My dragons are not magnificent creatures of ancient wonders, nor are they valiant warriors, full of courage to charge through daunting obstacles. Shed the image of the glimmering beast weaving through the skies, my dragons offer me temporary complacency, yet leave me dissatisfied and frustrated. They come in a pair, and are dubbed Procrastination, and Distraction. Much like the treacherous Grendel, these dragons can be overcome if I am focused and find the cause of such weaknesses; yet the same dragons prevent me from doing so. Procrastination and Distraction are brothers, working with one another and beckoning to me the obscure nooks and crannies on the World Wide Web. Like King Hrothgar, who for years tried in vain to defeat Grendel, I too have struggled to vanquish these pests and instead often give in to their insidious desires. However, I realize that no one can simply swoop in and rescue me from this dastardly trio; I must step up and become my own Beowulf.
No matter what measures I take to ensure focus, I have come very close to accepting procrastination, as a result of succumbing to distractions as a part of my nature. It is almost too easy to be sucked into the whirlpool of YouTube videos, Wikipedia articles, and social networking sites. The consequences are not unknown. It is what results in me being awake at three in the morning, gritting my teeth for allowing myself to again be in the clutches of Procrastination. It explains why I am frantically jotting down the final sentences of an assignment mere seconds before it is due. Although I armor myself with lofty promises and resolutions to stay focused, the presence of an electronic gadget or a newspaper within arm’s reach is enough to lure me into Distraction and Procrastination’s trap. I have endeavored to put a stop to these vicious twin dragons, my choice of weapons being Internet filters and personal pep talks. Unfortunately, D and P are relentless, much like Grendel and his mother, springing from the shadows to pull me down. My approach to them is unlike Beowulf ‘s confidence; although I try to exercise restraint, I ultimately give in.
But this is not a path I want to be tied to my entire life. Procrastination whispers that time is unlimited and at hand, whilst Distraction presents I already know my flaws, and to combat my dragons I must, like Beowulf, find a solution. Beowulf deduced that Grendel’s claw was his Achilles’ heel, and was able to fatally wound him holding onto the claw until it tore apart. Maybe the problem is simply my self-control, or lack thereof. True, some pleasure is derived from blog-reading and video-watching and status-updating. “I have time for just one quick email check,” I say, and two hours later I panic when I look at the clock, which seems to sped tenfold. Personal dragons are the utmost test of emotional and mental strength. They exist for the sole reason of preying on areas in which I am most vulnerable. Their scintillating appearances hide their true motives. Even if I manage to rise from complacency and absentmindedness, more dragons arrive, waiting to dig their sharpened claws into our newly-patched wounds.
Of course I can understand that I cause terror to you, but this is no need to admit into your halls a sneaking “mighty” hero to deal YOUR “problem” (I say problem, because that’s how you view me in reality I am a fact of life much like good and evil). This ‘hero” of yours is no different than me, (in many regards but he is far more repugnant), for he strikes when unexpected against foes that he can easily kill and defeat. But doesn’t do it for the food he does it for the glory he can gain from it! So I ask you to consider, who is the real victim here? One who simply kills like you do (for food and entertainment) I think not. I am the victim, I was attacked and brutally murdered by Beowulf, the coward.
By typing this first sentence, I have defeated my demon for the time being. It took a lot of courage for me to approach this onerous task of writing about my personal dragons, since I have quite a number, but now, I have the first dragon pinned down. The first dragon, lo and behold, has a name unlike any other. The sound its name produces is like an elongated hiss. When I say its name aloud, shivers run down my spine. However, at the moment, I am not afraid of her for she is bound and gagged. This dragon goes by the name of Miss P. P for Procrastination. Like the mother of the evil monster Grendel in Beowulf, this dragon is female. Her skin is so full of evil that nothing can cut her or even hurt her in any way.
This dragon shadows me everywhere I go. Talk about stalking! When I’m in study hall, she’s there. When I’m at my desk doing work, she’s there. When teachers give work-time in class, she’s just steps right into the classroom. She knows my internal struggles with staying focused and on task. She knows that I hate doing homework or studying. As I sit down and begin my homework, she becomes frustrated at me and does all she can to attract my attention. Sometimes, she turns on the T.V and implores me to watch a show with her. At other times, she coaxes me into taking a quick nap. When she really is vexed at me for not paying attention to her, she grabs my head and lifts it up, making me stare out the window or look into her eyes…
Her eyes!! One look at them and you will be caught in a trance. She holds her gaze steady at you her piercing eyes drive straight into your head. When she looks at me, I just sit and stare stupidly at her. Only until my parents come along will she then depart from my presence. However, even in her absence, I can feel her spirit in the room, and I will search for her, beg her to come back, even if it spells disaster for me. She takes my mind off all the troubles of homework, projects and tests by making me focus my time on other things like doodling and listening to music. Her movements are erratic; she is always there in front of me a week before a major exam, but will suddenly depart from my presence on the day of the exam, leaving me to face the problem all by myself because, at that point in time, she can no longer help me.
