Studying Myths vs. Making One

Two words. Percy. Jackson.

The rabbit hole I have lunged myself into regarding mythology started the second I opened Percy Jackson & The Olympians: The Lightning Thief during my sixth-grade silent reading time. My Aunt May was obsessed with that series and the author, so I credit her for most of the things I geek out about today, and I credit her for my love of reading. And because one myth obsession is never enough, she soon handed me The Red Pyramid, which launched me straight into Egyptian mythology. As a Lebanese woman, mythology has always been close to home. In the Levant, our everyday culture is literally built on ancient stories and beliefs, regardless of religion. Every kid in my village grew up fearing Abou Kees (the Bagman who kidnaps misbehaving children, aka a myth built to scare us into behaving). “Don’t misbehave or else Abou Kees will come to your room at night and put you in his sack” works way better than “You’ll be on the naughty list! Santa will be disappointed.”
Here is a photo of Abou Kees for reference.



In Lebanon, we also celebrate Eid Al-Burbara, which is the Lebanese version of Halloween, where children dress up and go door-to-door singing while adults hand out MONEY instead of candy. (It’s connected to Saint Barbara’s story but also to pre-Christian Middle Eastern rituals of disguise, harvest, and protection, a myth evolving through time.) Even when learning the Epic of Gilgamesh, mythology came home again. My professor at Pasadena City College, Tim Melnarik, pointed out that “it’s very possible the Cedar Forest could be in reference to the one in Lebanon.” Realizing one of the oldest surviving myths in human existence might have taken place in my homeland made mythology feel personal, not distant.


You may be thinking,
“Wow, she sure is doing a whole lot of yapping, what's the point here?”

I'm glad you asked.

What have I learned?

Well. Firstly, Learning about Pele, the Hawaiian goddess of fire, deepened the understanding of how significant culture is in regard to mythology. Pele is tied to land, identity, ancestry, and survival. I began to see how myths are necessary tools that once explained the world emotionally, spiritually, and culturally. Then I had to create my own myth, and that’s when everything truly clicked. I wanted to explain something modern: Why does music affect us so intensely? Science can chart the brain activity, but it doesn’t explain why a song can break your heart or make you feel deeply understood, or make you feel like you are levitating, or heighten your emotions. There HAS to be a mythical explanation for it, it HAS to be supernatural because the feeling we get with music is genuinely enchanting. So I imagined Persephone and her Sirens using music to drain human emotion and regain their own power.
This experience taught me that myths survive because humans still need them. We still crave explanations that are symbolic, emotional, and imaginative. Creating a myth differs from studying one because it requires stepping into that gap between what we know and what we feel and building a bridge out of a story. It reminded me that mythology is not dead literature, and it truly does surround us in everyday life if we stop to think about it or look for it. It is a living practice. And in future teaching or everyday life, I can use this knowledge to help others see that myths are ways we continue to understand ourselves, our fears, and our world. Studying myths shows us where humans have been. Creating myths shows us we’re still trying to figure out where we’re going. Furthermore, the process of creating a presentation about Pele, the fire goddess, taught me a few things about anticipating a target audience. Specifically, my group and I decided to aim our presentation towards 12th graders, and creating an activity for 12th graders helped me realize that in order to connect with your students first and foremost, you have to put yourself in their shoes