Natalia Ilyin’s article “Where’s Home?” shows one woman’s confusion with the current idea of who and what we call home. Ilyin says that she’s from New York, but that’s not her home. Then she says she now lives in Seattle, but that’s also not her home. She feels our “idea of home changed from the notion of its being the center of a grounded life to its being a base camp.” Her 89 year-old father tries to convince her that “home’s not a place, …you take home with you. You carry it with you,” but she adamantly disagrees. She says this is just a “coping mechanism” for refugees. Ilyin considers that home may not be a place or even things, but it might be the people you live with. However, she quickly dashes any attachment to her friends and family feeling she would be too much of a burden on them, that expecting “too much from too few,” would ruin and devalue their definition of home. She then compares emotional dependence to anacondas squeezing their prey to death. Does she believe her friends and family don’t want to be her friends and family, or her home?
Ilyin states early on her issues with defining home originate in her childhood. She says she “moved from state to state and country to country 12 times in my life,” which would easily turn her into a nomad, and would cripple her chances at finding a “center.” Ilyin feels that because she has “never stood on the ground where my great-grandparents once stood,” it is impossible to feel a connection to her past. She seems to think that living in the land of your ancestors imbues you with a history that those whose parents’ parents moved are missing. That if her Grandmother had not emigrated from Russia she would not feel a need to move frequently, lacking a true(and undefinable) home.
Ilyin also believes we are merely gypsies, but with even less purpose. She feels that we live in “expensive caravans” with no direction or purpose to be in them. “We don’t follow an annual route of pilgrimage, hitting the same oasis every six months,” we wonder aimlessly from “city to city, state to state and country to country,” or to whatever far off metropolis our job would send us to instead of deciding we need to discover what makes New York our home. Jobs, neighbors, school and family are irrelevant unless your greatest of the great grandparents built your caravan and carved your beds from the trees they spontaneously sprouted from. Closing, Ilyin remarks that she may have “run as far as one can,” that she may be forced to finally look for an answer for what is home, instead of looking for ways to disprove everyone else’s.
For me, home has always been what fills a house and not the four walls and roof. I’ve packed up all the belonging in my room, moved to a different house and then “nested” into my new room. I moved several times as a kid, back and forth between Tulsa and Norman, then Springfield and finally to Port Orchard. The house, apartment or spare room became my home because of my belongings and the emotional luggage I brought with me. I brought with me the social attitudes of place I left, not just sweaters that smelled like what used to be home. I feel this was an important fact that Ilyin left out of her article. People identify themselves with where they’re from and where they’ve been more than where they are. She may not call Seattle or New York home but these cities leave an impression in her personality. We can easily change our dwellings as often as we want, but our emotional ties and memories fill our homes more than our belongings.
Recently I moved to Seattle. I spent months before sorting through everything I owned and deciding if the space it took up was of equal or greater emotional value to its physical presence. I feel I whittled the room I lived in for 8 years that was full to the brim to what I think is a commendable dozen boxes. Ilyin would call me a sentimental nester. I was sure I would be home sick and miss my friends, family and pets back in Port Orchard within the first week. Because of the crap I filled my dorm room with I felt comfortable. By the second day I had new friends that I explored the city with, by the third day I blurted out “home” when talking about the dorms. It felt like saying “I love you” on the first date, but it also felt like it wasn’t a mistake.
Maybe I’m an optimist who makes new homes and families everywhere I go. Maybe I’m in an ignorant bliss not understanding what “home” really means. Maybe I just say “I love you” on the first date.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Essay 1 Draft 1
Natalia Ilyin’s article “Where’s Home?” shows one woman’s confusion with the current idea of what, who and why we call home. Ilyin says that she’s from New York, but that’s not her home, and that she now lives in Seattle, but that also isn’t her home. She feels our “idea of home changed from the notion of its being the center of a grounded life to its being a base camp.” Her 89 year old father tries to convince her that “home’s not a place, …you take home with you. You carry it with you,” but she adamantly disagrees that this is just a “coping mechanism” for refugees. Ilyin considers that home may not be a place or things, but she considers that it might be the people you’re with. However she quickly dashes any attachment to her friends and family because she feels she would be too much of a burden to “expect too much from too few,” as if to say her friends and family don’t want to be her friends and family, or her home.