My relationship with this dragon has been long and dreary. I realized that if I kept up my relationship with her, it would spell the end of me. Right before I began this project, I confronted her. She, in response, grabbed my in the same way the evil monster Grendel did to Beowulf. I pulled her kicking and screaming out of my house in the same way that the hero Beowulf did to Grendel. Her scream was piercing to the ear, full of evil that I shivered uncontrollably. I knew that in order to start on my literature project, I had to throw her out. And I did manage to fling her out of the house, for the time being. Like the monster Grendel, she comes back to lure me into her traps of play and distraction. I cannot bear the thought of actually killing her since I was her creator. Sometimes, I might need to have her come back and distract me…
There is one “dragon” in my life that seems to be invincible. No matter how many times I may “slay” it, banishing it to the ends of the earth, it never fails to return, a ghost to determined to haunt me. This dragon is better known as a lack of self esteem.
How, you ask, might one successfully battle this dragon? Read Genesis 1:27 or Isaiah 64:8, for starters. To know that you are created in God’s image and that He is the potter who has specifically molded you is always reassuring knowledge to have. However, should that fail, you could turn to the people in your life that you hold close to your heart. Merely thinking of them should be an automatic boost to your self esteem.
It would of course be ideal for one to be able to rid oneself of all self esteem-related issues once and for all. In reality, though, the weaknesses of our human nature do not allow for that. We are vulnerable yet proud, stubborn beings resistant to change, and in no way are we invincible. Strong one day yet weak the next, there are chinks in our armor, and for this reason the dragons that we seek to slay are almost always able to return in some form or another.
I think all struggles are a mixture of both external and internal forces. With the issue of self esteem, there is external pressure to meet requirements that often are not even remotely reasonable, yet there is also internal pressure that you inflict on yourself as a result of believing these lies. Some struggles are indeed created by us not in the sense that they aren’t real, but rather in the fact that they’re struggles that we don’t necessarily need to face, but do anyway. It can give you a false sense of nobleness, martyring yourself for a cause that was never even an issue until you made it one.
Our “dragons” exist because we succumb to them, and allow them to exist. The world we inhabit is a fallen one, one in which nothing will fix itself unless we take the initiative and make an attempt. Until we make a conscious effort to confront our dragons, valiant and unrelenting, they aren’t going to go anywhere.
I want more, I want more. Numerous tug of wars happens inside me whenever goodies are placed in front of me. The little sly devil inside me constantly tempts me to fight viciously for what I want, not what I need. The virtuous angel tugs the rope and pulls me back from the goodies. The cause of the outbreak of tug of wars is due to my personal dragon, greed.
It may not be obvious, but when it comes to sharing food with my siblings, my stomach growls like a lion, which motivates me to leap for my prey, snatch it and gobble it down my throat. As the eldest, I always tried my best to be self-sacrificial and give the biggest share to my siblings, which I did for the first part of my life. However, it is very tiring to compress my desires, when many times there is only a plateful of savory food left. Since I constrained my appetite for many years to a small serving, it is my desire to eat to the content of my heart. Therefore, one day, I decided that it was the end of my sharing and time for my siblings to learn to fight for what they want. From then on, when my mother placed cherries on the table, I rush to the table and grab a handful and mouthful of cherries and run back to my seat before my siblings noticed the glowing, bloody cherries on the table.
The same goes for Grendel. Grendel could not control his desire for vengeance because he was exiled and therefore, he was subjected to murdering the Danes. Grendel is like the little devil inside me who acts impulsively and continues his ruthless nature, just as I continue my greedy nature. Commonly, we both lack self-control. If Grendel could control his hunger for vengeance and stop preying the Danes and if I could control my hunger and share with my siblings, then our relationships with others would prosper.
Another personal dragon is pride. I cannot with stand embarrassments and I would do anything to “keep face.” I abhor going into a store buy food on my own. I abhor going home alone. I abhor buying school lunch. Why? Others may think that it is because of my shyness that I detest buying food in a store or at school. But in truth, it is because I don’t want others to think of me as a loner, who has no friends. I do not want others to see me holding a plastic bag fill with food or holding a tray of lunch because I think that it is embarrassing and extremely ugly for me to do. I care more about my reputation and how others view me more than anything else in the world. I would rather starve to death than to hold that orange tray and walk across the cafeteria. As evident, I am severely blinded by pride.
Similarly, in Beowulf, Anglo-Saxons measured success as pride. Therefore a warrior’s pride was directly related to his victorious achievements. Beowulf’s war with Grendel was putting his pride at stake. If he lost to Grendel, would lose his pride. If he won, his pride would increase greatly. In fact, he successfully slayed Grendel and was labeled the hero, “Edgetho’s brave son.” Thus, in Beowulf’s time period to modern day, pride is still measured by reputation.
