Climbing the Great Wall
When hiking on a cloudy, windy day,
Careful steps one-by-one, avoiding falls.
Glued with rice and mud, dried in the sun’s rays,
Slippery stones, the backbone of the Wall.
Trying to keep balanced, lunging forward,
I trip and stretch for the metal railing.
Pulling myself up from looking awkward,
I learn to move with the wind like sailing.
Twists and turns curving around and around.
Steep steps up to Heaven and down to Earth.
Body shivers seeking warmth from the ground.
Legs shake, some moans, snot drips and little mirth.
From up high we see the Wall far and wide,
A dragon dancing on the mountainside.
Analysis of Climbing the Great Wall
Seeking success is not always an easy task when reaching your goals. In Climbing the Great Wall, the Wall is a metaphor for a person’s life. The Wall can be separated into sections and each section can represent a goal in that person’s life. This sonnet describes the physical struggle someone may experience when physically climbing the Wall. The physical climb is a metaphor for the mental thoughts and emotional feelings one may feel when struggling through any challenge. In the end, the hiker must realize that accomplishing goals is a wonderful adventure.
In a struggle, someone may feel they are in a gloomy atmosphere as if “when hiking on a cloudy, windy day.” We already know the place of the physical hike from the title “Climbing the Great Wall.” The setting is completed with the first line because it tells what kind of day or journey it is. The Great Wall is obviously extremely long, but even a small part is a difficult climb. In life, there are many challenges. Hiking and climbing are more difficult than walking, so journeys and challenges are not easy. “On a cloudy, windy day,” the journey is even more difficult. The atmosphere is cold and the wind and clouds are foreboding.
The approach a person ought to take in the search for success is with “careful steps one-by-one, avoiding falls.” Most people would say that a person must take baby steps to achieve. However, the hiker does not define the size of the steps, only that he/she must take them consciously. In life, a person may have a plan and try not to risk making mistakes.
The Great Wall of China was “glued with rice and mud, dried in the sun’s rays.” This description is almost like one for a sand castle. Sand castles may look sturdy, but they can easily be destroyed. The Great Wall may seem firm, but to someone who thinks it is absurd to build a large structure with only rice and mud may feel a bit insecure. In life, someone may feel safe, but really there are times to be paranoid or unstable because life is not secure.
The “slippery stones” intensifies instability. Knowing someone can slip and fall on the Wall or in life depresses the journey. Rice, mud, and stones are reasons why to approach the situation consciously.
The hiker is determined to move forward as if on the Wall when “trying to keep balanced, lunging forward.” Lunging is defined as “ a sudden forward thrust of the body, typically with an arm outstretched to attach someone or seize something,” according to the Oxford Dictionary. In life, when conquering obstacles, a person needs to attach the situation.
Even if you push and never give up, mistakes are still open in life. When climbing the Great Wall, someone may “trip and stretch for the metal railing.” Stretching for the metal railing in life can be searching for support or a guide to keep you focused for reaching your destination.
Tripping may be embarrassing on the Wall. Making mistakes or failing may be humiliating in life. Anyone in that position can only be “pulling myself up from looking awkward.” The hiker truly shows his/her determination when trying to pull his/herself together to continue the journey. You might need the “metal railing.”
After almost facing defeat, a person can overcome it. This is the turning point for the hiker in the sonnet, on the hike, or in life. Lessons are learned through out the journey like, “ I learn to move with the wind like sailing.” Mistakes may happen, but as the hiker has already proved to his/herself that he/she can overcome obstacles. Sailing is considered a relaxing sport. When reaching goals, a person needs to stay relaxed and flow along.
Someone may feel lost on a journey. They may ask themselves why they attempted to reach this goal and even if the journey is worth the trouble. They may feel as if going in “twists and turns curving around and around.” This physical motion can be related to frustration when achieving goals.
