I want to write something to commemorate the Youth and Courage after I have read Kate Chopin’s Awakening. It’s a wondrous book, woven with awakening passion and lust for the freedom and self-identity. Edna, the exquisite heroine in this book, underwent the gallant breakthrough from a homebound housewife who was committed to her family and husband to a daring and defiant heroic individual, she never questioned her identity as the possession of her husband (the society insinuates and exerts this self-effaced womanhood on women at that time). However, her slumbering passion, the sensuality and strong yearning for self-expression were aroused by the broad, infinite and awe-inspiring sea and the charming gentleman--Robert. Then the series of the interlocking inner movement occurred subsequently, which put her at the summit of artistic feeling but low ebb of personal achievement as recognized by her surroundings. She struggled, striving to lead the independent life. Yet the stereotyped and overpowering male-dominant society couldn’t tolerate this kind of riotous and rebellious odd behaviors. So undoubtedly, Edna was deprived of her rights of living the liberated life. But her death proved her as the triumphant rebel and victim instead of a surrendered nobody. Kate Chopin’s words are flowery with drowsy gleam; her rhythm is a mix of strength and tenderness, her poignant preconceptions transcend then reality. She is a literary genius in my opinion. Reading Awakening, perhaps the will of overthrowing every repression again takes hold of us, we are not made to succumb to the suffocated rule and boredom of mediocre life, we need to instill more refreshing ardor and untamed and raw affection into the quietly desperate life. I feel this kind of urge to outcry my desire for an unrestrained flight and zero-scruple of others’ opinions on me. The wave after wave of excitement and joy overcomes me. Someday, if we continue to be quiet and unwilling to pursue of change and dream, we might live evenly but faintly. Then we give away to the relentless Time, the meaningless toil and melting ashes and nothingness. As some witty man says, that’s life. May it be. If we couldn’t muster the courage to fight against it.