There are many colours in the world,
Yet the ones that filled his paint-box were shades of grey and white.
The varying depths of truth were enough to make anyone's hair curl,
Yet no one discovered it at first sight.

There was no individuality,
No shades of green, pink or yellow.
The paint community had no democracy,
And everything seemed so easy and shallow.

But in the gloomy clouds of December,
Greyness whirled into colours.
All the new things the painter had to remember!
But not all of them are flawless.

There were colours of black, red and grey,
Yet on other days there were white, pink and shades of whey.
The colours kept on adding and multiplying,
And with the colours came more truth, attention and trying.

Then one day there came the darkest black,
And the painter realised that he could never turn back.
He had to salvage his colours,
To prevent them from turning back to grey.

There were too many colours in his paint-box now,
And he couldn't possibly take them all.
What he COULD take with him, though, was the smallest tube of paint,
Yet the brightest of them all.

Stowing the tube of paint into his pocket,
He could barely concentrate,
For on his journey to Elsewhere,
There were too many things to contemplate.

Yet when the artist reached Elsewhere,
It was pleasure and happiness beyond measure,
For he had finally arrived at and found
An artist's greatest treasure.

The artist in the poem refers to Jonas, and the paint-box is the community he lives in. He is depicted as an artist in this poem as he is the only person who associates himself with colours in the community, other than the Giver. In this case, the word "colours" not only refer to colours like red, yellow and pink, but also truths and memories. Just like the varying shades of paint, truth, sadness and pain have different levels to them.
In the first stanza, Jonas is still unaware of the truths and mysteries of other worldly matters and things like music and love.
In Stanza Three, however, he recieves his Assignment in December, along with the truths and memories of the past.
Some memories are dark and painful, like the war-scene and starvation, yet others like the memory of love, the sailboat and snow are enjoyable, pleasant and warming to the heart. Therefore, the colours black, red and grey represent the painful memories that Jonas had to receive, while the bright, cheery colours represent the happy, beautiful ones that Jonas received as well.
Jonas then realised the truth about Release and went to Elsewhere, but he brought Gabe with him. Gabe is represented by the "smallest tube of paint, yet the brightest of all."
Gabe is represented by the smallest tube of paint not only because he is just an infant and regarded with the least ranking and power in the community, but also because he has the power of foresight, due to his pale eyes.
This poem was written in reference to the Giver, and I hope my readers enjoy it! :)

"I'm starving!" My sister announced as she entered the living room. I stared up at her, my mind stlil whirling madly within, clutching the Giver in my hand as though it was a lifebuoy.
I glowered at her, the intruder, but inside I thought of the phrase "Precision of language."
Hadn't Jonas said the exact same thing before being reprimanded by an Elder for "imprecision of language?"
"Exaggeration. Imprecision of language," said the sly voice inside my head which always came out every time I showed signs of weakness.
I stared blankly at the cover of the book, shocked at what I had just finished reading. My bad habit of reading incessantly, greedily and hungrily had led to a throbbing, dull ache at the back of my head which I quelled by getting up to have dinner.
Even through dinner, I was unable to dismember the thread of my thoughts. It always strayed to jonas and the Giver. When I had read the Giver, the first person I thought of was the Giver himself, but even as I helped myself to food, my thoughts strayed to Jonas. I mean, he was a Giver himself, wasn't he, by giving memories to Gabe?
After dinner, my mother sat on the couch, her head drooping over a book. She looked worn and weary.
As a teacher, my mother's working hours were regular, but she got home looking worn and exhausted every day, which made me wonder if she was dealing with hooligans instead of students.
Looking at her somehow reminded me of Jonas's mother.
Both of them were mothers. Yet, why were they so different?
Maybe it's because of the blood ties, I decided.
Over the years I learnt more and more about cherishing what I have. That was the reason why I felt so disturbed and sad after reading the Giver. One thing I cherished the most was having parents. Jonas's mother was not Jonas's real mother. This fact would stun ANYBODY in real life, but in the community featured in the Giver, it was just a normal, common thing. Jonas's real mother was probably a Birth Mother who was already among the Old. Thinking about the fact that Jonas had never known his biological mother made my heart throb with pain and pity.
This made me wonder what I would do if my parents were not around anymore.
I would definitely not be able to smile again. There would be no need to speak about even being strong, or loving my so-called parents.
I flipped on the television, which was turned to a documentary channel, featuring elephants.
I watched, horror piling dully up inside me, as the elephants were gored to death, on the ground, the grass a horrible mass of blood.
My thoughts flitted unwillingly to Jonas and the war scene. Lois Lowry's language was rich enough to allow me to form a visual image of the scene itself.
The elephants on TV were a horrible sight to behold. It was difficult, terrible, even, to decide whith was worse--the elephants, which were lying motionlessly in that large pool of blood on the ground, or the workers, who were tearing the tusks away from the elephants brutally with an air of detachedness, as though they did this every single day.
I shied my eyes away from the television, my hands groping wildly for the remote control, but yet, my gaze refused to shift away from the horrible sight. Remaining glued to the television, it refused to leave.
I watched, repulsed and angry, as the workers yelled to each other in a foreign language I never knew and would never learn. The speaker's cool, calm and detached voice flooded over the trumpet call of an elephant emerging through the trees, but it could not cover nor mask the agony and pain twisting through that trumpet call as the elephant surveyed its family member on the ground.
I didn't know if elephants could cry, and I didn't wish to find out. I watched numbly as a KFC advertisement jingled its way onto the television set, before allowing my gaze to fall on the book lying limply on the table.
"Stop thinking about the book," I told myself sternly.
"Jie jie, is that your book? I wanna read it!" My sister's whiny voice was always more than enough to pull people out of their deepest daydreams and reveries.
"Is it good?"
I saw her earnest expression, filled with curiosity and eagerness. To my utmost surprise, I foudn my mouth moving to form the word "Yes."

