Analysis Of Albert Camuss The Stranger - 1070 Words

â€Å"The Stranger† by Albert Camus is a thought provoking novel that questions morality, society, justice, religion, and individuality. Camus creates a man that goes against society’s idea of the â€Å"normal† moral standards, making Meursault a stranger in his world. Meursault’s lack of emotion and sympathy towards others is what makes this novel so intriguing. The morbidity expressed by his character makes the book hard to read but also difficult to put down. A majority of people today as well as in Meursault’s time know that lying is wrong, but it is better than dying as a consequence of one’s actions. However, Camus creates a man that is a foil to this idea, and Meursault is made an outsider due to his difference in moral standards, bringing†¦show more content†¦This realization demonstrates the lack of control that people have over time, and by association, death. The reader assumes that since Salamano and his dog grow old together, they may die together. Close to Meursault’s execution, the chaplain asks, â€Å"But if you don’t die today, you’ll die tomorrow, or the next day. And then the same question will arise. How will you face that terrifying ordeal?† (Camus 117). Death, unpredictable and uncontrollable, will occur when it wishes, and through his indifference to time, Meursault asserts that getting upset over something known to be inevitable provides as useless. Meursault doesn’t care about anything enough to stay alive. The question is brought up: Is he depressed? He can’t be, because if he were, then he would have to care about something enough to be depressed about it. We’ve all had periods in life where we’ve felt down and didn’t care one way or the other for the world around us, but the degree of Meursault’s view on life is extreme. He feels nothing for anyone, not even himself. The inability to feel, care, and remorse is not relatable and is inhumane to the normal society. The reader can’t help but try to understand some of the reasoning he has because it is so obscure to us. The meaninglessness he feels towards one’s actions draws the reader’s interest, causing us to be more understanding of Meursault’s morbid perspective on life. The message brilliantly conveyed by Camus makes sense and holds weight. The story is aShow MoreRelatedAnalysis Of Albert Camuss The Stran ger1027 Words   |  5 PagesIn The Stranger, the admirable short novel translated in English, Albert Camus expresses the tragedy of integrity as a modern man can sense it. Meursault, the protagonist, projects Camus philosophy of absurdism, an extension of existentialism, by exploring the seemingly random meaninglessness of life. Thus, Mersalt is the epitome of a absurd man and acts accordingly throughout the progression of the novel. The story is centered around three deaths: that of his mother, the arab, and his own. In eachRead MoreLiterary Analysis: How Meursault Is Indifferent in the Stranger, by Albert Camus874 Words   |  4 PagesLiterary analysis: How Meursault is indifferent in The Stranger, by Albert Camus Although Meursault is the title character and narrator of Albert Camus’ short novel The Stranger, he is also a somewhat flat character. His apparent indifferent demeanor may be a convenience to Camus, who mainly wanted to display his ideas of absurdism. And as a flat character, Meursault is not fully delineated: he lacks deep thought and significant change. His purpose is that of a first-person narrator whose actionsRead MoreHuman Relations in Camus Novel, The Outsider, from an Existentialist View2123 Words   |  9 Pagesmovements across time. The human relations with God, love, society, death etc†¦ are relations that human make to live his life. I study in this paper the human relations in The Outsider novel by Albert Camus from an existentialist view. I want to study Meursault relations who is the main character in Albert Camus’s novel The Outsider , Meursault is being executed because he kills an arab person, but the main reason is that he does not cry at hi s mother’ funeral and lives his life as there is nothingRead MoreThe Individual Versus His Environment in The Stranger and Grendel1674 Words   |  7 Pages The Individual Versus His Environment in The Stranger and Grendel Due to the multifaceted nature of literature, analysis thereof is prone to generalization. One of the most grievous generalizations oft encountered involves failing to distinguish between a character and the novel it inhabits. Take John Gardener’s Grendel and Albert Camus’s The Stranger, for instance. It’s far too easy, when analyzing for dominant ideologies, to slap them both with the label of existentialism and be done withRead MoreLiterary Analysis Of The Stranger 2900 Words   |  12 Pages Curtis Poindexter Professor Slattum English M01B 11 December 2014 Literary Analysis: The Stranger The novel The Stranger is a first-person account of the life of M. Meursault from the time of his mother s death up to a time evidently just before his execution for the murder of an Arab. It was written by Albert Camus in 1942. Meursault however, is not your typical hero of a story; rather an antihero. He is neither good nor bad, and harbors no emotion. He goes through his life with a preconceived

