I Want a Viking Funeral

When we shake our mortal coil then will we know at last,

What awaits both kings and peasants those treacherous and dull?

Is it hell, or maybe a bird, that is cursed to watch time pass?

For I don’t know but I don’t care for the hope of an endless lull.  

No, I would be disgusted to go out like one of them.

A coward of the crown begging in a noose

And when I sing my weary hymn 

My soul, it shall be loose.   

Yes, I wish for a Viking Funeral, my flame burning on a lake

So load your quiver and ready your bow with tearful eyes upon thy boat

The last farewell, and as families shake, i pray this be my fate

But if it’s not, I pray I never see those gates

The pearly white one’s in others dreams

I will be an intruder, a chance mistake, just slipping through the seams

 

I admittedly had a lot on my mind while I was drafting this sonnet. The particular themes I wanted to stress concerned both religion and the afterlife. I am really interested in the way that our religious affiliations change the ways we see death. Some don’t believe in death afterlife, some believe we go to heaven, and others—in my opinion most beautifully and cruelly—believe that we have reincarnated into a different creature or even a different person. I wanted to write a sonnet about both the lack of religion that I have in my life as well as my obsession with Viking funerals. Both my parents and I have agreed to hold Viking funerals in the event of a death in the family. It is simply something that is always at the back of my mind when I contemplate death. Additionally, my inclusion of kings, the crown, nooses, and cowards all comes from another class that I’m taking entitled “the persistence of piracy”. We are currently learning about privateers—basically, pirates that are sanctioned by the crown— and a lot of my harshness throughout the poem comes from their ability to do horrible things in the name of a formal government.

 Lastly, I wanted to intersperse different parts of my identity within the piece, particularly with the loading of the bow and arrow, which happens in a Viking funeral but is also symbolic of my almost two-decade-long relationship with archery. Additionally, the intruder line refers to the rest of my extended family’s fanaticism. Both my thought process and my identity is reflected all throughout the sonnet.

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A Glimpse in the Mirror

As the judge rules acquittal, my fellow defense attorneys turn to me beaming. We have just done the impossible and cleared the Big-Bad-Wolf of all charges. To me, It doesn’t matter that it was an eighth-grade summer law camp; or that the prize was a ten-dollar Starbucks gift card. That slow-motion celebration is ingrained in my memory forever.

A boisterous voice at the warm summer block party, screaming news to the neighborhood about which Chicago politician had been indicted that day. Word travels quickly, the way a paperboy used to run his morning route. My parents know by dinnertime, and as we pass the potatoes, I begin to learn why we call it the Windy City.

A starry night campsite at the tip of Wisconsin, the eve before beginning college. An ecosystem protected and observed. A joyful week, free of technology, but filled with connection. My father and I venture through uncharted territory, exploring the snake and mushroom populations on the island. 

These moments represent an amalgamation of the experiences I’ve learned from, the disciplines I was introduced to, and the places I want to protect, all leading me to pursue a specific niche in policy, law, and sustainable development. 

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Wearing My Name Into Battle

Eero Saarinen. My parents named me after the Finnish architect who designed the St. Louis Arch. My name is an essential aspect of my identity that has affected me powerfully throughout the course of my life. Growing up with the name Eero is like growing up with a promise and a burden, a double-edged sword. It ensures that you can’t just blend in or merge into a collective unnoticed. From a very young age, people have always done double-takes when they heard my name. “Did you say ‘Eric’”, some would say. And almost every teacher was boggled by the spelling. However, it also attracted attention. People’s heads would turn when I said my Scandinavian name. I would spell my name for people even before I could read. My parents even joked calling me “Fake Finnish”.

This inadvertently thrust me into extroversion. My name also functions as a shield, absorbing the pressure of meeting someone new and finding common ground. This allows me to instantly connect with people and gives me time to gather my thoughts and steel my nerves while people are caught up in learning the pronunciation and the spelling of my name. My name has been a strong contributing factor in my personality. I figured that I had come into this world to make a statement and that continuing to confidently express my opinions, debate, and think critically would simply be living up to the name my parents chose for me.

 

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