Juxtapose me.

I begin my evening by testing the newly-released Pinot noir of a vineyard I regularly purchase.  Like a scientist, I cannot appreciate it until I have a control--mine tonight is a shiraz of the same vineyard.  It is perplexing that I find and taste these opposites.  Their tones compliment each other completely; as the pinot noir introduces itself to the tongue with a broad tone, it bows and disappears among the crowd.  Conversely, the shiraz forgoes any introduction to only make its bold appearance in the middle of the event.  This, (I thank my English teacher for educating me to the definition of the following word, (rock on, Mrs. C)) is my real-life juxtaposition.

The Pinot noir complimented a film excelling in the art of juxtaposing beauty and horror.  I viewed "Cranes are Flying" and note the two most memorable scenes first as the despicable pianist blares an empowered performance against the backdrop of a soulless air raid and, second, as the protagonist discovers the tragic loss of her beloved as her countrymen are gleefully welcomed home.

I extrapolate this to the motif of many recent journal entries made since my college commencement.  I find myself in an exceptional land, one that demands a broken assumption.  My American upbringing mirrors this ideology and my American education enables me to accomplish this.  Yet, I, like any, ultimately face my anonymity.  This is my real-life juxtaposition.  In a land of gold-painted streets, and natural laws defied, "I strive for progress, but when I progress this not, I must push only that which I know--my microcosm."