In many ways, my battles with my personal dragons are like Beowulf’s battle with Grendel. Just as Beowulf represents the good defeating Grendel who represents evil, my love for my siblings would eventually demolish my greed and my pride would be conquered with indifference.
I am Hazel Chan Wing Yan, the royal descendent of the Great Emperor Shun, who brought justice to the golden land of China and is remembered for centuries.
I possess the greatest beauty in the universe,that the human race suffocates due to my breath taking glamor.Yet, the most remarkable beauty of my beauty is the magical powers which every living particles, from the electrons to supernatural beings, envy.My glimmering eyes emits rays in the speed of infinite times 299,792,458 m / s (speed of light) and can zoom pass the fragile skin of mankind, into their deep chambers concealed by their pumping organs and read their ancient secrets that are well hidden for a million years. My stare is created with less effort than lifting a speck of dust, but it evokes overwhelming fear from each breathing organism and crushes their diamond-structured confidence like a giant demolishing a toothpick.
Behold, I am the best friend of all Hollywood stars ever known. My knowledge of their names is what defines their fame. Since I am their key to success, they bribe me with great gifts: Trillions of movies, which are filmed entertain me, trillions of songs, which are sung to soothe my ears, and trillions of choreography, which are designed to please my eyes. Test my knowledge of celebrities’ names, for the few I that can name are those who have great fame.
I have ran the greatest mountains and fought fierce armies of water droplets sent from God above. I am the model and tradition of crossing my heart and saluting to the country as a symbol of commitment to the cross-country army. My precious sweat dropped from my head has sunk into the earth’s crust and enriched the vast land with fruitful crops. My reebok footsteps are engraved onto the trails of Aberdeen Brick Hill, accompanied by the cable cars of Ocean Park.
I am the owner of a delicate 100% brass piece covered with 100% golden paint. Only I have managed to make music through this shaped piece of copper and with my true wisdom, I have discovered its name, alto saxophone. Together, alto saxophone and I have fought through World War III, World War V and World War VII and have won the merit prize. My musical abilities is renown through the earth, for I am the Hazel Chan Wing Yan, the one who is gifted with abilities to praise, the one who is gracious and kind, the one who is the Queen of Hazelnuts.
His iridescent scales glimmer even in the darkness of night, the absence of light not enough to hide his luminescence. Euphoria kicks in as the wind beneath his body rushes by in a strong gust; he beats his wings faster and faster, adorning his flight with a quick twirl, unrehearsed, improvised, he doesn’t even try. He is a figure skater, a natural power, taking in the audience’s every whoop and holler, executing master spins with matchless precision. He knows his own beauty, and his power, too. He lives to be noticed, if only by the ringing silence and the distant stars that shine, and thrives off of it. With a graceful motion, his wings swoop over the skyline, like a curtain falling on an open stage, indicating the beginning. The audience is silent.
She is huddled over a laptop, a permanent position of sorts, one her body has rehearsed and memorized. It is late January, a month into the near year and her resolutions lie forgotten, untouched, in the same pile as her assignments. She lets out a sigh, brushes the hair off her face, eyes trained expertly on the dimly lit monitor she treasures like her firstborn. It is 10:30, still early in the evening for her, too early to be working or worrying, for trying or crying.
He perches on her window sill, steadying his claws, peering at the girl. A slow smile spreads across his face, all vicious tonic, no trace of sweetness. The girl remains in his trap. He almost barks out in laughter when he considers what easy prey she is, the least challenging of all the missions he has been given. She doesn’t struggle, doesn’t kick or scream, doesn’t thrash at him and demand that he release her. No, she follows him silently, without protest. It crosses his mind that she might enjoy being lured into the trap more than he enjoys committing the act. This worries him ever so slightly. The success and triumph comes in overcoming the victims, in stripping them of their ability to resist, but this one doesn’t resist at all.