The Lost Symbol Chapter 62-66 Free Essays

CHAPTER 62 I’m under Second Street. Langdon’s eyes remained tightly shut as the conveyor rumbled through the darkness toward the Adams Building. He did his best not to picture the tons of earth overhead and the narrow tube through which he was now traveling. We will write a custom essay sample on The Lost Symbol Chapter 62-66 or any similar topic only for you Order Now He could hear Katherine breathing several yards ahead of him, but so far, she had not uttered a word. She’s in shock. Langdon was not looking forward to telling her about her brother’s severed hand. You have to, Robert. She needs to know. â€Å"Katherine?† Langdon finally said, without opening his eyes. â€Å"Are you okay?† A tremulous, disembodied voice replied somewhere up ahead. â€Å"Robert, the pyramid you’re carrying. It’s Peter’s, isn’t it?† â€Å"Yes,† Langdon replied. A long silence followed. â€Å"I think . . . that pyramid is why my mother was murdered.† Langdon was well aware that Isabel Solomon had been murdered ten years ago, but he didn’t know the details, and Peter had never mentioned anything about a pyramid. â€Å"What are you talking about?† Katherine’s voice filled with emotion as she recounted the harrowing events of that night, how the tattooed man had broken into their estate. â€Å"It was a long time ago, but I’ll never forget that he demanded a pyramid. He said he heard about the pyramid in prison, from my nephew, Zachary . . . right before he killed him.† Langdon listened in amazement. The tragedy within the Solomon family was almost beyond belief. Katherine continued, telling Langdon that she had always believed the intruder was killed that night . . . that is, until this same man had resurfaced today, posing as Peter’s psychiatrist and luring Katherine to his home. â€Å"He knew private things about my brother, my mother’s death, and even my work,† she said anxiously, â€Å"things he could only have learned from my brother. And so I trusted him . . . and that’s how he got inside the Smithsonian Museum Support Center.† Katherine took a deep breath and told Langdon she was nearly certain the man had destroyed her lab tonight. Langdon listened in utter shock. For several moments, the two of them lay together in silence on the moving conveyor. Langdon knew he had an obligation to share with Katherine the rest of tonight’s terrible news. He began slowly, and as gently as he possibly could he told her how her brother had entrusted him with a small package years earlier, how Langdon had been tricked into bringing this package to Washington tonight, and finally, about her brother’s hand having been found in the Rotunda of the Capitol Building. Katherine’s reaction was deafening silence. Langdon could tell she was reeling, and he wished he could reach out and comfort her, but lying end to end in the narrow blackness made it impossible. â€Å"Peter’s okay,† he whispered. â€Å"He’s alive, and we’ll get him back.† Langdon tried to give her hope. â€Å"Katherine, his captor promised me your brother would be returned alive . . . as long as I decipher the pyramid for him.† Still Katherine said nothing. Langdon kept talking. He told her about the stone pyramid, its Masonic cipher, the sealed capstone, and, of course, about Bellamy’s claims that this pyramid was in fact the Masonic Pyramid of legend . . . a map that revealed the hiding place of a long spiral staircase that led deep into the earth . . . down hundreds of feet to a mystical ancient treasure that had been buried in Washington long ago. Katherine finally spoke, but her voice was flat and emotionless. â€Å"Robert, open your eyes.† Open my eyes? Langdon had no desire to have even the slightest glimpse of how cramped this space really was. â€Å"Robert!† Katherine demanded, urgently now. â€Å"Open your eyes! We’re here!† Langdon’s eyes flew open as his body emerged through an opening similar to the one it had entered at the other end. Katherine was already climbing off the conveyor belt. She lifted his daybag off the belt as Langdon swung his legs over the edge and jumped down onto the tile floor just in time, before the conveyor turned the corner and headed back the way it came. The space around them was a circulation room much like the one they had come from in the other building. A small sign read ADAMS BUILDING: CIRCULATION ROOM 3. Langdon felt like he had just emerged from some kind of subterranean birth canal. Born again. He turned immediately to Katherine. â€Å"Are you okay?