Tag: Xuan Ly

Self Reflection & College Essays by Xuan Ly

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I know every word of the Mulan soundtrack. I used to sing Disney songs with my middle school classmates during lunch hour, with “I’ll Make a Man Out of You” as our closing number. While the Donny Osmond song is undoubtedly a Disney classic, I find myself coming back to the early movie ballad, “Reflection.” As a kid, I just enjoyed the animation and the surface level confrontation with inner conflict. I sang the lyrics loud and open mouthed, using all the air in my lungs. I hear the song differently now, with a freshly familiar sense of desperation. 

I lost touch with my outward reflection after working on the unending self-aware college essays. As I continued to analyze my life thus far, I became less sure of who I was at my core. For me, the question wasn’t “when will my reflection show who I am inside,” but “will who I am inside show in my reflections?” I admit that these are seemingly similar questions, but here’s my line of thinking: after my central values became hazy to myself, could I even recreate myself on paper? And in the act of writing a reflection of myself, would my truest values emerge on their own? This is adjacent to the line of thinking that Creative Writing fostered in me. In past years, I would show Heather an underdeveloped story or poem, and she would be able to identify the influence of my personal values in the piece. In a similar fashion, I hoped that the subtext in my writing style would be enough for the admissions officers to gain a better understanding of who I am, even if my own understanding of myself was slipping. 

Despite my hope to free write drafts and find what emerges, I felt a pressure to display myself in the best light. It was difficult to pinpoint what to write about for the essays; when I did, I tried to explicate my own experiences to add some sense of character. Of course, the commonalities in every piece of advice in the application process is “be genuine and be yourself.” But, after picking apart every activity, every award, every struggle, and every source of happiness, I couldn’t recognize myself as a whole person anymore. How could I even begin to write? Similarly to the scene where Mulan’s reflection is multiplied around her, the copious college essays act as mirrors reflecting parts of me I no longer recognize. And sure, my rippled reflection may be compounded by the loneliness and forced self-exploration onset by the pandemic, or the nature of my thesis writing, which explores my ties to my family history, but it’s made me take a few steps back. In order to take a break from the intense self analysis, I had to get out of my own head which, in a backwards way, has been good for me. 

Xuan Ly (Class of ’21)

Five Days of Workshopping by Xuan Ly

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For one week, in preparation for the playwriting show, our Creative Writing class was comprised of nothing but small group workshops. We would all come into class with four copies of our drafts we had been working with. On the board, there would be groups of four, ideally with one student from each grade, and we would break off into those groups to workshop. In the groups, each play is casted and read for the playwright to listen to, and then the playwright is given edits on parts such as the fundamental plot and diction. Even as a sophomore, with a full understanding of the workshopping process and its benefits, I am nervous going into a workshop. Of course, they never are as bad as I make them out to be. Each person just wants to help guide the piece to reach its fullest potential.

This week of workshopping was a slightly different experience than what we have done in CW1. Each day of the week, we brought four copies of our play to be read aloud and edited by our peers. Since we had back to back workshopping days, I felt I was not given ample time to deeply revise, attend routine extracurricular activities, and finish other academic homework before the next day. Typically, we are given two or three days between workshops to slowly revise and better balance with academic work. With new groups each day, I noticed more contradicting comments than usual, which widened the possibilities for m play, but also made it more difficult to revise. Ultimately, I found that the day-to-day revisions I made to my play were quite small, but workshopping is always what the writer makes of it.

Being in the department, I have learned the importance of revision, even if it is sometimes the worst. I, personally, have a difficult time with constant revision of a single piece. I find it best for me to have breaks between each revision so I can approach the piece without instantly hating it. This seemingly endless week of workshopping tested my limits of endurance for listening to my own work. Despite this, I think getting to hear the entire play read aloud was one of the most helpful parts of the workshopping process. In all the groups I was in, we read through every piece, which allowed for the playwright to see how the dialogue flowed.

