Critical Thinking Scenario Essay Example for Free

Critical Thinking Scenario Essay Critical thinking is a learned thinking process. Like riding a bicycle, it takes time and effort to learn but once one gets it down, critical thinking can become as natural as breathing. When one applies critical thinking to ethics, the use of these three questions will help in almost any scenario. What are the moral responsibilities that are tied to the issue? Are there conflicts in one’s own moral ideas or obligations with this issue? What is the best outcome that one can achieve to reach one’s goal while keeping with one’s own moral code? In the Internet video, â€Å"To drill or Not to Drill†, Nightline (2004) states that there may be an ethical and environmental issue with drilling in the Midwest but lets the viewer answer the open ended question, should we drill or not drill. With the help of Nightline’s video, we shall put these questions to a test. Moral Responsibility and Moral Failings The first question is what are the moral responsibilities of the participants in this issue? The land to be drill is government land and the â€Å"Bureau of Land Management is responsible for balancing the uses of public lands† (Nightline, 2004). The drillers are morally responsible for the land they lease and the people working in their company. The people living in the area have a responsibility to uphold the environment, their community and homes. The moral failings happen when one does not hold up to their responsibility. In this case, the drillers are not taking care of the land like they should and due to pressure, the Bureau of Land Management is not balancing the use of public land. The people living in the area are trying to uphold their responsibility. Conflicts in Ideas and Obligations Most moral failings are because of a conflict of ideas or obligations, which  leads to question two: Are there conflicts in one’s own moral ideas or obligations with this issue? With the case of the drillers, one assumes that the conflict is in obligations. Nightline did not interview the drillers nor their companies. It is from Nightline’s report that one gets the feeling that they are more concerned with profits then the land or people, when it is reported that there are $20 million in profits from each well but no updated equipment, nor updated disposals for waste. (Nightline, 2004) The moral obligation not to harm should not have to written down in law, but without it, the moral obligation to shareholders has greater sway. Where are the laws and regulations for the land? The Bureau of Land Management is having ethical conflicts of their own. â€Å"The Bush Administration has directed federal land managers to expedite oil and gas development† (Nightline, 2004). This direction causes moral conflict as morally obligated they still have to balance the uses of land but obligations to the family or themselves to keep their job, they have to quickly develop the land. The people living in the area are in conflict between the fairness of the amount leases and the cost to their community and the environment. Best Outcome In question number three, we come to the heart of the issue. What is the best outcome that one can achieve to reach one’s goal while keeping with one’s own moral code? In this case, the best outcome is the Bureau of Land Management to include more regulations and rules for waste disposal for drilling and slow the drilling down, the drillers that are there need to update their equipment and waste disposal for the environment. Both the drillers and land management need to remember that while â€Å"experts have estimated that there’s roughly 20 trillion cubic feet of gas here. That would supply the entire nation’s natural gas needs for about a year.†(Nightline, 2004), they will not be drilling forever. The damage to the environment that they do now will have long term effects on the people and animals in the area. Conclusion In the nightline video, To Drill or Not to Drill, we found an ethical issue with drilling in the Midwest. We used three questions to navigate the  ethical issue and found the best outcome for the issue. The questions we used were, What are the moral responsibilities that are tied to the issue? Are there conflicts in one’s own moral ideas or obligations with this issue? What is the best outcome that one can achieve to reach one’s goal while keeping with one’s own moral code? By applying these three questions, one can use critical thinking to steer though most ethical situations. References Ruggiero, V. (2012). Thinking Critically About Ethical Issues (9th ed.). Retrieved from The University of Phoenix Collection database. Nightline (2004, June 19). To Drill or Not to Drill [Video file]. Retrieved from Pearson website: https://media.pearsoncmg.com/pls/us/phoenix/1269738887/To_Drill_or_Not_to_Drill.html

Children of the Abbey by Roche Essay -- Regina Maria Roche Gothic Genr

