The Art of Public Speaking

Enrolling into a college at the age of fifteen was certainly a big step for me into the word of adulthood. There are many differences that make a college difficult to manage, especially to the mind of a young adolescent as myself. As all of you know, growing up means being given more freedom and with that freedom is the choice to fool around or to choose to get the work needed to be done in order to achieve the things we need. And I wasn't the type to go out of my way to study hard and go looking for help. I was exclusive and quiet silently soaking in information as I subconsciously isolated myself over the years of elementary and junior high. This meant the absolute worst once I had enrolled into my Public Speaking class. I had no experience putting myself in front of so many people and for such a long period of time. The instant I stood before the class I felt myself lit up like a stick of TNT and would hold my breath for the longest moment not to explode, but needing to get the words out at the same time.

The first few times were painstakingly humiliating and my suffocation made it all the more obvious to the class how awkward I was adding more to my embarrassment. It was a vicious cycle of wanting to be natural yet worrying that the class would see me as an awkward speaker, which I was. I honestly felt I would go nowhere in the class, but my teacher was kind enough to preach us regularly about the reality of speaking to groups of people. It’s all a matter of perspective, he would say, it’s not the end of the world even if you think it’s so. It’s only a speech.

These words of wisdom were a blessing. Sometimes the key to succeeding isn't really about caring less, but more like worrying less. Take things into perspective. If I stuttered in my speech, mispronounced a word, or even tripped on my way back to the seat, the worst that could ever befall me would be that I’d get laughed at. Not shunned. Take things into perspective. My classmates are just as nervous I was. They would not shun me for my actions but maybe only pity me, which I could take. Also they probably didn't listen to the speeches anyway. Take things into perspective. The advantages of completing my speeches outweigh the temporary embarrassment. If I refused to speak I would be scorned for being irresponsible and cowardly. The point was that if you want to hit the ball, you need to swing the bat. I shouldn't ponder over the crazy consequences my mind imagines, because the truth is that it’s all a waste of time.

My experience in Public Speaking certainly has helped me pop my bubble. I do heat up a bit before performing, but like any skill it takes practice to be perfect, as with the art of speaking.

Green Turtle Traditions and Birdies

For my paper, I plan to focus my arguments on the rhetorical strategies of pathos and kairos. For my research, I focused mainly on the reptilian species called the green turtle, which is what we were shown in the film, The City Dark. The film explained quite clearly on the fact that once hatched, a young green turtle depends on the light of the sun or stars to navigate itself toward the ocean, but I knew a few facts myself about green turtles that might just might be my ace in the hole.

As an active reader and animal fanatic, I have learned that green turtles are very specific on where they choose to lay their eggs. It isn't a pure random coincidence that they lay in the areas they do. They choose the place that every generation before has decided to lay their eggs. It is one of those explainable occurrences that a baby hatchling can remember exactly where it was born, but after going out into the sea, growing up, maturing and finally mating, it recalls the same shore that its own mother crawled up upon to lay her own clutch. Now this fact gives the readers a sense that the green turtles are very familiar with these areas, and they do indeed belong to them. The growing economical population and pollution are invading in these very intimate areas that are critical to the now very much endangered species of sea turtle.

Now, a reader may be unconcerned by the issue by the large clutches a single female green turtle could lay, but I will make them aware of the fact that most of those tiny little creatures don’t even reach it to the ocean. It is not only because of the light pollution, but during one of these huge hatching sprees, the little babies are a very large and opportunistic feeding spree. As they dash toward the ocean, dozens of brothers and sisters are eaten by seagulls and other birds that attack upon the hoard of hatchlings. Anyone who has watched such an occurrence would naturally cheer on the helpless underdogs. They would also feel displeased if unnatural lights such as those that emit from the city’s skyscrapers would tip the scales into the cunning seagulls favor.

One fact that I was not aware of before I had watch the film was that there was an actual problem with birds flying into cities and killing themselves by flying head on with buildings. By discussions in the class, I come to the conclusion that most people aren't aware of this problem, so I plan to inform my readers about this issue that has gone unnoticed by most. Many birds are killed by buildings, and it is not as a random occurrence as some might assume. Hundreds of birds kill themselves. They travel and become confused by the unnatural lighting, and clumsily smash their tiny skulls against a glass building, the damage sometimes fatal and irreversible.