Xuan Ly, class of 2021

The “Sophomore Slump” and Slowing Down by Xuan Ly

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The second semester has just begun, and with it, the “Sophomore Slump.” I have passed through the excitement of freshman year, whose energy dragged me through the first semester, but now I have arrived at what feels like an endless loop of seemingly irrelevant classes. Although, to be clear, as a student, the subjects on my schedule is important, but as of right now there is no visible finish line. Sophomore year has slowly become a nightmare in which the hole I have fallen into is endless, which is cliche but I cannot find the brainpower to come up with anything new, and this endless hole describes my slump perfectly. Nothing is within reach, unlike the upperclassmen, who may have more difficult work, but are so close to the finish line. The juniors are almost seniors and the seniors are almost graduated. I, on the other hand, am just a sophomore.

College is on my mind. I find it looming over me without any clarity. Sure, as a sophomore maybe I shouldn’t be worrying about college, at least that is what I’m told. And yes, I don’t need to take the SATs or ACTs this year, but how can I stop myself from factoring in my entire future when deciding whether I should let myself relax on a Saturday or spend the whole day studying for chemistry test? I struggle to find the balance between producing quality work for my classes and enjoying the time I have before the real stress of the college application process. I feel like my mind is always calculating the best route for future success, which leaves the present me burnt out with no immediate gratification. Overtime, I’ve realized that the way students have been wired to learn is rarely for the joy of learning something new, but for the grades, which supposedly sets us up for a future that never seems to become the present.

When Heather heard about the sophomores’ predicament, she arranged what she called a “slunch,” or sophomore lunch. We gathered in her office and let go of our worries. Heather, Kaia, and Hannah baked delicious cookies to share, Emma brought popcorn, there was fruit, and chips that we all enjoyed. What I appreciated most about sitting together in Heather’s office, besides the realization of what our class had overcome in the past year, is that I don’t remember much of our conversations, and didn’t need to. To me, this indicates how effortless the conversations had been. In that small room, squished on Heather’s leather couch, I did not have to contemplate my next thought and what responses it would receive. I knew that everyone would just understand. I felt more engaged and relaxed at school than I had been for months.

In the past weeks, I found that when I admitted to myself that I am in said “slump,” my apathy for school grew exponentially, and I was no longer able to be lifted by a passing smile. But, I have learned how to slow down and focus on the present instead of the unknown. This includes recognizing and releasing the tension, caused by increasing negative energy, that I have fostered in my body. When I have trouble remembering what it is like to live solely in the present, I think back to our sophomore lunch. I think about the joy of being rooted in natural conversation that has nothing to do with school. In that small office decorated with pictures of alumni who have gone through what I am, I was able to see a light in the endless hole, or at least see other people falling with me. Now, looking at my classmates’ faces I think two things: 1) do I look that over it? 2) I totally understand you. I am able to laugh, which provides me with strength to continue on.

 

Xuan Ly, class of 2021

Writing to Music by Xuan Ly

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Last Wednesday marked CW’s last day with artist in residence, Taylor Duckett. For the last two weeks, Taylor taught us the foundations for performance poetry. In the unit, we differentiated a storyteller from a music artist and analyzed what being a storyteller meant; we wrote and performed pieces written to a sixteen beat, and compared a line of poetry to a measure of music. As these lesson changed each day, one aspect would stay the same: the free-writes.

At the beginning of the unit, Taylor asked each student for one song in order to compile a class playlist that we would listen to for each free-write. Every day to start class, end break, and end class, Taylor would play one of our songs for us to respond to. Her challenge for us was to keep our pen moving for the entire song. Which is difficult when I am trying to jam to a song that I have not heard before, or trying to make out lyrics on the first listen.

Taylor’s hope was that we incorporate what we hear into our writing. For each song, maybe we would use the song’s beat in our piece, maybe sample a few lyrics, or respond to how the song made us feel. Typically, when I listen to music, I am reminded of the events surrounding the first time I heard the song, but what happens when I hear the song for the first time? With a pen in hand and paper in front of me, I found that, for me, I am transported back to a time that resembles the mood of the song.

