Chekhov Picture Project

"The Twelve" Presentation

Click here to view my presentation. 

The Character of Stephen Kumalo

Depicting a strong Anglican priest, Stephen Kumalo is introduced as a reverent and humble character. His morals are strong, and his experience is limited. He knows of the troubles of the real world but has never had firsthand experience with them. Johannesburg alters Kumalo though. Everything he has known is altered in varying degrees based on the importance of it. His experiences expand, morals questioned, and views transformed.

Stepping out from the train and into Johannesburg immediately overwhelms Kumalo. Ndotsheni, his home town, is small and not highly populated. Johannesburg is exactly the opposite. People are everywhere, and cars threaten life at every turn. This is when Kumalo starts seeing crime and realizes how sheltered he was. Modern technology rushes into Kumalo’s experiences soon after crime. “They washed their hands in a modern place, with a white basin, and water cold and hot, and towels worn but very white, and a modern lavatory too. When you were finished, you pressed a little rod, and the water rushed in as thought something was broken. It would have frightened you if you had not heard of such things before,” (P. 51) shows Kumalo has never seen indoor plumbing and is in his sixties. These are only two of the many new experiences Kumalo has in Johannesburg.

Seeing the crime, segregation, and immoral behavior makes Kumalo question his ethics. After finding out about his son’s felony, Kumalo has no words for prayer, “There is no prayer left in me. I am dumb here inside. I have no words at all.” (P. 105) He begins to wonder if everything he teaches and believes in is real. His own brother and sister turn against God, and nothing in the city shows God’s mercy. He sees everything that is wrong and wonders how there can possibly be anyone watching over the city.

All the turmoil of changing morals and expanding experiences shakes the earth beneath Kumalo’s feet. Through those changes, the views Kumalo has always had are tampered with. No longer is education guaranteed for every child. No longer is a strong upbringing enough to keep one out of trouble. No longer is segregation a looming problem. All need immediate attention and immediate change. Kumalo’s realization of how terrible segregation was is shown in these words, “He sees great high buildings, there are red and green lights on them, almost as tall as buildings. They go on and off. Water comes out of a bottle until the glass is full. Then the lights go out. And when they come back on again, lo the bottle is full and upright and the glass is empty. And there goes the bottle over again. Black and white, it says, black and white, though it is red and green. It is too much too understand.” As everything changes, processing becomes extremely difficult. Kumalo struggles with his views and reality, fighting to realize the truth.

I Believe

I believe in optimism.

The special thing about optimism is how uplifting it is. Even those who find it irritating are brightened by it eventually. It can get anyone through the hardest situation. It can pull the worst experience into the best memory. Optimism is life’s medicine.

Every day I walk into an ordinary dull, brick high school, filled with teens that would pay to be elsewhere. I look around and see every terrible emotion there is in the world. It’s not surprising. After having creativity repressed and dreams squashed, adolescents don’t have much to be happy about.

 But I try to push through my days with a positive attitude. After all, I have a great family, a sound education, and food on the table. I get to spend eight hours a day with my friends. I’m not being tortured, too much.

Without optimism, I would fall into the depression of being a high school student. It’s my secret to almost everything I do. I keep my grades up, my schedule busy, and my stress to a minimum with a bright attitude. Optimism improves every aspect of my life.

My peers, however, struggle with being optimistic. That’s another reason I stay upbeat. Attitude rubs off on others. I love to see my friends brighten up after a long day when I talk to them. Optimism is infectious. After I spread it to others, I see them go and talk to other people, and it just spreads and spreads.

It’s not just other students that optimism can affect. When I get home, my parents are usually stressed out. My sister and I stay positive for their benefit and usually brighten their nights. Their optimism levels rocket, improving our home life and their lives at work.  

If my optimism, or anyone's, can be spread to just one other person in a day, imagine how far it could reach. Someone on the other side of the world may have the best day of their lives simply because I woke up and decided to be happy. Thoughts like that are what keep me cheerful. They’re why I choose to believe in optimism. 

Irish Soda Bread

Ingredients:

• 3 cups coarse whole-wheat flour, such as Odlum's or Howard's brand
• 1 cup all-purpose flour
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 2 large eggs
• 1 1/4 cups buttermilk

 Preheat the oven to 375 degrees Farenheit. Cover a nine-by-five-by-three inch pan with butter and flour.

