Turkey Adventure

Blue Mosque

Last summer my dad and I visited my cousins who live in Turkey. We had many amazing experiences. We walked the grounds of the Sultan's Palace. We took a boat ride on the Bosporus. We toured ancient Greek ruins. We watched Muslims pray at the Blue Mosque. We admired mosaics at the Hagia Sophia. We ate delicious simit, baklava, and gül börek. But one thing that really stands out in my memory, is when we visited the Grand Bazaar.


The Grand Bazaar is an enormous covered market with thousands of shops, and has been in operation for hundreds of years. My aunt, Aimee, told me that at the Bazaar, people buy and sell things in very much the same way they would have thousands of years ago: by haggling. This means that the buyer and seller get to negotiate a price. This idea excited me. I had only read about haggling in books, and wanted to see it happen in real life.


When we arrived at the Grand Bazaar, I was immediately overwhelmed by its size. We entered the main street and I saw hundreds of tiny shops squashed together along the spacious street. It was difficult to keep up with the rest of my family as we walked through the crowd. I finally grabbed my dad's arm so I could take in everything without getting left behind.


Just walking down the street in the bazaar was an overload to my senses. Every shop overflowed with exotically colorful merchandise. Intricately woven rugs spilled out of carpet shops, silver and amber trinkets glittered in jewelry shops, and hundreds of gleaming stained-glass globes illuminated lantern shops. There was beautifully painted pottery, lavishly decorated clothing, and even the baskets of spices were colorful. Vendors called out their wares to passersby and their voices echoed off the arched ceilings. Occasionally two vendors would be selling the exact same kind of painted plates right across the street from each other, and they would compete loudly for customers. The spicy-sweet aroma of food wafted out of several restaurants we passed. Everything was incredible.


My dad and I split off from our group to go souvenir shopping. We started down the street to look for something for my mom, who is the hardest to shop for. Dad was glad to have me there to help look for her gift and give my opinion. We figured we couldn't go wrong with jewelry, so we entered a shop on a side street that looked promising. 


The owner swooped in on us right as we stepped in. 


"Welcome! What you like to buy? I have very nice necklace here." He motioned to a rack full of gaudy necklaces with huge beads. I looked at dad with wide eyes and shook my head.


"Um, no thank you. We'll look around." My dad said. 


The vendor hovered nearby as we walked around his shop full of frippery. I stopped to look at the bracelets, and saw the perfect thing. I held up a simple bracelet with teardrop stones for dad to see.


"Ah! Excellent choice! 140 lira for bracelet." Said the vendor. I looked at Dad, surprised. That was about 90 US dollars.


"Twenty lira," said Dad.


"One hundred lira. That is more than fair for this bracelet."


"That's far too much for us. Twenty lira."


"Ok, ok. I give you this bracelet for ninety lira. I don't go lower."


"Thirty lira. No more."


"Look, I give you good price. You see, this is real amber. I can't go lower for this bracelet."


"Thank you, but we'll go look somewhere else." Dad turned and started to walk out of the shop. I set the bracelet back on the stand and followed him.


"Wait, wait, this is really good price! Perhaps there is something else you want! Come back!" He continued to call after us, but we had already made our decision and didn't turn back. 


We walked all over the bazaar for hours, often finding ourselves going in circles. Even inside the bazaar, the summer heat was getting to us. At every shop we looked in, there just wasn't anything that looked like Mom's kind of thing. Finally, we drug our tired feet into a silver shop. That's where I found it: a medium-sized, simple-yet-elegant pendant. It was perfect. We bought it at a reasonable price, and even got the vendor to throw in a cord to go with it. 


I was ready to try bartering for myself. I knew exactly what to do. Even though my legs moaned in protest, I lumbered over to a shop I had passed before. As I walked, the vendors called to me, "Miss! Over here, miss!" "Spices!" "Jewelry!" "Come, come see this!" but I ignored them all. I found the shop, picked out some nice bead bracelets I thought my friends would like, and presented them to the vendor.


"How much for these?" I asked.


"Forty lira."


"Fifteen," I said.


"I can do thirty."


"These are just painted beads. Fifteen lira."


The vendor looked slightly uncomfortable.


"Twenty five lira is the best I can do." He said.


I pretended to contemplate this. I knew he had offered a pretty good price.


"Twenty five lira." I handed him the money, and walked away with my prize.

Blog Evaluation

I must say I was very frustrated with this blog at first. I am a college student with a billion other things to do, and what do I have to write about? All I do is eat, sleep, and do homework, and most of that time I was so sick I could barely go to school. So how could I possibly have anything exciting to talk about or insightful to say?

On top of that, there is the pressure of writing something impressive. I felt like I was expected to write brilliant, witty, deep posts (I still feel that way) and that there was no way for me to measure up. I like to think that I am a good writer, but that isn't very helpful when I have no inspiration.