Oftentimes, listening to a certain song on the list brought up a memory that I had not stopped to think of since. For example, the song “Handle With Care” by The Traveling Wilburys reminded me of when my brother and I would go on bike rides to a school near our house during the summer. I found that music can evoke emotion by relating to its audience with parts like the beat or lyrics. The ability for music to bring up instances from the past is something I found fascinating.

While I was able to enjoy the music and relive, mostly happy, memories that the songs brought back to life, it was difficult for me to write a creative response to the song. I felt that I was too focused on listening to the song, or trying to uncover more details of a memory that the song evoked rather than allowing the song to aid my creative writing.

Everything that Taylor taught during her performance poetry unit were things that I had not attempted or observed before. Her lesson also prepared us for our upcoming showcase.

CW Performance Poetry Playlist

  1. I’m Not in Love – 10cc
  2. And the Waltz Goes On – Andre Rieu
  3. Millionaire – Kelis
  4. In the Kingdom – Mazzy Star
  5. Wigwam – Bob Dylan
  6. Cassiopeia – Joanna Newsom
  7. What You Won’t Do For Love – Bobby Caldwell
  8. Moody’s Mood for Love – Tito Puente
  9. Heavenly Father – Isaiah Rashad
  10. Every Planet We Reach is Dead – Gorillaz
  11. Will of the Wisp – Miles Davis
  12. Thinning – Snail Mail
  13. Feel It All Around – Washed Out
  14. Pienso En Mira – Rosalia
  15. Fireworks – Animal Collective
  16. Transit – Fennesz
  17. Suzanne – Leonard Cohen
  18. Handle with Care – The Traveling Wilburys
  19. Lonely Girl – Oceanlab
  20. Mythological Beauty – Big Thief
  21. Pool – Tricot
  22. He Loves Me (Lyzel in E Flat) – Jill Scott
  23. Wham Bam Shang-a-lang – Silver
  24. Fancy Shoes – The Walters
  25. Come Together – Beatles
  26. Powerlines – Riz La Vie
  27. No Other Plans – Sunny Levine
  28. Graceland – Paul Simon
  29. Hear You Me – Jimmy Eat World

Xuan Ly, Class of 2021

The Four Fundamental Conditions of Theatre by Xuan Ly

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Playwriting is the last of Creative Writing’s three main units (the others being poetry and fiction). This week, for this six-week unit, Creative Writing welcomed our artist-in-residence, Nicole Jost. It is Nicole’s second year teaching CW. She is a local playwright, and is finishing her doctorate at SFSU this spring!

In the week that Nicole has been us, we have read four plays, seen one play, and learned about the four fundamental conditions of theatre. The four conditions include: collaborations, group audience, suspension of disbelief, and perpetual present. These four things, among others, are what differentiates playwriting from other forms of literature. Collaborating with other actors and writers is a crucial part of playwriting. With novels, there is no need for collaborations unless the author is co-writing their novel. Collaborations allow more than one perspective on the play. While reading a novel or collection of poems, there is only one person in the audience. While viewing a play, the group audience and surroundings may reflect how a single viewer experiences the show. Suspension of disbelief implies that the audience must believe that the world that has been created onstage is real, despite any other logical reasoning. Lastly, the idea of perpetual present time urges the audience to forget any past knowledge of what the topic of the play, or what the play is about. The idea encourages the audience to experience it in the present as if they did not have any prior knowledge.

These four fundamental conditions allow audiences to more thoroughly enjoy the piece that the playwright has created. It also helps the playwright take the audience’s experience into account. During playwriting, we are taught not just as writers, but actors as well. I am excited to see what where next few weeks of playwriting with Nicole takes us.

Xuan Ly, class of 2021

Haiku by Xuan Ly

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For the past month, Heather has led the freshmen and sophomores through a six-week poetry unit. We have read and analyzed many wonderful poems such as E.E. Cummings’ “Chanson Innocente,” Dylan Thomas’ “Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night,” and Rupert Brooke’s “Sonnet Reversed.” We have explored concrete poetry (or shaped poetry), open form poetry, and traditional form poetry. The most recent traditional style we have learned about is the haiku.