The Children of the Abbey as a Hybrid Text Regina Maria Roche’s 1796 The Children of the Abbey is a text that crosses the boundaries of genre: it at once engages with the conventions of the Gothic novel, the pedagogical text, the national tale, the novel of Sensibility, and travel literature. As an Irish-born British woman writing this novel during the politically volatile 1790s, Roche’s historical and temporal location may provide an explanation for her development of this hybrid novel. In its employment of multiple and potentially contradictory genres, The Children of the Abbey may be interpreted as Roche’s reflection of and engagement with the instability of her time. In order to more effectively understand the political and social implications of Roche’s work, it is necessary to disentangle the various literary strands within the novel, identify how each genre functions, and consider the possible reasons why it has been woven into the text. What is Genre? From Literature as Discourse: Textual Strategies in English and History: Genre thus refers to systems of classifications of types of texts. Genre classifications are part of a broader social system of classifications, not all of which use the term 'genre', but which have the same essential characteristics and functions. Genres (or types of texts) are classified in terms of both the semiosic dimension (primarily conditions of production and reception, matching kinds of author and writing to kinds of reader and readings) and the mimetic dimension (primarily what topics, themes or meanings will be included and what will be excluded, and their modality, i.e. how they are understood to relate to the real world). Sometimes the mimetic dimension is emphasized in a definition... ...plicated by â€Å"its actual [inclination] towards emotion that exceeded utility† (89). As Regina Maria Roche’s novel may arguably be connected to both the genre of the pedagogical text as well as to the novel of sensibility, tension may arise in the text as the two potentially-conflicting genres are both engaged with. Hybrid novels, therefore, may provide both clarification as well as confusion in the interpretation they encourage of their readers. Works Cited: Hodge, Robert. Literature as Discourse: Textual Strategies in English and History. Cambridge: Polity Press, 1990. Manning, Susan. "Sensibility." The Cambridge Companion to English Literature, 1740-1830. Eds. Thomas Keymer and Jon Mee. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004. Moynahan, Julian. Anglo-Irish: The Literary Imagination in a Hyphenated Culture. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1995.

Succubus Shadows Chapter 10

I woke to blackness. Blackness and suffocation. I was in a small room, a box really, crammed in so tightly that my arms wrapped around me and my knees were drawn to my chest. Weirdly, my limbs seemed too long. My whole body did, actually. My body changed all the time with shape-shifting, but this wasn't what I'd been wearing with Roman. This was different. For a moment, that horrible space seemed to close in around me. I couldn't breathe. With great effort, I tried to calm myself down. There was enough air. I could breathe. And even if I couldn't have, it wouldn't have mattered. The fear of suffocation was a human instinct. Where was I? I didn't remember anything after the bedroom. I recalled the light and the music and Roman bursting in too late. I'd felt his power build up, like he was about to take action, but I hadn't seen the conclusion. And now, here I was. Before my eyes, two identical luminescent forms suddenly appeared, like torches being lit in the darkness. They were tall and thin, with willowy, androgynous features. Black cloth wrapped around their bodies, seeming to glow with a light of its own, and long black hair flowed from their heads, blending in and losing itself in the cloth. Their eyes were a startling radioactive blue, too blue for any human, and seemed to bug out of those long, pale faces that were neither male nor female. It was weird too because it was like they stood before me in a large room, as though they were ten or so feet away from me. Yet, I was still crammed into the confines of my box and its unseen walls, barely able to move. Aside from them, everything else was pure, unfathomable blackness. I couldn't even see my own body or any other features of the room. My brain couldn't get a grip on this spatial hypocrisy. It was all too surreal. â€Å"Who are you?† I demanded. â€Å"What am I doing here?† I saw no point in wasting time. The duo didn't answer right away. Their eyes were cold and unreadable, but I saw a bit of smugness in their lips. â€Å"Our succubus,† one said. His – my brain decided to assign them a gender – voice was low and raspy, with a lisp that reminded me of a snake. â€Å"Our succubus at last.† â€Å"Harder to catch than we thought,† added the other, voice identical. â€Å"We thought you would have succumbed long ago.† â€Å"Who are you?† I repeated, anger kindling. I squirmed in a futile attempt at escape. My confines were so tight that I didn't even have the space to beat my fists against the nonexistent walls. â€Å"Mother will be pleased,† the first one said. â€Å"Very pleased,† confirmed the other. The way they alternated phrases reminded me of how Grace – Jerome's former lieutenant demoness – and Mei used to interact. That had had a charming, moderately creepy The Shining feel to it. This†¦this was something else. Something terrible and icy, burning my senses like nails on a chalkboard. â€Å"Mother will reward us,† the first said. I decided to call them One and Two for the ease of mental processing. â€Å"She will reward us when she is free, when she escapes the angels.