However as time passed I began to have a better idea of what I wanted to post. I just found simple things to talk about: books I had read, things I learned in other classes, etc. But as the due date for the blog neared, I still did not have very many posts and had no ideas

Luckily for me, the best inspiration is often last minute panic. Even though through most of this process of writing this blog I have not enjoyed it one bit, now that I am finished I am pretty pleased with it. Maybe I will even continue the write in this blog after the class is over.

P.S. I drew these pictures myself. I feel like they are a pretty accurate analogy of how I felt before and after completing this blog...not to say that I'm done with it!

The Worst Christmas Song Ever

I love Christmas. I especially love playing Christmas radio stations while decorating a tree or baking cookies, and I love to sing along at the top of my lungs (as long as I am the only person home).


Christmas music is the best kind. It can make you feel peaceful and happy or excited and energized, or even both at the same time. From the beautiful "Messiah" by Handel, to the dance-inducing "Jingle-Bell Rock," all Christmas music has a special place in my heart. I can even stand to listen to "Last Christmas (I Gave You My Heart)" and "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus" a few times without going crazy.


But there is one song that I simply cannot stand: "Christmas Shoes."

Sure, I get that it is supposed to sad that the boy's mom is dying and sweet that he wants to do something nice for her before she passes, but that is where the good things end.


Here are the reasons why I hate this song:


1. This song tries too hard. The combination of cheesy lyrics, sappy instrumentals, and children singing softly at the end are all evidences that this song is supposed to make you cry and feel the Christmas Spirit. But a good song achieves this subtly instead of smashing you over the head with sappy-ness.


2. The story makes no sense. This kid wants to get his mom some shoes because he believes it will make her happy. But do you know what would really make her happy? If she could spend some time with her son before she dies! Isn't it obvious that some shoes are not going to mean much to her right now? Besides, the song made it clear that this family is very poor. What mother would want her son to go blow a bunch of money on some shoes for her when it could be spent  putting food on the table so that the rest of her family can live? This mother must be extremely obsessed with shoes for her son to think that getting a nice pair of shoes before she dies is that important to her. Perhaps she maxed out all her credit cards buying hundreds of shoes and that is why the family is so poor. If that is the case, then that truly is sad. But why make a Christmas song about a dying, mentally ill woman?


3. Christmas music should not be depressing. Christmas music should be either cheerful, reverent, or beautiful. It should never be depressing, and certainly not cheesy and depressing at the same time. 

Winter Haiku

Chilly air so crisp
whips my hair around my face
numbs fingers and nose

Crunch of icy snow
sparkles like sugar from lamp-light
makes me crave frosting

In the darkest night
nothing is silent as snow
or as picturesque

The Moment Before You Drown

I shivered as I stood by the side of the pool, waiting for my heat in the 200 meter freestyle race. My first race. Mom’s voice echoed in my mind, reminding me of the legacy of competitive swimmers before me. “Your grandma was a state champion in backstroke, and her brother could have been a world champion swimmer, but he switched to diving and went on to the Olympics. You have got the swimming gene in you!” I could not wait to prove that true.

When I heard, "Swimmers, take your mark," I stepped up to the starting block and pulled on my goggles, my mind calm, my breathing steady. I knew that I probably wouldn't come in first, but that didn't bother me. I knew that how well I did would reflect how much training I had done. I was only a beginner, but at every practice I had done very well, always keeping up, and sometimes waiting impatiently for slower swimmers ahead of me as we swam lap after lap. I felt well prepared. I was focused, serene, and it was as though I could feel every stroke I had ever done imprinted into my muscles, the pattern of movement memorized by each body part. The echoing of every voice and splash in that indoor pool faded into the background as I knelt down and stared into the water below. I imagined how I would slice into the water on impact, creating as little resistance as possible. I continued to breathe deeply and my surroundings dissolved, leaving just me and the water.

I barely heard the whistle blow, but my body was ready to go. My fingers let go of the edge of the block, and my legs kicked off. In that split second where I was airborne, I pulled my arms straight in front of me, overlapping my hands, and dived into the water. I propelled myself to the surface and pulled my arm up out of the water. The movements were automatic; stroke, turn, breathe, kick, stroke, turn, breathe, kick. As I turned my head to breathe, I glimpsed the other swimmers, neck and neck with me. I knew I was doing well, and might have a chance of actually coming in first. I pushed myself a little harder, and pulled ahead slightly.

As I started into my second lap, that's when it happened. My chest suddenly tightened, and as I tried to breathe I sucked in water and began to choke, my throat burning from chlorine and physical exertion. I tried to compose myself and push onward, but I had upset my rhythm, my limbs flailing awkwardly for a moment. When I finally righted myself, the other swimmers were far ahead of me. I continued forward, determined not to come in last, but it was no use. My lungs burned and heaved, making me gasp for breath when I turned my head. I got more water in my mouth and had to spit it back out when my face went underwater again. My body felt heavy, as if I were wearing a thick, wet sweater, and I slowed way down. I realized that I still had two laps to go and my heart sank. I knew that no matter what, I was going to look pathetic, but if I could just finish, that would at least be something.


