My visit to the Vietnam Memorial and 9/11 Memorial were very emotional for me. Particularly the Vietnam Memorial. The Vietnam Memorial felt more personal to me. Unlike the 9/11 Memorial, where the names of the dead were displayed for everyone to see, the Vietnam Memorial included names as well as letters written by the soldiers. Those excerpts from those letters helped me see them as human beings, as someone to whom I could relate. It made me think what their lives were like in Vietnam, always on the alert, knowing they could die at any moment. The 9/11 Memorial on the other hand, although extremely tragic, was more impersonal to me, maybe because I never lost anyone in the attack, or because I was never in the country at the time.

Another reason the Vietnam Memorial had a greater emotional impact on me was because of its isolation. The 9/11 Memorial as turned into a tourist spot. I saw far too many people taking “selfies” and striking ridiculous poses at so solemn a site. It was disrespectful. Therefore, It was hard to become emotionally connected to that place. The Vietnam Memorial, on the other hand, was far removed from the more traditional tourist locations. Our class made up the majority of the visitors at that time. Being that it was so empty, I had no problem being emotionally invested at that place.

All in all, I enjoyed my visit to both sites. By enjoy I don’t mean I had a jolly good time. I enjoyed it in the sense that I was able to appreciate the location, and the people being remembered at both sites. Visiting both those sites, I felt overwhelmed by what had happened, both on U.S. soil, and on Vietnamese soil.

My visit to the Metropolitan Opera House, to watch Shakespeare’s “Mid Summer Night’s Dream”, was very unique, perhaps more so than others’. Primarily, I was late to the Opera House. Yes, I was late. Because I was late, I wasn’t allowed to enter the opera until intermission, which was in a hour. Disappointed, I was led to the viewing room, a small theater like room fitted with a projector to display the ongoing opera, filled with other likely late performance goers. Watching the opera from the viewing room was a nightmare. The camera that was pointed towards the stage was angled from up high, instead of a full frontal view. This way, I wasn’t able to see the performers well, only hear them. Apart from being visually terrible, the room’s audio was just as terrible. The wonderful performance wasn’t nearly as audible as watching the performance live. The viewing room felt more as a punishment than an alternate viewing experience. I couldn’t wait to jet out of there.

I really, and truly started to enjoy the opera after the intermission, when I was able to enter the theater. Honestly, I wan’t expecting to be so enthused about the performance. I once so a different adaptation of the same play in high school, and I was left confused. However, this performance was much better than the last one. The performers were very talented and comedic, and I was left in stitches at the end. The only negative aspects about the performance were the costumes, and the sets. The sets weren’t as extravagant as the ones in operas I’ve previously seen. The costumes were confusing as well. For example, the performers in the play within a play were dressed in more modern clothing than the main characters.

Overall, the trip was a wonderful experience. After watching many operas on high school projectors, actually visiting an opera house was a refreshing change.

My visit to the ICP was an eye-opening experience. The picture that really affected me was one capture by Zoe Strauss, titled “Two Women”. This picture depicted two women, probably mother and daughter. When I looked closely at the photograph, I saw scars on the mother’s arm, and what looked liked the fading evidence of a black eye on her right eye. Turning towards the daughter, I faintly saw yellow bags of skin under her eyes, which I realized to be the signs of malnutrition and lack of sleep. In other words, these women have been abused. What really struck me about this photograph was that my own mother, and her mother, my grandmother, had also been abused decades ago. My mom would tell me stories about the abuse she and her mother got from my grandfather, and I was never able to imagine what it must have been like. However, looking at this picture of two battered women, I was flooded by emotions; some sadness, but mostly anger. Prior to this momen, I have never been so affected by art, any art, because I was always able to distance myself from it. But not this time. No matter how much I tried, I kept getting pulled into it until I finally let myself be captured by it. Zoe Strauss has done an amazing job with this exhibit.

The Juilliard Jazz Quartet was the first musical band of any genre that I have seen live. So, in a sense, my concert virginity was taken from me.

First of all, I wan’t completely sold on the idea of Jazz. I had never listened to jazz, and didn’t know of any one who did. The only experience I had with Jazz was listening to my high school jazz band., and that wasn’t a great experience. Therefore, I was apprehensive when attending the Jazz Concert, unsure of my reaction to the performance.

The Juilliard Jazz Quartet blew my mind. These guys, probably some the best in the country, were  unbelievable. I especially enjoyed Ron Blake’s composition, “Ah, Rio”. The piece had a smoothness to it that I couldn’t seem to find in any other piece. However, there were moments during the concert where I felt the music was choppy, and out of sync. Maybe it was because of my inexperience with Jazz music. While I was listening to the concert, I would sometimes close my eyes, in my attempt to experience jazz in a new sense. I felt that with my eyes closed, I was able to hear the music as a cohesive unit, with no one instrument capturing my attention more than the other, than when I listened with my eyes opened, at which point my focus would land directly on Ron Blake and his saxophone.

Macaulay’s Night at the Museum was an experience unlike any other. This was my second visit to the Brooklyn Museum, the first being with my high school senior class. The latter trip was much more knowledgeable or more enriching than the former.

Visiting a museum is supposed to enlighten oneself. This is never the case for high school students, or students overall in that matter. A visit to the museum is just a time to get out of the classroom, hang out with friends, without many of the constraints placed upon them by their instructors. A school trip to the museum entails a more cursory glance at the art pieces, stopping at one for a couple of minutes, and simply “oooing” and “ahhing” at the pieces, without understanding, or trying to understand the piece.  Simply put, no one really cares about the pieces in front them.

This was not so at Night at the Museum. The over 500 Macaulay students that gathered at the Museum were there with a purpose: to thoroughly examine any piece of art they liked and discuss it. With  specific goal, I along with my group went on a hunt for pieces of art that peaked our interest. In this way, our eyes opened to the art in front of us, making us really look at what was in front of us. After thorough examination of three pieces of art we liked, we got into an intense analyses of the art, sometimes even digging into the artist’s intent in painting the work. Looking around, I could see everyone else doing the same. This was something that I had never experienced before.