Ilyin states early on in her article that her issues with defining home may originate in her childhood. She says she has “moved from state to state and country to country 12 times in my life.” This much movement would easily create a nomadic tendencies, and would be detrimental in trying to find a “center” of your world for the apple to fall towards, a metaphor Ilyin uses to demonstrate how important the concept of home is. Ilyin feels that because she has “never stood on the ground where my great-grandparents once stood,” it is impossible to feel a connection to her past. She seems to think that living in the land of your ancestors imbues you with a history that those whose parents’ parents moved are missing. That if her Grandmother had not emigrated from Russia she would also speak Russian and not feel a need to live as a modern nomad. Ilyin also believes we are merely gypsies, but with even less purpose, feeling that we live in “expensive caravans,” but have no direction, no purpose to be in them “we don’t follow an annual route of pilgrimage, hitting the same oasis every six months,” that we wonder aimlessly from city to city, state to state and country to country, or wherever our jobs would send us instead of deciding we need to put forth the effort to make home. Jobs, neighbors, school and family don’t mean anything unless your greatest of the great grandparents built your caravan and carved your beds from the trees they spontaneously sprouted from. In closing Ilyin remarks that she may have run as far and one can run, that she may be forced to put down roots and finally look for an answer for what is home, instead of looking for ways to disprove everyone else’s definition of home.
Home for me has always been what fills a house and not the house itself. Many times I’ve packed up all the belonging in my room, moved to a different house and then unpacked into my new room, but I also brought with me the social attitudes of place I left, not just the belongings. I feel this was an important fact that Ilyin left out of her essay. People identify themselves with where they’re from and where they’ve been more than where they are. She may not call Seattle or New York home but these cities leave a mark on her personality. We can nomadically change our dwellings as often as we please, but our emotional memories and ties fill our homes more than our belongings.
I moved several times as a kid, back and forth between Tulsa and Norman, then Springfield and finally to Port Orchard. Even in Port Orchard where I moved 5 times in a town that felt smaller then some malls the house, apartment, spare room became my home because of my belongings and the emotional luggage I brought with me. Most recently (last week) I moved to Seattle. I spent months sorting through everything I owned and deciding if the space it took up was of equal or greater emotional value to its physical presence. I feel I whittled it down to a respectful dozen boxes. I thinking Ilyin would call me a sentimental nester. I was sure I would be home sick and miss my friends, family and pets back in Port Orchard within the first week. I think that because of crap I filled my dorm room with I felt comfortable enough to explore the new city. By the second day I had a few new friends that I explored the city with by the third day I blurted out “home” when talking about the dorms. It felt like saying “I love you” on the first date, but it also felt like it wasn’t a mistake.
Maybe I’m an optimist who makes new homes and families everywhere I go. Maybe I’m in an ignorant bliss not understanding what “home” really means. Maybe I just say “I love you” on the first date.
Ilyin states early on in her article that her issues with defining home may originate in her childhood. She says she has “moved from state to state and country to country 12 times in my life.” This much movement would easily create a nomadic tendencies, and would be detrimental in trying to find a “center” of your world for the apple to fall towards, a metaphor Ilyin uses to demonstrate how important the concept of home is. Ilyin feels that because she has “never stood on the ground where my great-grandparents once stood,” it is impossible to feel a connection to her past. She seems to think that living in the land of your ancestors imbues you with a history that those whose parents’ parents moved are missing. That if her Grandmother had not emigrated from Russia she would also speak Russian and not feel a need to live as a modern nomad. Ilyin also believes we are merely gypsies, but with even less purpose, feeling that we live in “expensive caravans,” but have no direction, no purpose to be in them “we don’t follow an annual route of pilgrimage, hitting the same oasis every six months,” that we wonder aimlessly from city to city, state to state and country to country, or wherever our jobs would send us instead of deciding we need to put forth the effort to make home. Jobs, neighbors, school and family don’t mean anything unless your greatest of the great grandparents built your caravan and carved your beds from the trees they spontaneously sprouted from. In closing Ilyin remarks that she may have run as far and one can run, that she may be forced to put down roots and finally look for an answer for what is home, instead of looking for ways to disprove everyone else’s definition of home.
Home for me has always been what fills a house and not the house itself. Many times I’ve packed up all the belonging in my room, moved to a different house and then unpacked into my new room, but I also brought with me the social attitudes of place I left, not just the belongings. I feel this was an important fact that Ilyin left out of her essay. People identify themselves with where they’re from and where they’ve been more than where they are. She may not call Seattle or New York home but these cities leave a mark on her personality. We can nomadically change our dwellings as often as we please, but our emotional memories and ties fill our homes more than our belongings.