The other swimmers finished and climbed out of the pool, and there I was, half drowning as I struggled through each stroke and excruciating breath. My goggles had slipped a bit and water was seeping into my eyes. My head spun from lack of oxygen and I imagined myself sinking down to the bottom of the pool where I could slip into peaceful oblivion. But I forced my muscles not to relax until I finally finished and pulled myself out of the pool with shaking arms. I didn't let myself look at anyone. I just stumbled into the locker room, wrapped myself in a towel, and sobbed in disappointment and relief.

Four Years Later


I held a red rescue tube under one arm as I tread the warm water with the other. Danielle bobbed in front of me as we waited for the command. "Ready, go!" Tim called. We exchanged a nervous smile then together Danielle and I took a deep breath, pressed our arms to our sides and let ourselves sink into the water. Once we submerged we lifted our arms out and above our heads to propel ourselves down toward the bottom of the pool. I opened my unprotected eyes to watch Danielle through the murky, chlorinated water. 

As I passed ten feet, I felt sudden pressure on my ears. Distracted by the sensation, I let my legs part which halted my downward movement. I saw Danielle reach the bottom before me and I quickly blew air out of my lungs to sink faster. I came down behind her until I felt my toes touch the floor and the slight tug of the rescue tube strap wrapped around my torso. I hooked one arm under Danielle's arm and around her chest, hugging her limp body to me. I pulled on the strap and kicked off the floor against the twelve feet of water pressing down on us. The ascent was slow and I began to panic when my lungs started to burn. I cursed myself for using precious air to reach the bottom of the pool as I kicked furiously toward the surface. 


A moment later Danielle had expended the last of her air and began to kick as well, breaking the character of the drowned victim. As I grabbed higher up on the strap in an effort to pull us up, I lost my grip and at the same time our flailing legs collided painfully. I let go of Danielle and we were free to use both arms and legs to quickly swim upward. Cold air hit my wet face as I broke the surface, and I sucked it in gratefully. We swam to the side of the pool and hung both arms on the ledge. "Are you alright?" I asked a gasping Danielle. She smiled and gave me thumbs up, then wiped her dripping face.

I smiled back but my heart sank. I remembered how Hanann had urged me to be a life guard, insisting that I could do it when I hesitated. “You will be fine,” she had said. “The life guard training really is not hard, and you are already a great swimmer!” I wished I could believe that. I looked over at Shane and Josh who were goofing off by the side of the pool. Their lean, muscular bodies were evidence of years of swim team training every week. In my mind’s eye I saw Shane standing heroically on a pedestal, dozens of shining medals draped around his neck and a trophy raised triumphantly in one hand. That is the kind of person a life guard is, I thought. I’m not like that. How can I be a life guard and save people when I don’t even like swimming?

Tim walked over to where Danielle and I were and squatted down in front of us. “Not bad for a first try,” he said. “Shelby, make sure you get down to the victim as fast as possible. Every second counts, especially when it’s a submerged victim. If they are even still alive, they are lucky to have a few seconds left in which you have to get them out, and start CPR.” Tim stood up and clapped his hands. “Alright everybody, everyone will go through the passive submerged scenario one more time, and then we need to move on to spinals. We have a lot to cover before the final test on Thursday.”

Thursday came like a bullet. Before I knew it, we had begun testing. I had already passed the written portion and performed CPR on a dummy, so I was waiting for my turn to do the rescue tests. My stomach churned nervously as I sat on the lobby bench and I regretted eating that huge bowl of oatmeal for breakfast.

“Karlie, Shane, and Shelby, It is your turn!” Tim waved at us from the pool side. We stood and walked through the glass doors to the indoor pool, our bare feet slapping nosily in puddles in the otherwise silent pool. Tim explained the scenario, “You guys will be doing a submerged spinal victim. Shane will be the victim, Shelby will be the first lifeguard, and Karlie will be the second. So Shane and Shelby, get in the water and begin when you are ready.” Tim handed me a rescue tube and my knees turned to jell-o. The submerged spinal scenario was the hardest one there was. I would have to not only retrieve Shane from the bottom of the pool, but hold him with both hands in such a way that his head would not move. That meant I could only use my legs to swim to the surface.

I stepped into the water and heard the splash of Shane behind me. My heart was pounding and I wanted to cry. What was I been thinking, doing life guard training? I wanted to die rather than humiliate myself in this test, especially when I was rescuing Shane of all people. 

No, I thought suddenly. It’s almost over. I have made it this far. I have even done this kind of rescue successfully before. Why should I give up now? Why should I waste all the time and money that I spent to take this course? I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.

