parents or my brother would inform me about my brother’s struggle very much, but even though it was never directly expressed to me, I believe that my brother attended a series of therapy sessions to help him deal with some anger in his late adolescence. As far as the rest of my family I don’t know much about struggles during the move, probably because I was in a particularly self centered point in my development, but I think my mother’s adjustment must have been challenging because of her duties as our primary caregiver. I don’t think she had much time to acknowledge her personal transition because she had to attend to my siblings and I, and she selflessly allowed our problems to immediately take precedence over hers. If another student was giving my sister a hard time at school, she would handle the situation while ignoring many personal anxieties that she herself needed to take time and address.

Transitioning at an age that was socially forgiving certainly eased the anxiety caused by the culture shift, because peers in a grade school are much more forbearing of social grievances at this age (something I find evidence for now as I work at an afterschool program for elementary aged kids). However, one difficulty I distinctly remember was my inability to really contribute to social situations. It seemed that in this academic environment of learning and concrete operational development, the ruling precedent, existing in its truest of forms, was knowledge equals power. When I went to elementary school, which was a quaint, modular composed establishment, I knew absolutely nothing about American culture. I did not know how to throw a football, or was I familiar with any of the characters from the Nickelodeon channel’s popular comedy show “All That,” and most importantly, I did not know how children my age interrelated with each other in the United States. These are just a few miscellaneous examples of some things I didn’t know, but there was an indefinite quantity of facts that I needed to be briefed on before I would have the adequate and ample “ammo” to be found socially identifiable, rather than socially inept.

I think that I did eventually attain some intermittent successes, for example I learned to play football at recess, which helped me fit in with the other boys. I was never attributed with a high athletic ability, but I found pride in my attainment of mediocrity, which permitted me to act a little more comfortably with my classmates. When I looked back I discovered my football philosophy, which was a venture to obtain recognition in the “social middle class,” would become my goal in most interactive situations. Unlike the predominant amount of my classmates, who strove to achieve the ambiguously distinguishable title of “the most popular,” I sought for silver rather than gold, being perfectly content with acceptance as a normal cohort. It is funny to think about how heavily influential this mindset was, for it became ingrained deeply within my social cognition, lasting until my latter teenage years. This is something I had not realized until my mother pointed it out one day when I was renting a prom tux at the Chapel Hills Mall my junior year of high school.

“Are you sure this is what you want? You can still change your mind if you don’t like it,” expressed the cashier with the essence of a professional concern in her voice. She was referring to the personalized tux I had requested during my fitting. My selection was hardly vogue and cliché at best, the conventional black slacks with the black balmoral dress shoes, completed with a prototypical white shirt with a patterned silver bowtie and vest.

“Yeah this is fine,” I replied, realizing that this coagulation of clothes would be quite similar to most of the other suits that would be worn to the dance.

Then, without missing a beat, my mother chimed in saying, “Yeah Jeremy makes more of an effort to blend in rather than stand out,” having previously talked about how boys with more boisterous and outgoing personalities would pick suits that were “louder.” At the time I didn’t utter a word, because I knew what my mother said was true, and quite honestly my propensity of patience for shopping with mom was running low, but I didn’t understand that this was an underlying truth revealed about my temperament, and its reign over my life was actually sparked during my adjustment to the United States. This personality that I meticulously built over the years was my method of self defense that I constructed to help make transitioning easier.

I have emphasized that understanding these things had taken an extensive amount of time, and as a twenty year old college student at the University of Northern Colorado I am still coming to clench these actualities as they float into the realm of my self-psychological awareness. One insight at a time, emerging slowly out of the dark depths in a sea of confusion, becomes tangibly visible during a floundering struggle to surface, and buoyantly maintaining once my conscious has thoroughly wrapped itself around this revelation of sorts.

This theoretical analogy of the ocean harmoniously parallels with my story, because the Atlantic Ocean is quite literally, in the physical and geographical sense, what separates me from my childhood. I remember starring at it long and hard as we flew over it on our way to Douglas International Airport, in Charlotte, North Carolina. I was already forgetting the sweet memories I had made in Ghana, and obviously ignorant to what lay ahead in the future, I was trapped in this moment that lay somewhere between, starring down at the dawdling ocean. Sometimes I still feel this way, in a perpetual state of adjustment, never fully feeling that America is my home.

Looking back I realize that I romanticize my short lived childhood memories in Ghana, probably in a similar fashion one would remember an old friend, meaning that despite unfavorable or mundane qualities that this person was comprised of in real life, you will remember them as the relationally impeccable individual that never let you down. This is the lens I have that outlooks my childhood and my transition to the United States, it is an old friend that with whom I shared an ample amount of memories, both good and bad. Though there was significant pain when I left my home, I view this relationship as more amicable than acrimonious, because collectively it constructed me into the level headed person that I am today. Because of this I am greatly appreciative, and I believe there was reason to bring me through all of this. I wouldn’t exchange it for anything else if I could.

