Can you think of a selfless good deed? I can't. Every time I volunteer at the homeless shelter and I see their smiling faces, I get something out of it. When I donate money, 90% of the time I get something back, a sticker, a piece of candy. That's not why I do it (well, maybe for the candy). The idea of them getting something better, being happy, being content. It's worth it.
The Missionary Circle doesn't understand that. They don't get that all other people want to do is live their lives, the way they want to live. They think everyone in the entire world wants to be one of them, a dainty lady, a strong man. They hate people of difference. They obviously don't like change either. They act like it never happens, nothing changes, for better or for worse. Tom's trial was change, it was a difference, and after it happened, they acted like it never happened. They forgot everything about it. "May---? No, child. That darky's wife. tom's wife, Tom---," exclaimed Mrs. Merriweather to Scout when she asked her if they were talking of Mayella Ewell. They totally forgot about what they had been gossiping about two months ago. They knew he was innocent, that he was good man. They forgot him, like a childhood friend.
Sitting in Atticus' house and eating expensive food, drinking out of Scout's mother's silver pitcher, in their petticoats, they spoke of the "savage" Mrunas. Living in the jungle, having no sense of what they think "family" is, Mrs. Merriweather sees them as people who need saving. When possibly, they are happy, just the way they are. That's what the people in Maycomb don't understand, being yourself and loving yourself for being yourself. No one else. Boo was himself and he is gossiped about, Scout is ridiculed, and Dill is seen as a lost soul. They never truly saw any of them.
While the Mrunas are living in the heat, most likely without clean drinking water, the Missionary Circle is drinking tea and being served by Cal, who is in her best apron. They talk of how poor the Mrunas, but no one ever wants to donate money or send supplies to them, they speak of only converting them into Christianity which every single one of the sees as the religion above all religion in the world. They are in a nice house, being fed delicious food, and pitying the Mrunas, who most likely are content in their world, just as the people of Maycomb are.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Love story rough draft 2
Free writing
For as long as I've lived on Angel Island Road, the neighbors across the street have been my safe haven. They've loved me, even when my parents were furious with me, they laughed with me, even when I went through that obnoxious stage, they held me, even when I didn't deserve their comfort. I've always seen them as the exemplary parents. They showed more affection with each other than my own parents. The way Misty hugged Kelli or when they jokingly teased each other, they exuded love. Their relationship was my ideal, except one thing.
In many aspects of my life, they were my surrogate parents. Since I have four brothers and sisters, getting attention or affection in my house was a constant competition. Misty and Kelli listened and talked to me like an adult, in many ways they treated me as their equal. They were missing one thing though. A child. Two years earlier, Misty had to get one of her ovaries removed, and the idea of having a child was a fantasy. Kelli is ten years older than Misty who is now thirty-five, so her having a child was even less likely. Adoption was expensive and took years to happen.
They decided to be foster parents, hoping that they could one day adopt a child. They applied and were accepted quickly and waited months on end to be assigned a foster child. Finally, they called. A six month old, baby girl named Sahara arrived on their doorstep as if she was a present from the Stork. Her mom was neglectful and her father was in jail for murder. Not exactly the best circumstances for a person to grow up in. When Sahara arrived we were all taken back by her personality and the fact that she was one of the most beautiful babies any of us has ever seen. She was small for her age, this being understandable because of her mother. She couldn't crawl or walk, but her laugh.....it was the best thing about her. Misty would throw her up in the air to make her giggle while Kelli would watch and say, "You are gonna break her head open, and then I am gonna have to clean all the blood up."
Sahara loved it though; she loved to dance along to every sound she heard. While Kelli tried to push The Wiggles on her, Misty let her listen to Blue October or The Eagles. Whenever I bathed her, I always turned up the radio really loud and she would shake her shoulder to a Spice Girl's song. She had so much personality and spunk in such a tiny body. She loved to eat, eat, eat. By the time she was a year old, she had a Buddha belly that jiggled as she walked. She loved to give kisses and cuddle on the carpet. Whenever I babysat, Sahara always "helped" me dust the TV or sweep the floor. She was also going to be the next Keith Moon. When we would play Rockband she would run up to me and steal the drumsticks out of my hands and bang hard on the yellow and green. She grew more and more into a wonderful person as the months went on.
In late November, we got some depressing news; Sahara's parents had signed their rights to her away. Her aunt would soon start to file papers to adopt Sahara. My Sahara, the little girl that was now walking, the person I looked forward to see every day, she was leaving. It was like a death, I would never see her brown eyes again. Or her crooked teeth. Or the thumping of her heart. To me, she was terminal.
They estimated that she would leave just after Christmas, and then they said near Valentine's Day, but she never left. I started to hope that the aunt would see how happy Sahara is with Misty and Kelli. Maybe she couldn't handle an eighteen month baby? That's all it was though, hope. A week before Spring break, they heard, she would be leaving the next Friday. I started to sob right there. This wasn't fair, they deserved a baby so much, and to have one just stolen away from them, it just wasn't fair. They had basically raised my brother and kept him off the streets, they were definitely capable. Kelli came over and held me as I cried. "Cry after she's gone, she's here for a week, cry when she's gone," she kept saying over and over.
Every day was a funeral, I dreaded every minute that went by, every breath was a pain that throbbed for hours on end. I tried my best to not cry; I played with her and walked with her. I cherished every smile or piece of "sugar" she gave me. I also let them have their time with her, she was theirs more than anyone else's. The day before she left, I said my goodbye; I wanted Misty and Kelli to be with her tomorrow, just them, no one else. I cried as I held her and played with the flowers in the garden. She was so beautiful, so happy here, why did she have to leave? As I walked across the street after saying goodbye, I stopped and stared at their house. I took a moment to remember her presence there, knowing it would never be their again.
I laid in bed until three in the afternoon the next day; I wanted to wallow in my grief. Having my mother make me take a shower and get up was the only reason I moved. At six I walked over there. They were sitting, watching TV, with tears streaming down their faces. I had never seen them cry before. I sat with them until they could breathe normally. When they didn't get an email telling them about Sahara and how their trip went, Kelli was explosive. She was sobbing and all Misty said was, "We'll find her, even if we have to hire a private detective, we have her social security number, we'll find her." Kelli finally calmed down and we finished watching TV, Sahara in the back of all of our minds.
For as long as I've lived on Angel Island Road, the neighbors across the street have been my safe haven. They've loved me, even when my parents were furious with me, they laughed with me, even when I went through that obnoxious stage, they held me, even when I didn't deserve their comfort. I've always seen them as the exemplary parents. They showed more affection with each other than my own parents. The way Misty hugged Kelli or when they jokingly teased each other, they exuded love. Their relationship was my ideal, except one thing.
In many aspects of my life, they were my surrogate parents. Since I have four brothers and sisters, getting attention or affection in my house was a constant competition. Misty and Kelli listened and talked to me like an adult, in many ways they treated me as their equal. They were missing one thing though. A child. Two years earlier, Misty had to get one of her ovaries removed, and the idea of having a child was a fantasy. Kelli is ten years older than Misty who is now thirty-five, so her having a child was even less likely. Adoption was expensive and took years to happen.