I moved several times as a kid, back and forth between Tulsa and Norman, then Springfield and finally to Port Orchard. Even in Port Orchard where I moved 5 times in a town that felt smaller then some malls the house, apartment, spare room became my home because of my belongings and the emotional luggage I brought with me. Most recently (last week) I moved to Seattle. I spent months sorting through everything I owned and deciding if the space it took up was of equal or greater emotional value to its physical presence. I feel I whittled it down to a respectful dozen boxes. I thinking Ilyin would call me a sentimental nester. I was sure I would be home sick and miss my friends, family and pets back in Port Orchard within the first week. I think that because of crap I filled my dorm room with I felt comfortable enough to explore the new city. By the second day I had a few new friends that I explored the city with by the third day I blurted out “home” when talking about the dorms. It felt like saying “I love you” on the first date, but it also felt like it wasn’t a mistake.
Maybe I’m an optimist who makes new homes and families everywhere I go. Maybe I’m in an ignorant bliss not understanding what “home” really means. Maybe I just say “I love you” on the first date.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
summary
Natalia Ilyin’s article “Where’s home,” is about her dis-attachment to the houses she’s lived in and how she never truly feels “at home.” In the article she tries to explain that she doesn’t have a three word answer “I’m from,” instead she ponders the deeper meaning of what is home. Ilyin goes on to talk about how she’s from New York, but that’s not home, and she now lives in Seattle, but that’s also not home. The author feels that even if it was the house her grandparents lived in because her grandparents’ grandparents didn’t live there she has no reason to call that home, that when the nesting, wallpaper and couches are stripped away it’s just a house that we live in. Her father tries to explain to her his opinion, that even if it’s not a house his father’s father’s father built, that the small mementos of our family’s past make it home, not just a place, but she feels we “nest” with hold no power over the place. She simply feels we have to great an attachment with the four walls that surround us.
Ilyin also believes we are merely gypsys, but with even less purpose. We live in “expensive caravans,” but have no direction, no purpose to be in them “we don’t follow an annual route of pilgrimage, hitting the same oasis every six months.” Jobs, neighbors, school and family don’t mean anything unless your greatest of the great grandparents built your caravan and carved your beds from the trees they spontaneously sprouted from.
Ilyin closes stating that beyond the island she lives on theirs the Olympic Peninsula and beyond that the ocean and she concludes that she’s run out of places to run.
Ilyin also believes we are merely gypsys, but with even less purpose. We live in “expensive caravans,” but have no direction, no purpose to be in them “we don’t follow an annual route of pilgrimage, hitting the same oasis every six months.” Jobs, neighbors, school and family don’t mean anything unless your greatest of the great grandparents built your caravan and carved your beds from the trees they spontaneously sprouted from.
Ilyin closes stating that beyond the island she lives on theirs the Olympic Peninsula and beyond that the ocean and she concludes that she’s run out of places to run.
Monday, September 12, 2011
Where is home?
Home for me has always been what fills a house and not the house itself. Many times I’ve packed up all the belonging in my room, moved to a different house and then unpacked into my new room, but I also brought with me the social attitudes of place I left, not just the belongings. I feel this was an important fact that Ilyian left out of her essay. People identify themselves with where they’re from and where they’ve been more than where they are. She may not call Seattle or New York home but these cities leave a mark on her personality. We can nomadically change our dwellings as often as we please, but our emotional memories and ties fill our homes more than our belongings.
I moved several times as a kid, back and forth between Tulsa and Norman, then Springfield and finally to Port Orchard. Even in Port Orchard where I moved 5 times in a town that felt smaller then some malls the house, apartment, spare room became my home because of my belognings and the emotional luggage I brought with me. Most recently (last week) I moved to Seattle. I spent months sorting through everything I owned and deciding if the space it took up was of equal or greater emotional value to its physical presence. I feel I whittled it down to a respectful dozen boxes. I thinking Ilyian would call me a sentimental nester. I was sure I would be home sick and miss my friends, family and pets back in Port Orchard within the first week. I think that because of crap I filled my dorm room with I felt comfortable enough to explore the new city. By the second day I had a few new friends that I explored the city with by the third day I blurted out “home” when talking about the dorms. It felt like saying “I love you” on the first date, but it also felt like it wasn’t a mistake.