† Her eyes were red, and she had obviously been crying, but she nodded with a resolute stoicism. She picked up Langdon’s daybag and carried it across the room without a word, setting it on a cluttered desk. She lit the desk’s halogen clamp lamp, unzipped the bag, folded down the sides, and peered inside. The granite pyramid looked almost austere in the clean halogen light. Katherine ran her fingers over the engraved Masonic cipher, and Langdon sensed deep emotion churning within her. Slowly, she reached into the daybag and pulled out the cube-shaped package. She held it under the light, examining it closely. â€Å"As you can see,† Langdon quietly said, â€Å"the wax seal is embossed with Peter’s Masonic ring. He said this ring was used to seal the package more than a century ago.† Katherine said nothing. â€Å"When your brother entrusted the package to me,† Langdon told her, â€Å"he said it would give me the power to create order out of chaos. I’m not entirely sure what that means, but I’ve got to assume the capstone reveals something important, because Peter was insistent that it not fall into the wrong hands. Mr. Bellamy just told me the same thing, urging me to hide the pyramid and not let anyone open the package.† Katherine turned now, looking angry. â€Å"Bellamy told you not to open the package?† â€Å"Yes. He was adamant.† Katherine looked incredulous. â€Å"But you said this capstone is the only way we can decipher the pyramid, right?† â€Å"Probably, yes.† Katherine’s voice was rising now. â€Å"And you said deciphering the pyramid is what you were told to do. It’s the only way we can get Peter back, right?† Langdon nodded. â€Å"Then, Robert, why wouldn’t we open the package and decipher this thing right now?!† Langdon didn’t know how to respond. â€Å"Katherine, I had the same exact reaction, and yet Bellamy told me that keeping this pyramid’s secret intact was more important than anything . . . including your brother’s life.† Katherine’s pretty features hardened, and she tucked a wisp of hair behind her ears. When she spoke, her voice was resolved. â€Å"This stone pyramid, whatever it is, has cost me my entire family. First my nephew, Zachary, then my mother, and now my brother.And let’s face it, Robert, if you hadn’t called tonight to warn me . . .† Langdon could feel himself trapped between Katherine’s logic and Bellamy’s steadfast urging. â€Å"I may be a scientist,† she said, â€Å"but I also come from a family of well-known Masons. Believe me, I’ve heard all the stories about the Masonic Pyramid and its promise of some great treasure that will enlighten mankind. Honestly, I find it hard to imagine such a thing exists. However, if it does exist . . . perhaps it’s time to unveil it.† Katherine slid a finger beneath the old twine on the package. Langdon jumped. â€Å"Katherine, no! Wait!† She paused, but her finger remained beneath the string. â€Å"Robert, I’m not going to let my brother die for this. Whatever this capstone says . . . whatever lost treasures this engraving might reveal . . . those secrets end tonight.† With that, Katherine yanked defiantly on the twine, and the brittle wax seal exploded. CHAPTER 63 In a quiet neighborhood just west of Embassy Row in Washington, there exists a medieval-style walled garden whose roses, it is said, spring from twelfth-century plants. The garden’s Carderock gazebo–known as Shadow House–sits elegantly amid meandering pathways of stones dug from George Washington’s private quarry. Tonight the silence of the gardens was broken by a young man who rushed through the wooden gate, shouting as he came. â€Å"Hello?† he called out, straining to see in the moonlight. â€Å"Are you in here?† The voice that replied was frail, barely audible. â€Å"In the gazebo . . . just taking some air.† The young man found his withered superior seated on the stone bench beneath a blanket. The hunched old man was tiny, with elfin features. The years had bent him in two and stolen his eyesight, but his soul remained a force to be reckoned with. Catching his breath, the young man told him, â€Å"I just . . . took a call . . . from your friend . . . Warren Bellamy.† â€Å"Oh?† The old man perked up. â€Å"About what?† â€Å"He didn’t say, but he sounded like he was in a big hurry. He told me he left you a message on your voice mail, which you need to listen to right away.† â€Å"That’s all he said?† â€Å"Not quite.† The young man paused. â€Å"He told me to ask you a question.† A very strange question. â€Å"He said he needed your response right away.† The old man leaned closer. â€Å"What question?† As the young man spoke Mr. Bellamy’s question, the pall that crossed the old man’s face was visible even in the moonlight. Immediately, he threw off his blanket and began struggling to his feet. â€Å"Please help me inside. Right away.