They decided to be foster parents, hoping that they could one day adopt a child. They applied and were accepted quickly and waited months on end to be assigned a foster child. Finally, they called. A six month old, baby girl named Sahara arrived on their doorstep as if she was a present from the Stork. Her mom was neglectful and her father was in jail for murder. Not exactly the best circumstances for a person to grow up in. When Sahara arrived we were all taken back by her personality and the fact that she was one of the most beautiful babies any of us has ever seen. She was small for her age, this being understandable because of her mother. She couldn't crawl or walk, but her laugh.....it was the best thing about her. Misty would throw her up in the air to make her giggle while Kelli would watch and say, "You are gonna break her head open, and then I am gonna have to clean all the blood up."
Sahara loved it though; she loved to dance along to every sound she heard. While Kelli tried to push The Wiggles on her, Misty let her listen to Blue October or The Eagles. Whenever I bathed her, I always turned up the radio really loud and she would shake her shoulder to a Spice Girl's song. She had so much personality and spunk in such a tiny body. She loved to eat, eat, eat. By the time she was a year old, she had a Buddha belly that jiggled as she walked. She loved to give kisses and cuddle on the carpet. Whenever I babysat, Sahara always "helped" me dust the TV or sweep the floor. She was also going to be the next Keith Moon. When we would play Rockband she would run up to me and steal the drumsticks out of my hands and bang hard on the yellow and green. She grew more and more into a wonderful person as the months went on.
In late November, we got some depressing news; Sahara's parents had signed their rights to her away. Her aunt would soon start to file papers to adopt Sahara. My Sahara, the little girl that was now walking, the person I looked forward to see every day, she was leaving. It was like a death, I would never see her brown eyes again. Or her crooked teeth. Or the thumping of her heart. To me, she was terminal.
They estimated that she would leave just after Christmas, and then they said near Valentine's Day, but she never left. I started to hope that the aunt would see how happy Sahara is with Misty and Kelli. Maybe she couldn't handle an eighteen month baby? That's all it was though, hope. A week before Spring break, they heard, she would be leaving the next Friday. I started to sob right there. This wasn't fair, they deserved a baby so much, and to have one just stolen away from them, it just wasn't fair. They had basically raised my brother and kept him off the streets, they were definitely capable. Kelli came over and held me as I cried. "Cry after she's gone, she's here for a week, cry when she's gone," she kept saying over and over.
Every day was a funeral, I dreaded every minute that went by, every breath was a pain that throbbed for hours on end. I tried my best to not cry; I played with her and walked with her. I cherished every smile or piece of "sugar" she gave me. I also let them have their time with her, she was theirs more than anyone else's. The day before she left, I said my goodbye; I wanted Misty and Kelli to be with her tomorrow, just them, no one else. I cried as I held her and played with the flowers in the garden. She was so beautiful, so happy here, why did she have to leave? As I walked across the street after saying goodbye, I stopped and stared at their house. I took a moment to remember her presence there, knowing it would never be their again.
I laid in bed until three in the afternoon the next day; I wanted to wallow in my grief. Having my mother make me take a shower and get up was the only reason I moved. At six I walked over there. They were sitting, watching TV, with tears streaming down their faces. I had never seen them cry before. I sat with them until they could breathe normally. When they didn't get an email telling them about Sahara and how their trip went, Kelli was explosive. She was sobbing and all Misty said was, "We'll find her, even if we have to hire a private detective, we have her social security number, we'll find her." Kelli finally calmed down and we finished watching TV, Sahara in the back of all of our minds.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Free writing
For as long as I've lived on Angel Island Road, the neighbors across the street have been my safe haven. They've loved me, even when my parents were furious with me, they laughed with me, even when I went through that obnoxious stage, they held me, even when I didn't deserve their comfort. I've always seen them as the ideal parents. They showed more affection with each other than my own parents. The way Misty hugged Kelli or when they jokingly teased each other, they exuded love. Their relationship was my ideal, except one thing.
In many aspects of my life, they were my surrogate parents. Since I have four brothers and sisters, getting attention or affection in my house was a constant competition. Misty and Kelli listened and talked to me like an adult, in many ways they treated me as their equal. They were missing one thing though. A child. Two years earlier, Misty had to get one of her ovaries removed, and the idea of having a child was a fantasy. Kelli is ten years older than Misty who is now thirty-five, so her having a child was even less likely. Adoption was expensive and took years to happen. They decided to be foster parents, hoping that they could one day adopt a child. They applied and were accepted quickly and waited months on end to be assigned a foster child. Finally, they called. The baby's name is Sahara and she was six months old. Her mom was neglectful and her father was in jail for murder. Not exactly the best circumstances for a person to grow up in.
When Sahara arrived we were all taken back by her personality and the fact that she was one of the most beautiful babies any of us has ever seen. She was small for her age, this being understandable because of her mother. She couldn't crawl or walk, but her laugh.....it was the best thing about her. Misty would throw her up in the air to make her giggle while Kelli would watch and say, "You are gonna break her head open, and then I am gonna have to clean all the blood up."
Sahara loved it though; she loved to dance along to every sound she heard. While Kelli tried to push The Wiggles on her, Misty let her listen to Blue October or The Eagles. Whenever I bathed her, I always turned up the radio really loud and she would shake her shoulder to a Spice Girl's song. She had so much personality and spunk in such a tiny body. She loved to be thrown around the room with Misty always catching her. She loved to give kisses and cuddle on the carpet. Whenever I babysat, Sahara always "helped" me dust the TV or sweep the floor. She was also going to be the next Keith Moon. When we would play Rockband she would run up to me and steal the drumsticks out of my hands and bang hard on the yellow and green. She grew more and more into a wonderful person as the months went on.
In late November, we got some depressing news; Sahara's parents had signed their rights to her away. Her aunt would soon start to file papers to adopt Sahara. My Sahara, the little girl that was now walking, the person I looked forward to see every day, she was leaving. If it hit me that hard, I don't want to even imagine what Misty and Kelli are probably feeling.
They estimated that she would leave just after Christmas, and then they said near Valentine's Day, but she never left. I started to hope that the aunt would see how happy Sahara is with Misty and Kelli. Maybe she couldn't handle an eighteen month baby? That's all it was though, hope. A week before Spring break, they heard, she would be leaving the next Friday. I started to sob right there. This wasn't fair, they deserved a baby so much, and to have one just stolen away from them, it just wasn't fair. They had basically raised my brother and kept him off the streets, they were definitely capable. Kelli came over and held me as I cried. "Cry after she's gone, she's here for a week, cry when she's gone," she kept saying over and over.
I tried my best to not cry; I played with her and walked with her. I cherished every smile or piece of "sugar" she gave me. I also let them have their time with her, she was theirs more than anyone else's. The day before she left, I said my goodbye; I wanted Misty and Kelli to be with her tomorrow, just them, no one else. I cried as I held her and played with the flowers in the garden. She was so beautiful, so happy here, why did she have to leave? As I walked across the street after saying goodbye, I stopped and stared at their house. I took a moment to remember her presence there, knowing it would never be their again.
