Jinsi Ya Kutembea Analysis

Throughout the essay “New Perspective” by: Janice E. Fein, she explores in immense detail how she suffered as a child who grew up with a mother that was very ill. She explains the hardships she underwent and expressed how she felt “cheated in life”. As a small child she could only remember her mother walking her to kindergarten once, as she describes in the essay, but after that she could only remember her mother laying in a “massive” and “ugly” hospital bed. As a child, its difficult sometimes to understand and grasp complicated situations like this. Most of the time children only hold one perspective of things, their own. Fein discusses the impact her mother’s illness had on her childhood and how it taught her later on in life when she became

When individuals are exposed to stories of struggle and triumph, they gain empathy. In Patron Saints of Nothing, Jay comes to an understanding that “Jun is gone”. I will always carry the grief of that loss and the regret. But there are good things I can hold on to and there are other things I have the power to change. We have more power and potential than we know if we would only speak, if we would only listen” (Ribay 318).

This powerful moment makes the reader think about the abundance of care many people have for their family because they are in a tough situations. However, numberless people experience difficult times with their family such as poverty and hunger and this causes them to lose their righteousness because they want to live for themselves

Koyaanisqatsi is a perfect juxtaposition of our flawed society and where it came from. The poignant images evoke a certain feeling of pathos for ourselves and the human race as a whole. The film tends to revolve around the general idea of habit. In many of the scenes you can see that everyone's’ actions seem habitual and almost choreographed. I can see in Part 7 how the music and mood tend to change depending on which people it’s showing. Everyone’s actions seem memorized rather than goal-oriented. This seems to tie in with other ideas from the film such as motivation and perspective, which come out both in the film and in our everyday lives.

There are special times in life when the opportunity to witness the journey of another forever influences your own story. For me, this privilege came through my sweet neighbor and Healthy Birth Day, Inc. co-founder, Kerry Morlan and her husband, Luke. On May 19th, 2003, Luke and Kerry’s baby girl, Grace Biondi-Morlan, was born still. The heartache of true loss was difficult to observe and words of condolences seemed too little. Amazingly, the path from an unimaginable loss led to the birth of new friendships amongst 5 moms who shared not only their pain, but a real passion to save babies. Consequently, this passion led to the creation of Healthy Birth Day, Inc. and eventually the life-saving Count the Kicks campaign. As the years passed

With any genre (old or new) that experiences a boost in popularity, there comes a certain lack of originality after a while. Post-CHVRCHES, Future Islands, and Twin Shadow, there aren’t many rising synthpop acts that exhibit similar originality. Thomas Arsenault’s Mas Ysa project is a refreshingly and genuinely unique one, and that’s at the heart of why Seraph, his debut album, is so good - Arsenault takes synthpop’s established aesthetic and turns it on its side, all while injecting intimate emotional power into it. It’s a remarkably unique album to make, but one that seems so simple and personal. Mas Ysa has made one of the year’s better debut records; there certainly won’t be one so assured in its originality.

Owen’s mother had a major influence on how Mrs. Owens’ life turned out. Mrs. Owens’ mother began her daughter's community service for the first time while Mrs. Owens was in the second grade. They had an elderly neighbor who was physically impaired which forced her to be confined to a wheelchair. Mrs. Owens recalls many days when her mother would tell her “everyday when I come home, I had to ask Mrs. Wilkerson did she need my assistance with anything.” It was then when Mrs. Owens realized that she did not think of helping others as a punishment or a chore, but as something that she truly enjoyed. Her mother made sure that all of her children did their duties to their community. “I am still inspired to do things to enhance our community and strengthen our people because I have been raised knowing that its just something that were supposed to do.

Always one to lead by example, Mother took every opportunity to uplift others with her love. It did not matter if they were standing in a

At this point, the first guest speaker went up to the stage. He started after a long pause. As he told everyone his experience as a father, I could feel his heart ache and yearn for his late daughter. As several guest speakers poured their feelings and sentiments into their tragic stories with tears intertwined. They cried out their anguish without feeling alone, but a deeper connection to their body, baby and the universe. It was the pain of losing not only their child, but a part that attached them. The disappointment, the longing, the despair is

One day when I peered outside the window and gazed toward the sea I saw so many people all staring back at me they are hungry they are cold they are children now they’re old and the open window of empathy- -it invited me to see so I looked upon the people and all their agony, Well I gazed upon the people, and I looked but did not see

She drags herself through a particular muddy patch and thinks that today would have been a good day to cover her feet. She dons a pair of Prabal Gurung gladiators. Thin straps of leather twine around her legs. She can feel the long, tall grass scratching against the exposed skin, but does not care. When she wore her gladiator sandals she felt like an ancient warrior leaving home and making their way to battle with a full heart and steady pace. On the other end, the gladiators could be wonderfully impractical on her escapades. There was the day she had stopped along a path of trees to recline against a well-supported base. One hand bracing one of the other branches around her, one knee bent to keep the scrappy Gurung’s off the ground, one long white gossamer dress from Chanel cascaded around her. She had slightly swung her other leg, left lounging off the tree, to the rhythm of the wind passing by. The dress was like a dream, like a nightgown from an eighteenth-century novel. From the neckline to the waistline and beyond were little lace stitches. She didn’t wear much else underneath to let the stitch-work speak for itself. When she lifted her head the sun and tree made a pattern of shadows across her face. Her father John had never seen a need for a treehouse when her siblings and her were younger. Thankfully, she thought, books and philosophy were his passions and he left the

“I wanted to tell Sarah more, but I didn’t want to say more until we hear what pastor Flowers had to say.” Mother Sarah

The adversarial media's’ role as framers in a representative democracy causes increased polarization in the United States. Those on either side of the political spectrum are already divided and news outlets take advantage of this divide, feeding on selective exposure. On social media, many people only see opinions which confirm or support their own, limiting their range of perspectives on important issues. Televised news outlets are culprits of the same crime, with some supporting extreme conservative ideas and others extreme liberal ideas. Very rarely is there a story that is looked at from multiple perspectives. Thus, the country becomes polarized on a variety of issues, especially those which get a lot of media attention, which are usually

No matter where I may begin, I can always make the best of it and take it even further. After I snapped back into the real world, Mrs. Merritt was telling me how she was afraid that I could hinder myself from many of the opportunities, and that I needed to step out of the box because there is so much more than what I could see. “I’m not even going to cry for you,” she joked as her eyes began to water and face began to turn as red an apple. I may not have shown it, but I was so touched. How could someone that I have only known for a limited period of time care so much about me? I wanted to cry myself, but I have never been the type to show emotions, so I held them in. My heart was warm and my mind seemed serene for the first time in a while. No, I didn’t think no one cared about me, but it was how someone who works with hundreds of kids on a daily basis, could care about single little me so much.

I was lost. As I walked through the tall, bare hallways of the hospital, I noticed the scared, yet brave children struggling with the fight against cancer. Despite all they were going through, they still managed to send a smile my way. For once, I viewed the world from a perspective outside of my own and realized there are people dealing with the most unimaginable and complicated things. There was an unbearable discomfort in my stomach with the thought of these children being so powerless to change what they were going through. Suddenly, I felt someone approaching me; I could sense the empathy of the unfamiliar face in the short white coat looking through the same glass window as I was.