Maybe I’m an optimist who makes new homes and families everywhere I go. Maybe I’m in an ignorant bliss not understanding what “home” really means. Maybe I just say “I love you” on the first date.
I moved several times as a kid, back and forth between Tulsa and Norman, then Springfield and finally to Port Orchard. Even in Port Orchard where I moved 5 times in a town that felt smaller then some malls the house, apartment, spare room became my home because of my belognings and the emotional luggage I brought with me. Most recently (last week) I moved to Seattle. I spent months sorting through everything I owned and deciding if the space it took up was of equal or greater emotional value to its physical presence. I feel I whittled it down to a respectful dozen boxes. I thinking Ilyian would call me a sentimental nester. I was sure I would be home sick and miss my friends, family and pets back in Port Orchard within the first week. I think that because of crap I filled my dorm room with I felt comfortable enough to explore the new city. By the second day I had a few new friends that I explored the city with by the third day I blurted out “home” when talking about the dorms. It felt like saying “I love you” on the first date, but it also felt like it wasn’t a mistake.
Maybe I’m an optimist who makes new homes and families everywhere I go. Maybe I’m in an ignorant bliss not understanding what “home” really means. Maybe I just say “I love you” on the first date.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
BlackSwanWriting
Adam Hulse
HS119
Personal Black Swan Event
On March 29th, minutes before midnight a black swan event drastically and permanatly altered my life and the lives of my closest friends. After a boring and standard work day, Julie and I spent the afternoon harassing her fiancé while he played guitar hero. We jumped on the bed and made lewd gestures while he tried as hard as he could to focus. He went to his gym, we went to ours and 2 hours later we rendezvoused at the apartment for dinner. He made a statement about how he felt he was “catching asthma,” to which we jokingly replied that one cannot “catch asthma,” but he should probably get that looked at or just do more cardio. That night after 1am Julie tried to call me and tell me that Jon had died of a heart attack at 23.
Looking back, with the history of heart attacks in his tribe and even his family, his remark about asthma and the little amount of cardio it took to exhaust him we should have been concerned. We weren’t because he was Jon, he hated cardio, he loved food and he was a 23 year old body builder and bad things don’t happen to 23 year old body builders that are engaged to marry your best friend in 5 months after almost 6 years of dating. I feel that the ways our lives changed would only affect the large things. Julie moved, we both stopped going to his gym, her dress was returned, the obvious things. This black swan affected even the small things. We hold our breath when white Toyotas drive down the road, we change the channel during commercials for movies he wanted to see, turn off the radio when his favorite songs play. We’ve canceled our plans for the group trip to Hawaii, knowing the whole time we would be thinking of him on the islands he grew up on.
Losing Jon drew us all closer together in an attempt to fill the void left behind, but we’re always aware of who we’re missing. The black swan changed everything about how our lives functioned.
HS119
Personal Black Swan Event
On March 29th, minutes before midnight a black swan event drastically and permanatly altered my life and the lives of my closest friends. After a boring and standard work day, Julie and I spent the afternoon harassing her fiancé while he played guitar hero. We jumped on the bed and made lewd gestures while he tried as hard as he could to focus. He went to his gym, we went to ours and 2 hours later we rendezvoused at the apartment for dinner. He made a statement about how he felt he was “catching asthma,” to which we jokingly replied that one cannot “catch asthma,” but he should probably get that looked at or just do more cardio. That night after 1am Julie tried to call me and tell me that Jon had died of a heart attack at 23.
Looking back, with the history of heart attacks in his tribe and even his family, his remark about asthma and the little amount of cardio it took to exhaust him we should have been concerned. We weren’t because he was Jon, he hated cardio, he loved food and he was a 23 year old body builder and bad things don’t happen to 23 year old body builders that are engaged to marry your best friend in 5 months after almost 6 years of dating. I feel that the ways our lives changed would only affect the large things. Julie moved, we both stopped going to his gym, her dress was returned, the obvious things. This black swan affected even the small things. We hold our breath when white Toyotas drive down the road, we change the channel during commercials for movies he wanted to see, turn off the radio when his favorite songs play. We’ve canceled our plans for the group trip to Hawaii, knowing the whole time we would be thinking of him on the islands he grew up on.
Losing Jon drew us all closer together in an attempt to fill the void left behind, but we’re always aware of who we’re missing. The black swan changed everything about how our lives functioned.
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