My dragon, my one vile enemy, the bane of my existence is simultaneously my source of endless pleasure and the comfort in which I rest in. It is a three-headed beast: separate creatures with minds of their own who share the same body. It is nature’s very own recipe for disaster. Address them by the wrong name and they will remain bitter forever: procrastination, distraction, and laziness. This dragon is an old childhood friend, a disease that has plagued me forever. He knows me better than I know myself. Be fooled not by his majestic exterior, his shiny façade, so ceaselessly mesmerizing. He is no chivalrous warrior. Like Grendel, he works in the night, when I am weak and defenseless. He comes to me when I am weary, hopeless, in desperate need of reinforcement. Lying on my stomach, exhausted from the day’s grueling events, he catches me unarmed, like the men resting in Heorot. He is conniving but not courageous, unwilling to risk facing me in my moments of motivation and determination. My willing ears are putty in charmspeak’s hands. “Hush child, don’t fret,” he offers me a simple solution: to avoid the problem. “Play your worries away, it’ll all be okay.” He strips away my sense of time, convinces me that I have control over ticking hands. Like Grendel, his twisted mind means that he takes great pleasure in my pain, laughing as the clock strikes twelve, as I awaken from my trance and enter a state of panic. He is ecstatic as the vicious cycle repeats itself, as I fall behind on work, as my body deteriorates. Like Beowulf, I try to reach out, stab at his skin, and for a second, I think I am victorious. But my temporary fix is nothing more than that, temporary. His skin is impenetrable, it is useless, and I lack the drive and motivation needed to rip an arm off. Grendel met his match in Beowulf, but I, I am no Beowulf.
Maybe the problem lies in the fact that I am not sure I really want to dispose of him. I like routine, more so than even the average person. My dragon is like sitting in my favorite booth at my favorite restaurant, eating my favorite meal, where the staff knows me, and everything is familiar, nothing feels new or adventurous. In trying to defeat him I would have to attempt something new, I would have to put myself on the line. My dragon is a friend I know well, and over time, I have come to adopt him as my own, even embrace him and treasure his presence. I have been so blinded by the mist that I cannot see his true face, cannot see him for who he really is. So yes, my dragon is evil and wicked, but he would not be so powerful if I had not given him the power with my own two hands, trust him with my time and my attention span.
Our dragons are there to serve as tests of character. I long for the day when I am strong enough to say no, when I have a mind clear enough to see just what the dragon is doing to me.
Entering high school was like stepping onto the ground of a vast battlefield, on which intimidating dragons lurked around. Perfectionism is the greatest dragon I have encountered so far. As I have been taking vigorous art classes in high school, I have often struggled between being perfect and allowing myself to make mistakes. Whenever I am to draw a straight line but end up making it a bit curved, I wonder if I should draw it again or let it be. I have tried beating down the dragon of perfectionism to the ground a few times by telling myself that I can never be perfect. Several times, I chose to allow room for mistakes. However, my perfectionism has been able to revive again and again. After tolerating errors for a few times, I often find myself trying to amend every mistake in the end. In the same way, Beowulf was able to throw Grendel's mother to the floor but she was able to rise again to attack him, draining out his strength. "He was weary, that best and strongest of soldiers; his feet stumbled and in an instant she had him down, held helpless." Perfectionism often takes away all of my energy and brings me down. However, with the help of God and the support of my friends and family, I am often able to stand back up and fight against the dragon again. After Grendel's mother brought Beowulf to the ground, he was protected by the woven mail shirt he wore on his chest. "He'd have traveled to the bottom of the earth, Edgetho's son, and died there, if that shining woven metal had not helped- and Holy God, who sent him victory, gave judgment for truth and right, Ruler of the Heavens, once Beowulf was back on his feet and fighting." Sometimes, I am able to wear a shining woven metal- the support from God, my family, and friends- who remind me to allow myself to make mistakes and protect me from perfectionism. Unfortunately, unlike Beowulf who was able to defeat both Grendel and his mother in the end, I have still been unable to ultimately defeat perfectionism and am not sure when I will ever be able to. I have been trapped in an iterant cycle in which I have been alternating between being able to stop striving to be impeccable and being a perfectionist. I do not think I will ever be able to entirely defeat perfectionism with my own strength, as Beowulf was able to defeat Grendel. However, I believe that I might be able to ultimately defeat it in the future, with the aid of strong support and the reminder that I must let myself make mistakes. Only with the help of a strong weapon was Beowulf able to defeat Grendel's mother.
Perfectionism is like Grendel because it is inconspicuous. Because Grendel approached Herot during the night, people did not see him. "He moved quickly through the cloudy night, up from his swampland, sliding silently toward that gold-shining hall." I often do not even notice perfectionism coming towards me to attack me. In order to make my art pieces look perfect, I often spend hours and hours on it without realizing that perfectionism has driven me out of control. Perfectionism is like Grendel's mother because it is able to get back up and defeat me even after I have succeeded in bringing it down. However, Beowulf was able to defeat it in the end but I have not been able to completely defeat perfectionism yet, even after several times of being able to attack it successfully. Perfectionism is also like Grendel's mother because it is hard to defeat, but can be defeated with the help of a strong weapon. I believe that when I learn to face the fact that I can never be perfect, I might be able to defeat perfectionism. I have not succeeded in beating it down yet because of my natural disposition. I just cannot help myself from feeling uncomfortable when I can point out mistakes I make. As experienced many times in the past, my fingers just automatically move to make amendments. This dragon of perfectionism is probably out there for a reason, which is to remind me that I was not designed to be perfect and must allow myself to make mistakes. I have definitely created this dragon on my own by telling myself that I should try to be perfect.