“Let’s go,” I said. Shane and I sank down, and I even beat him to the bottom of the pool. I positioned my self carefully next to him, placing one hand at the back of his head and one on his chin, and pressed my forearms into his chest and back, creating a strong brace for his neck. I kicked off the floor with all my strength and the rest was a blur: reaching the surface, Karlie pushing the back board underneath Shane, securing the straps tightly around his body, and carefully pulling him out of the water strapped to the backboard. I was suddenly aware of myself kneeling next to the pool with Tim congratulating me and Shane lying safely on the ground and grinning at me.  “You can go now,” laughed Tim when I didn’t move. I dazedly walked out of the pool, and sat back down on the bench, wrapping a towel around me. Slowly I felt warmth spreading through me, and it was not because of the towel.

Several minutes later, Tim popped around the corner and called to me. “Shelby, Amanda wants to talk to you.” I wrapped my towel tighter around me and walked into the office. Amanda was sitting behind the desk, filling out swim team schedules. She looked up when I walked in and smiled. “Have a seat.” She motioned to the chair opposite her. I sat down carefully, making sure my towel ended up between me and the seat, and clasped my hands together. Amanda set her pen down and said, “This season we are short on swim teachers. Would you being willing to take the Water Safety Instructor course in a couple weeks? It would be great to have another swim teacher as soon as I hire you.”

I did not even need to think about it. “Absolutely,” I said.

A Day at Drill

Every month I do something that not many people get to experience. Even most people who are in the military like me don't have this experience. Allow me to share.

One weekend a month, I drive up to SLAB- Salt Lake Air Base- to spend the day in student flight. A flight simply refers to a group within the Air National Guard. My typical weekend on base goes like this:

I wake up at 5 am Saturday morning so I can make it to the base at 7. I blast the radio to keep myself awake as I drive by myself in the dark. When I arrive at the gate to the base I am stopped by an armed guard who asks for my military ID. Despite looking intimidating, the guards always greet me with a friendly smile.

I park my car in front of the building where the classroom is and go inside. The student flight classroom is similar to a classroom one would find at a high school. The purpose of student flight is to simply be something to do for enlisted people who have not been to training yet. None of us have official uniforms yet since those are issued at basic training, but we have been given blue Air Force tee shirts and black caps. We treat this outfit as if it were a uniform: tucked in shirt, hat on outside, hat off inside.

We begin class by standing and reciting the Airman's Creed:

I am an American Airman

I am a warrior

I have answered my nation's call

I am an American Airman

My mission is to fly, fight, and win

I am faithful to a proud heritage

a tradition of honor

and a legacy of valor

I am an American Airman

Guardian of freedom and justice

My nation's sword and shield

its sentry and avenger

I defend my country with my life

I am an American Airman

Wingman, leader, warrior

I will never leave an Airman behind

I will never falter

and I will not fail

Our instructor, Staff Sergent Mayer, then proceeds to make sure that everyone is getting the help that they need to finish paperwork, get an ID, or anything else they need to do be fully received into the system. Then everyone changes into PT clothes and we stand out side to go do physical training. We fall in to two elements, or lines. Sgt. Mayer calls us to attention and we march over the building where we work out. 

Sgt. Mayer works as a group instructor at a gym when he is not a drill, so he always has a number of creative activities for us to do that works just about every muscle in existence. We cycle through different stations for a full exhausting hour, then we line up and march back to shower and change into our "uniforms."

When we are nice and clean we march over to the chow hall to eat around 11. By this time it has been about five hours since I last ate, so I pile my plate high and finish all of it. Us students spend lunch getting to know each other. Our ages range from 17 to 30, and we all have very different personalities and beliefs. It is interesting to see how easily we get along despite our different backgrounds.

After lunch we go back to the classroom and will either watch informational videos on YouTube or someone will come talk to us. Yesterday while at drill someone came to talk to us about tuition assistance and  the GI bill. After he left we watched a video in which a choir sang the Air Force song so that we could learn it. We then came across this video that we could not help but watch. It actually ends up being pretty funny at the end, and we made fun of how overly dramatic it was.

We talked about various things such as basic training, tech school, recognizing ranks, and anything else we may need to know to be successful in the military, then practice marching. At about 2:30 we are released to go home.

On Sunday we come back at the same time and do pretty much the same thing, except for our exercise we do a practice PT (physical training) test. We have to do push ups, sit ups, and run  for a mile and a half. We will have to be able to pass PT tests in basic training to graduate, so this is especially useful.

After lunch we are released to go to our units. Each person in student flight has a certain job that he or she will  begin when they return from training, whether it be personnel, finance, pilot, crew chief, services, etc. When I return from training, I will begin working as a Spanish linguist. We each go to our units to meet the people we will be working with, become familiar with the workplace, and sometimes perform small tasks.