† CHAPTER 64 No more secrets, thought Katherine Solomon. On the table in front of her, the wax seal that had been intact for generations now lay in pieces. She finished removing the faded brown paper from her brother’s precious package. Beside her, Langdon looked decidedly uneasy. From within the paper, Katherine extracted a small box made of gray stone. Resembling a polished granite cube, the box had no hinges, no latch, and no apparent way inside. It reminded Katherine of a Chinese puzzle box. â€Å"It looks like a solid block,† she said, running her fingers over the edges. â€Å"Are you sure the X- ray showed it was hollow? With a capstone inside?† â€Å"It did,† Langdon said, moving next to Katherine and scrutinizing the mysterious box. He and Katherine peered at the box from different angles, attempting to find a way in. â€Å"Got it,† Katherine said as her fingernail located the hidden slit along one of the box’s top edges. She set the box down on the desk and then carefully pried open the lid, which rose smoothly, like the top of a fine jewelry box. When the lid fell back, Langdon and Katherine both drew audible breaths. The interior of the box seemed to be glowing. The inside was shining with an almost supernatural effulgence. Katherine had never seen a piece of gold this large, and it took her an instant to realize that the precious metal was simply reflecting the radiance of the desk lamp. â€Å"It’s spectacular,† she whispered. Despite being sealed in a dark stone cube for over a century, the capstone had not faded or tarnished in any way. Gold resists the entropic laws of decay; that’s one of the reasons the ancients considered it magical. Katherine felt her pulse quicken as she leaned forward, peering down over the small golden point. â€Å"There’s an inscription.† Langdon moved closer, their shoulders now touching. His blue eyes flashed with curiosity. He had told Katherine about the ancient Greek practice of creating a symbolon–a code broken into parts–and how this capstone, long separated from the pyramid itself, would hold the key to deciphering the pyramid. Allegedly, this inscription, whatever it said, would bring order from this chaos. Katherine held the little box up to the light and peered straight down over the capstone. Though small, the inscription was perfectly visible–a small bit of elegantly engraved text on the face of one side. Katherine read the six simple words. Then she read them again. â€Å"No!† she declared. â€Å"That can’t be what it says!† Across the street, Director Sato hurried up the long walkway outside the Capitol Building toward her rendezvous point on First Street. The update from her field team had been unacceptable. No Langdon. No pyramid. No capstone. Bellamy was in custody, but he was not telling them the truth. At least not yet. I’ll make him talk. She glanced back over her shoulder at one of Washington’s newest vistas–the Capitol Dome framed above the new visitor center. The illuminated dome only accentuated the significance of what was truly at stake tonight. Dangerous times. Sato was relieved to hear her cell phone ring and see her analyst’s ID on the screen. â€Å"Nola,† Sato answered. â€Å"What have you got?† Nola Kaye gave her the bad news. The X-ray of the capstone’s inscription was too faint to read, and the image-enhancing filters had not helped. Shit. Sato chewed at her lip. â€Å"How about the sixteen-letter grid?† â€Å"I’m still trying,† Nola said, â€Å"but so far I’ve found no secondary encryption scheme that’s applicable. I’ve got a computer reshuffling the letters in the grid and looking for anything identifiable, but there are over twenty trillion possibilities.† â€Å"Stay on it. Let me know.† Sato hung up, scowling. Her hopes of deciphering the pyramid using only a photograph and X-ray were fading fast. I need that pyramid and capstone . . . and I’m running out of time. Sato arrived at First Street just as a black Escalade SUV with dark windows roared across the double yellow and skidded to a stop in front of her at their rendezvous point. A lone agent got out. â€Å"Any word yet on Langdon?† Sato demanded. â€Å"Confidence is high,† the man said, emotionless. â€Å"Backup just arrived. All library exits are surrounded. We even have air support coming in. We’ll flush him with tear gas, and he’ll have nowhere to run.† â€Å"And Bellamy?† â€Å"Tied up in the backseat.† Good. Her shoulder was still smarting. The agent handed Sato a plastic Ziploc bag containing cell phone, keys, and wallet. â€Å"Bellamy’s effects.† â€Å"Nothing else?† â€Å"No, ma’am. The pyramid and package must still be with Langdon.† â€Å"Okay,† Sato said. â€Å"Bellamy knows plenty he’s not telling. I’d like to question him personally.† â€Å"Yes, ma’am. To Langley, then?