Sarah Allen

9/22/08

Art of Persuasion

First Draft Essay 1

Subjectivity, the Questionable Tradition in the Classroom

            Andre had not uttered a word in class, completely befuddled by the discussion transpiring in the classroom, these flippantly used words were being tossed around the room carelessly like stones into a stream, but many were unintentionally piercing his heart. The class discussion was supposed to be harmless, and for the predominant amount of the students it was little more than a platonic debate, but to Andre it was a tasteless display of ignorance and a direct assault on everything that he stood for. He stormed out of the room stammering words that he wanted to say. To this day his classmates didn’t know what was so unspeakably frustrating to Andre, but they certainly were careful to be more sensitive when talking about religious things in future classes.

This brief excerpt was obviously a prototypical, almost cinematic, example of the controversially ideological discussions that stirs up highly emotional results, often times someone cannot handle persecution and questions of authenticity imposed upon their beliefs. This can be blamed upon the natural clash of respectively opposing ideologies, but something dwells deeper within this continuous paradox. This mysterious enigma can be discovered when looking most inwardly, and this most intrinsic center piece is subjectivity.

            To help understand this term further, here is a very important example of the how quarreling subjectivities cause disagreements. This battle is waged daily in the political spectrum, this is due to the precedents that our Fore Fathers rooted our country upon. While America was a reasonable success, or at least thought to be so by most, people have questioned the legitimacy of the subjectivity that the country was founded upon, or at least have questioned whether or not the constitution is still applicable to modern day times. This is so hotly debated because subjectivity comes down to “personal interpretation,” which means the first American’s personally interpreted the constitution to coincide with circumstantial surroundings of their time, which some think that these once pertinent laws are outdated and that constituted laws should be malleable with time.

            These examples are just two ways subjectivity proves to be problematic, but clashing ideologies can happen just about anywhere, pertaining to anything, and one of these settings where it is quite likely to cause animosity is when considering academia in the classroom. The ambiguously considered term of subjectivity has grown to be quite the epidemic in the classroom culture. But how can this be when it is the very material that the principles of all intellectual academia are established upon? Disagreements of all kinds come down to this very precedent of subjectivity, but perhaps the most pressing one comes from the infamous debate between two scholars named David Bartholomae and Peter Elbow. Bartholomae, once wrote that all writing was in the context of previous writing, and that “nothing happens without imitation (Against the Grain 21).” Many of Bartholomae’s writings were along the same lines, altogether preaching an academic doctrine that previous subjectivities, such as the establishment of teachers in the writing classroom, were essential for transcendence as a writer.  However, Peter Elbow argued otherwise, saying that students needed to experience themselves as writers, meaning that it is important that student’s do not feel pressured by a professor or a rigorous academic discourse (Being a Writer vs. Being an Academic: A Conflict of Goals 79). If someone is attempting to find the superior viewpoint on how to teach, or how to correctly handle subjectivity, they might as well sign up to count all the grains of sand on the beach because it would be an endless struggle to name the winner. This is because this monster is not something palpable or definite in nature, it is an idea, that has been predetermined by men, and it also institutionalized into other men as seen conventionally appropriate.

            However, in the writing classroom, subjectivity can be helpful or detrimental, and these varying degrees of it can emerge in a plethora of different ways. Subjectivity is important when fundamental development needs to occur, because it can provide a premeditated academic discourse that has been proven to appropriately improve the necessary writing skills. If an effective academic discourse is stumbled upon, it should undoubtedly be utilized in the classroom. However, finding a successfully subjective discourse that is dynamically sound is much more complicated than it appears, because the variable of student ability is always problematic when trying to find universally applicable solutions. This is one of the primary criticisms of the Foundationalist theory, it is too narrow minded in it’s philosophy of teaching students a particular discourse instead of seriously considering what they need to progress as a writer in the academic community (Academic Discourse and Critical Consciousness 203).

            In my opinion it is certain that having no subjectivity is probably even more problematic than having one universal discourse. This is because if there is no discourse, then there is nothing “academic” about academic writingI say this without trying to denigrate other’s writing, because most of what I write will certainly be placed in the “less profound” section, but certain writing needs to be placed on a pedestal, because some brilliance should be embraced rather than squandered. If schools begin to ignore brilliance, or endorse the dull, due to a false sense of needing to patronize all forms of writing, so they may be seen equivalent to academic writing, then the universities are in a great deal of trouble.

            A flawless solution for such a long lasting controversy is not an entirely realistic ambition, but it seems that a reasonable compromise can be found in the middle ground of these two extremes. A proposal that seems to be plausible, both in keeping an intellectual integrity to Anti-Foundationalism and Foundationalism, and also that it has attainability in execution, is to create a multi-layered and multi-faceted subjectivity in academic discourse. Not that this idea is completely new, or that it hasn’t been attempted, but it seems to be the only feasible solution worth pursuing, because at least theoretically, a compromise is not flawed like the extremes that stand on their own. The multi-layered and multi-faceted subjectivity is purposefully positioned and designed to meet a variety of different kinds of academic writers, so it is accessible to some degree, regardless of style and in skill. The “facets” are referring to the stylistic differences between writers (so that the discourse does not ignore creative styles of writing), and with an outreach to multiple facets it is possible to aid and improve several different types of specialties, while also improving the other facets of writing within the individual. In theory, this could create a dynamically versatile writer that can contribute to the discourse community. With a broad multi-faceted approach, we now need to make sure that this discourse is not discriminatory to any ability of writing. This is at least important to silence the protests of anti-subjectivity advocates, and, of course, because it is reasonable to assume that everyone has something valuable to donate to the discourse community. With that being said, we should relax because that is why this discourse is designed to be “multi-layered.”