Once I am free to go, I rush home as soon as possible to sleep for several more hours to make up for sleep lost from waking up so early and in preparation for the next few days of extremely sore muscles.

What Makes a Man a Warrior

Don Juan once said, ‎ “The difference between an ordinary man and a warrior is that a warrior takes everything as a challenge, while an ordinary man takes everything as a blessing or a curse." When I read this quote it made me realize that everyone’s life is full of challenges, but what makes us different is how we deal with those challenges. Instead of whining and complaining whenever something happens to them, “warriors” make the most out of whatever life throws at them. An ordinary person would lie in bed and mope all day because of a broken leg, but a warrior would make it an opportunity to read that book they have always wanted to read, or learn how to crochet. Even though their leg is still broken, they have overcome their trial by turning it into a good experience. They don’t give up on life just because their leg is broken.

Personal Narrative Draft

Here is my narrative so far. It is mostly just a vivid memory that I have, and I am not really sure (I have no idea) how to make it sound like it changed my life. I do consider it a significant moment though.

I shivered as I stood by the side of the pool, waiting for my heat in the 200 meter freestyle race. My first race. This was my very first swim meet since joining the Springville Seals swim team. The summer after 8th grade, I had been inspired to try competitive swimming by the stories of my many family members who were great swimmers. My grandma was a state champion in backstroke, and her brother could have been a world champion swimmer, but he switched to diving and went on to the Olympics. I figured I must have some pretty good swimming genes in me. I wasn't the most athletic, but I loved to swim, and I had taken swimming lessons my whole life, which made the swim team the obvious choice for a sport.

When I heard, "Swimmers, take your mark," I stepped up to the starting block and pulled on my goggles, my mind calm, my breathing steady. I knew that I probably wouldn't come in first, but that didn't bother me. I knew that how well I did would reflect how much training I had done. I was only a beginner, but at every practice I had done very well, always keeping up, and sometimes waiting impatiently for slower swimmers ahead of me as we swam lap after lap. I felt well prepared. I was focused, serene, and it was as though I could feel every stroke I had ever done imprinted into my muscles, the pattern of movement memorized by each body part. The echoing of every voice and splash in that indoor pool faded into the background as I knelt down and stared into the water below. I imagined how I would slice into the water on impact, creating as little resistance as possible. I continued to breathe deeply and my surroundings dissolved, leaving just me and the water.

I barely heard the whistle blow, but my body was ready to go. My fingers let go of the edge of the block, and my legs kicked off. In that split second where I was airborne, I pulled my arms straight in front of me, overlapping my hands, and dived into the water. I propelled myself to the surface and pulled my arm up out of the water. The movements were automatic; stroke, turn, breathe, kick, stroke, turn, breathe, kick. As I turned my head to breathe, I glimpsed the other swimmers, neck and neck with me. I knew I was doing well, and might have a chance of actually coming in first. I pushed myself a little harder, and pulled ahead slightly.

As I started into my second lap, that's when it happened. My chest suddenly tightened, and as I tried to breathe I sucked in water and began to choke, my throat burning from chlorine and physical exertion. I tried to compose myself and push onward, but I had upset my rhythm, my limbs flailing awkwardly for a moment. When I finally righted myself, the other swimmers were far ahead of me. I continued forward, determined not to come in last, but it was no use. My lungs burned and heaved, making me gasp for breath when I turned my head. I got more water in my mouth and had to spit it back out when my face went underwater again. My body felt heavy, as if I were wearing a thick, wet sweater, and I slowed way down. I realized that I still had two laps to go and my heart sank. I knew that no matter what, I was going to look pathetic, but if I could just finish, that would at least be something.

The other swimmers finished and climbed out of the pool, and there I was, half drowning as I struggled through each stroke and excruciating breath. My goggles had slipped a bit and water was seeping into my eyes. My head spun from lack of oxygen and I imagined myself sinking down to the bottom of the pool where I could slip into peaceful oblivion. But I forced my muscles not to relax until I finally finished and pulled myself out of the pool with shaking arms. I didn't let myself look at anyone. I just stumbled into the locker room, wrapped myself in a towel, and sobbed in disappointment and relief. That was the end of swim team for me.

Great Works Response: The Master's Hand

Historical Contextualization

“Christ Healing at the Pool of Bethesda” by Carl Heinrich Bloch is one of twenty three pictures painted for the Frederiksborg Chapel in Denmark. Bloch was considered one of Europe’s finest portrait painters and received many prestigious awards for his work. It took Bloch fourteen years to complete the collection of paintings for the Chapel. Bloch had been commissioned to illustrate the life of Christ through these paintings and they were to hang in the King’s Praying Chamber within the chapel.

