Brace Face

I found it hard to imagine that I would see happiness ever again as the nurse pulled a tube from my stomach, through my esophagus, and out my nose. She smiled as she did this - for reasons I do not know - and I gave her a brusque grin afterwards to mimic her creepy satisfaction in this post-op routine. As soon as she left the room, I secretly berated her with stuffy murmurs from my immobilized mouth. My progressing jaw surgery recovery reminded me of what Andy Roony once said: "Everyone wants to live on top of the mountain, but all happiness and growth occurs while you're climbing it." While discussing his words in class, I agreed with his belief that fight itself yields happiness, rather than the eventual outcome. Only after spending thirty minutes to spoon half a Jell-O cup into my mouth, however, did I truly understand him. This relentless fight for gelatin represented an unmatched sense of accomplishment and pride, resulting in a slight victory murmur from behind my metal grill. Everyone experiences a rock bottom or some sort of personal crisis, and I believe no one should feel ashamed for it. In fact, I believe we should anticipate these lowest of lows. For without them, moments of joy would never truly surface. A positive attitude generally bears the best results in moments of strife, attempting to find the silver lining at the end of the burning tunnel or whatever. I tried this optimistic method for a few days and embraced my new chipmunk-esque look. But a week of massaging my swollen gums has taught me that sometimes, throwing a pity party and basking in self sorrow represents the most realistic approach. Still, whatever the outlook on my pathetic struggle, it has cleared the path for an unprecedented amount of gratitude. I used to despise my braces and resent my sacrifice of senior intimidation. Now, well, I still despise my braces. However, after experiencing the worst of my jaw reconstruction, I find myself thankful every day for this cosmetic opportunity. With every ice application to the yellow sores on my chin comes a greater anticipation for the day my orthodontist frees myself from brackets and wires. A more appreciating self will result from the ten-month long journey of braces and surgery, rather than the set of pearly whites at the end of the road. With every downfall comes a natural gratitude for the simpler things in life. Even if those things include solid foods.

Must. Stop. Analyzing.

AP English, what have you done? I thank this class every day for my ability to write a coherent essay and look past the obvious. But my analyzing antics seem to haunt me with every book I open. Even joy reading has become a thing of the past. I cannot turn a page without itching to grab a pen and box an assertion or highlight a juxtaposition. Why read if I cannot assign some sort of device to every quote? So many indirect characterizations gone to waste! Only when I underline and scribble and circle, can I feel at peace with the story in front of me. Even the Twilight saga seems more enticing when I can validate its many meanings in the margins of the pages. My annotating penchant may represent a good English student habit, but also a developing need to over analyze everything. Within the short story "The Balloon," author Donald Barthelme addresses this tendency to obsess over meaning. Instead of embracing the complexity and even beauty of the balloon, the NYC citizens attempt to decipher the reasoning behind its presence instead. I can sympathize with these New Yorkers. I repeatedly find myself searching for something that does not exist, giving a meaning to something that does not necessitate a meaning. A personal paranoia stems from the unknown, a hazy area that flirts with vulnerability and endless uncertainties. My job, as an AP English student, consists of pinpointing a purpose to the purpose-less. I have become familiar with the dark hours past midnight, staring at my ceiling in attempt to make sense of the day's events. A simple text that reads "K" can transform from a quick affirmation to a friendship-threatening morse code. I feel most comfortable with concrete ideas, absolute with reason and strict in significance. Letting a concept linger, "just hanging there," results in an minor anxiety that only applying meaning can cure (1). Sometimes, excessive concern over searching for importance can take away from an obvious beauty and simplicity. Perhaps Ms. Serensky is in the clear, absolved of responsibility for my obsession with meaning. I guess my analyzing relish does not represent the aftermath of AP English exercises, but rather a characteristic that only makes me human - because something tells me I am not the only one.