Tuesday, January 14, 2014
Personal Narritive- Three Seats of Honor
They don’t eat dinner at the dinner table, although it’s so close to the kitchen, where they sit at the marble island in the center. There are three seats, three places of high honor, three people, three mouths, three place mats, but only 3 seats of high honor. They are literally high, the seats of honor, stools, that mark places at the makeshift marble table in the middle of the kitchen; the island. My step father wishes they would sit, like a “normal” family at the dinner table, but not even he, so “old fashioned”, will give up this sacred place for the dinner table. He can’t see the TV from there.
In their faces, the glare of the TV that sits high up on the wall, overlooking their meeting, is reflected. The voices of news reporters and weather men blends in with their occasional comments about adult subjects, the silent sound of chewing, and the rattling of dishes, forks scraping on plates, grazing teeth, knives cutting, jaws moving, gulping, crunching of food between their teeth. Every night, they watch news 12, news 12 watches them. The TV hangs on the wall like the very eyes of God, on them every night, pouring out his messages, while intently they listen, as my brother complains about boredome and asks to change the channel to cartoons. They sit there as as the images on the screen play. The TV is always on during their dinner time. It synchronizes them, brings them together, while I sit apart.
The lights above are bright, too bright almost, making them seems as if they are in a spotlight, like this really is a high order, a meeting of extreme importance between these three people, and of course, their master, the TV, channel 12.
But, if one looks away from the brightly lit sight of the 3 seats of honor at the foot of God, at the whole scene, taking in the dining room that is in proximity to the kitchen, the whole image is revealed. The perception of one looking in at this family diner is immediately changed, for the better, or worse. There, in the dark I sit. In the unlit dining room, in the shadows of the light that bathes the kitchen, and the high seats of honor at the marble island dead center, in brightness. I eat quietly, only listening, taking in what I hear among the high honors and the voice of TV God. On my face, the look of longing is apparent, envy; obvious. The eldest, set aside to make room for the youngest. The bastard child set aside for the child with the father.
My place is obviously not at the island in light. There, sits three, basked in light, under the gaze of channel 12: The mother; matriarch, father; patriarch, and younger brother; the son with a father , claimer of my seat of honor.
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Wow, Brisa. That was seriously incredible. I never would have considered writing the assignment like that: as a narrative. I can tell your writing style is centered around that narrative and it really marks your individual writing style. I especially loved the beginning, how the observations were less of fact and more of poem. Mine were just bullet points, but yours were so fascinating to read. There was so much emotion and a bit of heartache when the reader reads this. I think you use this well in your convincing. Despite seeming to only be a narrative, I noticed how you still kept the prompt in mind and pointed out (not explicitly) of the valued people and praised topics of discussion or attention. Overall, a please to read.
ReplyDeleteWell Brisa I have to say that for me this is one of your best. It's very RAW! By raw I mean strictly about you and your personal life story. I love how the first five paragraphs is a poem. That is a very creative way to start off a blog of such topic. I could clearly hear your voice when I was reading this blog. Even though you've told me your dinner time problem before, I still enjoyed reading this especially since you spiced it up. You also use a lot of pathos with this blog. While reading this I felt really sad which and I'm pretty sure other people who reads this will feel the same. That shows that your blog is having an effect on your audience. Keep up the good work.
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ReplyDeleteBrisa. I am so proud of you. I am proud of the fact that you were able to share something that is clearly a very sensitive subject for you. I am not sure where to start. Your entire style is so pleasing. Using third person in the beginning complements the entire mood of the piece and gives a nice background to the piece. Later, when you start using first person, your voice is extremely powerful. You feel the raw sadness and the message is loud and clear. I can completely relate to you when it came to the topic of your piece with the whole "not eating dinner together", "always watching TV", and "feeling like you don't fit in with your family". So, for me, at some points, I felt like you were narrating my own story (kind of creepy :P). Anyways, phenomenal job, Brisa. Keep it up.
ReplyDeleteBrisa, I'll echo Gaylen and Purvi: your narrative style is beautiful and powerful. This has echoes of Anzaldua in it (before you even read it!) in the mix of poetry and prose, story-telling and social critique. Keep exercising this voice--this is what you need for any sort of narrative writing (including college essay writing). I wonder--and this is a difficult question--what will you do about this situation? Will you continue to eat in the dark? Will you eat dinner somewhere else? Will you move a chair into the kitchen? What will Brisa make happen next?
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