Auf Wiedersehen Mein Die Kollegen! (i bet you didn't know i was German)

Ah, the time has come to move on from this class (thank GOD). I don’t think summer could have come at a better time honestly. I’ve been counting down the weeks till we were done and it seemed to drag on forever. The last three weeks have been an absolute brutal nightmare because I’ve been waiting for it to just end already. Don’t get me wrong, I liked the class and the teacher, I just hated the work. I mean, I’ve never had to spend sooo much time on just one class (maybe biology). At first, I was in a complete panic stage because I just couldn’t quite figure out how to work through it all. I was so overwhelmed that I actually cried one week because I thought there was no way I could get it all done. It’s so funny because I looked back at that week and thought to myself “this is easy, what was my problem?” it’s definitely a class that you have to adjust to and make tons of room for but I got used to it and never panicked again. I’ll admit, I am definitely not a big fan of literature; actually, I really hate it. I hate everything about it. And when Jennifer introduced our week one schedule and that letter we had to write about how much literature meant to us and what we can learn from it I thought “you’ve got to be kidding me. I hate literature, there’s no way I can tell her how much I like it and what I can learn from it.” The answer, for me, is still zippo. I still hate analyzing literature and poems, but this class taught me how to and I’m grateful for learning. I mean, I really hated this class in the beginning but I just knew I wouldn’t pass if I didn’t give it a chance and take it seriously. So I did, and it really wasn’t that hard because Jennifer made it so easy to follow. Without the homework helper and her, I never would have had it easy because I’m such a scatterbrain. I think the way Jennifer had it all set up was brilliant; I’ve never had a teacher who was so helpful and involved with the entire class. I really appreciated that part, every week. It’s getting really hard to type the rest of this because I got acrylic nails done a few weeks ago and they’ve mutated into talons. I swear, my nails get stuck in the keyboard. Anyway, and now I shall say FAREWELL to the rest of you. To my regulars, I love you all and your righteous comments. To the rest of you, you really missed out because I’m a genius. Lisa, your blog was always one of my favourites. Penniless and Jessica, you too. I’m going to go out on a limb and say I’ll miss the blogs and my favourite people. You people were fantastic, and I know you’re all just dying to kick off the summer so TTFN ta ta for now!

#4 Pg. 1088

To compare any modern day lyrics with some poems from way back in the day is definitely going to be a challenge. I mean, I can’t stand poetry because it’s so vague and seriously a waste of my time. Trying to interpret what a poem is saying is like having my teeth pulled out one by one. If you remember, in my first blog or second one (idk) I clearly expressed that analyzing poetry and literature completely RUINS the entire thing for me. If I don’t understand what I’m reading the first time around, picking it apart piece by piece is only going to make me hate it even more. Plus, on top of not understanding poetry, the only similarity between these poems and any modern day love song is that they have the idea of love written into them. And that’s about it. The theory and definition of love has dramatically changed over the course of time and it simply doesn’t relate to love back in the day. Back in the day (I’m having a field day with this back in the day thing) love was forced and it only meant making your man happy and being a good wife. Nowadays (there I go again with the old people references) love is a choice and it can be between whatever two people choose it. Love will always be something that is sacred and special, but that can vary between people and the times (which is obvious given that Shakespeare was comparing women to seasons and guys today are comparing women to whores). One thing I will give poetry from ( I just had to) back in the day is that the men at least respected their women. It’s so hard to find a man who will respect you, let alone treat you like something other than a tool for sex. I guess you could say I have a thing for hating men. Lol. But really, there are some good ones, I’ll give you that. There’s about 4 in this country. Anyway. Like I said, comparing old poetry and modern day lyrics is a task for the brave people because they can only find so much. Love is a common “thematic element” in all love songs, duh. But like I said, that definition of love is completely different and when you really think about it, it kind of negates the whole “common thematic element” thing because said element has two different definitions. I don’t really have any favourite “modern” lyrics. I really like Nat King Cole’s “When I Fall in Love.” That’s a good one. I’m not the kind of person who actually listens to their music because for me it’s just like analyzing poetry. JUST LISTEN TO IT. The writer didn’t convey any message and he/she most certainly did NOT sit there and think “I think I’ll use an extended metaphor in the second verse and a illusion to Shakespeare in the chorus.” Really people.

i don't have a witty title this week. i know how this disappoints you.

Well, seeing as I haven’t been able to start the creation myth assignment, I haven’t really gotten the chance to study them (it’s been such a busy week and I’m falling wayyyyy behind on all my work lol). But I do know a little bit about some cultures and their creation myths because my high school thought we should know about them and not just our own. As far as calling them creation myths, I think that that sort of defeats the purpose that they are beliefs, and not myths, to the people who follow them. I read a little blurb from Lisa’s blog and she said something about how the myths were similar in the fact that they all seem to believe in a higher power that created the earth, and I agree with her. From what I’ve studied, many different cultures seem to believe in this higher power and they all have different interpretations of what it looks like and what its teachings are. I saw a lot of this in The Secret Life of Bees. I think that believing in this higher power gives people hope that there is someone out there who hears them when no one else does.