A person may feel tired from climbing’ steep steps up to Heaven and down to Earth.” Heaven and Earth are two places that are drastically far from each other. No one knows where Heaven is, although it is painted in the clouds hovering above Earth. In the beginning, we were told to take careful steps. Steps from Heaven to Earth seem large. After mistakes and struggles, the hiker may find it is okay to take risks. This contradicts with what the hiker intended to do in the beginning. The hiker tried to avoid falls, but now he/she is opened for anything. The feeling of confidence contrasts with the feeling of frustration described in twists and turns. Lessons are learned in any journey. The hiker continues even with these mixed emotions.
Through this struggle and learning new lessons along the way, a person still needs support. When the hiker’s “body shivers…” he/she needs to be “seeking warmth from the ground.” When reaching goals, you need a support system. This may be your family, friends, or others. Most importantly, the hiker needs support from his/herself by recalling all of the experiences and reminding his/herself the importance of reaching the goal. Earlier in the sonnet, the metal railing was the metaphor for the support system. The difference between the metal railing and the warmth from the ground is that the metal railing was also served as a guide, but warmth only serves for comfort. This part of the sonnet symbolizes that the hiker is more stable and can carry his/herself.
Any way to strike a goal the hiker needs to perform the best to his/her abilities. The hiker is committed even during times when “legs shake, some moans, snot drips and little mirth.” In the darkest times, the hiker has greater strength than before and he/she will see the harsh journey is worth it in the end.
“From up high we see the Wall far and wide, a dragon dancing on the mountainside.” These are the last lines left in the sonnet, the hike, and the battle to success. They are the reward. If someone were really climbing the Wall, this image would have been so captivating hat you would have forgotten the struggle. The reward is overpowering the harsh times of the journey. One last lesson is taught in the last line with the word “dancing.” Dancing is exciting and blithe. When struggling for a goal, keep in mind to dance. Do not stress out because it is not needed. On a hike or in any challenge in life, the hiker must remind his/herself that this journey is an adventure and not a struggle after all. In the beginning, we were given the image that the journey was unstable and depressing, but with changes in perspective and attitude, the hiker can dance all the way.
Do not worry about failing and never give up. Many lessons will be learned. Concentrate on the goal while enjoying the adventure. Succeeding and the actual adventure will be the reward for climbing the Wall.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Sunday, April 1, 2007
Saturday, March 31, 2007
Sonnet
Climbing the Great Wall
When hiking on a cloudy, windy day,
Careful steps one-by-one, avoiding falls.
Glued with rice and mud, dried in the sun's rays,
Slippery stones, the backbone of the Wall.
Trying to keep balanced, lunging forward,
I trip and stretch for the metal railing.
Pulling myself up from looking awkward,
I learn to move with the wind like sailing.
Twist and turns curving around and around.
Steep steps up to heaven and down to Earth.
Body shivers seeking warmth from the ground.
Legs shake, some moan, snot drips and little mirth.
From up high we see the wall far and wide,
A dragon dancing on the mountainside.
When hiking on a cloudy, windy day,
Careful steps one-by-one, avoiding falls.
Glued with rice and mud, dried in the sun's rays,
Slippery stones, the backbone of the Wall.
Trying to keep balanced, lunging forward,
I trip and stretch for the metal railing.
Pulling myself up from looking awkward,
I learn to move with the wind like sailing.
Twist and turns curving around and around.
Steep steps up to heaven and down to Earth.
Body shivers seeking warmth from the ground.
Legs shake, some moan, snot drips and little mirth.
From up high we see the wall far and wide,
A dragon dancing on the mountainside.
Thursday, March 8, 2007
Monday, February 26, 2007
Heritage Paper
Family Reunion
“We have now arrived in San Francisco. The date is March 16, 1963. The time is 7:42 a.m. Thank you for flying with Pan American Airlines. Have a wonderful stay,” the flight attendant daintily announced. I quickly took off my seatbelt and pushed my way to the aisle to get off the plane. The flight attendant, a tall woman with fiery red hair covering freckles and a pointed-nose on her face in a tight-fitted blue suit, ran up to me. She firmly scolded while never breaking eye contact, “Sir, you must return to your seat and wear your seatbelt until the plane comes to a stop.” Obediently, I returned to my seat as if I was a student in the Naval Academy again.
