A creative emulation response to a quote from “A Thousand Splendid Suns” by Khaled Hosseini:
“Already Laila sees something behind this young girl’s eyes, something deep in her core, that neither Rasheed nor the Taliban will be able to break. Something as hard and unyielding as a block of limestone.” (355)
SAY:
- The quote is uttered by Laila about Mariam
- Happens later in the novel when Laila, Tariq, and their two children visit Herat (Mariam’s hometown) on the way back to Kabul
- Laila is sitting in Mariam’s old home as she’s re-imagining Mariam as a little girl
MEAN:
Throughout the novel, it’s shown that learning to overcome misfortune and sorrow will become the foundations for a stronger mind. Within the character development of Laila and Mariam, it’s displayed that these two women were so broken down from the world, they could’ve chosen to become bitter and resentful, yet, they found comfort and strength in one another. Always helping each other grow emotionally, physically, and mentally. In the quote, that spark, or “something deep in her core” can be interpreted as her “soul” – the value we hold ourselves – is unbreakable “as a block of limestone”.
MATTER:
The two main characters has inspired me and served as a reminder on my own journey of self-acceptance and resiliency. I often deprive myself of self acceptance under certain emotionally straining circumstances, and I’ve realized the importance of embracing my own emotions: the good and the bad. Thus, allowing ones self room to grow can result in an overall stronger person.
EMULATION:
I have separated this creative emulation response into three parts: focusing on the grieving process before, during, and after the end of an intimate relationship.
Limestone Love
Before
Sunlight on the walls: reflecting, shimmering, dancing on every inch of my room; the little beams of light quivering like a disco ball. With our limbs intertwined and our hearts beating in tune, I think,
“this is what happiness feels like; reflecting, shimmering, dancing on every inch of my soul”.
During
You told me to meet you in a crappy cafe with a half burnt out neon sign. The distinct smell of cigarette smoke burnt in the walls. I see a half eaten blueberry muffin and a plastic fork; stained purple like your cheeks – something’s wrong. You crumple a paper napkin between your fingers as you look me in the eye and say –
you no longer love me.
I brush off your comment as easily as I brush off a bread crumb on my sweater. Still, my words catch in my throat, so similarly to the way my fingers catch on the table as I scrape my chair along the floor.
I’m sure you expected a reaction, but I won’t give you that satisfaction. I’m not sad. No. I can not cry over some silly little boy that decided I am no longer his tune. On the way out, I throw the necklace you gave me into the dumpster. It was limestone, the one you carved your name on.
The clouds are billowing grey as if the sky were crying the tears I am unable to shed. I open my umbrella then close it again after realizing staying dry is pointless.
A used bookstore: I go in and spend my afternoon hiding from the rain, and perhaps my emotions too. In the midst of the yellowing books which smell like your grandma’s house, or like the faded Polaroids of us underneath my bed, I see the store owner; old, yellowed, and crumpled like everything here. He unwraps a cherry cough drop and sucks it slowly to numb his ache. I watch as he delicately folds the plastic wrapper and throw it onto the floor. That’s all I was to you. A cough drop that eased your pain and took away your sorrow until you were done with me. I fold up our memories like a paper airplane and sail them out the door.
After
Speckled with yellow flakes, the leaves have morphed to a dull brown; everywhere I look, I see change. It is autumn, just as the trees shed their leaves, I too have shed myself of you. I’ve realized to never again tear down my glass house for someone who was hiding stones in their pockets all along. Now that you’re gone, every time I look in the mirror, I can already see something forming behind my eyes. Behind the glass, I see the shimmer of something deep within my core, that neither you nor the world will be able to break again. Something as hard and unyielding as a block of limestone.
Quotation presentation link:https://docs.google.com/presentation/d/1fVV5eawa1K-grPuJmuYs-LP6XQsT9U0wUzFnpuKFHdE/edit?usp=sharing
Dearest Judy,
I am so happy to be in your table group again – you’re just fantastic! Your writing seems to follow in suite. I loved your analysis, you gave great insight into the book and yourself and I am grateful to have read it. I couldn’t agree with you more about the necessity to feel your feels. Most of all, I enjoyed your emulation; ’twas so friggin’ good!!! There are so many lines that forced me to stop and stare at my screen, attempting to take in your as much of your great writing as possible. The first line alone already had me in awe of you! The syntax was brilliant and your poetic voice through it is stunning and set up the rest of the story wonderfully. The line “…just as the trees shed their leaves, I too have shed myself of you.” was my favourite; we love growth (trees and growth – what great use of imagery!).
As far as improvements go I would suggest a skim through for gumps – specifically semicolon and sentence fragments. Also, I would like to sentence variation in the “During” section (more simple sentences) to have the punchier parts of the story be a little more clear.
All in all, wonderful work, Judy. I look forward to reading more of your writing, as always.
Hugs,
Ibukun
Dearest Ibukun,
I am equally delighted to be in the same family group once again! I know there’s so much I can learn from both you and Tim, I am very excited for this year. Also, I too am very happy that you agree with me that we all need to “feel our feels” – hehe.
Thank you for the comment on GUMP’s. I do tend to overuse the purpose of semicolon and sentence fragments. I will also look over my “during” section and add more sentence variety!
Thank you once again for your feed back. 🙂
Sincerely,
Judy