By studying other creation “myths” we can learn not only about another culture but also how they came to be the way they are now. People’s beliefs have a lot to do with how they act and interact with other people. People tend to behave accordingly to their beliefs and sometimes that can be mis-communicated because of a sort of culture clash. I definitely think it’s important to learn about other cultures and their beliefs because it’s ignorant to go on in life thinking that your way is the only right way to be. In order to understand people we have to know what they think and believe and we have to do that with an open mind. Sure, some people’s beliefs are hard to accept, but you have to remember that they have been raised that way and know no other way to believe. It was especially hard for me when I switched into the Catholic school system. I was like “they pray to saints? They pray to mary? They can’t do anything this is pointless.” This is why I think that people often times alienate each other; because they think what they believe is weird or stupid. I, myself, have had a lot of time to learn how to accept other’s beliefs and I think it has made me a more mature and better person for doing so. For the longest time I didn’t understand how people believed what they believed and then I remembered, “hey, I feel the same way they do about their religion. Duh, they’ve been raised Catholic, of course they’ll disagree with me. THIS is pointless.” So in conclusion, ladies and jelly spoons (you’d have to watch Eddie Izzard to laugh at that), by learning about other creation “myths” we can also get a deeper look into a person’s culture.

the burden of knowing

There are two characters in the story that stand out to me as suffering from the burden of knowing: Lily and May. Lily has lived her entire life with the memory of her mother’s death, and how she was the one who was at fault for the accident. Before she went to Tiburon to live with the calendar sisters, Lily had no idea of the circumstances in which she last saw her mother. This would be the burden of not knowing: not knowing why her mother left, not knowing her mother her whole life. Lily finds out through August Boatwright that her mother, indeed, left her. However, she also finds out that the day her mother died was the day she decided to come back for Lily and take her to live in Tiburon with the calendar sisters. When Lily founds out the truth about her mother and her mother’s past, she is weighted with all her mistakes and lies. She now has the burden of knowing the truth when she has been creating a façade of her mother this whole time. Lily had always thought of her mother as a woman who cared deeply about her child, but it turns out that she was saddened by Lily’s arrival. Lily goes on to say that she wishes she could erase everything she just heard from August. Also, Lily lives with the knowing that one day the police might come for her and Rosaleen and that her happy life in Tiburon may come to an abrupt end.
May, one of the calendar sisters, also suffers from the burden of knowing. It’s explained in the book that after her twin sister, April, died, May started to feel things differently. In the void of her dead sister, May filled it with the hurt of others. She started to take on other people’s grief and created her own unnecessary burden of knowing the hurt of the world. Even the small things like a spilled glass of water would send her into her world and she would have to hum to keep herself occupied. May’s burden of knowing is not as great as Lily’s, but she, too, suffers from knowing things she wishes she did not.
Lily and May have lived most of their lives creating a burden that only they could carry. Lily suffers each day from her burden and she is remarkably strong enough to swallow it and still find room to care about others first. May also suffers each day, but for different reasons. May has many reasons in a day why she suffers while Lily has only one reason, and that is her mother. The difference between these two characters is that they possess burdens of different magnitude, and the similarity is that they carry the burdens of others.
I’m about 50 pages shy of finishing the book and I wonder how Lily will come to terms with the news that she just received from August. I wonder if she will settle between hating and loving her mother.

aye, those be strong feelings

There have been many times in my life when i have felt strongly about something (now in particular about how much i want school to die in a fiery explosion). i have always been a very strong minded person with an overwhelming sense of just what i stand for. i know that my confidence in my opinions can intimidate others, and i try to be rational, really i do try, but most of the time i wind up leaving my fellow man in a crumpled pile of shame on the floor. and i do so enjoy that.

It's normal for a person to change opinions on certain matters, and i am no exception to that statement. i used to be die hard pro life, i even joined the club at school and would often use terms like "baby killer" and "murderer." as I've come to grow up, i have learned to contain myself when it comes to strongly debated topics. right now, i am on the fence when it comes to abortion. the way i see it, you can't bash on something like that if you've never been put into a situation where your whole life was at stake and you were left with that option. I'm not justifying abortion by any means, i still think it can be selfish and i do believe to a certain extent that it IS murder (i believe that when a human is developed, no matter how small it is, it is still a human. when it comes to a tiny egg, however, I'm a little more calmed. I'm scattered, as you can tell). but in other cases, like when a woman is raped and becomes pregnant, i believe she has the right to end her pregnancy. but at the same time, i still think it's wrong to take it out on the baby. i can never stay on one side of an argument, i have strong beliefs on both sides.

Another thing that i feel very strongly about is my right to own and use a gun however i want. i think it's wrong to say that there should be gun control because it's not the gun's fault that it's being misused, it's the morons who sell guns to people on the streets and it's the morons who are using those guns like MORONS. the only thing that we need to "control" is the criminals, not the guns. guns kill people, of course, but a gun doesn't know how to pull it's own trigger. it's people who kill people and taking away guns from innocent citizens like myself isn't going to do anything except leave me helpless. i believe that when i turn 21, i have every right to go buy a gun and get the permit to carry it with me at all times. being a woman, i am already a target for disgusting men who wish to compromise my virtue. and being a woman who believes STRONGLY in women's rights, i feel very strongly about maintaining my rights. and those rights include carrying a weapon. I'm not an idiot, i know how to shoot a gun and i practice as much as i can. if i weren't familiar with a gun, i wouldn't carry it. i think that people, when getting a concealed weapons permit, should have to prove how familiar they are with a gun. they should be able to load it properly and shoot a target.

