#personal dragons

[dawnwolf93]

After having my birthday this past week, I decided to draw my dragons interacting. Dawn is my main dragon sona, but Sage is another one I have. I really like the light green and light purple colour combination, so I designed her with that in mind. Strangely enough, both Dawn and Sage have feathered wings, despite how much I dislike drawing feathers. But feathered wings are pretty and I need to get better at them, so this was good practice.

[whatever-came-to-mind]

Dragons’ Egg

Today was the day. You had been caring for the egg for months and today was the day it would hatch and reveal itself to me. The egg you’d chosen was a small black one. Your family wasn't rich and couldn’t afford the heavy gold ones or shimmering diamond ones. Even if you could’ve had your pick of the store, there was no way you’d've chosen one of the pricier eggs.  The egg in the discount bin just seemed perfect. The moment you walked into the store, you had felt the call. It was a dull black color, you almost missed it among it’s larger comrades. It seemed impossibly small.

The old man that had sold you the egg had smiled as he handed it over. Only the smartest and wisest citizens got to be dragon vendors. It didn’t really make much of a difference who sold the egg to you, everyone you’d ever talked to about it always said that they too could feel the pull of their egg. All of your friends had gotten theirs months before, eager to have a dragon of their own. When you turned 21, you could buy an egg of your choice and when it finally chose to hatch, it would be bonded to you. It had been so exciting to walk into the store on your birthday but it was not even remotely close to the rush of excitement as the first crack appeared in the black shell.

Watching the shell develop more and more cracks, it was all you could do not to help. Helping your dragon come out of its shell was supposed to be bad luck. Normally, you didn’t believe in luck of any kind, but this was something special. As more and more cracks appeared all over the egg, the anticipation grew. What would it be like? Would it be feathered like your older sister’s, or have extra wings like Mother’s? Would it breathe ice like Father’s or fire like grandma’s? You’d spent hours and hours thinking about what it would look like and how it would act, but when the egg finally burst open there was still surprise at what had been inside this entire time.

Two small dragons covered in goo, lifted their heads and looking around expectantly. They stumbled a few times, trying to untangle themselves. They were each the size of a quarter, small for even newborns. You’d never heard of someone having two dragons before. You didn’t even think it was possible to have two dragons. Was it illegal? And how had they spent all that time squished together in such a small egg? 

Instinctively, you reached a hand out to the both of them. The silvery one sneezed and purple liquid shot out its mouth. The liquid sizzled and burned quickly through the desk. It looked up into your eyes with a pair of curious pinkish ones. The crimson one took a few steps toward you, curious about what to do with your hand. It’s spiked tail leaving a trail of flowers in its wake. 

When they both mustered the courage to finally touch your outstretched hand it sent a shock through your hand and into your brain. Then all you could see was darkness, but there was a voice. It was a kind voice and when it talked your hearts throbbed with joy and comfort. The voice sang to you, told stories, asked questions. You couldn’t answer but still every time the voice spoke, you couldn’t help but feel comforted. All you had ever known was the silent darkness, but now there was the voice. As time went on, you began to recognize the voice. It was your own. You were remembering everything you’d ever said to the egg from the dragons’ perspective.

Suddenly it was all gone and you were back in the small room, now seeming impossibly large. The two dragons had started chasing each other around on the desk, tackling the other before hopping off and running away. It was a silly game and you smiled as the two ran around. They were stretching out their legs, flapping their wings a little when they tackled each other but they wouldn’t be able to fly for another few weeks. You smiled as the red one launched itself directly on the silver one who gave a little squawk before its sibling jumped off and bounded away. The desk was almost completely covered in flowers and where it wasn’t, there were holes where the silver dragon’s acid had burned through in it.

You had thought of a thousand names that you liked in the months leading up to this, but now that it was time to choose, you couldn’t think of a single one. Using both of your hands to lift the dragons up to eye level, they immediately calmed and sat down. Their expectant eyes waited for you to say something and looking first to the crimson dragon on the left I said the first thing that came to mind.

“Jira,” the tiny dragon smiled and looking to it’s twin you said, “Morana.”

They both seemed to be happy about their names and chuffed happily. The white one nipped at my finger a little and you were surprised when the purple acid didn’t burn your skin like it had the desk. After a few more hours of playing and seeing who could climb up your shirt to sit on your shoulder the fastest, the two dragons curled up with one another in the palm of my hand and fell asleep. Jira and Morana were better than any dragons you could’ve hoped for.

[beowulf-ics-blog]

Personal Dragons - Wing Yan Ng

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.

[beowulf-ics-blog]

Personal Dragon - Michael Lee

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…

[beowulf-ics-blog]

Personal Dragons - Maggie Su

      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.

[beowulf-ics-blog]

Personal Dragons - Hazel Chan

            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.  

[beowulf-ics-blog]

Personal Dragons- Sarah Lau

                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.

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                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.

[beowulf-ics-blog]

Personal Dragons- Hannah Chu

     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.