Another terribly frightening dragon I have encountered is anxiety. It is hard to defeat this dragon because there is no way I will ever be able to predict the future and not have to worry about it. Unlike Beowulf who was able to defeat Grendel at ease, I have not been able to defeat anxiety and am still battling with it. In fact, I have recently been really anxious about the score I will get for the SAT, which I took a few days ago. Even though I cannot do anything about it now, I keep worrying about it. However, I have been able to scratch the dragon's skin whenever I remember that God holds my future and has already planned the best for me. Gladly, the skin of my personal dragon is not as thick as that of Grendel's mother, which was so thick that "her guest discovered that no sword could slice her evil skin." God's powerful, comforting words serve as my sword, which are able to get rid of a certain amount of anxiety. Unfortunately, I have not been able to fully defeat anxiety yet because I just happen to be a worrywart and am still in the process of learning how to hand all of my worries over to God.
Anxiety is like Grendel because it is deleterious. Grendel "intended to tear the life from those bodies by morning; the monster's mind was hot with the thought of food and the feasting his belly would soon know." Anxiety harms me both physically and mentally. It gives me sleepless nights and drives me insane. It is also joyless like Grendel, who "journeyed, forever joyless," making me feel downcast. Grendel creates a pessimistic atmosphere, and so does anxiety. Anxiety is like Grendel's mother because it gnaws at me fiercely. "She welcomed him in her claws, clutched at him savagely but could not harm him, tried to work her fingers through the tight ring-woven mail on his breast, but tore and scratched in vein." She was persistent and endeavored greatly to harm him. Anxiety never fails to beat me down hard and stop me from moving on. I often dwell on the past and become unable to focus on the present. However, Beowulf was able to withstand Grendel's mother, while I have failed to withstand anxiety. I believe that my personal dragon of anxiety exists to allow me to grow in my relationship with God as I must learn to trust that my future is safe in His hands and that there is no need for me to ever worry. I have been the main creator of this dragon because I have failed to lay everything in God's hands.
In my point of view as a Christian, it is hard for us to defeat our dragons on our own, because we are absolutely weak compared to God and must gain strength from Him in order to overcome our struggles. Since it is hard to fully rely on God for strength, we are unable to defeat all of our dragons. As mentioned previously, I have been going through this difficulty when facing my dragon of anxiety. Beowulf was only able to defeat Grendel's mother with the help of a powerful weapon, which was a heavy, strong sword that was hammered by giants. Likewise, we must use strong weapons to defeat our dragons and cannot depend on ourselves. I believe that everyone has personal dragons for a reason. They are to remind us that we are far from impeccable and must seek God's help when facing struggles. Based on my personal experience, most of our struggles are often actually created by us and are internal. No one ever told me to be a perfectionist or to be a worrywart. In fact, my friends and family often remind me to put an end to both. We are often creating our own struggles and must rely on God's strength to fight them from within.
Unlike the persistent evils of pride or pessimism, my personal dragon is best described as fickle and of a sporadic nature. It comes and goes as it pleases: there are moments when I simply cannot bring myself to pick up a pen and start working, drawn to whatever distraction presents itself to me at the time, and yet there are also moments when I feel inclined to work laboriously and efficiently, finishing all my assignments and chores in record time. Sadly, the latter seems to happen far less frequently than the former.
Perhaps Benjamin Franklin said it best when he penned, “You may delay, but time will not.” Though the hands of time sometimes seem to be my greatest adversary, rushing ahead impatiently while I am still dallying along with my work at a snail’s pace, in hindsight they are in fact my greatest aid, reminding me in every advance they make that I must learn to catch up with them or get caught in an avalanche of stress, dismay and unfinished work. That reminder, combined with my strong sense of responsibility, never fails to chide me on and I eventually do complete my work punctually—not before Procrastination, however, has succeeded in robbing me of my sleep, my energy and my time.
In his battle with Grendel, Beowulf emerged victorious after brutally tearing Grendel’s arm out and defeating him for good. Similarly, he sent Grendel’s mother to her perpetual death. My battle with my personal dragon, on the other hand, could never be settled once and for all; I may be able to conquer Procrastination one day, but it will unquestionably resurrect the next, poised and more ready to fight than ever, with an entire hoard of new distractions to tempt me with. And so I live trapped in this endless vicious cycle, forever doomed to fight this dragon day after day, sometimes triumphing with the help of self-discipline and time management, sometimes vanquished, enslaved by Procrastination’s lures of temporary pleasures.
In all reality, who is the true enemy in my life? Is my personal dragon Procrastination, or is my personal dragon myself, for being unable to acquire the willpower it takes to repel its minions of distraction? In all his perfection, Beowulf would’ve been sure of his righteousness and of Grendel’s pure and unadulterated evil. But I am flawed and far from faultless: Procrastination works on par with a conspirator, and that accomplice is myself.