† Sato took a deep breath and paced a moment beside the SUV. Strict protocols governed the interrogation of U.S. civilians, and questioning Bellamy was highly illegal unless it was done at Langley on video with witnesses, attorneys, blah, blah, blah . . . â€Å"Not Langley,† she said, trying to think of somewhere closer. And more private. The agent said nothing, standing at attention beside the idling SUV, waiting for orders. Sato lit a cigarette, took a long drag, and gazed down at the Ziploc bag of Bellamy’s items. His key ring, she had noticed, included an electronic fob adorned with four letters–USBG. Sato knew, of course, which government building this fob accessed. The building was very close and, at this hour, very private. She smiled and pocketed the fob. Perfect. When she told the agent where she wanted to take Bellamy, she expected the man to look surprised, but he simply nodded and opened the passenger door for her, his cold stare revealing nothing. Sato loved professionals. Langdon stood in the basement of the Adams Building and stared in disbelief at the elegantly inscribed words on the face of the golden capstone. That’s all it says? Beside him, Katherine held the capstone under the light and shook her head. â€Å"There’s got to be more,† she insisted, sounding cheated. â€Å"This is what my brother has been protecting all these years?† Langdon had to admit he was mystified. According to Peter and Bellamy, this capstone was supposed to help them decipher the stone pyramid. In light of those claims, Langdon had expected something illuminating and helpful. More like obvious and useless. Once again, he read the six words delicately inscribed on the face of the capstone. The secret hides within The Order The secret hides within The Order? At first glance, the inscription appeared to be stating the obvious–that the letters on the pyramid were out of â€Å"order† and that their secret lay in finding their proper sequence. This reading, however, in addition to being self-evident, seemed unlikely for another reason. â€Å"The words the and order are capitalized,† Langdon said. Katherine nodded blankly. â€Å"I saw that.† The secret hides within The Order. Langdon could think of only one logical implication. † `The Order’ must be referencing the Masonic Order.† â€Å"I agree,† Katherine said, â€Å"but it’s still no help. It tells us nothing.† Langdon had to concur. After all, the entire story of the Masonic Pyramid revolved around a secret hidden within the Masonic Order. â€Å"Robert, didn’t my brother tell you this capstone would give you power to see order where others saw only chaos?† He nodded in frustration. For the second time tonight, Robert Langdon was feeling unworthy. CHAPTER 65 Once Mal’akh had finished dealing with his unexpected visitor–a female security guard from Preferred Security–he fixed the paint on the window through which she had glimpsed his sacred work space. Now, ascending out of the soft blue haze of the basement, he emerged through a hidden doorway into his living room. Inside, he paused, admiring his spectacular painting of the Three Graces and savoring the familiar smells and sounds of his home. Soon I will be leaving forever. Mal’akh knew that after tonight he would be unable to return to this place. After tonight, he thought, smiling, I will have no need for this place. He wondered if Robert Langdon yet understood the true power of the pyramid . . . or the importance of the role for which fate had chosen him. Langdon has yet to call me, Mal’akh thought, after double-checking for messages on his disposable phone. It was now 10:02 P.M. He has less than two hours. Mal’akh went upstairs to his Italian-marble bathroom and turned on the steam shower to let it heat up. Methodically, he stripped off his clothes, eager to begin his cleansing ritual. He drank two glasses of water to calm his starving stomach. Then he walked to the full-length mirror and studied his naked body. His two days of fasting had accentuated his musculature, and he could not help but admire that which he had become. By dawn, I will be so much more. CHAPTER 66 â€Å"We should get out of here,† Langdon said to Katherine. â€Å"It’s only a matter of time before they figure out where we are.† He hoped Bellamy had managed to escape. Katherine still seemed fixated on the gold capstone, looking incredulous that the inscription was so unhelpful. She had taken the capstone out of the box, examined every side, and was now carefully putting it back in the box. The secret hides within The Order, Langdon thought. Big help. Langdon found himself wondering now if perhaps Peter had been misinformed about the contents of the box. This pyramid and capstone had been created long before Peter was born, and Peter was simply doing as his forefathers had told him, keeping a secret that was probably as much a mystery to him as it was to Langdon and Katherine. What did I expect? Langdon wondered. The more he learned tonight about the Legend of the Masonic Pyramid, the less plausible it all seemed. I’m searching for a hidden spiral staircase covered by a huge stone? Something told Langdon he was chasing shadows. Nonetheless, deciphering this pyramid seemed his best chance at saving Peter. â€Å"Robert, does the year 1514 mean anything to you?† Fifteen-fourteen? The question seemed apropos of nothing. Langdon shrugged. â€Å"No. Why?