            In review, the kind of academic discourse we want to encourage is a discourse that is not discriminatory or patronizing, but one that is constructively refining scholars regardless of their abilities or their preference to academic or creative writing.. Teachers must be motivated and on the same page as other instructors, the lack of this is a common problem among universities. Testing and competition should be highly encouraged because these are helpful in placing students where they need to be, skipping classes that students test out of is exceptional and also encouraged. If this discourse is handled correctly, it should be helpful in identifying what kind of subjectivity the university needs to be founded upon and also to create a versatile academic community.

Work Cited

Elbow, Peter. Being a Writer vs. Being an Academic: A Conflict of Goals.

Bartholomae, David. Against the Grain.

Bizzel, Patricia. Academic Discourse and Critical Consciousness.

Anxieties

If you are still dwelling on the fact that I had malaria, just realize that it wasn’t ever considered a life threatening illness from my families’ perspective all the years we stayed in Ghana, which is because we had access to medication and information to easily treat this disease spread by the local mosquitoes. Not that having malaria was a walk in the park, because I assure you it was hell for about two weeks, but because of our resources we had the luxury of not worrying about its menacing capabilities.

            The reason for our life in Ghana was because my parents were vocational missionaries there, probably one of the few occupations that would cause a self-sufficient American family to leave the safe haven that resides within the borders of their own country, and pioneer into the uncertainties of the realities outside of their comfort zone. They maintained an astounding amount of faith all the years we were there, and even though this is something I wouldn’t fully understand until years later when I developed a faith of my own, I realized that this faith they had was all that was enabling us to live there. They decided it was time for my family to leave because my siblings were approaching the age for secondary schooling, and to set us up for success, it was necessary to move us back in America to get us adequately educated, and perhaps the continually increasing health risks helped spark the decision.

Malaria and a lack of America’s most notarized Pizza place were probably two of the least significant culture shocks when I moved from Ghana to, a place within close proximity to the geographical heart of the United States, Colorado Springs, Colorado. Absolutely everything was different. I say this emphasizing the fact that Ghanaians and Americans themselves were probably the most notably varied, because I have discovered that a culture is facilitated through the people living in it, and is a product of their attitudes and compassions.

Looking back I truly feel blessed to have made the move, but more importantly I feel blessed to have transitioned when I did. I had just turned eight years old when my parents told me we would be moving within the year, but this truth did not become a reality until I boarded the plane. I think it was an early morning and I remember walking through the desolate airport briskly because we were running slightly behind schedule, all the while my parents were taking care of the logistics, such as tickets and luggage, and all other airport obligations that permit international boarding.

 This must not have been easy for my parents, not because of airport procedures, but because they had to do it while juggling their three children, who were also my 12 year old brother, Grady, and my 10 year old sister, Charity. My siblings seemed to be handling the move with a blissful sense of apathy, or perhaps it was excitement, either way it was dreadfully derisive, because they were totally ignorant to the heavy and inevitable ramifications of culture shock that would become palpably real in the sequential months and years to come.

This leads me to a point of clarification, yes the culture shock was difficult, but it would have been much more difficult if I had been a little bit older, like the age of my older brother. He came home at a socially challenging time to say the least, and because of the teasing nature of fellow classmates and peers, it caused some slight psychological issues down the road (I think a brief series of therapy sessions to deal with anger in his latter adolescence, but out of sensitivity for him, no one in my family ever told me this directly). I don’t remember too much about how the rest of my family handled the transition, but I think my father and mother handled it okay, mostly because they were preoccupied with work and kids respectively. However, sometimes I think that this preoccupation was not healthy, because my parents might have let obligations hide the transitional difficulties they suffered from the transition.

Transitioning at an age that was socially reasonable certainly eased the anxiety caused by the culture shift, because peers in a grade school are much more forbearing of social grievances at this age (something I find evidence for now as I work at an afterschool program for elementary aged kids). However, one difficulty I distinctly remember was my inability to really contribute to social situations. It seemed that in this academic environment of learning and concrete operational development, the ruling precedent, existing in its truest of forms, was knowledge equals power. When I went to elementary school, which was a quaint, modular constructed establishment, I knew absolutely nothing about American culture. I did not know how to throw a football, or was I familiar with any of the characters from the Nickelodeon channel’s popular comedy show “All That.” But most importantly, I did not know how children my age related with each other in the United States. These are just a few miscellaneous examples of some things I didn’t know, but there was an indefinite quantity of facts that I needed to be briefed on before I would have the adequate and ample “ammo” to be found socially acceptable (or maybe even socially identifiable), rather than socially inept.