As I tucked myself in, staring dully at the ceiling, I felt that my saying that the Giver was "good" was an understatement.
It was glorious.
Much as it encompassed pain, sadness and sameness, it was a beautiful, moving book, which made me think in the shoes of the characters, like how Jonas felt, or even how his parents felt.
It made me think, more than I had ever done after reading a book, Harry Potter, of course, excluded.
The Giver and Harry Potter had made me think about things at such a depth that even I myself feel surprised.
I suppose and like to think that I think about the Giver in such depth not just because of marks, or the blog project or class discussions, but because like I like it, as well.

As he continued to watch, the newchild, no longer crying, moved his arms and legs in a jerking motion. Then he went limp. His head fell to the side, his eyes half open. Then he was still.
With an odd, shocked feeling, Jonas recognised the gestures and posture and expression. They were familiar. He had seen them before. But he couldn't remember where.
Jonas stared at the screen, waiting for something to happen. But nothing did. The little twin lay motionless. HIs father was putting things away. Folding the blanket. Closing the cupboard. Once again, as he had on the playing field, he felt the choking sensation. Once again he saw the face of the light-haired, bloodied soldier as life left his eyes. The memory came back. He killed it! My father killed it! Jonas said to himself, stunned at what he was realising. He continued to stare at the screen numbly.
His father tidied the room. Then he picked up a small carton that lay waiting on the floor, set it on the bed, and lifted the limp body into it. He placed the lid on tightly.
He picked up the carton and carried it to the other side of the room. He opened a small door in the wall; Jonas could see darkness behind the door. It seemed to be the same sort of chute into which the trash was deposited at school.
His father loaded the carton containing the body into the chute and gave it a shove.
"Bye-bye, little guy," Jonas heard his father say before he left the room. Then the screen went blank.
The Giver turned to him. Quite calmly, he related, "When the Speaker notified me that Rosemary had applied for Release, they turned on the tape to show me the process. There she was--my last glimpse of that beautiful child--waiting. They brought in the syringe and asked her to roll up her sleeve.
"You suggested, Jonas, that perhaps she wasn't brave enough? I don't know about bravery: what it is, what it means. I do know that I sat here numb with horror. Wretched with helplessness. And I listened as Rosemary told them that she would prefer to inject herself.
Then she did so. I didn't watch. I looked away."
The Giver turned to him.
"Well, there you are, Jonas. You were wondering about release," he said in a bitter voice.
Jonas felt a ripping sensation inside himself, the feeling of terrible pain clawing its way forward to emerge in a cry.