When the plane halted, I jumped to my feet. I was about to dash down the narrow aisle, but I was upheld by the line traffic of people stretching out of their seats. As everyone hurriedly retrieved their luggage from the upper cabinets, I struggled to squirm through them. However, I did not go very far from my seat because a wrinkly, brown-hair man wouldn’t budge. “Excuse me, I want to get off the plane,” I politely said.
“We all want to get off this plane. You’ll have to wait your turn,” the middle-aged man impatiently snapped.
“But my wife and son are waiting for me.”
“Chinaman, I told you to wait!”
“Pardon me,” a tall, young man behind me with hair as gold as the sun interrupted. I was considered tall in the Republic Chinese Navy since I was five feet and six inches and most of my sailors were five feet and three inches. This man was probably six feet tall and he was built like one of my sailors. He continued to say in my defense, “Sir, I understand we are all very tired from this long flight and anxious to return home to our families, but there’s no need to raise our voices.” The attacker, who was as fat as Chairman Mao, grunted and turned his back on us. “Thank you, sir,” I said to my defender while stuck in line.
“No problem. So, your wife and son are waiting for you, huh? My bride is waiting for me as well. I had to go to China to report some International News. I terribly miss her. I’ve been gone for two weeks.”
“I haven’t seen my wife for over seven months. I haven’t seen my son at all,” I almost whispered. I didn’t know whether to openly tell my story to this young man who had started this conversation as if we were old-time pals.
“Golly, it’s been a long time. I could barely stay away from my wife for two weeks. You haven’t met your son yet. How come?”
“My wife flew back to her family in America to give birth to our son while I was stuck in Taiwan.”
“What kept you away?”
“I had business to do.” I also thought, “Well, I was stuck in the Navy. They had a hard time letting go of their Lieutenant Commander. They finally signed me up for the Reserve, so I was free to migrate to America.” Sweaty drops of frustration began to form on my brow. The line was barely moving. We only reached the First Class Section. The friendly giant behind me asked with concern, “Are you worried your wife changed?”
“No, during our courtship we continuously wrote letters for six years. She was training to be a doctor in America and I worked in Taiwan.”
“Six years!”
“Thank you for flying with us. Have a nice day,” some flight attendants interrupted as we exited the plane. My new friend continued with relief, “Finally we’re off the plane. We must have been in there long enough for us to have written letters to exchange.” We laughed out loud like young boys in my family village in Guangdong.
After the joke I replied, “Well, sir, I truly love my wife and I’m sure you love yours too. We know we’ll be together forever, so there’s time to wait for each other.”
“Yeah, thanks for the advice. Well, there’s my wife over there. Nice chatting with you.”
“Yes, may you and your family live with good health and happiness.”
“Thanks, may yours as well.”
In the sea of white, blonde, brown, and red heads, I searched for a black one. Surprisingly there were many Asian women, but none were mine. I was a fish storming through the ocean looking for the specific fish that’s searching for me. Then I heard someone shout, “Hsia-Nung [sha-nong]!” I twirled around to find a short, curly black-hair woman in a red trench coat. She was my wife, Ida. She held in her arms a warm bundle, our son. I ran up to them to hold both of them close to me willing to never part from them. Joyous tears streaked my face. She handed me our son, Chris, for the first time. He was tiny and fat like the Buddha statue that protected my childhood home. His almond-shaped eyes looked me over. My wife said, “Welcome…” and I continued, “To my new home.”