I think that I did eventually attain some intermittent successes, for example I learned to play football at recess, which helped me fit in with the other boys. I was never able to compete with a high athletic ability, but I found pride in my achievement of mediocrity, which permitted me to act a little more comfortably with my classmates. When I discovered my football philosophy, which was a venture to obtain the “social middle class,” would become my goal in most interactive situations. Unlike the predominant amount of my classmates, who strove to achieve the distinguishable title of “the most popular,” I sought for silver rather than gold, being perfectly content with being accepted as a normal cohort. It is funny to think about how heavily influential this mindset was, for it became ingrained deeply within my social cognition, lasting until my latter teenage years. This is something I had not realized until my mother pointed it out one day when I was renting a prom tux at the Chapel Hills Mall my junior year of high school.

“Are you sure this is what you want? You can still change your mind if you don’t like it,” expressed the cashier with the essence of a professional concern in her voice. She was referring to the personalized tux I had requested during my fitting. My selection was hardly vogue and cliché at best, the conventional black slacks with the black balmoral dress shoes, completed with an ordinary white shirt with a patterned silver bowtie and vest.

“Yeah this is fine,” I replied, realizing that this combination of clothes would be quite similar to most of the other suits that would be worn to the dance.

Then, without missing a beat, my mother chimed in saying, “Yeah Jeremy makes more of an effort to blend in rather than stand out,” having previously talked about how boys with more boisterous and outgoing personalities would pick suits that were “louder.” At the time I didn’t utter a word, because I knew what my mother said was true, but I wouldn’t understand that this was an underlying truth revealed about my temperament, and its reign over my life was actually sparked during my time of adjustment in the United States.  The personality that I meticulously built over the years was my method of self defense, constructed to help make transitioning easier.

I have emphasized that understanding these things had taken an extensive amount of time, and as a twenty year old college student at the University of Northern Colorado I am still coming to clench these actualities as they float into the realm of my self-psychological awareness. One insight at a time, emerging slowly out of the dark depths in a sea of confusion, becomes boldly visible during a floundering struggle to surface, and buoyantly maintaining once my conscious has thoroughly wrapped itself around this revelation of sorts.

This conjectural analogy of the ocean harmoniously correlates with my story, because the Atlantic Ocean is quite literally, in the physical and geographical sense, what separates me from my childhood. I remember starring at it long and hard as we flew over it on our way to Douglas International Airport, in Charlotte, North Carolina. As I was already forgetting the sweet memories I had made in Ghana, still obviously ignorant to what lay ahead in the future, I was trapped in this moment that lay somewhere between, starring down at the dawdling ocean. Sometimes I still feel this way, in a perpetual state of adjustment, never fully feeling that America is my home.

Looking back I realize that I romanticize my short lived childhood memories in Ghana, probably in a similar fashion that one would remember an old friend. Despite unfavorable or mundane qualities that this person was comprised of in real life, you will remember them as the relationally impeccable individual that never let you down. This is the lens that outlooks my childhood and my transition to the United States, it is an old friend that with whom I shared an ample amount of memories, both good and bad. Though there was significant pain when I left my home, I view this relationship as more amicable than acrimonious, because collectively it composed me into the inscrutable person that I am today. Because of this I am greatly appreciative, and I firmly believe there was intent to bring me through all of this. Whatever the intent was, I will not ever completely know, but I can say that the transition served me well and it made “me” who I am today, whether or not it was what a child should go through.

If you are still dwelling on the fact that I had malaria, just realize that it wasn’t really a life threatening illness from my families’ perspective, because we had access to medication and information to easily treat this disease spread by the local mosquitoes. Not that having malaria was a walk in the park, because I assure you it was hell for about two weeks, but because of our resources we had the luxury of not worrying about its life threatening capabilities.

            The reason why we were in Ghana was because my parents were vocational missionaries there, probably one of the few occupations that would cause a self-sufficient American family to leave the safe haven that resides within the borders of their own country, and pioneer into the uncertainties of the realities outside of their comfort zone. They maintained a astounding amount of faith all the years we were there, and even though this is something I wouldn’t fully understand until years later when I developed a faith of my own, I realized that this faith they had was all that was enabling us to live there. They decided it was time for my family to leave because my siblings were approaching the age for secondary schooling, and to set us up for success, it was necessary to move us back in America to get us adequately educated, and perhaps the continually increasing health risks of this third world country also helped spark the decision.

Malaria and a lack of America’s most notarized Pizza place were probably two of the least significant culture shocks when I moved from Ghana to, a place within close proximity to the geographical heart of the United States, Colorado Springs, Colorado. Absolutely everything was different. I say this emphasizing the fact that Ghanaians and Americans themselves were probably the most notably varied, I say this because I have discovered that a culture is facilitated through the people living in it, and is a product of their attitudes and compassions.