This extract was on Jonas's reaction during and after watching the release by his father of a twin. Before that, he thought it was a very free and good thing to be released, and that his father was a good, kind man who loved the babies he dealt with, knew what he was doing, and didn't lie to him.
Little did Jonas know that his father was responsible for killing the babies and people, for Release actually meant death. Jonas realised the truth and felt terrible in the above extract, and felt furious with his father for doing that.
However, the reason for Release and the act of Releasing, were brought about by one thing--ignorance. Because of ignorance, the people, including Jonas's father and Jonas himself, believed that to be Released was a good thing, for the people to be set free after a long, full life. From here, however, we can see that ignorance is destructive, and highly, at that.
Ignorance was seen in other parts of the book as well. The people in the community were ignorant of the memories the world once had. Because of this ignorance, they needed The Giver and Jonas to assist them by helping them to contain and bear the memories all by themselves. That was the reason behind the whole idea and need for a Giver.
Ignorance is one of the largest themes in the Giver, and that is why I chose this extract, as it not only shows the delusions and ignorance of the people, but also the reactions and feelings of the people who actually managed to discover the truth. This book also makes us wonder: Which is worse, the truth, or lies?
After reading this extract, I finally thought to myself, "So that's what Release is." Then after that, I felt so sorry for the people in the book: the people who died, and the people who were still living in ignorance about the things going around them.
I feel really glad that our world isn't like the one portrayed in the Giver or the Handmaid's tale, thankfully, and I hope it remains like this.

"Father? Mother?" Jonas asked tentatively after the evening meal. "I have a question to ask you."
"What is it, Jonas?" his father asked.
He made himself say the words, though he felt flushed with embarrassment. He had rehearsed them in his mind all the way home from the Annex.
"Do you love me?"
There was awkward silence for a moment. Then Father gave a little chuckle. "Jonas. You of all people. Precision of language, please!"
"What do you mean?" Jonas asked. Amusement was not at all what he had anticipated.
"Your father means that you used a very generalised word, so meaningless that it's become almost obsolete," his mother explained carefully.
Jonas stared at them. Meaningless? He had never before felt anything as meaningful as the memory.
"And of course our community can't function smoothly if people don't use precise language. YOu could ask, 'Do you enjoy me?' The answer is 'Yes,'" his mother said.
"Or," his father suggested, "Do you take pride in my accomplishments?' And the answer is wholeheartedly 'Yes'."
"Do you understand why it's inappropriate to use a word like 'love'?" Mother asked.
Jonas nodded. "Yes, thank you, I do," he replied slowly.
It was his first lie to his parents.



Reflections
After reading this extract, I really felt a mixture of emotions--pity, shock and much more, but the most I felt was pity. I was really moved. We often take our parents' love for granted, thinking that it is natural and that we deserve it, in some way. In The Giver, however, the children do not receive love from their parents. Instead, they receive things like recognition, pride, even enjoyment; anything, but love.
Afte reading this I not only felt sorry for Jonas, but also for people like Asher and Fiona as well. This way of living in a world devoid of any feelings like love was extremely cruel, not only toward the children, but also toward the parents. From this I deduced that the parents the children were living with were actually not their real parents. Even if they were, however, there was a strong sense of distance. Homes were referred to as "family dwellings" in the Giver, and words like love were considered as inappropriate, or vague. The most heart-wrenching part about this entire thing was that Jonas and the Giver were the only people who were exposed and actually knew love. The community might have been under the impression that upon removing things like familial and parental love, forcing people to have sameness would keep the people safe, and everyone would live in peace; but they were wrong in removing such things, as that only made the people live in ignorance their whole lives, about the power of familial love.
The people in the community just felt it was a way of life, and felt that the absence of love was not really a big deal.
After reading this extract, I felt a large surge of appreciation toward my family and parents, especially. Our world may not be as peaceful, controlled or as safe as the world portrayed in the Giver, but at least we have things like snow, colour, laughter and music, which are actually part of our lives without us knowing it. Therefore, from this extract I learned and understood a lot, and that's why I chose to post it on my blog.
I hope my readers will enjoy the extract or book as much as I have, appreciate our world, and feel thankful that it is not the so-called Utopia portrayed in the Giver, as the more people try to construct their own Utopia, the more dis-Utopian it turns out to be.