These beloved depictions of the life of Christ can be found in the pages of Ensigns, on the walls of meeting houses, and the covers of church manuals. Bloch’s work has greatly influenced Latter-day Saint members’ idea of what the Savior must have been like

Critical Analysis

Bloch uses the contrast of light and dark to emphasize the idea that Christ is the light of the world and can bring peace and healing to those who believe in Him. Christ is the focal point of the painting in a brilliant white robe illuminated by some unknown light source, and His face shines with divine light. As he lifts the cover from the old, infirm man, His healing light begins to fall on the man. The crippled man has his hands raised in surprise at the kind face looking upon him. This man has probably been overlooked and ignored everyday by the people intent on curing their own illness, and no one has ever shown any concern for him until now.

The people standing behind Jesus are darkness. They seem to be talking to each other, questioning this man who has come and giving Him contemptuous looks. Perhaps they are in darkness because they are not followers of Jesus and do not receive His light. On the other side of the painting in the direction that Jesus is facing are people who are unaware of His presence in the moment, but will likely notice Him and believe in Him when they witness the miracle of the infirm man being healed. A small boy standing by his mother greatly resembles the boy in another of Bloch’s paintings, “Christ and Child.” The boy looks at the viewer as if to indicate that he is aware of what is going on in the foreground.

A red cap draws attention to its wearer: a man sitting beside the pool, gazing directly at the viewer of the painting. The expression on his face is hard to read. Perhaps he is giving a warning stare; He wants to get to the water first, and does not want anyone to stop him from being healed. Or, as I prefer to think, he is inviting the viewer to notice the miracle is going on beside him and to come be healed by Christ. Either way, the man’s gaze includes the viewer as a participant in the painting as well, making it a much more personal experience.

One interesting comparison that can be made is between the pool of Bethesda and Christ. One is healing water and one is the Living Water. While the pool is the reason for which all the people have gathered, only a small portion of it can be seen in the lower right-hand corner of the painting. One could say that the pool represents worldly needs and desires. All the people in the painting have the goal of making it to the pool first to have their needs satisfied. But if only they turned instead to Christ, who is standing in their midst, they could all be healed. Unlike the “worldly” pool that can only satisfy their temporal needs to a degree, Christ the Living Water can satisfy them spiritually so that they “never thirst again” (John 4:14).

Personal Reflection

As a member of the Church, I have been familiar with Carl Bloch’s paintings my whole life. But because I saw them everywhere, I took them for granted. I never really noticed the paintings, let alone wondered who painted them.

However, seeing the original paintings was like seeing those images for the first time. They were so much bigger, the details were clearer, and the colors deeper than the copies I had seen before. It was fascinating to not only see the original familiar face of the Savior that I had seen so many times before, but to actually see the texture of the brushstrokes as proof that someone had actually painted these beautiful paintings. For the first time I realized that these paintings could only be created out of love and devotion to the Savior. I could see Bloch’s careful consideration in the way that he depicted Christ in his paintings. I could feel the spirit so strongly as I sat in the exhibit and I felt Carl Bloch’s testimony of the loving nature of Christ through his exquisite paintings.

Sarcasm

As I have explored the internets, I have come across something very interesting: the use of sarcasm. Sarcasm is something you come across every day in the real world, and is the basis for a large amount of humorous things that people say.

But when it comes to the written word, including what is published online, using sarcasm effectively is very difficult. Even for a talented writer who can invoke many complex emotions in his reader, sarcasm is generally avoided because it requires hearing tone of voice to be correctly interpreted.

However, as I was reading some blogs online, I discovered that many humorous writers have devised a simple way to bypass all the confusion of written sarcasm. They call it the "sarcasm hand." Whenever the writer say something sarcastic, at the end of the sentence they write in parentheses, "sarcasm hand raised."

This phrase is more often than not manipulated so it can describe the level of sarcasm used. I shall try to demonstrate.

Sardines are SOOO good. (Sarcasm hand.)

I can't wait for finals week! (Hand raised so high my fingers just brushed the underside of a flying commercial jet.)

The Twilight series is extremely well written, the characters are well developed and consistent, the plot keeps you guessing, and the relationships are a good model of what a healthy relationship should be like. (Sarcasm hand raised so high I just made a shadow puppet on the face of Pluto.)

Don't Sweat the Small Stuff

I would like to share a book that I have found very helpful in my life, especially when I am feeling down or need some motivation. It is called "Don't Sweat the Small Stuff (for Teens)" by Richard Carlson. It gives wonderful advice for dealing with stressful situations that young people often face.

One thing that I love about this book is that it has sort, concise chapters for each topic discussed. Whenever I feel stressed, I just pick up the book, flip to a chapter, and read. It usually doesn't even matter which chapter I read, I almost instantly feel better. Carlson has a voice of understanding, yet he effectively gets his reader to think rationally, no matter what the situation may be. His short chapters make it easy to read, and he uses the perfect mixture of information, compassion, and humor to get his reader excited about life again.

This book has helped me through some hard times, and I highly recommend it to anyone who is struggling, whether it be with relationships, homework, a bad mood, insecurity, or just about anything else.