I laid in bed until three in the afternoon the next day; I wanted to wallow in my grief. Having my mother make me take a shower and get up was the only reason I moved. At six I walked over there. They were sitting, watching TV, with tears streaming down their faces. I had never seen them cry before. I sat with them until they could breathe normally. When they didn't get an email telling them about Sahara and how their trip went, Kelli was explosive. She was sobbing and all Misty said was, "We'll find her, even if we have to hire a private detective, we have her social security number, we'll find her." Kelli finally calmed down and they finished watching TV.
My Goals
Focus and Meaning
None
Organization
None
Content and Development
Mechanics and Convention
None
Language use and style
Revision Goal 1: Focus your details.1. Highlight your details in green. Do you use too many details? Use details only when they are necessary.
Example:
Before Revision: I looked at my new watch that my parents gave me for Christmas because I lost my original one and realized that the meeting was five minutes away. "Where was everyone?" I thought.
Larry's Strategy: Unnecessary details drag down my writing and can confuse the readers.
After Revision: I looked at my watch and realized that the meeting was five minutes away. "Where was everyone?" I thought.
Larry's Reflection: I deleted "new" and the phrase, "...that my parents gave me for Christmas because I lost my original one," because it is unnecessary for this story.
Writing Strategy
Goal 1: I want to add more details to the story to emphasize how much I loved and cared for Sahara. The love in this story in the main idea, so I want to show the reader how much I cared for her. I also want to add more details to enhance what an amazing person Sahara is.
I added sentences like, "She loved to be thrown around the room with Misty always catching her. She loved to give kisses and cuddle on the carpet. Whenever I babysat, Sahara always "helped" me dust the TV or sweep the floor, " for examples of how amazing a person Sahara is. I believe this helps the reader understand my affection for her.
For as long as I've lived on Angel Island Road, the neighbors across the street have been my safe haven. They've loved me, even when my parents were furious with me, they laughed with me, even when I went through that obnoxious stage, they held me, even when I didn't deserve their comfort. I've always seen them as the ideal parents. They showed more affection with each other than my own parents. The way Misty hugged Kelli or when they jokingly teased each other, they exuded love. Their relationship was my ideal, except one thing.
In many aspects of my life, they were my surrogate parents. Since I have four brothers and sisters, getting attention or affection in my house was a constant competition. Misty and Kelli listened and talked to me like an adult, in many ways they treated me as their equal. They were missing one thing though. A child. Two years earlier, Misty had to get one of her ovaries removed, and the idea of having a child was a fantasy. Kelli is ten years older than Misty who is now thirty-five, so her having a child was even less likely. Adoption was expensive and took years to happen. They decided to be foster parents, hoping that they could one day adopt a child. They applied and were accepted quickly and waited months on end to be assigned a foster child. Finally, they called. The baby's name is Sahara and she was six months old. Her mom was neglectful and her father was in jail for murder. Not exactly the best circumstances for a person to grow up in.
When Sahara arrived we were all taken back by her personality and the fact that she was one of the most beautiful babies any of us has ever seen. She was small for her age, this being understandable because of her mother. She couldn't crawl or walk, but her laugh.....it was the best thing about her. Misty would throw her up in the air to make her giggle while Kelli would watch and say, "You are gonna break her head open, and then I am gonna have to clean all the blood up."
Sahara loved it though; she loved to dance along to every sound she heard. While Kelli tried to push The Wiggles on her, Misty let her listen to Blue October or The Eagles. Whenever I bathed her, I always turned up the radio really loud and she would shake her shoulder to a Spice Girl's song. She had so much personality and spunk in such a tiny body. She loved to be thrown around the room with Misty always catching her. She loved to give kisses and cuddle on the carpet. Whenever I babysat, Sahara always "helped" me dust the TV or sweep the floor. She was also going to be the next Keith Moon. When we would play Rockband she would run up to me and steal the drumsticks out of my hands and bang hard on the yellow and green. She grew more and more into a wonderful person as the months went on.
In late November, we got some depressing news; Sahara's parents had signed their rights to her away. Her aunt would soon start to file papers to adopt Sahara. My Sahara, the little girl that was now walking, the person I looked forward to see every day, she was leaving. If it hit me that hard, I don't want to even imagine what Misty and Kelli are probably feeling.
They estimated that she would leave just after Christmas, and then they said near Valentine's Day, but she never left. I started to hope that the aunt would see how happy Sahara is with Misty and Kelli. Maybe she couldn't handle an eighteen month baby? That's all it was though, hope. A week before Spring break, they heard, she would be leaving the next Friday. I started to sob right there. This wasn't fair, they deserved a baby so much, and to have one just stolen away from them, it just wasn't fair. They had basically raised my brother and kept him off the streets, they were definitely capable. Kelli came over and held me as I cried. "Cry after she's gone, she's here for a week, cry when she's gone," she kept saying over and over.
I tried my best to not cry; I played with her and walked with her. I cherished every smile or piece of "sugar" she gave me. I also let them have their time with her, she was theirs more than anyone else's. The day before she left, I said my goodbye; I wanted Misty and Kelli to be with her tomorrow, just them, no one else. I cried as I held her and played with the flowers in the garden. She was so beautiful, so happy here, why did she have to leave? As I walked across the street after saying goodbye, I stopped and stared at their house. I took a moment to remember her presence there, knowing it would never be their again.
I laid in bed until three in the afternoon the next day; I wanted to wallow in my grief. Having my mother make me take a shower and get up was the only reason I moved. At six I walked over there. They were sitting, watching TV, with tears streaming down their faces. I had never seen them cry before. I sat with them until they could breathe normally. When they didn't get an email telling them about Sahara and how their trip went, Kelli was explosive. She was sobbing and all Misty said was, "We'll find her, even if we have to hire a private detective, we have her social security number, we'll find her." Kelli finally calmed down and they finished watching TV.
My Goals
Focus and Meaning
None
Organization
None
Content and Development
Mechanics and Convention
None
Language use and style
Revision Goal 1: Focus your details.1. Highlight your details in green. Do you use too many details? Use details only when they are necessary.
Example:
Before Revision: I looked at my new watch that my parents gave me for Christmas because I lost my original one and realized that the meeting was five minutes away. "Where was everyone?" I thought.
Larry's Strategy: Unnecessary details drag down my writing and can confuse the readers.
After Revision: I looked at my watch and realized that the meeting was five minutes away. "Where was everyone?" I thought.
Larry's Reflection: I deleted "new" and the phrase, "...that my parents gave me for Christmas because I lost my original one," because it is unnecessary for this story.
Writing Strategy
Goal 1: I want to add more details to the story to emphasize how much I loved and cared for Sahara. The love in this story in the main idea, so I want to show the reader how much I cared for her. I also want to add more details to enhance what an amazing person Sahara is.
I added sentences like, "She loved to be thrown around the room with Misty always catching her. She loved to give kisses and cuddle on the carpet. Whenever I babysat, Sahara always "helped" me dust the TV or sweep the floor, " for examples of how amazing a person Sahara is. I believe this helps the reader understand my affection for her.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
TKAM Response
If you live in a toxic environment, you are most likely toxic. If a drug addict is living in a crack house, it is almost impossible for him to get clean. If you were brought up in the middle east and were taught to hate Christianity, it is unlikely that you will marry a baptist. And if you grew up in Maycomb, it's unlikely you'll see clearly what fine folks are. Where you live has a noticeable affect on your views and opinions. As do your parent's ways and views, which is odd that Atticus and Jack are so different from Aunt Alexandra. She is prejudiced against anything that is against her version of what "fine folks" (pg. 130) are.