My name is Erica, and in the center of me lies sunset. I rest on the horizon, and indolence is far behind me. I am a fisherman, who will never neglect his work, not until it is done to completion and perfection. Present me a task, a challenge, a puzzle, and I will return with the answer without fail; no matter how long it takes, I will persist. I am a strict keeper of my word, for not a single promise that leaves my mouth will end unfulfilled. I have educated myself in countless tongues, most of which I speak fluently.
My name is Erica—elegant blossom. I can be a tough, bristly needle upon my petal smoothness; but if you should embrace me, I will be a tender lover. My words will coax you, and my whispers will kindle the twitching desire within you. I am a thousand shades, deep fuchsia to bright white: my flair is variety incomprehensible, for though my mind is at peace and in thought, energy radiates from me in the form of grace and activity.
My name is Erica, and I am much more. I am supreme expert of the tapes of washi, of design and of decoration. I am master of hand-hair curling, and of lighting-speed categorizing of hair. I am the boss of sleep, the boss of sphere-cookies, the boss of floor mopping. I am the expert of desserts— of tasting, naming, and devouring.
My name is Erica, and I am eternal. I am forever powerful, forever blossoming, forever setting; and forever, shall you remember my name.
The problematic thing about Worry is that there isn’t simply one degree of pain he can deal you. He is a malevolent child, building a tower, placing the foundational block, an unseen burden in your heart. Gleefully, he watches you build your own tower of doom. And when at a great height, he will cherish the moment of apprehension and fear; and with one swipe in a clawing movement, he destroys you, sends you crumbling to the ground. He strikes at a moment of questioning, during which, with a gust of wind, I guard myself with the Sigh of Serenity. With all the calamities of the world shouting in your ear, it is imperative you learn the philosophies of Relaxation and Calm. If you hold still in peace and quiet, a storm cannot rise, nor can it grow violent against you. I have become able to adopt the laws of Relaxation and Calm, and have become less strained; but still, Worry troubles me and occasionally haunts me in my sleep.
Obstinacy puts me against those whom are beloved to me. “Honor your parents,” says the Lord. Yet he is the reason I refuse to. Obstinacy lies somewhere in each person’s soul, though his effectiveness relies on the region he chooses in each person. In me, he dominates the left edge of my heart, for he induces rebellion and ignites conflict and debate. Still, I fight him, but the fight becomes exceedingly difficult when I have a strong belief, or am sure that something is right. It is important to adopt a tone that is gentle and not argumentative to converse with someone. Kind talk leaves room for consideration and analysis.
Envy is among the greatest monsters I fear, for I do not see what is good within me—what God has given me, but rather the imperfections and failure I possess. Envy whispers in my ear that I am poor, that I am lacking, and I believe her. “Look at those around you,” she says. She is able to shape-shift into those around me, and say, “Why can’t you be more like her? Why, she is so good-hearted and hard working. Her grades tell it all.” Such commentary causes in me bitter resentment. Though the cure is simple, we are confronted by Envy so often in our weak moments, that she becomes difficult to fight.
I am more the opposite of Beowulf, for he charges into battle without a second thought—no worry, no reconsideration. I am unlike Beowulf for I am not brave, nor am I confident in my abilities. Envy cannot touch him for he is the greatest, the strongest, the wittiest of them all. He is a hero, whereas I am only a common girl.
As I descended down the steps of the abyss; Death by my side, my damascene blade drawn, I had at last reached the end. My hair, pulled back and hoary with age, stood up on end. My blade, worn at the hilt and scabbard, but edge still true, hummed softly as whatever light that reached this wretched place
shone upon it. The Shadow of Death, in vague interest, watched us from the stair, black iron scythe, singing it's sweet sickly song, in hand. Many years have I been descending into this endless abyss ,traveling deeper and deeper as I fought a cleansing crusade in a quest for redemption and peace. Many foes I have fought with, victorious only by the slightest margin; all to defeat the great beast at the
end of this endless abyss. The beast whom precedes time, the final foe in a great house of wicked foes. I ,Knight-Paladin to a fallen order, Vigilant to a way long forgotten, The Firstborn of a dead and dying world, The final Champion of a mistress forsaken, The Last Pilgrim on a path long untaken, Born to a
house declining, Master to lands stolen and sold, A Lord seeking redemption for his most grievous sins of old. Many have sought to slay this beast, great heroes who's stories still told. None return from this forsaken place; these tombs of the gods of old. Through men and beast alike I fought, through the mad
sons of Achilles and Jason, through those calling themselves the sons of Great Alessia and the Knights of Septim. This great, darkened bore, marred into the ground since the beginning of time, precedes our age, and the age before it. It houses the halls of the Nephilim, who once walked among us, of the lost
civilizations before them, growing older and older as one journeys deeper and deeper. The trail is littered with the work of Death, desecrated corpses of Heroes, swords and axes in a state of rust, the bones of forerunners, still near their weapons of wonder and legend, and the dust of antiquity, leaving naught but
a strange uniform and strange muskets of unfamiliar make. The great light of the over-world shines little in this place; the dull, black marble walls feasts upon it's warmth. I had not seen the sun since my blade still rang new, and my bones still young. That fateful day when the High King himself restored my titles
and rings, and sent me into this ancient place. Now, twas the end. The shaft, here, stays it's fall; the spear of Old King Lathir of legend stands upright in a vast plain of ash. I moved swiftly, and unburdened for a man near his three-hundredth year (the pit has a way of staying time), toward the central mound;
surely this must be the terrible beast's home. But as I neared the top of this mound, littered with the treasure of those preceding me, there was but a chilled pool of molten silver, glowing eerily in the darkness. And I saw this great and terrible beast rise from it, in all its timeless glory. It was, myself.