Alysia

Labels: Love

There are many colours in the world,
Yet the ones that filled his paint-box were shades of grey and white.
The varying depths of truth were enough to make anyone's hair curl,
Yet no one discovered it at first sight.

There was no individuality,
No shades of green, pink or yellow.
The paint community had no democracy,
And everything seemed so easy and shallow.

But in the gloomy clouds of December,
Greyness whirled into colours.
All the new things the painter had to remember!
But not all of them are flawless.

There were colours of black, red and grey,
Yet on other days there were white, pink and shades of whey.
The colours kept on adding and multiplying,
And with the colours came more truth, attention and trying.

Then one day there came the darkest black,
And the painter realised that he could never turn back.
He had to salvage his colours,
To prevent them from turning back to grey.

There were too many colours in his paint-box now,
And he couldn't possibly take them all.
What he COULD take with him, though, was the smallest tube of paint,
Yet the brightest of them all.

Stowing the tube of paint into his pocket,
He could barely concentrate,
For on his journey to Elsewhere,
There were too many things to contemplate.

Yet when the artist reached Elsewhere,
It was pleasure and happiness beyond measure,
For he had finally arrived at and found
An artist's greatest treasure.

The artist in the poem refers to Jonas, and the paint-box is the community he lives in. He is depicted as an artist in this poem as he is the only person who associates himself with colours in the community, other than the Giver. In this case, the word "colours" not only refer to colours like red, yellow and pink, but also truths and memories. Just like the varying shades of paint, truth, sadness and pain have different levels to them.
In the first stanza, Jonas is still unaware of the truths and mysteries of other worldly matters and things like music and love.
In Stanza Three, however, he recieves his Assignment in December, along with the truths and memories of the past.
Some memories are dark and painful, like the war-scene and starvation, yet others like the memory of love, the sailboat and snow are enjoyable, pleasant and warming to the heart. Therefore, the colours black, red and grey represent the painful memories that Jonas had to receive, while the bright, cheery colours represent the happy, beautiful ones that Jonas received as well.
Jonas then realised the truth about Release and went to Elsewhere, but he brought Gabe with him. Gabe is represented by the "smallest tube of paint, yet the brightest of all."
Gabe is represented by the smallest tube of paint not only because he is just an infant and regarded with the least ranking and power in the community, but also because he has the power of foresight, due to his pale eyes.
This poem was written in reference to the Giver, and I hope my readers enjoy it! :)

"I'm starving!" My sister announced as she entered the living room. I stared up at her, my mind stlil whirling madly within, clutching the Giver in my hand as though it was a lifebuoy.
I glowered at her, the intruder, but inside I thought of the phrase "Precision of language."
Hadn't Jonas said the exact same thing before being reprimanded by an Elder for "imprecision of language?"
"Exaggeration. Imprecision of language," said the sly voice inside my head which always came out every time I showed signs of weakness.
I stared blankly at the cover of the book, shocked at what I had just finished reading. My bad habit of reading incessantly, greedily and hungrily had led to a throbbing, dull ache at the back of my head which I quelled by getting up to have dinner.
Even through dinner, I was unable to dismember the thread of my thoughts. It always strayed to jonas and the Giver. When I had read the Giver, the first person I thought of was the Giver himself, but even as I helped myself to food, my thoughts strayed to Jonas. I mean, he was a Giver himself, wasn't he, by giving memories to Gabe?
After dinner, my mother sat on the couch, her head drooping over a book. She looked worn and weary.
As a teacher, my mother's working hours were regular, but she got home looking worn and exhausted every day, which made me wonder if she was dealing with hooligans instead of students.
Looking at her somehow reminded me of Jonas's mother.
Both of them were mothers. Yet, why were they so different?
Maybe it's because of the blood ties, I decided.
Over the years I learnt more and more about cherishing what I have. That was the reason why I felt so disturbed and sad after reading the Giver. One thing I cherished the most was having parents. Jonas's mother was not Jonas's real mother. This fact would stun ANYBODY in real life, but in the community featured in the Giver, it was just a normal, common thing. Jonas's real mother was probably a Birth Mother who was already among the Old. Thinking about the fact that Jonas had never known his biological mother made my heart throb with pain and pity.
This made me wonder what I would do if my parents were not around anymore.
I would definitely not be able to smile again. There would be no need to speak about even being strong, or loving my so-called parents.
I flipped on the television, which was turned to a documentary channel, featuring elephants.
I watched, horror piling dully up inside me, as the elephants were gored to death, on the ground, the grass a horrible mass of blood.
My thoughts flitted unwillingly to Jonas and the war scene. Lois Lowry's language was rich enough to allow me to form a visual image of the scene itself.
The elephants on TV were a horrible sight to behold. It was difficult, terrible, even, to decide whith was worse--the elephants, which were lying motionlessly in that large pool of blood on the ground, or the workers, who were tearing the tusks away from the elephants brutally with an air of detachedness, as though they did this every single day.
I shied my eyes away from the television, my hands groping wildly for the remote control, but yet, my gaze refused to shift away from the horrible sight. Remaining glued to the television, it refused to leave.
I watched, repulsed and angry, as the workers yelled to each other in a foreign language I never knew and would never learn. The speaker's cool, calm and detached voice flooded over the trumpet call of an elephant emerging through the trees, but it could not cover nor mask the agony and pain twisting through that trumpet call as the elephant surveyed its family member on the ground.
I didn't know if elephants could cry, and I didn't wish to find out. I watched numbly as a KFC advertisement jingled its way onto the television set, before allowing my gaze to fall on the book lying limply on the table.
"Stop thinking about the book," I told myself sternly.
"Jie jie, is that your book? I wanna read it!" My sister's whiny voice was always more than enough to pull people out of their deepest daydreams and reveries.
"Is it good?"
I saw her earnest expression, filled with curiosity and eagerness. To my utmost surprise, I foudn my mouth moving to form the word "Yes."