Aunt Alexandra obviously feels very comfortable at Finch's Landing. She believes that everything should and will stay the same. Maycomb is so isolated, so set in it's ideas, that it will never change. Though Maycomb is interbred and no "radical " will come down and change it's society overnight, it will someday change, and that change was in the form of a Cunningham. A Cunningham, a family that Aunt Alexandra once exclaimed as," Trash" (pg. 225). The Cunningham's were part of the most rural, secluded parts of Maycomb and yet they were the ones that had changed, just because of that pivotal moment at the jailhouse. Scout had put Mr. Cunningham into Atticus' shoes, and something had sparked and he saw how wrong he was acting.
Though many people still think the way their ancestors did 100 years ago, the people in Maycomb will have to succumb to change, whether bad or good. Along with the Great Depression came pain and heartache, and after pain and heartache comes fulfilling times. The Depression came because of many problems, and many of those problems were fixed after it left. It brought societies together and they were stronger because of it.
Jack and Atticus escaped Finch's Landing and they were better because of it. Alexandra stayed and kept the legacy of racist and pessimistic Finchs alive. Atticus and Jack learned of the world outside Maycomb and they accepted. Soon Maycomb will have to do the same.
Aunt Alexandra obviously feels very comfortable at Finch's Landing. She believes that everything should and will stay the same. Maycomb is so isolated, so set in it's ideas, that it will never change. Though Maycomb is interbred and no "radical " will come down and change it's society overnight, it will someday change, and that change was in the form of a Cunningham. A Cunningham, a family that Aunt Alexandra once exclaimed as," Trash" (pg. 225). The Cunningham's were part of the most rural, secluded parts of Maycomb and yet they were the ones that had changed, just because of that pivotal moment at the jailhouse. Scout had put Mr. Cunningham into Atticus' shoes, and something had sparked and he saw how wrong he was acting.
Though many people still think the way their ancestors did 100 years ago, the people in Maycomb will have to succumb to change, whether bad or good. Along with the Great Depression came pain and heartache, and after pain and heartache comes fulfilling times. The Depression came because of many problems, and many of those problems were fixed after it left. It brought societies together and they were stronger because of it.
Jack and Atticus escaped Finch's Landing and they were better because of it. Alexandra stayed and kept the legacy of racist and pessimistic Finchs alive. Atticus and Jack learned of the world outside Maycomb and they accepted. Soon Maycomb will have to do the same.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Real Courage
6/16/10
If you ever grew up with anything peculiar about you, you know what its like to get made fun of. Though for most kids it's the way their nose is flat or their hair is frizzy, but my situation is a lot different from most kids. For my entire life, that fact that I'm Jewish has never really sat well with people for some reason. They always find it entertaining or easy to make fun of. Even now, when I go to high school and I am around people who you would think are more mature, they find it hilarious to give me the nickname "Jew." I might be odd, but I don't get it. I don't get the humor in the name, it's the truth, I am Jewish. I just don't really want that as the name people put in their contacts or the name they write on the board. I'm more than just a "Jew." I'm a person, who just happens to be Jewish.
Having relatives or ancestors who were in the Holocaust is a burden. Whenever you see pictures of a concentration camp, or when someone mentions Hitler, your mind automatically jumps to seeing the tattoo on their arms. A tattoo that was put there against their will, a tattoo that's there to mark them as someone else's property. When people make a joke about it, you wince because you think of them, starving, trying to survive. For most of your childhood you take it, brush it off and act like it's no big deal. It is a big deal though.
Sometimes when people make jokes, I laugh too, I don't want to make them feel awkward. I don't think they know their being offensive. It's pretty obvious though. The most vivid "joke" I remember was in seventh grade. One of my friends was sitting behind me, we weren't close, but we talked about bands and music, superficial stuff. I was reading a book when he tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around, hoping to talk about The Grateful Dead or The Pixies; I saw the big grin on his face. His finger went up in the air, I didn't know what he was doing. A heart, maybe? Then I realized a Swastika, a symbol that once meant peace, but now mean something totally different. He started laughing, assuming I would join in. The person who sat next to me saw and began chuckling too. I sat there, bewildered by what he had just done. In my mind, it wasn't funny. In my mind, I saw people suffering. In my mind, I saw my family being killed off one by one.
I kept it in, I kept the tears and the hyperventilating in. How could something so simple, so little, hurt me this much? I sat there, staring at the board, when suddenly the bell rang, and I was off to Orchestra. As I was walking, breathing deeply to keep the feelings down, I saw the office door, I saw it open. I ran to it, I felt the adrenaline pump through me. I have never been in the office other than to be picked up or to be congratulated by the principal on my grades. It looked completely different. I waited for the blonde woman in front of me to finish. As soon as she moved, and I saw the woman behind the desks eyes, tears began pouring out. I was so embarrassed, nothing like this has ever affected me this intensely before. She came around the desk and held me. She smelled like cinnamon and vanilla, like a candy bar. She slowly sat me down and asked what happened. Through the wheezing and the snot, I got it out. She gave me a tissue, I guess the snot was everywhere. "I grew up Jewish, I know what it feels like," she said.
With that statement, I felt normal. She gave me a couple of minutes before sending me into the vice principals office. With my red eyes and puffy cheeks, I held my head high, and marched myself in there. The Urbanator, that's what they called him, he was that strict. When he saw me though, he smiled and said, "Come in honey."
I told him everything. I cried, a lot. So many years of pent up anger, of feeling like a weirdo, had finally come out of me. I stood up to it, I didn't tattletale, I told someone. I felt proud because for the first time in my life, I wasn't ashamed of being a "Jew."
If you ever grew up with anything peculiar about you, you know what its like to get made fun of. Though for most kids it's the way their nose is flat or their hair is frizzy, but my situation is a lot different from most kids. For my entire life, that fact that I'm Jewish has never really sat well with people for some reason. They always find it entertaining or easy to make fun of. Even now, when I go to high school and I am around people who you would think are more mature, they find it hilarious to give me the nickname "Jew." I might be odd, but I don't get it. I don't get the humor in the name, it's the truth, I am Jewish. I just don't really want that as the name people put in their contacts or the name they write on the board. I'm more than just a "Jew." I'm a person, who just happens to be Jewish.
Having relatives or ancestors who were in the Holocaust is a burden. Whenever you see pictures of a concentration camp, or when someone mentions Hitler, your mind automatically jumps to seeing the tattoo on their arms. A tattoo that was put there against their will, a tattoo that's there to mark them as someone else's property. When people make a joke about it, you wince because you think of them, starving, trying to survive. For most of your childhood you take it, brush it off and act like it's no big deal. It is a big deal though.
Sometimes when people make jokes, I laugh too, I don't want to make them feel awkward. I don't think they know their being offensive. It's pretty obvious though. The most vivid "joke" I remember was in seventh grade. One of my friends was sitting behind me, we weren't close, but we talked about bands and music, superficial stuff. I was reading a book when he tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around, hoping to talk about The Grateful Dead or The Pixies; I saw the big grin on his face. His finger went up in the air, I didn't know what he was doing. A heart, maybe? Then I realized a Swastika, a symbol that once meant peace, but now mean something totally different. He started laughing, assuming I would join in. The person who sat next to me saw and began chuckling too. I sat there, bewildered by what he had just done. In my mind, it wasn't funny. In my mind, I saw people suffering. In my mind, I saw my family being killed off one by one.