Looking back I truly feel blessed to have made the move, but more importantly I feel blessed to have transitioned when I did. I had just turned eight years old when my parents told me we would be moving within the year, but this truth did not become a reality until I boarded the plane. I think it was an early morning and I remember walking through the desolate airport briskly because we were running slightly behind schedule, all the while my parents were taking care of the logistics, such as tickets and luggage, and all other airport obligations that permit international boarding.

 This must not have been easy for my parents, not because of airport procedures, but because they had do to do it while juggling their three children, who were also my 12 year old brother, Grady, and my 10 year old sister, Charity. My siblings seemed to be handling the move with a blissful sense of apathy, or perhaps it was excitement, either way it was dreadfully sardonic, because they were totally ignorant to the heavy and inevitable ramifications of culture shock that would become palpably real in the sequential months and years to come.

This leads me to a point of clarification, yes the culture shock was difficult, but it would have been much more difficult if I had been a little bit older, like the age of my older brother. He came home at a socially challenging time to say the least, and because of the teasing nature of fellow classmates and peers, it caused some slight psychological issues down the road (I think a brief series of therapy sessions to deal with anger in his latter adolescence, but no one in my family never told me this directly). I don’t remember too much about how the rest of my family handled the transition, but I think my father and mother handled it okay, mostly because they were preoccupied with work and kids respectively. However, sometimes I think that this preoccupation was not healthy, because my parents might have let obligations hide the transitional difficulties they suffered from the transition.

Transitioning at an age that was socially reasonable certainly eased the anxiety caused by the culture shift, because peers in a grade school are much more forbearing of social grievances at this age (something I find evidence for now as I work at an afterschool program for elementary aged kids). However, one difficulty I distinctly remember was my inability to really contribute to social situations. It seemed that in this academic environment of learning and concrete operational development, the ruling precedent, existed in its truest of forms, was knowledge equals power. When I went to elementary school, which was a quaint, modular constructed establishment, I knew absolutely nothing about American culture. I did not know how to throw a football, or was I familiar with any of the characters from the Nickelodeon channel’s popular comedy show “All That,” and most importantly, I did not know how children my age interrelated with each other in the United States. These are just a few miscellaneous examples of some things I didn’t know, but there was an indefinite quantity of facts that I needed to be briefed on before I would have the adequate and ample “ammo” to be found socially acceptable (maybe even socially identifiable), rather than socially inept.

I think that I did eventually attain some intermittent successes, for example I learned to play football at recess, which helped me fit in with the other boys. I was never attributed with a high athletic ability, but I found pride in my achievement of mediocrity, which permitted me to act a little more comfortably with my classmates. When I discovered my football philosophy, which was a venture to obtain the “social middle class,” would become my goal in most interactive situations. Unlike the predominant amount of my classmates, who strove to achieve the distinguishsble title of “the most popular,” I sought for silver rather than gold, being perfectly content with being accepted as a normal cohort. It is funny to think about how heavily influential this mindset was, for it became ingrained deeply within my social cognition, lasting until my latter teenage years. This is something I had not realized until my mother pointed it out one day when I was renting a prom tux at the Chapel Hills Mall my junior year of high school.

“Are you sure this is what you want? You can still change your mind if you don’t like it,” expressed the cashier with the essence of a professional concern in her voice. She was referring to the personalized tux I had requested during my fitting. My selection was hardly vogue and cliché at best, the conventional black slacks with the black balmoral dress shoes, completed with an ordinary white shirt with a patterned silver bowtie and vest.

“Yeah this is fine,” I replied, realizing that this coagulation of clothes would be quite similar to most of the other suits that would be worn to the dance.

Then, without missing a beat, my mother chimed in saying, “Yeah Jeremy makes more of an effort to blend in rather than stand out,” having previously talked about how boys with more boisterous and outgoing personalities would pick suits that were “louder.” At the time I didn’t utter a word, because I knew what my mother said was true, and also because my tolerance for shopping with mom was running low, but I wouldn’t understand that this was an underlying truth revealed about my temperament, and its reign over my life was actually sparked dring my time of adjustment in the United States.  The personality that I meticulously built over the years was my method of self defense, constructed to help make transitioning easier.

I have emphasized that understanding these things had taken an extensive amount of time, and as a twenty year old college student at the University of Northern Colorado I am still coming to clench these actualities as they float into the realm of my self-psychological awareness. One insight at a time, emerging slowly out of the dark depths in a sea of confusion, becomes boldly visible during a floundering struggle to surface, and buoyantly maintaining once my conscious has thoroughly wrapped itself around this revelation of sorts.

This theoretical analogy of the ocean harmoniously correlates with my story, because the Atlantic Ocean is quite literally, in the physical and geographical sense, what separates me from my childhood. I remember starring at it long and hard as we flew over it on our way to Douglas International Airport, in Charlotte, North Carolina. As I was already forgetting the sweet memories I had made in Ghana, still obviously ignorant to what lay ahead in the future, I was trapped in this moment that lay somewhere between, starring down at the dawdling ocean. Sometimes I still feel this way, in a perpetual state of adjustment, never fully feeling that America is my home.