Fear of the Night and Night Shifts

According to director Ian Cheney, “There is a controversy over whether more light leads to less crime, but there is agreement that light seems to make people feel safe, almost like it’s built into our genes to move closer to the campfire or to the brightest city” (City Dark). As a human species, we are hardwired to fear the darkness. It is indeed part of some kind of genetic instinct that we do not yet understand, but we all know and have experienced this fear. As a young child, I remember the cripplingly gloomy sensation of a dark corner or shadow. I am sure I wasn’t the only one who used to do this, but sometimes I felt the need to dash through hallways of darkness to reach the next light. Older now, I am not as naïve when it comes to the darkness within my own home, but outside, or any other place outside my comfort zone, the fear is still ever present.

I don’t believe that fear is only inside our species. Just as the instinct and will to survive is in all creatures, fear is present in all. However, many creatures also depend on the dead black of night. Those depend on it for hunting, such as jaguars and sharks. Others depend on it for navigation, such as the newly hatched sea turtles trying desperately to reach the sea. So the light of a campfire or a lamp can have many meanings; comfort, exposure, or hope.

Us humans in particular, although we suffer physical and mental abnormalities at too much light exposure, there is little chance that we would give up the convenience of a bright night for the sake of a few victims. Like George Brainard, a neurologist at the University of Pennsylvania says, “…we really need to know how much light and what quality of light and often and at what time of night it is the most problematic” (qtd. in City Dark). It is the easiest solution, in common perspective, to adjust ourselves to these new environments rather than remove the harmful exposures. As a few examples, we could place late night shift workers in very dim and dark work spaces (with a reasonable amount of light for proper performance). If a shift worker cannot be kept in dark work spaces, we can encourage little light in their homes to keep the balance in how much light they take in. And again, it is the natural response to choose the most convenient method rather than the healthiest one, so we cannot expect people to just stop working during the night. The world demands service during the night, and humanity demands relief to those who must endure the hectic lives they must run to support themselves.

We are aware, just don't care

“I worry that our lack of contact with the sky is doing something to us that is very subtle.” (qtd. In City Dark) As the human race, we are constantly changing. From new technologies such games and entertainment to common luxuries and necessities, we are gradually and continuously flowing into new shapes of living. I don’t think we’re unaware of it. It’s kind of like getting a new flat screen. You get it and bask in its newness, the quality of the picture, and compare it to the old box that used to take up the place upon the living room table. And it’s more convenient! You even have a remote, so all you need to do is sit on the couch and watch along-side your family, no sending off a child to switch the channels, only relaxing. You’ve had it for a few years now, and the kids (instead of playing outside) are still planted on the couch, but you don’t mind. Like some kind of ritual, you plop yourself next to them and sit for hours, not really taking in the fact that you’ve spent the last few years staring at the rectangular object. But you know.

Having so much light is a similar luxury. It’s obviously convenient, and the more we have it, the more productive hours we have. And like the old box TV, we ignore what used to be and accept what is now. This changes our way of thinking too. In my opinion, the TV has made people way more unproductive than they’d like to admit. Losing the night sky is like losing some kind of religious and spiritual connection with the universe. Seeing the cosmos is like a reminder of how puny we are, and is supposed to smother our pride. It’s not really a bad thing actually. If less people believed that the universe rotated around them, they’d have more respect for things like nature and other people. This shapes a person’s character, which is what we should want for our future generations.

 

I don’t think we can really stop it though. It’s a type of problem that, with age, becomes more and more difficult to control. In today’s society, it’s common that a city would only have less than ten stars out at night, and unless it is desired differently by the masses, then it will continue to stay that way. But maybe that would be the solution to solving the problem. If someone would find a way to make the night sky much more appealing to people, even to those who live in the city and have seen that meager four or five stars a night, then the world would be more motivated to clean itself up. I don’t know how that would be possible, because anything associated with goodness, cleanness, and nature is immediately distasteful for the younger generation, but there may be hope yet.

Parenting and Punishment

In Stephen Dunn’s “The Arm” and Sharon Olds’ “The Clasp” poems, they dwell into the themes of child-parent relationships. They both dwell into it, yet in different perspectives of parenting and punishment.

In “The Arm”, the narrator is strolling alongside a pond at a park when he came across a doll’s arm. He pondered over the arm, like he would do with other objects he’d find when walking his dog, and went beyond the fact that it was lost to rather how it had been broken off. He imagined the doll had possibly belonged to a boy whose father had broken his doll to better influence the boy into playing with more masculine toys. The imaginary father hated his son’s decision to play with dolls, and felt it necessary to punish him, but despite the boy’s doll being violated, he ended up loving much more. The boy felt for the broken doll, possible because he had received the same harsh abuse by his own father just because of his preferences pertaining toys. The father, in this case, felt an importance of forcing his opinion on his child for the sake of himself and his pride.