Excerpt from "The Choice" by Arbinger Institute

Self-Betrayal

As a person, I know what it means to be a

person. I have a sense of what people need.

For example: I see a person in need, and 
I feel to help.




My responsiveness to others' needs is my 
deepest sense of what is right.


I can resist this responsiveness toward 
others' needs.


If I do, I betray my deepest sense of what 
is right.




Betray my deepest sense of what is right
and I betray myself.




Betray myself and I do wrong. Do wrong
and I seek to be justified. I begin seeing a
world that makes the wrong seem right.


Example: My child cries in the middle of
the night, and I feel to get up and tend to
her before my spouse wakes up.
But I don't.


I now say:


"I got up last time."

"My spouse is not as busy as I am."


"My spouse is probably feigning sleep."




Another example: I obtain information
that would help a coworker and I feel I
should share it. But I don't.


I now say:


"This person doesn't help me."


"This person is too dependent on others already."


"I worked hard for this information."




The people I felt to help now seem
blameworthy.


I feel justified in not helping.


But did they seem blameworthy when I
felt to help?


Why do they seem blameworthy now?


Betray myself and I seek to be justified by
blaming others. I become resistant to them.




People Or Objects


So I betray myself, and people to help
become objects of blame.


Instead of people with their own lives, I
now see others as obstacles in mine,


or as vehicles to be used for my purposes,


or as irrelevancies that offer me no
advantage.




Consider:


When I felt to get up and tend the baby
before my spouse woke up, was my spouse
a person or an object to me?


And how was I seeing my coworker when I
felt I should share the information I had
obtained?




Compare:


How did I see my spouse and my coworker
after I betrayed my sense of what I
should do for them?




Responsive is who I was.


Resistant is the way I made myself in
self-betrayal.


Reducing people to mere objects is the
way I resist them.

Wisdom from Lewis Carroll

Yesterday I read an excerpt from Lewis Carroll’s “Alice in Wonderland.” It was about Alice’s encounter with the Cheshire cat. When the cat pointed out which way the Mad Hatter and the March Hare lived, Alice exclaimed that she didn’t want to be around mad people. “Oh you can’t help that,” Said the Cat: “we’re all mad here.”

No matter where we go, there will be “mad” people. We will meet people who are disagreeable, strange, and antagonistic. We can either be offended by them, or we can choose to give them the benefit of the doubt and not let them bother us.

At work there is a girl who is sometimes rude to me. Usually I would avoid her and never spoke to her. But today I decided to smile and say hello to her when I went into work. And to my surprise, she smiled and said hello back. I may never know why she acts the way she does sometimes, but it doesn’t mean I can’t be nice to her.

Pattern for Prayer

In my Book of Mormon class Sister Halverson talked about a pattern of prayer as outlined by Elder Bednar. He prays in the morning to ask Heavenly Father what he can do that day to improve himself and asks for guidance throughout the day. Then he prays in the middle of the day to give a “progress report” and seek further direction. At the end of the day he would pray to express gratitude for all his blessings and to asses the day to figure out what went well and what did not.

I tried praying like this yesterday I found that my prayers were more meaningful and I was more conscious of how I behaved throughout the day. I will use this method of prayer more often.

Whose decision is it?

One important aspect of decision making is determining who the decision maker is and acting accordingly. If the decision is yours to make, you can accept advice from other people, but you should keep in mind that the decision is still yours to make. You can’t always please everyone with a decision you make, so you must simply say, “Thank you for your input, I will go make my decision now.”

Most of my life I have made decisions to please my parents. Sometimes this has resulted in me being unhappy with the consequences. I decided that in the future I would keep in mind that if the decision is ultimately mine, I wont make a decision simply to please my parents. I used this in a small decision last week when I had to choose between getting my homework done right away or going to hang out with friends. My mom strongly encouraged me to hang out with my friends since I had not seen them in a long time. I thanked her for her advice, and then instead of leaving right then to see my friends, I called one of them and scheduled another time to get together and I was able to finish my homework. I am glad that I remembered that the decision was mine to make because it led me to make a better decision that benefitted everyone.

Issue Paper Topic

I know this is really late, but I keep forgetting I have a blog!

For my paper I want to write about evolutionary psychology. It is an emerging field of psychology based on the idea that human behavior can be explained by evolution. People who behaved certain ways were more likely to survive and pass on their behavior traits to their children. There is a lot of controversy surrounding this issue, such as the debate as to whether or not evolutionary psychology can really be considered a science since there is no way to go back to prehistory and prove how people actually behaved. Another is that evolutionary psychology explains gender roles as being a result of evolution and it is therefore in our nature to fill those roles, instead of us conforming to society. It is a very interesting issue, but I'm not sure exactly how I should explore it in my paper...

Any ideas?