† â€Å"Who's your mother?† I asked. A troubling suspicion was beginning to form. â€Å"We will avenge her until she can do it herself,† said Two. â€Å"You will suffer for betraying her.† â€Å"Nyx,† I murmured. â€Å"Nyx is your mother. And you're†¦you're Oneroi.† They said nothing, which I took as affirmation. My head reeled. Oneroi? How had this happened? Oneroi were a type of dream demon – but not demons like the ones I interacted with. Heaven and Hell were forces in the universe, but there were others, others that mingled with and often ran parallel to the system I existed in. Nyx was one such force, an entity of chaos from the beginning of time, when the world had been created from disorder. And the Oneroi were her children. I knew a few things about them but had never seen them – or ever expected to. They visited dreams, feeding on them. Nyx had done this too, but the manner had been a little different. She had manipulated people into seeing the future in their dreams – a twisted version that didn't unfold the way the dreamer expected. It had led to crazy actions that spawned chaos in the world, allowing her to grow stronger. She'd also fed on my energy directly, taking it in its purest form and distracting me with dreams of my own. But Oneroi fed on the dreams themselves, deriving their power from the emotions and realities fueled by the dreamer. My understanding was that they also had the power to manipulate dreams but rarely had reason to. Humans provided plenty of hopes, dreams, and fears on their own. They needed no outside help. That was the extent of my Oneroi knowledge, but it was enough. Feeling even a little informed about the situation empowered me. â€Å"That's what this is about? You took me because of Nyx? I wasn't the one who caught her. The angels did.† â€Å"You helped them,† said One. â€Å"Led them to her.† â€Å"And then refused to save her,† added Two. With a pang, I remembered that horrible night, when Carter and his cronies had recaptured Nyx after her devastating free-for-all in Seattle. An angel had died that night. Another had fallen. And Nyx had promised to show me a future and family with a man I could love, if only I would give her the rest of my energy and let her break free. â€Å"She was lying,† I said. â€Å"She was trying to make a deal when she had nothing to offer.† â€Å"Mother always shows the truth,† said One. â€Å"Dreams can be lies, but truth is truth.† I decided pointing out the redundancy of that statement was useless. â€Å"Well, I'm sure she'll appreciate the Mother's Day gift, but you're wasting your time. Jerome will come for me. My archdemon. He won't let me stay here.† â€Å"He won't find you,† said Two. This time, I could definitely see smugness. â€Å"He can't find you. You no longer exist for him.† â€Å"You're wrong,† I replied, with a bit of my own smugness. â€Å"There's no place in this world you can take me where he can't find me.† That was, of course, assuming they hadn't managed to hide my immortal aura. To my knowledge, only greater immortals could do that. I wasn't sure where Oneroi fell in. One actually smiled. It was not attractive. â€Å"You aren't in the world. Not the mortal world. This is the dream world.† â€Å"You're one of many dreams,† Two said. â€Å"One dream among all the dreams of humanity. Your essence is here. Your soul. Lost in a sea of countless others.† My fear stopped me from offering commentary on his sudden shift into metaphor. The metaphysics of the universe and its layers and creation were beyond me. Even if someone had explained them to me, it was something past the comprehension of a mortal, lesser immortal, or any other being who was made-not-born. I had enough understanding, though, to recognize some truth in their words. There was a world of dreams, a world without form with nearly as much power as the physical one I lived in. Was it possible to trap my essence in it and hide me from Jerome? I was unsure enough that I couldn't write it off. â€Å"So, what?† I asked, attempting haughtiness but mostly sounding as uneasy as I felt. â€Å"You'll just keep me in this mime box and feel better about yourselves?† â€Å"No,† said One. â€Å"You're in the world of dreams. You will dream.