I kept it in, I kept the tears and the hyperventilating in. How could something so simple, so little, hurt me this much? I sat there, staring at the board, when suddenly the bell rang, and I was off to Orchestra. As I was walking, breathing deeply to keep the feelings down, I saw the office door, I saw it open. I ran to it, I felt the adrenaline pump through me. I have never been in the office other than to be picked up or to be congratulated by the principal on my grades. It looked completely different. I waited for the blonde woman in front of me to finish. As soon as she moved, and I saw the woman behind the desks eyes, tears began pouring out. I was so embarrassed, nothing like this has ever affected me this intensely before. She came around the desk and held me. She smelled like cinnamon and vanilla, like a candy bar. She slowly sat me down and asked what happened. Through the wheezing and the snot, I got it out. She gave me a tissue, I guess the snot was everywhere. "I grew up Jewish, I know what it feels like," she said.
With that statement, I felt normal. She gave me a couple of minutes before sending me into the vice principals office. With my red eyes and puffy cheeks, I held my head high, and marched myself in there. The Urbanator, that's what they called him, he was that strict. When he saw me though, he smiled and said, "Come in honey."
I told him everything. I cried, a lot. So many years of pent up anger, of feeling like a weirdo, had finally come out of me. I stood up to it, I didn't tattletale, I told someone. I felt proud because for the first time in my life, I wasn't ashamed of being a "Jew."
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Isn't that ironic?
For many of us, school is a burden. We find it boring or a waste of our time, this is exactly how the majority of the children who attend Scout's school feel. They take it for granted and how lucky they are compared to black people who basically have no chance at an education.
In To Kill A Mockingbird, Harper Lee makes fun of and ridicules the public school system through her characters. Scout is bored and hates school because she feels held back and her intelligence is stifled. She persistently tries to get out of school. Atticus is firm in his stance for her education. This is very unlike the Ewells and how they are lackadaisical about the people they are and their education. Even though the Ewells are white and are "fine" folks (at least in Aunt Alexandra's eyes), they still choose to be victims of society and continue to be illiterate.
To Calpurnia and her family, she chose to overcome this obstacle and educate herself and her children. They had less resources than the Ewells. They had no one pushing them like the Ewells. The Ewells had a social service workers push them, Calpurnia and her family had no one. They had no incentive to learn to read, most people in their community were illiterate. Calpurnia wanted a better life for them, she wanted a better future for her family. Unlike Mr. Ewell who would rather buy alcohol than feed his family, this is why he must hunt out of season. Calpurnia would never let that happen.
With all of the racism and discrimination, Calpurnia should be the victim, not the Ewells. Calpurnia understands her situation though and she rises above it. The Ewells succumb to it.
In To Kill A Mockingbird, Harper Lee makes fun of and ridicules the public school system through her characters. Scout is bored and hates school because she feels held back and her intelligence is stifled. She persistently tries to get out of school. Atticus is firm in his stance for her education. This is very unlike the Ewells and how they are lackadaisical about the people they are and their education. Even though the Ewells are white and are "fine" folks (at least in Aunt Alexandra's eyes), they still choose to be victims of society and continue to be illiterate.
To Calpurnia and her family, she chose to overcome this obstacle and educate herself and her children. They had less resources than the Ewells. They had no one pushing them like the Ewells. The Ewells had a social service workers push them, Calpurnia and her family had no one. They had no incentive to learn to read, most people in their community were illiterate. Calpurnia wanted a better life for them, she wanted a better future for her family. Unlike Mr. Ewell who would rather buy alcohol than feed his family, this is why he must hunt out of season. Calpurnia would never let that happen.
With all of the racism and discrimination, Calpurnia should be the victim, not the Ewells. Calpurnia understands her situation though and she rises above it. The Ewells succumb to it.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Calpurina
4/11/2010
For many parents in society, they feel taken for granted, not needed. When really they are the babckbone of the family. This is how Scout and Jem feel about Calpurnia in To Kill a Mockingbird. They see her as part of the family that will always be there. When really she has her own family and own responsibilities she has to take care of.
Harper Lee hints about Cal's real feelings about her job when it snows and Atticus asks Cal to spend the night. Cal declines and says she would rather enjoy the snow at her own home. This doesn't mean she doesn't love the Finch family, it just means her family is the thing she loves and cares for above anything else, is her own family. She does however, put 110% into making the Finch home a happy and safe place.
In chapter ten, when the rabid dog visits Scout and Jem's street, Cal is the true hero of the day. Without her, someone could have been attacked, or bitten. She put in so much energy to help others, when she could have been hurt. No one saw that though. No one saw how much she cared for everyone, when really some of the people she helped could be racists and think of her as nothing but as an animal. She could have just gotten Scout, Jem, and herself inside, but she risked her safety to warn the Radleys. No one saw this though, they only saw Atticus.
Cal was never thanked. She was never congratulated for her efforts. Nor did she ever ask for thanks. She was just happy that everyone was safe. For some reason, I have a feeling she would rather it be that way, just happy that everyone is safe.
For many parents in society, they feel taken for granted, not needed. When really they are the babckbone of the family. This is how Scout and Jem feel about Calpurnia in To Kill a Mockingbird. They see her as part of the family that will always be there. When really she has her own family and own responsibilities she has to take care of.
Harper Lee hints about Cal's real feelings about her job when it snows and Atticus asks Cal to spend the night. Cal declines and says she would rather enjoy the snow at her own home. This doesn't mean she doesn't love the Finch family, it just means her family is the thing she loves and cares for above anything else, is her own family. She does however, put 110% into making the Finch home a happy and safe place.
In chapter ten, when the rabid dog visits Scout and Jem's street, Cal is the true hero of the day. Without her, someone could have been attacked, or bitten. She put in so much energy to help others, when she could have been hurt. No one saw that though. No one saw how much she cared for everyone, when really some of the people she helped could be racists and think of her as nothing but as an animal. She could have just gotten Scout, Jem, and herself inside, but she risked her safety to warn the Radleys. No one saw this though, they only saw Atticus.
Cal was never thanked. She was never congratulated for her efforts. Nor did she ever ask for thanks. She was just happy that everyone was safe. For some reason, I have a feeling she would rather it be that way, just happy that everyone is safe.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Couarge
- Courage?
- Not the average idea of courage
- "Jew"
- Holocaust
- Help myself to be better!
If you ever grew up with anything peculiar about you, you know what its like to get made fun of. For my entire life, that fact that I'm Jewish has never really sat well with people for some reason. They always found it entertaining or easy to make fun of, or make anti-semitist comments. Even now, when I go to high school and I am around people who you would think are more mature, they find it hilarious to give me the nickname "Jew." I might be odd, but I don't get it. I don't get the humor in the name, it's the truth, I am Jewish. I just don't really want that as the name people put in their contacts or the name they write on the board. I'm more than just a "Jew," I'm a person, who just happens to be Jewish.