“The Clasp” is an entirely different story. The parent-child relationship is the main story, and instead of being an uncomfortable relationship, the mother and child are affectionate and loving towards each other. The narrator’s daughter was pushing her son, who was still a baby, onto his face for the second time when the narrator harshly clasped the daughter’s hand in a firm grip. She held it tightly for a moment until the daughter understood not to ever, ever, do it again. The daughter had obviously never felt such malice before by her own mother, and was astonished beyond words that her mother had used such force. The narrator had a far better motive than the father of the previous poem. She had to definitely make her daughter understand the seriousness of what she was doing with her other child in mind.

“The Arm” is about a father’s desire for a perfect child of his standards, and punishes his son to make it so. “The Clasp” on the other hand is not about preferences but an essential action that would protect her son from suffocating by the hand of his sister. Both are different examples of how parenting can occur, and they deliver themselves as bittersweet or cruel. Parents can have the best of intentions, for themselves or others, but it depends on the parent and situation.

Mortality in Perspective

With the prospect of human mortality in mind both poems “Variation of the Word Sleep” (by Margaret Atwood) and “Encounter” (by Czeslaw Milosz) show different aspects of their ideas through their rhythmic and imagery poetry. “Variation of the Word Sleep”, in particular, focuses on how to live life before death.

The narrator of Atwood’s poem wishes to appreciate a person, who I presume is a lover, as they “sleep”. She describes it as wishing to go into that person’s dreams and live happily with that person, to walk the wondrous landscapes, protect that person from fears and grief, and inhabit that person as much as possible. In my perspective, the narrator referrers to “sleep” as the temporary state we are in before death, or in other words life. The grief is of course the turmoil a person can experience during their lifetime, and the fear, as it is described as descending into a cave, is the oncoming death. One particular line, the narrator says she wishes to follow up a long stairway, and guide the person through a boat.  These could be analogies towards different ways to ascending to heaven, such as the stairway, or the river that leads the dead to the afterlife, such as Styx.

 

 

“Encounter” is all about how ideally death is instantaneous and unexpected. The poem’s first stanzas are rhythmic and flow, as I assume the scene and setting were like before the incident, until the narrator reveals the death. Unlike the other poem, which contemplates a life-time of memories which happen before death, Milosz focused on the moment rather. The narrator particularly remembers the small gesture the man made before he had died shortly after. He then begins to wonder where life has gone, now that it has left, whilst the other poem shy’s from the thought.

Short-Lived Adventure

My earliest memory from my childhood was one of when I was still of a within-the-crib age yet capable of climbing and exploring around my house. It was of my earliest years, when I still lived in a small home near Dallas. Now, I named this post because the memory was in fact very short as well as uneventful, so I’ll take the liberty to tell you about other memories as well. It began with me, lying in a crib within the master bedroom of my family's home. I remember climbing out of that crib and crawling across the room to the door to the hallway. The hallway was the center of our home, connecting the rooms, bathroom, and out to the living room. The more I think about that hallway, the more I remember about how my home looked back then. We had strange, dark green carpets. Or were the couches the ones that were green?

Yes, so I had crawled along through the door and into the hallway. The first room I past was our bathroom. It was small as I recall, with tile floors and a bathtub. I think the most recall worthy memory was of when I was eight years and my family was taking refuge within that bathtub as a safety precaution for the tornados warnings. I remember being scared because my father was out to work that day and if something happened to us we wouldn’t see him again. I was also didn’t fully believe that we were in any danger as well. I mean, at that age, I had to see it to believe it, and I saw no tornado! We didn’t die. In fact, we weren’t affected at all by the tornado. What a relief.

Moving on, the next room was adjacent to the bathroom. It a bedroom where my older sister lived, I think. The only fond memories I have from that room were when my cat peed on the bed and my sister stapled her finger. I think she did it to prove some point, but I don’t ever remember exactly what point that was.

The last room was at the end of the hallway. The room had circulated over the years with my sisters. It used have a bunk bed, so several of us would live there at a time. I remember being young and having only the standard cable with eight or so viewable channels. I remember grouping up with my siblings after school into that room so we could watch the regular Spongebob Squarepants episodes. It was very peaceful back then.

And finally, the hall opened up to our living room. Our living room with green couches and a high ceiling. I remember crawling to it and looking up, thinking that we lived in some kind of mansion when in reality it was only about thirty feet tall. It was in the door frame of the hallway my mother came up to be from behind and my sister from my front. My sister bent down, picked me up, and that’s the last I remember.