Looking back I realize that I romanticize my short lived childhood memories in Ghana, probably in a similar fashion that one would remember an old friend. Despite unfavorable or mundane qualities that this person was comprised of in real life, you will remember them as the relationally impeccable individual that never let you down. This is the lens that outlooks my childhood and my transition to the United States, it is an old friend that with whom I shared an ample amount of memories, both good and bad. Though there was significant pain when I left my home, I view this relationship as more amicable than acrimonious, because collectively it composed me into the inscrutable person that I am today. Because of this I am greatly appreciative, because I believe there was intent to bring me through all of this. Whatever the intent was I will never be certain, but I wouldn’t exchange this upbringing for anything.

To emphasize the importance of writing too much would be impossible. Writing is the DNA of our world, recording all profound ideologies, the account of the best and worst from our human innovation. Writing facilitates much of our world as it stands today, for example, historical texts preach to us to avoid previous mistakes. Prophets have written divinely inspired texts to help us understand God further. Laws are written to help regulate a civilized decorum that makes society functional, and the likes of many more essentialities. It is reasonable to assume the usefulness of writing is really limitless and our dependence on it is truly indefinite.

But what lies at the heart of writing? What is it that makes it so effective? Many scholars have scrutinized various texts to identify the flawless formula that constructs effective literature, but this venture is futile, because the heart of writing is not a tangible or palpable thing. It is more of an essence, some kind of mysterious apparition that is subtly empowering to any noteworthy literature in our past. This feature is known as voice, and it thunderously echoes as the most vital centerpiece of all writing.

                Now that we know the importance of voice, how do we best describe what it is? Unfortunately, like many things, there is certain subjectivity to its understanding, and in this case it is a conclusion that is dichotomously interpreted. Some believe voice to be the content of the literature, while others inveigh such ideas and exclaim style to be the embodiment of “voice.” I think it is a shame to pick between these two dynamics of literature, because they both lend themselves well to the recipe of effective writing, but for the sake of this imitation exercise I am about to embark upon, they cannot be combined in the search for the definition of “voice.”

                When debating these issues with myself, I must say that I wavered on the fence for a significant amount of time, and I still can see the plausibility to awarding both with the title of “voice,” but I think I came to a reasonable conclusion nonetheless. I believe that substance, the content of the paper, is indeed a more accurate description of what “voice” truly is.

                It is easy for me to make this distinction by understanding what style means to me, because it seems that it is little more than an artistic twist created to give writing an improved sense of individuality. Style is certainly indispensible in the formulation of good writing, but it is not entirely essential to voice.

The reason why I believe so firmly in “content” is because I look at the word “voice” carefully, it is a means of communication. People use their voices so they will garner an understanding of each other and their position on things, whether it is making multi-million dollar stock market decisions in a business meeting or one neighbor informing another that they can’t come over for dinner tomorrow night. I don’t think this same precedent should deviate from what we expect in writing, if I want to hear your “voice” about something, it is unlikely that I will put a lot of merit into the stylistic fashion you use, but more so the message you are corresponding to me. If I want you to individualistically express yourself, then I will ask for art, but if I ask for your “voice,” than means I want your opinion. Art and opinion are definitely not the same thing; art is a free expression that doesn’t necessarily need to reflect the beliefs of the artist. However, “opinion” is the substance behind any articulation of words, the message behind the “voice,” whether it is delicate or boisterous.

I understand that it is difficult to establish something like this as black and white, and I think in order to be intellectually honest it is important to consider the gray in these areas, but I would argue that the gray does not make a fundamental difference when pertaining to voice. What I mean by this is, voice certainly can have some style, and often times does, because it is usually instigated in pieces of literature in order to make them more alluring and appealing to readers, but it is NOT necessary. An article can have voice and also can abound with some of the most eloquent Shakespearean styles ever read, but if you stripped it all away the message would be unchanged. Perhaps the appeal would be drastically inhibited, but the message would not be altered. Maybe this example will help explain, say you have an engineer who speaks in English and an engineer who speaks in French, and imagine that they both have similar ground breaking ideas in the field of physics, so they both write dissertations about it. If someone is bilingual in these two respected languages, which are stylistically dissimilar in syntax, they will find that the content is the same even though the way it is communicated is severely different, thus excluding style from what “voice” really is.  

Well I suppose that is enough talk and it is time to actually back up my ideas, so I will now do a writing exercise regarding voice. This will involve me imitating Harry Frankfurt in his book “On Truth,” it is an excerpt about what he thinks love is. I will be imitating his thoughts (content) in my own style.

Second Section (imitation of Frankfurt)

Joy and love coincide reasonably, but they are not necessarily all encompassing to each other. I say this disagreeing somewhat with Spinoza’s interpretation (justifiably so I like to think). Love goes beyond emotionality and high sensations; it is a submissive sacrifice for those who are receiving it. This can be understood though Christian principles (as well as other beliefs as well), that love goes beyond the inherently selfish needs that are inevitably experienced by the one that loves, and more so establishes itself as a inexorable precedent to live by, to humbly place others before yourself. This may be comparable to, and better understood by, the story of Jesus Christ according to the scriptures. He selflessly allowed himself to be put to death, in order to meet the eternal needs of his earthy brethren (which are to become the necessary sacrifice for the atonement of sins).