The inner demons I have come to posses are not of my own choice. Rather, they are gifts bestowed upon me, a part of me, interlaced with the very fabric of my being. Gifts twisted and tainted by humanity and sin within all of us, transcending time, and reality. From great empathy is born sorrow
and pain. From great patience, persistence, and endurance, stems inaction, stubbornness, and regret. From great love and passion, comes long bitterness, and temper. Such things seize one unaware, like Grendel in the night. Some gain the upper hand, like his mother's desperate fight.
A moment passed, and not a moment more. I then decided to do what no hero, or all, had done before. Into the now drained pool I went, to see what this should be. If this indeed was truly another of this wretched me. We drew our long daggers, each it's long lost twin, and we charged at our new found others, both of same flesh, blood, and bone . Steel rang for steel, and leather boots complained against
ancient, long darkened stone. The shadow of death enshrouded our arena, its empty gaze filled with guile. His black iron scythe sang ever softly, sweetly; it's waiting blade a malevolent smile. Blow for blow was matched, as some elaborate dance of death. Backhand, forehand, thrust and parry, brought him closer yet. Gaze for gaze, eye for eye we'd met, and should so did I see, that I was he and he was me, no more than I ever could be.
As sin tore creation asunder, death first tore with his scythe the hearts of men. From his heart, he twisted again, each one's depraved other. From good came evil; from love, hate. And so all that was gifted to men were cursed as well, a blessing and burden to contemplate. As Beowulf wrestled with
Grendel, beast to man, so has sin forced us to fight it. As Grendel's skin was unpierced by any blade, nothing in this physical world, can aid us but ourselves. As Grendel's arm was torn away with Beowulf's brutish strength, so through will and strength shall we attain victory, for awhile. But sooner or later,
we'd have to face the root of all our troubles; to fight the root of most our shortcomings, this so called "Grendel's mother". Again we fight our fight alone, without much help of our fellow men; then dive deep into the lake of self, to face the monster within. Through willpower honed by discipline, shall
one be armored from her blows. But the sword of men's strength shall fail, like how Hrunting shattered on its foe. A new blade is needed, thought Beowulf and I; hanging within our reach was the answer to our cries. A great cross-blade, forged not by men should come into our grasp, only then can we be
cleansed of sin, and be cleansed of misgiving's past. Then this monster, the mother of our Grendel, who resides in this lake within, should be vanquished by this divine gift; then return to our brethren. But the battle should not be over, though this cross-blade baned our sin. Take up a blade again we must, to
defend the borders within.
Yet some sin we cannot bane, as all grow weak and weary within our struggles and age; Beowulf was the same. Yet one can choose how to meet with one's failures, to hide or to die fighting. As Beowulf fought his dragon alone (for the most part), so too, shall I. Even as his dragon overwhelmed him fighting, so too, shall I die. Let it not be said, however, that both of us were cowards; we fought our battles day by day, until our final hour.
Such are my own demons, each a saga to fulfil:
God's gift of empathy is a double edged sword; great bouts of sadness, pain, and regret seize me in the night. My care for others could be seen too great by some, but my heart would not allow myself to let go of those I feel for. In a bout of courtly love, I have attempted to focus my care on someone I
admire and feel for; but this too is imperfect. My emotional bond to this person would be strengthened to new, great heights. A single tear from m'lady would break my heart and issue forth tears of my own.
This heavy gift is a part of me, inseparable, so that I must endure. The Divine Cross-blade ensures me that no such sorrow is too heavy a burden. This, surely, is the dragon within me, and un-aided shall be my bane, as it was Beowulf's. But as the Lord is good and strong, may that day never come. May the light of the cross carry me through this perpetual combat, as I endure this great gift, and hope for healing.