Having relatives or ancestors who were in the Holocaust is a burden. Whenever you see pictures of a concentration camp, or when someone mentions Hitler, your mind automatically jumps to seeing the tattoo on their arms. A tattoo that was put there against their will, a tattoo thats there to mark them as someone else's property. When people make a joke about it, you wince because you think of them, starving, trying to survive. For most of your childhood you take it, brush it off and act like it's no big deal. It is a big deal though.
Sometimes when people make jokes, I laugh too, I don't want to make them feel awkward. I don't think they know their being offensive. It's pretty obvious though. The most vivid "joke" I remember was in seventh grade. One of my friends was sitting behind me, we weren't close, but we talked about bands and music, superficial stuff. I was reading a book when he tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around, hoping to talk about The Grateful Dead or The Pixies; I saw the big grin on his face. His finger went up in the air, I didn't know what he was doing. A heart, maybe? Then I realized a Swastika, a symbol that once meant peace, but now means something totally different. He started laughing, assuming I would join in. The person who sat next to me saw and began chuckling too. I sat there, bewildered by what he had just done. In my mind, it wasn't funny. In my mind, I saw people suffering. In my mind, I saw my grandfather being shot in the head.
I kept it in, I kept the tears and the hyperventilating in. How could something so simple, so little, hurt me this much? Before I knew it, the bell had rung, and I was off to Orchestra. As I was walking, breathing deeply to keep the feelings down, I saw the office door, I saw it open. I ran to it, I felt the adrenaline pump through me. I have never been in the office other than to be picked or to be congratulated by the principal on my grades. It looked completely different. I waited for the blonde woman in front of me to finish. As soon as she moved, and I saw the woman behind the desks eyes, tears began pouring out. I was so embarrassed, nothing like this has ever affected me like this before. She came around the desk and held me. She smelled like cinnamon and vanilla, like a candy bar. She slowly sat me down and asked what happened. Through the wheezing and the snot, I got it out. She gave me a tissue, I guess the snot was everywhere. "I grew up Jewish, I know what it feels like," she said.
With that statement, I felt normal. She gave me a couple of minutes before sending me into the vice principals office. With my red eyes and puffy cheeks, I held my head high, and marched myself in there. The Urbanator, that's what they called him, he was that strict. When he saw me though, he smiled and said, "Come in honey."
I told him everything, I cried, a lot, So many years of pent up anger, of feeling like a weirdo, had finally come out of me. I stood up to it, I didn't tattle-tale, I told someone. I felt proud because for the first time in my life, I wasn't ashamed of being a "Jew."
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Harrison Bergeron ( I am not doing this willingly)
As I read, "Harrison Bergeron," by Kurt Vonnegut, I had a realization of how society is getting dumbed down and how even if we are special, there will always be someone there to take us down a level.
Text: In the story, how does George react to what to what happens on TV what happens to his son?
George is at first horrified and astonished to what happens, he knows it's Harrison. Then since, he is above average, he is brought down with a hearing aid that disrupts any intelligent thought. He knows what is happening is wrong, but then his hearing aid disrupts this thought. He obviously loves and cares for Harrison, this is evident in the way his body reacts. He is just unable to express in words because of his man made handicaps.
Reader: How could this relate to the teachers in school who never challenges you, just so no one feels below average?
Some, not all teachers, do not challenge you when you are above average. My big sister went to Murray for eighth grade year, she did not learn one thing. She taught herself the things she needed to pass. Harrison is like my sister in a similar way, Harrison is a fast learner and can easily retain knowledge, while some people like Hazel, are slower and have a worse memory. Some teachers have worked for a long pushing their students, and then they give up, only doing the minimum. They believe no one is special, no one is bright. When really every person is intelligent in their own way, whether in English or in Science.
World: How does this relate to the policy of No Child Left Behind?
Harrison is above average and the government at this time believes that no one should feel below another person. Our government at the present time, is doing something very similar. No Child Left Behind forces teachers and schools to hold back their average and above average students for kids who may be below them. In Harrison's story, they use physical and mental handicaps to dwindle people's intelligence, while in real life they use rules and restrictions. In the details, these two situations are very different, but in the main idea, they are exactly the same.
Text: In the story, how does George react to what to what happens on TV what happens to his son?
George is at first horrified and astonished to what happens, he knows it's Harrison. Then since, he is above average, he is brought down with a hearing aid that disrupts any intelligent thought. He knows what is happening is wrong, but then his hearing aid disrupts this thought. He obviously loves and cares for Harrison, this is evident in the way his body reacts. He is just unable to express in words because of his man made handicaps.
Reader: How could this relate to the teachers in school who never challenges you, just so no one feels below average?
Some, not all teachers, do not challenge you when you are above average. My big sister went to Murray for eighth grade year, she did not learn one thing. She taught herself the things she needed to pass. Harrison is like my sister in a similar way, Harrison is a fast learner and can easily retain knowledge, while some people like Hazel, are slower and have a worse memory. Some teachers have worked for a long pushing their students, and then they give up, only doing the minimum. They believe no one is special, no one is bright. When really every person is intelligent in their own way, whether in English or in Science.
World: How does this relate to the policy of No Child Left Behind?
Harrison is above average and the government at this time believes that no one should feel below another person. Our government at the present time, is doing something very similar. No Child Left Behind forces teachers and schools to hold back their average and above average students for kids who may be below them. In Harrison's story, they use physical and mental handicaps to dwindle people's intelligence, while in real life they use rules and restrictions. In the details, these two situations are very different, but in the main idea, they are exactly the same.
What in your hometown would you show new friends from college to help them know you better?
Having been a Wilmingtonian (my sister Doria made that up) for my entire life, I have been able to explore the corners and cracks that have been shaded from the general public. My family's opinion of living anywhere, is that our duty as citizens is to explore all of the big and small wonders that your town has. Which is why I found this question particularly interesting.
Having really no true mode of transportation, my knowledge of Wilmington was sparse at best. This all changed this Summer. My older sister Doria came home from college and finally got her driver's licence, thank God. My life was now open for the next two and a half months. We explored every corner of Wilmington, and one of my favorite places was the Country Store (we call it that, that's why I capitalized it).
With its homemade cheeses and breads, the Country Store has an abundance of goodies. Every time my sister and I go there, we both get a piece of fruit, a slice of cheese, and a bottled soda (try a Nehi, it's like drinking a peach). Then we go to the Battleship and enjoy the scenery.
The people and the odd things they sold at the Store, were what made the experience special. They sold single circus peanuts, and pig's feet fried (I'm a vegetarian). Mini pumpkin pies, were also one of my favorites. The store smelled of tobacco and flour. It smelled like Southern happiness (smoking is bad though, don't do it). It was so new and clean to me, when probably it was at least twenty years old and hasn't been properly cleaned in years. It was an entire different place.
The entire experience of the Country Store, exemplifies how no matter where you come from, or how you dress, the simple things, like cheese that costs sixty-eight cents, is what makes life grand and special. A life that's worth living.
Having really no true mode of transportation, my knowledge of Wilmington was sparse at best. This all changed this Summer. My older sister Doria came home from college and finally got her driver's licence, thank God. My life was now open for the next two and a half months. We explored every corner of Wilmington, and one of my favorite places was the Country Store (we call it that, that's why I capitalized it).