This is what I understand love to be, though it is difficult to make this ancient story applicable to the modern and tangible reality of the present time, even if paradigmatic execution is plausible, it is easier to acknowledge one’s limited capacity to love. The simplest rule that seems feasible to instigate is, “one only truly loves when they are willing to neglect their own interests for the sake of those he loves. This propensity of love would be idealistically unconditional, but human nature, in its innately self absorbed state, will more likely be regularly underachieving and rarely meeting expectations.

Third Section

I have an unfortunate feeling that this exercise did not accomplish what it was intended to in my writing understanding. My opinion about “voice” did not wildly change by any means, and I think that this exercise might have been more successful with other writers. However, there were a few things to salvage from this activity, because I think that some of my horizons expanded at least to an extent that is measurable.

The imitation exercise did reveal to me some things regarding voice in literature, it especially taught me an effective way of gaining perspective through doing an imitative exercise. In my case I imitated Harry G. Frankfurt, who wrote an excerpt on love in his book “On Truth,” which I very cautiously attempted to imitate. I emulated his writing style, but I implemented my own ideals about love into the passage. There are many ground breaking things that I realized through this exercise, both significant and subtle things that will certainly improve my skills as a writer.

First of all this exercise gave me some perspective on the artistry of a different writing style, Frankfurt is a very skilled writer with an extensive vocabulary, but uses all of his words quite intentionally in this passage in his book that created a unique “voice.” I found it difficult to emulate such skilled writing, but after some failed attempts in my first few sentences, I found myself building a little momentum that turned into some kind of writing rhythm that seemed exceedingly advanced in comparison with my basic skills. Altogether, it seemed like a very fruitful and productive exercise, and I think I might try it again with some other authors.

I don’t know if the exercise necessarily changed my perspective on what I believed “voice” to be, but it certainly opened my mind to consider the role style plays in “voice.” It really seemed that, just through the way Frankfurt was articulating his analysis of love, that his style played a larger factor in the resonance of his voice than I had anticipated. I felt that comparing mine to his was probably some verifiable evidence of this, because the soothing flow and authoritative “voice” of his work seems to demand more respect than my own writing, which could probably use some fine tuning. Altogether this is a seemingly minuscule discovery, but these kinds of things are important to acknowledge about “voice.”

I say these things not to communicate any new found belief about “voice,” because I still believe that content defines “voice,” but I see that an artistic form of style is pivotal in order for a particular “voice” to garner recognition. A marvelous stylization is an effective tool for attaining respect and notification, but it is not inexorably part of the dynamic construction of “voice.” Even though I did have some trouble emulating Frankfurt, I think that my imitation is impeccable evidence that supports my definition of “voice.” I think that I was able to use his language successfully as I painted a different picture of love. Grammar, syntax, and vocabulary were at least fairly similar in both of our excerpts, but our contrasting messages created fundamental differences in our writing, which establishes our content as the primary indicator of our individualized “voice.”

Altogether I still believe that that “voice” is what I initially said it was. It is the message, given in a fashion that is not euphemized, but straight forward in the presentation that the author selected. Style can be meaningful, just as it was when I imitated Frankfurt, but it is not necessarily elemental to “voice,” which is illustrated through the content of the passage.

                But what lies at the heart of writing? What is it that makes it so effective? Many scholars have scrutinized various texts to identify the flawless formula that constructs effective literature, but this venture is futile, because the heart of writing is not a tangible or palpable thing, it is more of an essence and it is subtly empowering to any noteworthy article in our past. This feature is known as voice, and it thunderously echoes as the most vital centerpiece of all writing.

                Now that we know the importance of voice, how do we best describe what it is? Unfortunately, like many things, there is certain subjectivity to its understanding, and in this case it is a conclusion that is dichotomously interpreted. Some believe voice to be the content of the literature, while others inveigh such ideas and exclaim style to be the embodiment of voice. I think it is a shame to pick between these two dynamics of literature, because they both lend themselves well to the recipe of effective writing, but they cannot be combined in the search for the definition of voice.

                When debating these issues with myself, I must say that I wavered on the fence for a significant amount of time, and I still can see the plausibility to awarding both with the title of voice, but I think I came to a reasonable conclusion nonetheless. I believe that substance, the content of the paper, is indeed a more accurate description of what voice truly is.

                It is easy for me to make this distinction by understanding what style means to me, because it seems that it is little more than an artistic twist created to give writing an improved sense of individuality. Style is certainly indispensible in the formulation of good writing, but it is not entirely essential to voice.

The reason why I believe so firmly in “content” is because I look at the word “voice” carefully, it is a means of communication. People use their voices so they will garner an understanding of each other and their position on things, whether it is making multi-million dollar stock market decisions in a business meeting or one neighbor informing another that they can’t come over for dinner tomorrow night. I don’t think this should deviate from what we expect in writing, if I want to hear your “voice” about something, it is unlikely that I will put a lot of merit into the stylistic fashion you use, but more so the message you are corresponding to me. If I want you to individualistically express yourself, then I will ask for art, but if I ask for your “voice,” than means I want your opinion.