† The world dissolved again. It was my wedding day. I was fifteen years old, jailbait in the twenty-first century but more than old enough to be a wife in fourth-century Cyprus. And more than tall enough too. The Oneroi had sent me into a memory or a dream of a memory or something like that. It was a lot like the dreams Nyx had put me in. I was watching myself like a movie†¦yet at the same time, I was in myself, experiencing everything quite naturally. It was a disorienting feeling, made worse by the fact that I had never wanted to see my human self again. Selling my soul had come with obvious downsides, but there had been perks too: the ability to shape-shift and never again have to wear the body that had committed such grievous sins in my mortal life. Yet, there I was, and I was unable to look away. It was like being in A Clockwork Orange. My younger self had been about five feet ten inches tall by today's standards and a giant of a woman in an era where people had been shorter. When dancing, I'd been able to put that long body and all those limbs to good use, moving gracefully and effortlessly. In everyday life, though, I'd always been painfully conscious of my height, feeling awkward and unnatural. Watching my old self walk now, from the outside, I was astonished to see I didn't appear as clumsy as I'd always believed. That didn't negate the revulsion I felt at seeing the thick, waist-long black hair or passably pretty face. Still, it was kind of a surprise to watch reality (if this was reality) and memory meshed. It was just after dawn, and I was carrying a large amphora of oil out to a storage house beyond my family's home. My steps were light, careful not to spill any of it, and I again marveled at the way I moved. I set the vessel down beside others inside the shed and started to head back toward the house. I'd barely taken two steps outside when Kyriakos, my husband-to-be, appeared. There was a covert expression on his face, one that instantly told me he had sneaked over here to find me and knew perfectly well that he shouldn't have. It was an uncharacteristically bold move for him, and I chastised him for the indiscretion. â€Å"What are you doing? You're going to see me this afternoon†¦and then every day after that!† â€Å"I had to give you these before the wedding.† He held up a string of wooden beads, small and perfectly formed with tiny ankhs engraved on them. â€Å"They were my mother's. I want you to have them, to wear them today.† He leaned forward, placing the beads around my neck. As his fingers brushed my skin, I felt something warm and tingly run through my body. At the tender age of fifteen, I hadn't exactly understood such sensations, though I was eager to explore them. My wiser self today recognized them as the early stirrings of lust, and†¦well, there had been something else there too. Something else that I still didn't quite comprehend. An electric connection, a feeling that we were bound into something bigger than ourselves. That our being together was inevitable. â€Å"There,† he said, once the beads were secure and my hair brushed back into place. â€Å"Perfect.† He said nothing else after that. He didn't need to. His eyes told me all I needed to know, and I shivered. Until Kyriakos, no man had ever given me a second glance. I was Marthanes' too-tall daughter after all, the one with the sharp tongue who didn't think before speaking. But Kyriakos had always listened to me and watched me like I was someone more, someone tempting and desirable, like the beautiful priestesses of Aphrodite who still carried on their rituals away from the Christian priests. I wanted him to touch me then, not realizing just how much until I caught his hand suddenly and unexpectedly. Taking it, I placed it around my waist and pulled him to me. His eyes widened in surprise but he didn't pull back. We were almost the same height, making it easy for his mouth to seek mine out in a crushing kiss. I leaned against the warm stone wall behind me so that I was pressed between it and him. I could feel every part of his body against mine, but we still weren't close enough. Not nearly enough. Our kissing grew more ardent, as though our lips alone might close whatever aching distance lay between us. I moved his hand again, this time to push up my skirt along the side of one leg. His hand stroked the smooth flesh there and, without further urging, slid over to my inner thigh. I arched my lower body toward his, nearly writhing against him now, needing him to touch me everywhere. â€Å"Letha? Where are you at?† My sister's voice carried over the wind; she wasn't nearby but could no doubt show up if she sought me. Kyriakos and I broke apart, both gasping, pulses racing. He was looking at me like he'd never seen me before. Heat burned in his gaze. â€Å"Have you ever been with anyone before?† he asked wonderingly. I shook my head. â€Å"How did you†¦I never imagined you doing that†¦Ã¢â‚¬  â€Å"I learn fast.† We stood there, locked in time for a moment. Then, he pulled me back to him, his lips crushing mine once more. His hand returned to my dress, hiking it up over my waist. He held my bare hips firmly and pressed himself to my body. I felt him hard against me, felt my body respond to something that seemed both new and natural at the same time. The fingers of one hand slid over, feeling the wetness between my thighs. His touch felt like fire, and I moaned, wanting him to stroke me there more and more. Instead, he turned me around so that I faced the wall. With one hand, he kept the skirt of my dress up, and with his other, I had the vague impression of him fumbling with his clothes. Then, a moment later, he pushed himself into me. It was a shock, like nothing I'd experienced before. I'd meant what I'd said earlier: that I'd never been with another man. And even wet with