Christmas with the Harringtons is always an event. The smaller kids run around the room, anxiously awaiting to tear open the beautifully wrapped presents. Every adult occupies a chair, talking to one another while sipping their drink of choice.  Those in the middle, the young adults I suppose, are left to mingle with one another. We consist of myself, Laura, Sarah, Stew, and Jon, all are my cousins. Technically, Jon is an adult, everyone considers his twin sister to be, he still has a twinge of childness in him that makes him gravitate towards the middle.

 The seating arrangment of us middle people varied from the adults'. Instead of us all sitting in our own chairs, we sprawl over the couch in our grandparents' basement. Sarah, Stew, and I all scrunched together on the main seating. Laura perched herself on the right arm of the blue, seventies style couch, her legs across Sarah and I's laps. John sat sprawled on the floor in front of the opposite arm.

The smell of ham, sausage balls, and cheesy potatoes floated down from the kitchen, making our topic of discussion the delicious meal we were about to eat. I was also looking forward to something else, though. My mom had brought a special present for the family.

Stir together the dry ingredients in a large bowl, and make a well in the center. Then whisk the eggs and buttermilk together in a smaller, seperate bowl.

In early September, my parents had taken a trip to Ireland for their tenth anniversay, which had passed the year before when we had taken a trip to Disney World. They chose Ireland for a couple of different reasons. Notre Dame, our favorite college football team, was playing Navy in Dublin. Another reason was seeing where both sides of the family had originated from. As it turned out, mom and dad's family were from the same county, County Cork.

While in Ireland, my parents had fallen in love with the Irish soda bread that went with almost every meal. Because it was so moist, crunchy, and full of flavor, my mom decided to share the experience with the family and made about sixteen loaves of the bread.

This is why I was excited. The gift would mean experiencing my parents' trip through their eyes for the thousandth time since they came home. I loved to hear about how clear the air was and how foggy it had been when they visited the Cliffs of Moor. The story of two jackrabbits chasing the plane as it landed astounded me everytime it was retold. There were only two McDonald's in the entire southern part of the country. Irish people even liked Americans! Plus, Ireland has no mosquitoes anywhere. Each story made me long to visit, maybe even live, in the green patchwork land. And no matter how many times I heard them, the tales filled me with a sense of security and peace I couldn't get from many other things or places.

Stir the egg mixture into the dry ingredients with a wooden spoon. Take the prepared pan and put in the dough. Using a spatula that has been dipped in water or buttermilk, smooth the top of the dough. Place the pan in the oven.

"Our tour guide introduced our bus driver as Donnie. Almost like Downie. And when he'd say it, our bus driver that is, that's how it would sound.  But then we thought that his name might actually be Donny after we'd considered his accent. I think someone might've seen his spelled out somewhere and our thoughts on his name changed again. We think it might actually be Danny. Now there's an Irish bus driver traveling through the country thinking we were making fun of his accent the whole week we were there." My mom threw up her hands in fake frustration.

I smiled warmly. This was one of my favorites. Irish accents interested me. It is my favorite accent, and I tried speaking in one, and still do occasionally, but I can't seem to clip the vowels the right way.

While my mom told the story of Danny, my dad was avidly explaining to my uncles how to pour the perfect pint of Guinness. The trip to the Guinness factory head peaked my dad's interest in the making of beer so much that he bought a home brewing kit when he was back home. He's brewed four different types of beer in the last year and has perfected each recipe.

When the bottom of the bread sounds hollow and a skewer can come out of the center clean, the pan can be removed from the oven. It should be about thirty-five to forty minutes before this can happen.

My family listend to the many tales my parents spun, making witty comments at things they found funny or bizarre. Jon and Stew would whisper their remarks only to the adolsecent couch, making Sarah, Laura, and I laugh heartily. Some families would give us weird looks, but laughing crazily is not uncommon in our dry humored family.

Maybe it would bug some people that most of what the Harringtons, originally O'Harringtons, spoke was pure sarcasm. But we were used to it and loved it. I did more than anyone. It's what made, and makes, my family so enjoyable.

Sitting on that couch while having what I have dubed "The Christmas Discussion of Ireland" restored the sense of what family should be to our Irish-origined family. It brought us closer to our roots and made us a stronger group of people.