I understand that it is difficult to establish something like this as black and white, and I think in order to be intellectually honest it is important to consider the gray in these areas, but I would argue that the gray does not make a fundamental difference when pertaining to voice. What I mean by this is, voice certainly can have some style, and often times does, because it is usually instigated in pieces of literature in order to make them more alluring and appealing to readers, but it is NOT necessary. An article can have voice and also can abound with some of the most eloquent Shakespearean styles ever read, but if you stripped it all away the message would be unchanged. Perhaps the appeal would be drastically inhibited, but the message would not be altered. Maybe this example will help explain, say you have an engineer who speaks in English and an engineer who speaks in French, and imagine that they both have similar ground breaking ideas in the field of physics, so they both write dissertations about it. If someone is bilingual in these two respected languages, which are stylistically dissimilar in syntax, they will find that the content is the same even though the way it is communicated is severely different, thus excluding style from what “voice” really is.  

I think this assessment is highly relevant when considering academic discourse, and I think it is absolutely certain that it is still possible to write within academic discourse. I say this confidently for one particular reason, which is, voice is definitely not exempt from influence, perceptions will change, which transfers to a change in voices too. With that being said, this is the nature of academic discourse, you can certainly speak your individualized “voice,” but not until you have been exposed to the curriculum of the academy.  

Well I suppose that is enough talk and it is time to actually back up my ideas, so I will now do a writing exercise regarding voice. This will involve me imitating Harry Frankfort in his book “On Truth,” it is an excerpt about what he thinks love is. I will be imitating his thoughts (content) in my own style.

Second Section (imitation of Frankfurt)

Joy and love coincide reasonably, but they are not necessarily all encompassing to each other, I say this disagreeing somewhat with Spinoza’s interpretation (justifiably so I like to think). Love goes beyond emotionality and high sensations, it is a submissive sacrifice for those who are receiving it. This can be understood though Christian principles (as well as other beliefs as well), that love goes beyond the inherently selfish needs that are inevitably experienced by the one that loves, and more so establishes itself as a inexorable precedent to live by, to humbly place others before yourself. This may be comparable to, and better understood by, the story of Jesus Christ according to the scriptures. He selflessly allowed himself to be put to death, in order to meet the eternal needs of his earthy brethren (which are to become the necessary sacrifice for the atonement of sins).

It would seem reasonable discriminate love as something only applicable to other people, but it is certain that people become infatuated with everyday things, which seems to be more of an intensified addiction rather than a meaningful kind of love.  

This is what I understand love to be, though it is difficult to make this ancient story applicable to the modern and tangible reality of the present time, even if paradigmatic execution is plausible, it is easier to acknowledge one’s limited capacity to love. The simplest rule that seems feasible to instigate is, “one only truly loves when they are willing to neglect their own interests for the sake of those he loves. This propensity of love would be idealistically unconditional, but human nature, in its innately self absorbed state, will more likely be regularly underachieving and rarely meeting expectations.

Third Section

That concludes my imitation exercise and it has certainly revealed a lot to me regarding voice in literature, it especially taught me an effective way of gaining perspective through doing an imitative exercise. In my case I imitated Harry G. Frankfurt, who wrote an excerpt on love in his book “On Truth,” which I very cautiously attempted to imitate. I emulated his writing style, but I implemented my own ideals about love into the passage. There are many ground breaking things that I realized through this exercise, both significant and subtle things that will certainly improve my skills as a writer.

First of all this exercise gave me some perspective on the artistry of a different writing style, Frankfurt is a very skilled writer with an extensive vocabulary, but uses all of his words quite intentionally in this passage in his book that created a unique “voice.” I found it difficult to emulate such skilled writing, but after some failed attempts in my first few sentences, I found myself building a little momentum that turned into some kind of writing rhythm that seemed exceedingly advanced in comparison with my basic skills. Altogether, it seemed like a very fruitful and productive exercise, and I think I might try it again with some other authors.

I don’t know if the exercise necessarily changed my perspective on what I believed “voice” to be, but it certainly opened my mind to consider both style and content as forms of voice. It really seemed that, just through the way Frankfurt was articulating his analysis of love, that his style played a larger factor in the resonance of his voice than I had anticipated. I felt that comparing mine to his was probably some verifiable evidence of this, because the soothing flow and authoritative “voice” of his work seems to demand more respect than my own writing, which could probably use some fine tuning. Altogether this is a seemingly minuscule discovery, but these kinds of things are important to acknowledge about “voice.”

Altogether I still believe that that “voice” is more or less what I said it was. It is the message, given in a fashion that is not euphemized, but totally straight forward in the presentation that the author selected. Style can be meaningful, just as it was when I imitated Frankfurt, but it is not necessarily related to “voice,” which is illustrated through the content of the passage.