As I tucked myself in, staring dully at the ceiling, I felt that my saying that the Giver was "good" was an understatement.
It was glorious.
Much as it encompassed pain, sadness and sameness, it was a beautiful, moving book, which made me think in the shoes of the characters, like how Jonas felt, or even how his parents felt.
It made me think, more than I had ever done after reading a book, Harry Potter, of course, excluded.
The Giver and Harry Potter had made me think about things at such a depth that even I myself feel surprised.
I suppose and like to think that I think about the Giver in such depth not just because of marks, or the blog project or class discussions, but because like I like it, as well.

As he continued to watch, the newchild, no longer crying, moved his arms and legs in a jerking motion. Then he went limp. His head fell to the side, his eyes half open. Then he was still.
With an odd, shocked feeling, Jonas recognised the gestures and posture and expression. They were familiar. He had seen them before. But he couldn't remember where.
Jonas stared at the screen, waiting for something to happen. But nothing did. The little twin lay motionless. HIs father was putting things away. Folding the blanket. Closing the cupboard. Once again, as he had on the playing field, he felt the choking sensation. Once again he saw the face of the light-haired, bloodied soldier as life left his eyes. The memory came back. He killed it! My father killed it! Jonas said to himself, stunned at what he was realising. He continued to stare at the screen numbly.
His father tidied the room. Then he picked up a small carton that lay waiting on the floor, set it on the bed, and lifted the limp body into it. He placed the lid on tightly.
He picked up the carton and carried it to the other side of the room. He opened a small door in the wall; Jonas could see darkness behind the door. It seemed to be the same sort of chute into which the trash was deposited at school.
His father loaded the carton containing the body into the chute and gave it a shove.
"Bye-bye, little guy," Jonas heard his father say before he left the room. Then the screen went blank.
The Giver turned to him. Quite calmly, he related, "When the Speaker notified me that Rosemary had applied for Release, they turned on the tape to show me the process. There she was--my last glimpse of that beautiful child--waiting. They brought in the syringe and asked her to roll up her sleeve.
"You suggested, Jonas, that perhaps she wasn't brave enough? I don't know about bravery: what it is, what it means. I do know that I sat here numb with horror. Wretched with helplessness. And I listened as Rosemary told them that she would prefer to inject herself.
Then she did so. I didn't watch. I looked away."
The Giver turned to him.
"Well, there you are, Jonas. You were wondering about release," he said in a bitter voice.
Jonas felt a ripping sensation inside himself, the feeling of terrible pain clawing its way forward to emerge in a cry.