With its homemade cheeses and breads, the Country Store has an abundance of goodies. Every time my sister and I go there, we both get a piece of fruit, a slice of cheese, and a bottled soda (try a Nehi, it's like drinking a peach). Then we go to the Battleship and enjoy the scenery.
The people and the odd things they sold at the Store, were what made the experience special. They sold single circus peanuts, and pig's feet fried (I'm a vegetarian). Mini pumpkin pies, were also one of my favorites. The store smelled of tobacco and flour. It smelled like Southern happiness (smoking is bad though, don't do it). It was so new and clean to me, when probably it was at least twenty years old and hasn't been properly cleaned in years. It was an entire different place.
The entire experience of the Country Store, exemplifies how no matter where you come from, or how you dress, the simple things, like cheese that costs sixty-eight cents, is what makes life grand and special. A life that's worth living.
What issues in this story are similar to real-life issues that you have thought about or had some kind of experience with?
For some odd reason, every time I even think about even picking up a Romance novel, my thoughts beforehand are always negative. "This couldn't happen in real life," that's what always goes through my mind. When truly, whenever we read or watch a movie, we don't want to hear about something that is possible. We want to fantasize and imagine about things that will never happen in our lifetime. Lately though, this idea has been changing in my mind. Maybe the messages and ideas hidden in the ridiculous plot lines actually have a meaning, actually have a truth.
When I first started reading Love In the Time Of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, I already knew the entire premise. Having already seen the movie,(not the best, but definitely not the worst, have you seen Nine?) I knew the basic story. A young, rich, beautiful girl named Fermina caught the eye of a middle-class boy named Florentino. They fell madly in love, when Fermina's father finds out, he whisks her away and eventually had her married. Florentino seeing this, waits and pines for Fermina for fifty-two years until they can finally be together. I know what you're thinking, not the most original idea. The thing is though, once you really get into this novel, there is something about it that sings.The way the author describes their love, how it is not a need, but a want. In most love stories, they need to be together, it's only lust. Marquez writes Florentino and Fermina's love in a such an endearing that make you not only pity them, but also applaud them.
As I read this novel, I began to think of my own life, the life I want as I grow older. For my entire childhood, I expected love to just fall into my lap. Watching so many movies, where it came easy, and the only tricky part was how to keep the love. When truly, love is earned. Through trust and the act of caring. Most people do not think objects mean love. The only thing they want from one another is for them to care. They want each other to want to be around one another. They don't want jewelery or cars, they want someone to understand them, to truly care about them.
Being a skeptic about love and relationships, I can tell you love doesn't come easy. It's hard and you have to work at it, and what you want isn't exactly what you get. Love is one of the only things in the universe that has a 100% certainty that you will get hurt. Isn't worth it though? If you had ten minutes of happiness, and then a lifetime of misery, wouldn't that be better than never being content, never feeling love? If I was you, I would go with the former.
Though Love in the Time of Cholera was on an extremely drawn out scale, the message it sends to its readers is timeless, "It is life, not death that has no limits."
When I first started reading Love In the Time Of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, I already knew the entire premise. Having already seen the movie,(not the best, but definitely not the worst, have you seen Nine?) I knew the basic story. A young, rich, beautiful girl named Fermina caught the eye of a middle-class boy named Florentino. They fell madly in love, when Fermina's father finds out, he whisks her away and eventually had her married. Florentino seeing this, waits and pines for Fermina for fifty-two years until they can finally be together. I know what you're thinking, not the most original idea. The thing is though, once you really get into this novel, there is something about it that sings.The way the author describes their love, how it is not a need, but a want. In most love stories, they need to be together, it's only lust. Marquez writes Florentino and Fermina's love in a such an endearing that make you not only pity them, but also applaud them.
As I read this novel, I began to think of my own life, the life I want as I grow older. For my entire childhood, I expected love to just fall into my lap. Watching so many movies, where it came easy, and the only tricky part was how to keep the love. When truly, love is earned. Through trust and the act of caring. Most people do not think objects mean love. The only thing they want from one another is for them to care. They want each other to want to be around one another. They don't want jewelery or cars, they want someone to understand them, to truly care about them.
Being a skeptic about love and relationships, I can tell you love doesn't come easy. It's hard and you have to work at it, and what you want isn't exactly what you get. Love is one of the only things in the universe that has a 100% certainty that you will get hurt. Isn't worth it though? If you had ten minutes of happiness, and then a lifetime of misery, wouldn't that be better than never being content, never feeling love? If I was you, I would go with the former.
Though Love in the Time of Cholera was on an extremely drawn out scale, the message it sends to its readers is timeless, "It is life, not death that has no limits."
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Love in the Time of Forever (cheesy!)
What did this make you realize about life?
As I was reading Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, there was this oncoming feeling of happiness. A warm fuzzy feeling that you get while reading Jane Austen or watching Titanic (I had to throw that in there). The book is about two star-crossed lovers (as in Romeo & Juliet) who are torn apart by the young girl's father, seeing the boy, named Florentino, as unfit to marry his daughter. Floretnino was so in love with Fermina, at most times, much more than she. Even when Fermina was married to her husband, who she grew to love, Florentino never wavered in his love for her. He took his pent up anger, and put it into many love affairs that never really meant anything to him. Fifty-two years later, after Fermina's husband has died, Florentino finally pursues her, and wins her heart once again.
Though I have seen the movie many times and read similar books to it, the way the author gets the overall message across is quite sweet. He could have quickly put Florentino and Fermina together at a young age, so their love seemed more idealistic, but he wrote it in a way that is slow, showing that real love, true love doesn't happen at once.
Many novels now a days (Nicholas Sparks) force you to think that people see each other and magically fall in love. When the truth is, love is slow and sweet, and kind. Love isn't dependence, it's a want, a want that isn't for a moment, but for a lifetime. Fermina for so many years, pushed her love for Florentino to the back. She wanted to be a good wife, a good mother, she pushed her wants back so she could make someone else happy, even though she was partly miserable.
Even though they were apart for such a long time, and were both with different people, the moment they were together again, it was like they were never apart. This novel teaches you that no matter how long you were apart, there will always be some part of you that belongs to one another, always linking you together.
I really do not want to see things from Both Sides.
Both Sides Now
By Joni Mitchell
Bows and flows of angel hair and ice cream castles in the air.
And feather canyons everywhere, I've looked at at clouds that way.
But now they only block the sun, they rain and snow on everyone.
So many things I would have done but clouds got in my way.
I've looked at clouds from both sides now,
From up and down, and still somehow
It's clouds illusions I recall.
I really don't know clouds at all.
Moons and Junes and Ferris wheels, the dizzy dancing way you feel
As every fairy tale comes real; I've looked at love that way.
But now it's just another show. You leave 'em laughing when you go
And if you care, don't let them know, don't give yourself away.
I've looked at love from both sides now.
From give and take, and still somehow
it's love illusions I recall. I really don't know love at all.
Tears and fears and feeling proud to say, " I love you," right out loud.
Dreams and schemes and circus crowds, I've looked at life that way.
But now old friends are acting strange, they shake their heads, they say I've changed.