desire, it still hurt to have him inside me that first time. He seemed too big and me too small. I cried out at the pain, an odd sort of pain that didn't diminish the fire that had been building within me. His thrusts were hard and urgent, no doubt fueled by feelings he'd long been holding back on. And after a while, the initial pain seemed irrelevant. Pleasure began to grow as he moved into me over and over, and I adjusted myself so that I bent over more and let him take me more deeply. He thrust more forcefully, and I again exclaimed in surprise and blissful pain. I heard a muffled groan, and then his body shuddered as he spent himself, his movements at last slowing down. When he was done, he pulled out and turned me around. It was the first time I'd seen him naked in all of this. There was blood and semen on both of us, which I tried to clean off my thighs before finally just letting my dress fall back over me. I'd be bathing before the wedding anyway. Kyriakos had just finished putting his clothes back on when we heard my name again. This time, it was my mother. He and I stared at each other in wonder, scarcely believing we'd just done what we had. I was aglow with love and the joy of sex and a whole host of new feelings I wanted to explore in more detail. Fear of my mother drove us apart. Stepping back, he grinned and pressed my hand to his lips. â€Å"Tonight,† he breathed. â€Å"Tonight we†¦Ã¢â‚¬  â€Å"Tonight,† I agreed. â€Å"We'll do it again. I love you.† He smiled at me, eyes smoldering, and then hurried off before we were caught. I watched him go, my heart filled with joy. The rest of the day went by in a dreamy haze, partially because of the flurry of wedding activity and partially because of what had happened with Kyriakos. I'd had a vague idea of what would occur on our wedding night, but my imaginings had never come close to the real thing. I practically danced my way through the rest of the day, impatient to truly be Kyriakos' wife and make love again and again. The wedding was taking place at our home, so there was enough work (along with my own preparation) to almost keep me distracted. As the ceremony time grew nearer, I was bathed and dressed in my wedding gown: an ivory tunic of fine material, wrapped with a flame-red veil. I had to kneel a little for my mother to adequately adjust the veil, earning a number of jokes about my height from my sister. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered except me and Kyriakos being together forever. Soon, guests began arriving, and my heart rate increased. Anticipation and the day's heat made me sweat, and I fretted about ruining the dress. Someone called out that Kyriakos and his family were approaching. The excitement in the air grew palpable, shared by everyone now. Yet, when Kyriakos arrived, he barged right into the house, going against the traditional procession and stately ceremony that should have taken place. For half a second, some girlish part of me thought that Kyriakos – in his burning love for me – couldn't wait through the drawn out process of a ceremony. I was quickly enlightened. With a face flushed with fury, he marched up to my father. â€Å"Marthanes,† Kyriakos growled, finger in my father's face. â€Å"You insult me if you think I'm going through with this wedding.† My father was clearly taken aback – not an easy thing to accomplish. People chastised me for my sharp tongue, but that was largely because I was a woman. I wasn't half as bad as my father, and he'd intimidated a lot of men twice his size. (It was a sad irony that while I was tall for a woman, my father was short for a man.) A few moments later, my father recovered his usual bluster. â€Å"Of course you are!† he exclaimed. â€Å"We've made the betrothal. We paid the dowry.† Kyriakos' father was there, and judging from his fine clothes and surprised expression, this was all news to him too. He set a hand on his son's shoulder. â€Å"Kyriakos, what's this all about?† â€Å"Her,† said Kyriakos, pointing his finger at me. His gaze swung to my face, and I flinched from its force, as though I'd been slapped. â€Å"I will not marry Marthanes' whore of a daughter!† There were gasps and murmurs from those around us. My father's face turned bright red. â€Å"You're insulting me! All of my daughters are chaste. They're all virgins.† â€Å"Are they?† Kyriakos turned back to me. â€Å"Are you?† All eyes turned to me, and I blanched. My tongue felt dry. I couldn't muster any words. My father threw up his hands, clearly exasperated by this nonsense. â€Å"Tell them, Letha. Tell them so that we can end this and get our dowry back.† Kyriakos had a dangerous glint in his eyes as he studied me. â€Å"Yes, tell them so that we can end this. Are you a virgin?† â€Å"No, but – â€Å" Chaos erupted. Men shouted. My mother wailed. The guests were a mix of stunned shock and delight over a new scandal. Desperately, I tried to find my voice and shout above the din. â€Å"It was only with Kyriakos!† I cried. â€Å"Today was the first time!