† Katherine handed him the stone box. â€Å"Look. The box is dated. Have a look under the light.† Langdon took a seat at the desk and studied the cube-shaped box beneath the light. Katherine put a soft hand on his shoulder, leaning in to point out the tiny text she had found carved on the exterior of the box, near the bottom corner of one side. â€Å"Fifteen-fourteen A.D.,† she said, pointing into the box. Sure enough, the carving depicted the number 1514, followed by an unusual stylization of the letters A and D. â€Å"This date,† Katherine was saying, sounding suddenly hopeful, â€Å"maybe it’s the link we’re missing? This dated cube looks a lot like a Masonic cornerstone, so maybe it’s pointing to a real cornerstone? Maybe to a building built in 1514 A.D.?† Langdon barely heard her. Fifteen-fourteen A.D. is not a date. The symbol , as any scholar of medieval art would recognize, was a well-known symbature–a symbol used in place of a signature. Many of the early philosophers, artists, and authors signed their work with their own unique symbol or monogram rather than their name. This practice added a mysterious allure to their work and also protected them from persecution should their writings or artwork be deemed counterestablishment. In the case of this symbature, the letters A.D. did not stand for Anno Domini . . . they were German for something else entirely. Langdon instantly saw all the pieces fall into place. Within seconds, he was certain he knew exactly how to decipher the pyramid. â€Å"Katherine, you did it,† he said, packing up. â€Å"That’s all we needed. Let’s go. I’ll explain on the way.† Katherine looked amazed. â€Å"The date 1514 A.D. actually means something to you?† Langdon winked at her and headed for the door. â€Å"A.D. isn’t a date, Katherine. It’s a person.† How to cite The Lost Symbol Chapter 62-66, Essay examples

My 4 Year Journey in Sudan free essay sample

In the 7th grade I made a decision that stripped me of something valuable: a typical high school experience. Instead of spending 7th, 8th, 9th, and 10th grade in the U.S., I traveled to Sudan. My grades from Junior year reflect my prolonged absence. However, I do not regret my decision to travel to Sudan, because I gained something invaluable: a first hand look into a culture and country like none I had ever experienced. It all began the moment I stepped off the plane into the warm dry air of Khartoum, Sudan. I stayed with my grandmother in a small neighborhood, where people knew each other well. The Sudanese teenagers I met were unaware that American movies did not depict normal American life. Sometimes, after a game of soccer, I would tell my new friends stories about America, or explain my previous daily routines. This allowed me to connect with the children, who began to realize that there were more similarities than differences between our lives. We will write a custom essay sample on My 4 Year Journey in Sudan or any similar topic specifically for you Do Not WasteYour Time HIRE WRITER Only 13.90 / page One thing that interests Sudanese kids about America is its music. Knowing English, to the Sudanese boys, meant knowing how to rap. Though I tried explaining that I couldnt rap, they continued to urge me. I ended up singing a couple of verses from â€Å"In Da Club,† by Fifty Cent, a song with which they were familiar. It ended with many cheers and laughter. My experiences were not all so enjoyable. One morning, while walking to school, I came across two boys sleeping beside the road. They were no more than eight years old, yet their malnourished bodies suggested an even younger age. The original colors of their disheveled clothes were no longer distinguishable, as though the clothes had been used to clean out a stove. Flies crawled along their parted lips; the sleeping boys could have been carcasses. Kneeling beside them I dropped my backpack to the dirt, and tried to shoo away the persistent flies. I cried. Things like this were ordinary in the streets of Sudan. I felt ashamed of my clean clothes and sunglasses, of the bed that awaited me in my room, and of the lunch I had in my backpack; these kids had nothing but each other for comfort. The next morning I revisited the spot where I first saw the sleeping boys, but they were gone. I once took life’s luxuries for granted, but after living in Sudan I learned to appreciate things I previously failed to notice. The good times I had with my friends created a bond between us that helped bridge cultural differences and my first hand experience with the orphans made me realize how oblivious I had been to the suffering of others. I wouldn’t trade this experience even if I had the chance to, because it has changed me into a mindful person. My experience in Sudan will be the most helpful asset I use to incorporate mindfulness and awareness in the experiences yet to come; the first of which is college.