Let the bread cool in the pan on a wire rack for ten minutes. Then turn the bread out of the pan and let it cool for an hour, rightside up, for easier slicing.

Thinking of the country, or even just its trademark bread, brings back the feeling of wonder we all felt that day. The wonder that such simple stories could bring us all so much closer toghether.

thINK

The Problem with a Dead Man 

​When I was in fifth grade, I had more experience with death than any other ten-year-old would hope to have. In less than a month, three of my great grandmothers passed away. The number of tears I saw shed was overwhelming and utterly depressing. Sadness was abundant because of the lost family members. This is what puzzles me about “The Handsomest Drowned Man in the World” by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Esteban had never met anyone from that tiny village, not anyone in the surrounding communities. So why was everyone overtaken by his death?

​For the women, the title of the story helps somewhat explain their sorrow. The beauty of Esteban was such that the women fantasized about him and created their sorrow from their day dreams. However, how could their attraction be so strong that they all took more time with Esteban’s funeral than they would with their own fathers, brothers, husbands, and sons? Was his beauty intense enough to cause such love so quickly and easily? Maybe some maternal instinct kicked in, and all of the women were overwhelmed by how much this dead boy needed them. I doubt that’s likely. Honestly, I can’t see anyone being charismatic enough to encourage as much attention as Esteban did.

​Now the men are an entirely different story. They were not going to be attracted to Esteban. Granted, his size and apparent strength may have made them think about how much work he could do in a day. They may have also taken his looks to indicate his character. However, these reasons do not supply the amount of sadness the men supplied at the funeral. At first, the men did not even care what happened to the unfortunate soul that had washed ashore. Not until they say his face did it matter one way or another if Esteban was given a proper funeral. So what was it about the young man’s face that changed the men’s mind?

​The children of the village seemed unfazed by the man. They played with his body like it was any other toy. They saw his face. Why were the young ones not affected as their elders were? The men and women of the village may say it is because of their ignorance.  Maybe the children do not quite understand that the man is dead. But one thing is evident. They were nearly as affected as their parents and grandparents.

thINK

Chaos: Part of Our Ever-Changing Solar System

            The population has a good idea about how the world formed, through the big bang theory. Until recently, I have thought I knew how the solar system functioned. But an article called “It All Began in Chaos” by Robert Irion changed my thinking. Scientists have recently discovered just how chaotic the solar system actually works using ideas formed by Sir Isaac Newton. The solar system, much like any human life, has had three instances of extreme change.

            Every human has gone through a time of infancy and childhood. Some childhoods are calm, but others are very chaotic, much like my own. The solar system went through an infancy and childhood similar to mine, filled with chaos. This happening is known as the big bang theory. When it occurred, the planets and moons formed from rock and debris that violently crashed together, much like two cars flying into one another. Just as childhood provides a developmental stage for a human, the eight planets, the sun, and moons developed in the system’s youth.

            The next step is adolescence. For many teens, including myself and the solar system, most everything changes in intense disorder. As the solar system experienced puberty, gravity forced the giant planets out of their spots in line, towards the front, and put them towards the back. The planets were also pushed farther apart, and their orbits were maimed so they were no longer perfect circles. The solar system was turned inside-out, much as my house is when I’m looking for a misplaced object.

            Of course, the inevitable adult stage follows. While this is a bit harder for me to relate to, I have interacted with many adults and the solar system now seems to follow the same patterns as those adults. Knowledge comes with the age in both humans and the solar system. Just in the last year or so, scientists have discovered hundreds of extrasolar planets beyond Pluto. These planets will help us understand how all solar systems work and maybe how ours will turn out. While no one knows how our solar system will end up, we know it’s similar to the collapse of health in adults. Gravity has begun to pull Pluto and Neptune away from the sun and towards other solar systems. The sun’s opposing gravity is making the planets’ orbits go awry. They are no longer circular, comparing to the way health fails humans in their downfall. Just as I know I will someday, the solar system may die.

            The timeline of a solar system is similar to mine. Towards the beginning, there is a time of development and a time of extreme change. The end is not nearly as clear. No one knows exactly how I will die, and no one knows exactly how the solar system will die. All anyone knows is the solar system and I will continue to be full of chaos.