† Kyriakos turned away from where he'd been telling my father the dowry would not be returned. He glanced over at me. â€Å"It's true,† he said. â€Å"We did it today. She spread herself as easily and knowingly as any whore, begging me to take her. There's no telling how many men she's offered her body up to – or how many she would even when married.† â€Å"No!† I exclaimed. â€Å"It's not true!† But no one heard me. There was too much arguing now. Kyriakos' family was raging over the insult. My family was bristling against the name-calling, and my father was trying his best to do damage control, though he knew perfectly well that my own admission had damned us. Premarital sex was not so out of the ordinary for lower classes, but as a tradesman's family, we modeled a lot of our customs on our betters among the nobility – or pretended to. A girl's virtue was a sacred thing, one that reflected on her father and family as a whole. This disgraced all of them – and had serious repercussions for me. As Kyriakos well knew. He had moved toward me so that I could hear him through the noise. â€Å"Now they all know,† he said in a low voice. â€Å"They all know you for what you are.† â€Å"It's not true,† I said through my tears. â€Å"You know it isn't.† â€Å"No one will have you now,† he continued. â€Å"No one worth having. You'll spend the rest of your life on your back, spreading your legs for whoever comes along. And ultimately, you'll be alone. No one will have you.† I squeezed my eyes shut to try to stop the tears, and when I opened them again, I was surrounded in blackness. Well, not entirely in blackness. Before me, the Oneroi glowed more brightly than before, lit from within by that eerie light. â€Å"An interesting dream,† said Two, with what I think passed for a smile. â€Å"One that gave us much to feed on.† â€Å"It's not true,† I said. There were tears on my cheeks in waking, just as there had been in sleep. â€Å"That wasn't true. It was a lie. That wasn't how things happened.† The dream was muddling my brain, almost making me question myself, but my own memories soon won out. I remembered that day. I remembered kissing Kyriakos by the building and how we'd then gone separate ways, strengthened by the knowledge that we would soon be man and wife, making our wedding night that much sweeter. And it had been. It hadn't been rushed against a wall. We'd taken time to learn and explore each other's bodies. He'd been on top of me, staring into my eyes – not my back. He'd told me I was his life. He'd told me I was his world. â€Å"It was a lie,† I repeated more firmly, fixing the Oneroi with a glare. â€Å"That's not how it happened. That's not how it happened.† I knew I was right, yet I felt the need to keep repeating it, to make sure the words were true. One gave a small shrug, unconcerned. â€Å"It doesn't matter. I told you: Mother shows the truth. But dreams? Dreams are dreams. They can be truth or lies, and all provide food for us. And you?† He smiled a smile that was the mirror of his twin's. â€Å"You will dream†¦and dream†¦and dream†¦Ã¢â‚¬ 

Reyita Book Review Essay - 1155 Words

Reyita Book Review Part I: Summary Reyita tells the story of Maria de los Reyes Castillo Bueno, a black Cuban woman living through several pivotal moments in Cuban history as a member of perhaps the most disenfranchised group of people in Cuban society; Reyita was poor, she was black, and she was a woman. The story begins with a recounting of the story of Tatica, Reyita’s grandmother, and her trial of being abducted from her native Africa and brought to Cuba to be sold into slavery. Tatica’s story sets a precedent that is upheld by the next generations of her family of racial discrimination, struggle for survival and equality, and political activism. Reyita explains that her grandmother’s love of Africa instilled in Reyita a†¦show more content†¦Reyita’s next exposure to political activism and its potential power of destruction came when she was living with her aunt, Mangà ¡, who was the president of the Committee of Ladies for the Independent Coloured Party. Mangà ƒ ¡ participates and helps with the movement, only to have her shop burned to the ground, her life threatened, and then after she flees, she is found and arrested and sent to prison. Reyita is exposed to this sort of injustice throughout her entire life, due to her repeated close proximity to political leaders and activists. Reyita also faces race-based injustice and discrimination in her social life. This comes primarily in the form of her marriage. Reyita marries a white man, named Rubiera, which is seems was always an aspiration or plan of hers. She says I didnt want a black husband, not out of contempt for my race, but because black men had almost no possibilities of getting ahead and the certainty of facing lots of discrimination (p. 166). Unfortunately, Reyita’s marriage to Rubiera did not help her much in her struggle for survival and equality. Although Rubiera always had a job, the family still had to move around frequently, and Reyita often had to find ways to make extra money. Reyita’s main goal throughout her life is to make a better life for her children, which is why she resigns hersels to being â€Å"just a mother†. All of her children survive, except for her sons who are killed in conflicts, and although Rubiera was sometimes cold