Julian Minondo

Attitude

(Insert practice ambience [the buzzing of mosquitoes, the sound of people kicking balls,
shouts])

I gaped, are they for real? The chaos before me seemed exotic and disheartening.
The strange ringing of English in my ears, mixed with heavy September air left me dizzy,
as I struggled to the bench. Head between hands, I observed as people in front of me
clumsily attempted to pass. Thus amidst the shouts, mosquitoes and elementary-grade
soccer my first hour at American boarding school inched away.

At first, I was quite excited for boarding school. I anxiously waited for summers
end, wondering, fantasizing about how school and life would be. I viewed the Abbey as
an escape and an opportunity to plunge into an environment different than my own. I was
confident that amongst the English speakers, I would flourish. But, I underestimated the
power of distance. My home, stayed back when I took off. The leagues between my
family and I, took its toll. My longing for home turned everything rancid, including my
attitude.


I was unhappy. The soccer, the Saturday classes, and my bitterness augmented
my yearning for home. I complained. Never satisfied, I would rant on how miserably
lukewarm the eggs were at the dining hall and how bland, I deemed, my American peers.
I did little to engage anyone. I was unable to develop ties with my dorm mates and
teammates that led to my distaste in them. Outside the classroom, I encapsulated myself,
preferring the blasting Santana of my speakers to conversation.
(Santana music)
Consoled in the idea that I was a fish out of water, a pariah in this school, I made
no effort in nurturing friendships with my peers. I kept to my countrymen; our cries for
the motherland and disdain for the gringos, isolated me. Upon the slightest bump in the
road or head-butt with anyone or anything, I would moan and drag my feet. As I licked
the imaginary wounds my self-pity had created, I lost time.

It was another cold Thursday morning, as I sprinted down to English class, trying
vainly trying to outrun the subzero Narragansett wind.

(howling wind)

As I bustled into class, shaking off the snowflakes that found hospice in my
jackets hood, I took out Moby Dick and Thursday second period started out as usual.

(chatter)
Wed been reading the book for almost two weeks and my original feeling of
dread had subsided. Originally, I approached the great American Epic with a fair share of
hesitance; the two hundred chapters didnt exactly scream excitement. Eerily enough, I
found Moby Dick to be one of the more enjoyable reads of my high school career. That
morning, however, as we dissected a passage from Chapter 94, A squeeze of a Hand,
Melville spoke to me. As I sat there, listening, I couldnt help but feel relief wash over
my body as Ishmaels soliloquy remedied the piercing headache of my petty problems.
I have perceived that in all cases man must eventually lower, or at least shift, his
conceit of the attainable felicity; not placing it anywhere in the intellect or fancy; but in
the wife, the heart, the bed, the table, the saddle, the fire-side, the country it was in
these lines where I found the antidote; the elixir for my wounded spirit (323).
(Rocky music starts playing)
Within this paragraph, I grasped the folly of my attitude. Life in the small things!
How simple. One often stumbles into vines and obstacles one has subconsciously created,
forgetting that happiness lies waiting in the small things. Intoxicated in Melvilles
wisdom, I left English class happy.


Attitude fills the sails with either fair or tempestuous winds. It is attitude that,
during times of storm, pushes the galleon of Life towards safe haven or to a watery grave.
In Moby Dick, Melville reminds the reader that as one navigates through the tumultuous
blue of life, to relish the days of good wind and fair skies, and to seize upon the
excitement of the high seas.
(cheers)
Misery lies in being fooled by hollow mirages, and disregarding what truly
matters. Reflecting back on my sophomore year, I realized how wasteful and destructive
my attitude had been. By narrowing my vision, I failed to take advantage of opportunities
placed before. Melville taught me to see, not the ugliness in the Abbeys soccer, but the
potential it had to offer.
(soccer ambience of the beginning)

Never lowering anchor until my junior year I found, to my surprise, a haven at the
Abbey. Thus the ennui subsided, and the wind picked up.
(wind picking up)



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