This extract was on Jonas's reaction during and after watching the release by his father of a twin. Before that, he thought it was a very free and good thing to be released, and that his father was a good, kind man who loved the babies he dealt with, knew what he was doing, and didn't lie to him.
Little did Jonas know that his father was responsible for killing the babies and people, for Release actually meant death. Jonas realised the truth and felt terrible in the above extract, and felt furious with his father for doing that.
However, the reason for Release and the act of Releasing, were brought about by one thing--ignorance. Because of ignorance, the people, including Jonas's father and Jonas himself, believed that to be Released was a good thing, for the people to be set free after a long, full life. From here, however, we can see that ignorance is destructive, and highly, at that.
Ignorance was seen in other parts of the book as well. The people in the community were ignorant of the memories the world once had. Because of this ignorance, they needed The Giver and Jonas to assist them by helping them to contain and bear the memories all by themselves. That was the reason behind the whole idea and need for a Giver.
Ignorance is one of the largest themes in the Giver, and that is why I chose this extract, as it not only shows the delusions and ignorance of the people, but also the reactions and feelings of the people who actually managed to discover the truth. This book also makes us wonder: Which is worse, the truth, or lies?
After reading this extract, I finally thought to myself, "So that's what Release is." Then after that, I felt so sorry for the people in the book: the people who died, and the people who were still living in ignorance about the things going around them.
I feel really glad that our world isn't like the one portrayed in the Giver or the Handmaid's tale, thankfully, and I hope it remains like this.

"Father? Mother?" Jonas asked tentatively after the evening meal. "I have a question to ask you."
"What is it, Jonas?" his father asked.
He made himself say the words, though he felt flushed with embarrassment. He had rehearsed them in his mind all the way home from the Annex.
"Do you love me?"
There was awkward silence for a moment. Then Father gave a little chuckle. "Jonas. You of all people. Precision of language, please!"
"What do you mean?" Jonas asked. Amusement was not at all what he had anticipated.
"Your father means that you used a very generalised word, so meaningless that it's become almost obsolete," his mother explained carefully.
Jonas stared at them. Meaningless? He had never before felt anything as meaningful as the memory.
"And of course our community can't function smoothly if people don't use precise language. YOu could ask, 'Do you enjoy me?' The answer is 'Yes,'" his mother said.
"Or," his father suggested, "Do you take pride in my accomplishments?' And the answer is wholeheartedly 'Yes'."
"Do you understand why it's inappropriate to use a word like 'love'?" Mother asked.
Jonas nodded. "Yes, thank you, I do," he replied slowly.
It was his first lie to his parents.



Reflections
After reading this extract, I really felt a mixture of emotions--pity, shock and much more, but the most I felt was pity. I was really moved. We often take our parents' love for granted, thinking that it is natural and that we deserve it, in some way. In The Giver, however, the children do not receive love from their parents. Instead, they receive things like recognition, pride, even enjoyment; anything, but love.
Afte reading this I not only felt sorry for Jonas, but also for people like Asher and Fiona as well. This way of living in a world devoid of any feelings like love was extremely cruel, not only toward the children, but also toward the parents. From this I deduced that the parents the children were living with were actually not their real parents. Even if they were, however, there was a strong sense of distance. Homes were referred to as "family dwellings" in the Giver, and words like love were considered as inappropriate, or vague. The most heart-wrenching part about this entire thing was that Jonas and the Giver were the only people who were exposed and actually knew love. The community might have been under the impression that upon removing things like familial and parental love, forcing people to have sameness would keep the people safe, and everyone would live in peace; but they were wrong in removing such things, as that only made the people live in ignorance their whole lives, about the power of familial love.
The people in the community just felt it was a way of life, and felt that the absence of love was not really a big deal.
After reading this extract, I felt a large surge of appreciation toward my family and parents, especially. Our world may not be as peaceful, controlled or as safe as the world portrayed in the Giver, but at least we have things like snow, colour, laughter and music, which are actually part of our lives without us knowing it. Therefore, from this extract I learned and understood a lot, and that's why I chose to post it on my blog.
I hope my readers will enjoy the extract or book as much as I have, appreciate our world, and feel thankful that it is not the so-called Utopia portrayed in the Giver, as the more people try to construct their own Utopia, the more dis-Utopian it turns out to be.

Alysia

Labels: Love