soopastryheart

I remember first reading One Hundred Years of Solitude in the summer before my junior year of high school, on the campus of Duke University while attending a summer camp for young writers (yes, I was this geeky). I bought it from the school’s bookstore on the second day, as a group of girls on my floor were talking about it, raving, about how the writing was so beautiful. I had never heard of Gabriel García Márquez, but I didn’t want to let anyone know. I was out of my element, as the other kids at camp were from nationally ranked private and boarding schools, with curriculums that later made my freshman year of college look like a joke. I remember trying to find shaded areas to lie under, to save myself from the sweltering heat and humidity that I was unaccustomed to as a Pacific Northwesterner. I remember finding some passages so longwinded that I’d have to reread over and over to understand. It took me the entire duration of camp, two whopping weeks, to muddle through the book.

I think it was my sophomore or junior year of college that the book was assigned as part of an English class. I don’t know if it was maturity or the depth in which we discussed the story, but I completely fell in love with the book, appreciating the style of writing on a whole different level than I had before as a teen. Even after the quarter ended, I devoured his other works, but found myself coming back to One Hundred Years of Solitude.

I have reread the book at least a half dozen times since that summer in Durham, all at different stages of maturity and experience. I find something new each time: certain passages will affect me when it hadn’t before, or I’ll pick up on metaphors I hadn’t noticed, or I’ll interpret a scene or character in a different way. I guess that’s the sign of a brilliance of a writer: the ability to have your words be relevant at every stage of your reader’s life, as opposed to one. And that’s what Gabriel García Márquez has left to the rest of the world. Tomorrow, a 16-year-old will pick up his book, the same time a 30, 50, 70-year-old does. And each of them will find a profoundly different meaning within his words. It’s a pretty incredible feat, to have your words grow with the reader. As a writer, that’s the legacy you want to leave the earth with. You want your words to transcend the pages it’s printed on. Long past best-seller lists, long past critical acclaims and accolades, and longer past death.

“Before reading the final line, however, he had already understood that he would never leave that room, for it was foreseen that the city of mirrors (or mirages) would be wiped out by the wind and exiled from the memory of men at the precise moment when Aureliano Babilonia would finish deciphering the parchments, and that everything written on them was unrepeatable since time immemorial and forever more, because races condemned to one hundred years of solitude did not have a second opportunity on earth.”

– excerpt from One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez

It’s one thing to be an idealist striving to do good in this world (which is always a positive thing). But another thing entirely to be misguided/naive about your position and presence. Check your inflated sense of self-importance at the door, then go off to save the planet. Solid read by Pippa Biddle, worth checking out in its entirety.

“Before you sign up for a volunteer trip anywhere in the world this summer, consider whether you possess the skill set necessary for that trip to be successful. If yes, awesome. If not, it might be a good idea to reconsider your trip. Sadly, taking part in international aid where you aren’t particularly helpful is not benign. It’s detrimental. It slows down positive growth and perpetuates the “white savior” complex that, for hundreds of years, has haunted both the countries we are trying to ‘save’ and our (more recently) own psyches. Be smart about traveling and strive to be informed and culturally aware. It’s only through an understanding of the problems communities are facing, and the continued development of skills within that community, that long-term solutions will be created.”

– excerpt from “The Problem with Little White Girls (and Boys): Why I Stopped Being a Voluntourist” by Pippa Biddle. Also found on Medium.

I understand this could be the most self-serving cop out ever, using my own material as a “pick me up.” But hey, I’m allowed to feel good about the crap I write every once in awhile. Consider this, then, as Flashback Friday, where I introduce past pieces. After rereading a couple of old entries and rediscovering this one from 2011, I realized that ultimately, 1 and 10 have become the ruler in which I truly measure a man.

Originally posted October 26, 2011:

Honie and I have what we simply and aptly call, our Rules. It started out, like many things, an inside joke about boys we would never date: a guy driving a yellow car or one who thinks baggy cargo shorts are a good look. She’s too young to understand (or appreciate) it now, but with her budding teenagehood comes the inevitable stages of liking boys (much to Ki’s chagrin). Through first butterflies and awkward flirting, I know that Honie has begun to piece together qualities and traits she values the most in the opposite sex, setting the precedent for the rest of her dating life.

And thinking about Honie’s introduction to romance got me thinking about how my own preferences have aged and adapted over the years. After observing some male behaviors recently, it occurred to me what it really meant to be a man. Obvious anatomy aside, it takes much more to be classified as one, at least to me. It not about the impressive salary and flashy things he may own; any goon with a few bucks can buy expensive things. The true character of a man is in the intangible qualities, ones that can’t be bought, traded, or bargained. It’s in the minute details of his actions, like the way he treats his enemies, as well as his allies.

What else?

1. Loyalty. Without it, a man is nothing.

2. Men eat. Heartily. Unapologetically.

3. A man acknowledges his flaws but refuses to accept them. He works to improve them, despite knowing the futility in his efforts. He carries humility in his pocket, always.

4. A man knows the often blurred yet discernible distinction of being ambitious and determined, with being selfish and cunning. You can be ruthless and compassionate. You can be maniacally driven to succeed without sacrificing integrity. At no point in his endeavors will he expose himself to the possibility of being called a weasel.

5. Men understand the modern rules of chivalry* (giving up the remote, removing the nasty hair gunk from the shower drain, etc.) and practice them. They do not complain about this shit.

*Other forms of chivalry, restaurant edition.

6. His appearance is never sloppy, because a man gets his shit tailored.

7. A man is generous, with both his time and fortune.

8. Respect: contrary to popular belief, men do not demand it. They earn it.

9. Alpha men are undeniably distinguished as such because they have a spine. Made of steel. Men of this caliber represent nobility, man. And they know it takes more than an intimidating stature and status to be called one.

10. Conviction. With it, a man is everything.

When Boyfriend and I are traveling, I will center itineraries around the restaurants I want to try. Brunch is a near exclusive destination for quality time with girlfriends, as are happy hours. When I’m visiting my parents, I will be fed by my mother every two hours, no less, perhaps more. I get irritated when menus are far too extensive, because realistically, I want to try more things than my stomach will allow. Our social and intimate lives revolve around food, which is entirely the reason I could never diet (also, the total lack of self control), so I can’t imagine not being able to enjoy it as voraciously as I do now.

That’s why this article struck me as so heartbreaking. And hungry. Don’t take your stomach for granted.

It had been a long time since I had experienced such satisfying fullness. There was comfort and exuberance, a familiar feeling like a long embrace, a coming in from the cold — that I fear I will not know again. I know I will mourn my loss. Because for me, food — and eating it with abandon — is about shared experience. It’s about love and memory and the capacity to conquer even the worst hours with something warm and wonderful.

-excerpt from Anna Stoessinger’s 2011 article in the New York Times.

In keeping up with NYFW (where I don’t really keep up), I read this in the latest MASSIVE issue of Elle. Also, she mentions Rudyard Kipling, so, you know, this one was a no brainer.

“As little as five years ago, being an It Girl was not considered a rainmaking profession – indeed, it wasn’t considered a profession at all. It was something more ephemeral, not to mention rare. But this age of personal branding (i.e., self-promotion), street-style photography, and 24-7 image consumption on countless blogs has given rise to a new breed of woman for whom maintaining “It” is a lucrative, coveted, full-time- and, frankly, exhausting sounding- job.” 

– excerpt from Amanda FitzSimons’s article in the September issue of Elle.