(For the record, I personally lean more toward the "nurture" explanation of human behavior. But I do find it interesting how people try to prove that "nature" is the only factor in determining behavior.)

Mourn the Losses

Today in my Freshman Honors experience class we talked about mourning losses when we make decisions. When we make a decision, it closes a door on an alternate decision. We must properly mourn the loss of the alternate situation to be completely at ease with the situation we affirmed.

I joined the Air National Guard about 3 months ago. Recently I have been feeling uneasy about my decision, and I wasn’t really sure why. I decided to take a moment to go over everything I would be missing because of my decision: I would be behind in school, I would be away from friends an family for a couple years, and I wouldn’t have much time to relax for a while, to name a few. I thought about these things for a while and let myself feel sad. Then I thought about all the reasons I did join: My tuition would be paid for, I would have a secure job, I would be able to do what I love as a linguist in the military, the military environment would help me learn good habits and help me to be more focused and motivated, and I would have the satisfaction of knowing that I would be doing something important. After this process I felt much better.

Crucial Conversations

Today in Freshmen Honors Experience we talked about Crucial Conversations. A crucial conversation is a discussion between people where stakes are high, opinions vary, and emotions run strong. We learned how to have a discussion without it turning into a destructive argument. I realized then why I had such a hard time having a civil discussion with one of my friends. Neither of us were really listening to each other, and both of us only cared about being right. I realized that I didn’t want this pattern to continue with this friend. I wanted to be able to discuss our different opinions without making each other feel bad. The next time I saw him and a controversial topic was brought up, he started by giving his opinion. This time I actually listened, and I repeated to him what he had said. He seemed really surprised, and his whole demeanor changed. When he realized that I understood him, he could relax and talk calmly. He even followed my example by repeating what I said when I stated my opinion. We continued the conversation to the end, and we realized that our opinions weren’t as different as we though, and the differences we could respect.

Insight on Friendship

I had an experience with a friend recently that caused me to realize that I had been taking his friendship for granted. I had let myself argue with him needlessly over small things, such as what we thought about a certain preview to a movie. I let myself become more critical instead of complimenting, assuming that our friendship was strong enough that he would not mind so much. We had known each other for so long and were best friends, so I assumed that nothing could go wrong. I thought that he had already accepted me, so I did not need to try so hard at being a good friend. I was selfish, expecting him to reassure me about every little thing, while I did hardly anything for him.

I did not even realize what I had been doing until he said he had decided to distance himself from me because he couldn’t take it anymore. I realized then that to have a truly good friendship, one must always do something to show the friend that he or she cares about that friend, and always refrain from being mean; not just at the beginning of the relationship, but always.

I have decided that every time I interact with my friends, I will say or do something to show them that I care, whether it be giving them a compliment, comforting them if they are having a hard time, or simply laughing and enjoying spending time with them instead of finding things to tease them about.

I have still kept in contact with the friend I mentioned at first. Since the day he told me he had had enough and needed a break, I have been diligently working towards my goal of being a good friend. Every time I feel tempted to tease or argue with him, I have not let myself give in, not once. When he asked, I gave him advice about a girl he wants to date, while reassuring him that he was doing a good job. In the past week, our relationship is being slowly, but surely, repaired. I will keep my goal of being a better friend for the rest of my life since it is making me (and my friends) much happier.

"Oh yeah...I have a blog I should be writing."

Since I have only done one post on this blog so far, I feel that I should write something. Unfortunately, I don't really know what to write. I suppose it is because I feel that there is some sort of expectation I am supposed to meet in my posts. Do I need to write about something deeply thought provoking? Or tell amazing personal stories? Or try to convey complicated thought processes I have? What I do know is that I feel the need to write something impressive, witty, and intelligent. This isn't a personal journal and several people people could be reading it. Or are they? Maybe no one really cares or has the time to read ramblings that I have cranked out in ten minutes simply to meet a requirement for a class.

What I will try to do is fulfill the the implications of the name of this blog: Annotations on life. I will just write whatever insights I have while simply doing what I do every day. And hopefully it will be sufficient to to get me a good grade.

A Child of God

I read a talk by President Eyring called, "A Child of God." The main purpose of his talk is to advise latter-day saint college students about becoming great learners. First Eyring talks about pursuing excellence without becoming prideful. He makes a powerful point that by seeking humility through remembering Heavenly Father in our daily lives, we will also find the power to "learn both what we need to know for living in this world and in the life to come."

Eyring then gives five habits of good learners: welcoming correction, keeping commitments, working hard, helping other people, and expecting and overcoming resistance. While talking about the third habit, working hard, Eyring says something that really strikes me:

"What we do here determines the rest of our condition for eternity."

When I read that, I realized I could be doing so much more with my life. I have been given many opportunities to learn and grow, especially at BYU.

Overall, President Eyring's talk was uplifting and encourages me to be a better student, as well as a better person.