Some thing's lost but some thing's gained in living everyday.
I've looked at life from both sides now,
From win and lose, and still somehow
it's life's illusions I recall
I really don't know life at all.
As children, we rely on our parents to learn, thus their views and opinions are transferred to us. We may see things the way they see them. Like when it comes to gay rights, abortion, and religion. As we get older, our minds expand, they open up to new views and ideas that a few years ago they wouldn't have accepted. You start to see things in a new way, and that is what has been happening to me in the past year, I have started to see things in a new light.
I have always seen religion in one way, either you're in or your out. As I got older, I started questioning it, the enitre idea, if I believe in God, if I even want to put the energy into this thing that was created thousands of years ago. Was it even relevant today? Even when I had my Bat Mitzvah, I just didn't believe in it. This was a big change from five years ago, my entire life was about my religion, when I met people I would say, "Hi, I'm Audra, I'm Jewish." As I got older, something changed inside of me, I stopped believing everything people told me, I became cynical and way less trusting. I think part of me just stopped caring, about anything, especially what had been so important to me not so long ago. I started seeing things from different sides.
In the song above, it talks about growing up and the fairy tales you thought of so much when you are a kid start becoming less realistic, how simple things like clouds, turn in into something totally different. Some people call this maturing, I like to call it a loss of innocence. Whatever you call it, I am slowly going through it. Let me tell you one thing about it, it is not fun.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Being an Orch Dork
Evaluate a significant experience, achievement, risk you have taken, or ethical dilemma you have faced and its impact on you.
Following my sister and brother's foot steps, I enrolled in orchestra in sixth grade (or as I like to call it, the most ridiculous year of your life). I had taken two years of violin lessons; we used the Suzuki method (you listen, then you play it). Not only did I extremely suck at violin, I could barely clap with a rhythm. My older sister, a musical genius (not Mozart, but closer than Handel) could play a violin, banjo, viola, and spoons better than anyone in my family. For the past Summer, Doria and her two friends , Dani and Sydney, have been trying to put together a folk band. If you went to Shakori, you would understand. When you camp out in the middle of a field with 500 other people, you really start to like folk music.
As I traveled through middle school and then entered high school, orchestra was the only constant, a forced constant, but never less a constant. For the first two years I had Mr. Singleton, he wasn't exactly the best person to teach you when you are first learning, he was in a way, lackadaisical. The truth was that I wasn't naturally good at the cello, at least with his way of teaching, by the beginning of eighth grade it was obvious I was far behind. Much to my surprise, I had a new teacher, Ms. Fuchs. She was young, maybe twenty-two. Fresh out of college, she really hasn't found her place in the teaching world. It didn't help that I was the only cello (thank you Michael, not). I am not going to lie, the first couple of months of eighth grade was hard, I worked a lot harder than I thought I was going to. It was all worth it when the Fall concert came around. The first song was perfect, I got all of the dynamics, bowing's and articulations. I was extremely proud of myself. My mom was too, she bought me ice cream.
As I entered high school orchestra, the torture began. As you have already previously assumed, I am a talkative person. I love to express my opinions and ask about people. Most people say this is a good trait, I'm personable. Apparently it's not a good trait in orchestra. Before we even start tuning she locks her eyes in me and makes me move forward. Why doesn't she just move me there indefinitely? It would save us both a lot of work (well, mostly me). Her grading system is ridiculous, if you get six out of seven on a test you get a seventy-five! That is a huge, failing grade in not only my book, but also my parent's. It is bringing down my GPA, the thing that will cause me to not get into a college I want. All the seniors score 100, that's because they are seniors. I'm not the only one of us either, people like me are everywhere in that class. Thankfully, I am one of the lucky ones, my parents are letting me drop out. Hallelujah!
I am not very good at staying with things I might not exactly enjoy all of the time, like playing the cello, I'm reckless and independent when it comes to things I loathe, like partying and playing the cello. When it comes to things I love, I will do anything for that experience and repeat it over and over again.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
If I could be any character in this book I would be.....
Sadeem Reminds me of myself because......
As I furiously read Girls of Riyadh by Rajaa Alsanea, I grew in love with Sadeem. For some reason I have always been enthralled with Islamic culture (I'm Jewish too). I find their men very attractive, their women beautiful, and their customs intriguing.
In this book, Rajaa Alsanea divulges the lives and loves of her four close friends, though she changes their names and some details, this is insight into the world of Saudi Women who are otherwise shadowed by their men. The novel consists of Sadeem, Michelle, Gamrah and Lamee, also their love and family lives.
For some odd reason I am very taken with Sadeem; she is so open, even after being wounded by her first love Waleed. She knows what she likes, she has her mind made up, and she goes after it. The way she speaks, so sure of herself, yet so cautious, it reminds me of myself. She is so confident in the way she moves, in a way that men find extremely attractive. She is talented in so many reasons, and she is a shrink to her friends, she is not judgemental in anyway. She loves and loves until she gets hurt, and in many ways that is how I believe I am. She knows what to say and when to say, knowing sure that it will make a point. I relate to Sadeem so much, sometimes when I read the novel, I think I am reading about myself.
Girl, Get out of that Damn Rain!
Describe how a work of art, music, dance, theater, or literature has inspired you.
Ever since I was a child, I liked movies. Funny ones, dramatic ones, stupid ones, weird ones, and even the occasional foreign ones. I never understood them until about eight years ago, yes, I was slow, I am slow. Apparently movies actually have meanings. What an idea?
Movies are easy to escape in, to feel different, better even. I love old movies. Rita Hayworth, Ingrid Bergman, Audrey Hepburn, Katherine Hepburn, and even Grace Kelly are so relatable to me. I always wanted to be them, with their made-up faces and their corsets holding their rolls that everyone on earth has, even Marissa Miller. I loved seeing the rare photos of them making horrific faces, ugly ones even. I loved the way they walked, how eloquently they spoke, how when one of them walked in a room, you knew who it was. Their dead now, so we set our society to knew ideas of women that no one can match. We never go back to the old ideals. Of Old Hollywood, the Kennedy's, Mad Men. With movies full of emotion and special effects, most of us believe that the movies nowadays are better than those of yesterday. Which blatantly proves that most of us are wrong.
The first movie I ever saw was Singin the Rain' with Gene Kelly (no relation to Grace) and Donald O'Connor. I used to go out in the rain, on our slick driveway on a hill, and spin and dance like Debbie Reynolds (at least how I thought they danced). My mother would yell at me in her fake country accent (she's from Rhode Island), " Girl get out of that Damn rain." But I would just keep spinning until I fell, which meant I fell down the driveway (remember its on a hill). I would walk up the driveway with bloody knees and muddy hair and I would walk past my mother and say. "Totally worth it."
That movie made me feel, it made me live. With four brothers and sisters, the attention isn't always on you. Now that I'm older I am sincerely happy about that. There are times when all I want to do is be on that stage accepting that Oscar (I know this is cocky, I know I'll get one) and then there are those times when all I want to do is sit in my bed and sleep. If that is a disease, please comment.
No matter how much anyone ever tries, that movie, full of its jolly manner, has shaped my life probably more than anything has ever or will ever do. It gave me an outlook on life, I can't change or ever want to change.
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