“We have now arrived in San Francisco. The date is March 16, 1963. The time is 7:42 a.m. Thank you for flying with Pan American Airlines. Have a wonderful stay,” the flight attendant daintily announced. I quickly took off my seatbelt and pushed my way to the aisle to get off the plane. The flight attendant, a tall woman with fiery red hair covering freckles and a pointed-nose on her face in a tight-fitted blue suit, ran up to me. She firmly scolded while never breaking eye contact, “Sir, you must return to your seat and wear your seatbelt until the plane comes to a stop.” Obediently, I returned to my seat as if I was a student in the Naval Academy again.
When the plane halted, I jumped to my feet. I was about to dash down the narrow aisle, but I was upheld by the line traffic of people stretching out of their seats. As everyone hurriedly retrieved their luggage from the upper cabinets, I struggled to squirm through them. However, I did not go very far from my seat because a wrinkly, brown-hair man wouldn’t budge. “Excuse me, I want to get off the plane,” I politely said.
“We all want to get off this plane. You’ll have to wait your turn,” the middle-aged man impatiently snapped.
“But my wife and son are waiting for me.”
“Chinaman, I told you to wait!”
“Pardon me,” a tall, young man behind me with hair as gold as the sun interrupted. I was considered tall in the Republic Chinese Navy since I was five feet and six inches and most of my sailors were five feet and three inches. This man was probably six feet tall and he was built like one of my sailors. He continued to say in my defense, “Sir, I understand we are all very tired from this long flight and anxious to return home to our families, but there’s no need to raise our voices.” The attacker, who was as fat as Chairman Mao, grunted and turned his back on us. “Thank you, sir,” I said to my defender while stuck in line.
“No problem. So, your wife and son are waiting for you, huh? My bride is waiting for me as well. I had to go to China to report some International News. I terribly miss her. I’ve been gone for two weeks.”
“I haven’t seen my wife for over seven months. I haven’t seen my son at all,” I almost whispered. I didn’t know whether to openly tell my story to this young man who had started this conversation as if we were old-time pals.
“Golly, it’s been a long time. I could barely stay away from my wife for two weeks. You haven’t met your son yet. How come?”
“My wife flew back to her family in America to give birth to our son while I was stuck in Taiwan.”
“What kept you away?”
“I had business to do.” I also thought, “Well, I was stuck in the Navy. They had a hard time letting go of their Lieutenant Commander. They finally signed me up for the Reserve, so I was free to migrate to America.” Sweaty drops of frustration began to form on my brow. The line was barely moving. We only reached the First Class Section. The friendly giant behind me asked with concern, “Are you worried your wife changed?”
“No, during our courtship we continuously wrote letters for six years. She was training to be a doctor in America and I worked in Taiwan.”
“Six years!”
“Thank you for flying with us. Have a nice day,” some flight attendants interrupted as we exited the plane. My new friend continued with relief, “Finally we’re off the plane. We must have been in there long enough for us to have written letters to exchange.” We laughed out loud like young boys in my family village in Guangdong.
After the joke I replied, “Well, sir, I truly love my wife and I’m sure you love yours too. We know we’ll be together forever, so there’s time to wait for each other.”
“Yeah, thanks for the advice. Well, there’s my wife over there. Nice chatting with you.”
“Yes, may you and your family live with good health and happiness.”
“Thanks, may yours as well.”
In the sea of white, blonde, brown, and red heads, I searched for a black one. Surprisingly there were many Asian women, but none were mine. I was a fish storming through the ocean looking for the specific fish that’s searching for me. Then I heard someone shout, “Hsia-Nung [sha-nong]!” I twirled around to find a short, curly black-hair woman in a red trench coat. She was my wife, Ida. She held in her arms a warm bundle, our son. I ran up to them to hold both of them close to me willing to never part from them. Joyous tears streaked my face. She handed me our son, Chris, for the first time. He was tiny and fat like the Buddha statue that protected my childhood home. His almond-shaped eyes looked me over. My wife said, “Welcome…” and I continued, “To my new home.”
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