This form of traditional poetry originates from Japan. The Japanese courtsmen would pass letters in 5-7-5 form for the recipient to respond in 7-7 syllable form. This five line, 5-7-5-7-7 syllable poem they would create is called the tanka. The haiku comes from the longer tanka, taking only the beginning 5-7-5 part. Courtsmen would write about a single moment in nature that expresses something larger than the haiku describes. For example, this haiku about the emotions the speaker felt after a staring eye-to-eye with a snake by Kyoski:

The snake slid away.
But the eyes that glared at me
Remained in the grass.

This poem describes moment after locking eyes with a snake. The glare stays in the speaker’s mind similar to an afterimage. The first line slips off the tongue like a snake slithers smoothly through grass. One of the words that stands out the most is “glared” in the second line. It breaks the silky feeling that the first line gives. The word “glared” portrays an intensity of the moment that cannot come across by using a word like “gazed.” The third line, “remained in the grass,” signifies the impression that the snake left on the speaker. It also could represent the shedding of the snake’s skin that often shows change. If this poem were taken into the context of real life relationships, the snake could represent someone that came in and out of the speaker’s life but left a lasting impression that the speaker cannot forget. There are so many ways readers can interpret this haiku, which is one of the most amazing aspects of this traditional form.

Haikus may be one of the most well-known forms of poetry. The haiku is seemingly straightforward, but as we learned this week, haikus complement Japanese culture’s appreciation for nature and simplicity. We also experienced the difficulty in creating such a short beautiful representation of nature and life relationships. In class, Heather had us collaborate with the person to our right to create a tanka. One person would begin by writing a haiku. We would then pass the poem to the next person for them to respond in two lines written in 7-7 syllable form to complete the tanka. The result of the tankas were astonishing. The thoughtful lines and responses connected so well. Despite the similarities of nature and love, each tanka was entirely unique to themselves.

Writing haikus is much for difficult than throwing words into a form. Haikus are intended to express nearly indescribable emotions and surroundings in only a few syllables.

Xuan Ly, class of 2021

October Heat by Xuan Ly

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“It’s like a microwave in there,” Heather exclaimed gesturing towards her office. The main classroom is no different. Within the first months of school, the Creative Writing room became notorious for the heat trapped inside; so being stuck in the there for three hours everyday isn’t always pleasant. San Francisco’s unorthodox October heat also added to the issue. Not only has the autumn sun kept us cooking in the Creative Writing “microwave” for most of the school year, but the collateral damage of the recent wildfires, turning North California into dust, gave us no choice but to keep the doors closed.

Over the past week, the Northern California fires have been unstoppable, spreading smoke and ash into the atmosphere that blew down the coast of California. This has affected the quality of San Francisco’s (among other cities) air, turning the condition to “Code Red: Unhealthy” in a matter of days. At school, many students began wearing facemasks and were heavily advised to stay inside. This meant no one dared to open the back door of the CW room, even when it became unbearably hot.

Despite the lingering heat and suffocating atmosphere, CW continued to prepare for our upcoming fall showcase: Metamorphosis. In groups of four, we would read and revise each other’s work through a process called workshopping. We repeated this process for three long days, sculpting our pieces to the best it could be. Then all thirty of us practiced performing our piece in front of the Spoken Arts director, Rahman. After listening to each performance, he would give tips on how to improve our presentation.

Most afternoons, the smoke would cause the sun to glow red, similar to the fluorescent color of lava. “The world is ending!” students screamed as they studied the sun and dodged floating ashes. As the radiating orb began to set in the evening, magnificent shades of purple, pink, and orange would illuminate the sky like a light show, changing as darkness loomed above. Before the sun disappeared, many people were able to snap photos of the beautiful evening because of the warm October air. Even though us San Franciscans aren’t used to weather over sixty-five degrees, it was nice to see something other than blankets of gray fog.

Xuan Ly, class of 2021