Great patience, persistence, and endurance, bear inaction, stubbornness, and regret. These three are a vicious trio that must be defeated in sequence, as Beowulf did so. Inaction, caused by my stubbornness for set ways, lead to regret. I can only permanently banish regret by killing it's "mother" stubbornness, to reach through eventually to inaction. After dropping the weight of regret, I must
wrestle the beast of stubbornness to draw out my set ways, leading eventually to a second dragon, inaction. Most of these instances I fight on a day to day basis, whether it be a day to day inefficiency, or a one off instance with someone I really care about. I fight a divided front, so progress is little, but present. As Beowulf adheres to his sense of honor, fighting alone, hand to hand, I strive to keep my oath, something only I can keep: Give and count not the cost; fight and heed not the wound; toil and seek not for rest; labor and ask not for reward, save of knowing it is God's will.
Great love and passion bring forth as well long bitterness, and temper. I care for a great too many things, some say, and my passion comes out more often than not. Whether it would be on religion, personal beliefs of emotion, or anything that I believe to be worthwhile. The same goes with those who slight me, and continue to slight me without change in attitude or character. Such
embodiments of things that go against what I love fill me with a near righteous anger, fueling my temper to near breaking point. But even when temper dies away, under a remarkable show of restraint, gives way to bitterness. I'd be bitter that my heart is turned against a brother or sister (whose mere presence
makes my blood boil), that this person is not striving to fight his dragons, and that I have yet to find forgiveness. This too is a perpetual struggle, so that I can only ward off the advance of the dragon, maybe with a friend, lest it consumes me.
All these demons are a part of me, no greater than I can ever be, with the Lord by my side, they shall know defeat, one struggle at a time, until I am taken, sword and all. Such are the categories of what I fight from day to day, generalized instances of procrastination, thoughtlessness, and such. As Beowulf fought, and fought to the end, so should we fight our demons (no greater than we could be),
constantly and vigorously, (aided every so often), till we are taken, sword and all.
Hour per hour the fighting went, this fighting with myself. Blow for blow was matched again, our blades longing to drink one's health. Respite again, we both drew back, death watching our every move. Then inspired! Knowing what I must purge from me, I knew what I must do. Circle me, Circle you, we took our opening steps. Then gripped each other in a tight embrace, and plunged our blades into our chests' depths. This other me screamed in anguish, but I was silent still. To deny myself of this wicked me, I must
deny myself as well. This life I spent to atone my sins, was coming to an end. The mound shuddered and shook, the other me, taken to dragon form, then shattered into nigh. His silver fragments blow away, like a thousand Sakura blossoms in the sky. So it was then I stood, and drew my final breath, to see the anguish of the reaper, the reaper one calls death. Then heaven take me into her arms; a cleansed hero with a life well lent. That at the end of his thread, cleansed and pure, those brief moments at last, to reward a trusted friend. And so in peace I died, and I died well, a whole man in the
Many people in the past have expressed how much of a good Christian I am, and the guilt of knowing how much a good Christian I am NOT eats at me inside. I want to love the Lord and keep him foremost in my life, and to value him above all else, but sometimes, it’s so hard. The distractions of this world are many – in my case, material possessions are what distract me the most from my walk with God. Of course, I fight this dragon everyday – I try to keep my focus on God, pray for Him to give me the strength to love him with everything I have, but I’m only human, and my self control is limited. I often give into the lures of online catalogs and street side boutiques; the call of the GPA and my AP courses; the temptation of making merry with my friends. I’m grateful I am even able to recognize this dragon – so many in the world have their own dragons to be fighting; yet they don’t recognize them, because they don’t KNOW to fight against sin and temptation.
Grendel is the dragon to Beowulf’s hero, yet he cowers in fear in the presence of Beowulf. With the empowerment of Christ, sin cowers in my presence – it is not my master, for I have been redeemed and exempted from the overwhelming power of sin! The dragon and the hero engage in an exhausting battle, resembling the constant, unresolved battle between my covetous nature and me. Yet while Beowulf is able to defeat Grendel with his bare hands, by his own strength, if I were alone in my fight against sin, I would have fallen long ago. There is obviously an external element to my dragon – sin was created by the devil, much like Grendel was created by a greater evil.
God puts us through trials, because it is a testing of our faith and builds our character. I don’t believe that he allows for us to have such dragons in our life so that we will ultimately fall prey to their clutches, but because it builds our character and makes us vulnerable, allowing Him to pick us up when we are down, carrying us when we are weak. My fight with my personal dragon has not yet been won. Yet I am sure about the ultimate outcome – my love of Christ and his care for me is enough to overcome every transgression.
Behold my presence, though my stature may seem slight. I am Sin Yan Christie of
the Lau tribe, the one and only precious gem in the household of Winghong Lau and
Chiuman Luk.