To compare myself to an animal on this matter is difficult. i guess you could compare me to something extremely violent and strong, yet peaceful (which doesn't leave many options). perhaps a bear? a really big and scary bear that likes to cuddle with people sometimes, but this bear will turn on anything that proves to be harmful to it or it's family. yes, a big black and cuddly bear. OOH or a shark. sometimes they can be friendly if you're smart enough to not provoke them with a flesh wound.

it's a mad, mad world

I’ve seen that a lot of people seem to think that suicide is a controversial subject. For me, it’s a completely different story. I don’t really see why it would be controversial in the first place, it’s not like we’re talking about abortion or stem cell research. I think that suicide is just as much a part of life as death is. After all, it is death, just dealt by yourself instead of nature or someone else. In many cases, people think that suicide is a selfish act and that the person’s soul will end up rotting in hell for eternity. It’s true that some cases of suicide are indeed very selfish, but who’s to say where someone will go after they die? They’re not God, they can’t speak for anyone but themselves. Yes, I think that often times people commit suicide in haste, but I would never condemn a person for being truly unhappy. We’ve all experienced a point in our lives when we just don’t want to even be awake because we’re too afraid of how much we’re hurting and we don’t know how to deal with it. For some people, this stress is too much and they are too weak to fight it. The thing about suicide is that you can never accept it if you haven’t felt that you wanted to die. People are too harsh and selfish to think outside of their own personalities and see that some people just aren’t strong to put aside their pain. I think that some cases of suicide are most definitely justified. Many gay teens commit suicide every year in staggering numbers because their parents and everyone around them are spiteful of their natural tendencies. It’s sad to think that a child should feel so unloved by its parents that it feels the need to commit suicide. To understand suicide, you must think about how many people don’t know what it feels like to be loved, they’re never experienced the happiness that the majority of us are so familiar with. I, myself, am a very harsh person and always tell the truth even if it means hurting someone. Having said that, I’m no exception to the people that make other people feel like dirt, and I’m resentful for that. Many people tend to not see their cruel acts, and so they may hurt someone deeply and never know it. It’s hard to change yourself, but when you think about it, it’s worth it if you don’t want to be responsible for scarring a person for life. Many people need to change in order to prevent things like suicide. However, I’m a strong believer that that will never happen. People are evil and there’s no changing that. So, to help people who are feeling depressed and like they should take their own life, it will be very difficult, but with the right encouragement it may be stopped in some cases.

but soft, what burrito through yonder window breaks..

Today, folks, I am going to talk about the never ending joys of being in love. Since this whole section is about love (at least I think it is, something along those lines) I figured I’d stick to the topic and avoid being original at all costs. There was even a suggestion to write an extended metaphor describing how love can be like a race car. I don’t really see how love and Nascar work into each other, but there you have it. I suppose you might fall in love with driving like a maniac (I know I am. P.s. I drive a silver Ford Fusion, watch out). Anyway, I’ll try to stick to the topic. I got really excited when the topic said we could be humourous, so prepare yourselves.
It was a windy day in Valencia and I had just gotten done with a dance competition. A friend had driven me and her family wanted to stop and get something to eat (this friend was on my team; mind you, her family didn’t drive me out there just for fun). Little did I know my greatest joy was about to be revealed to me. They decided to stop at Chipotle, the Mexican Subway as I call it. We walked in and I thought to myself, “self, this is like the Mexican Subway.” I try to keep it simple when someone else is paying for me, so I decided to go with a regular hum drum burrito with just beans (and a tortilla). But then, I looked to my right and discovered a great big pile of steaming spicy chicken. Shyly, I asked for the chicken. And again I was astounded when there was salsa to be had, and not just any regular salsa, but salsa that wasn’t all chunky and full of onions. I was already excited, and once I took my first bite it felt as if I was falling in love all over again. This burrito was like a first kiss (not the crappy first kiss that no one admits to, the good one that you lie about). Never had I tasted anything so delicious and mind boggling; so many joys wrapped up in this little burrito. I thought that Del Taco had great burritos, but this one burrito put them all to shame and back. Sadly, there is an unfortunate end to this happy tale of mine. My love affair with Chipotle has just ended in a most indecent way. One day, I tried the hot salsa because I was feeling saucy. A half hour later, my initiation into being old hit me; heartburn. Naturally, I went back to my old medium salsa ways, but I was shocked to discover that it just wasn’t spicy enough anymore, and they had changed it! Much to my displeasure, I took a big bite and found a giant piece of a nasty onion in my burrito. I still love the old place, but I will never feel the love I once had for it.
Voila, the end.

how type-ical

Oh ughh, the lovely type excuse. Don’t you hate it when someone breaks up with you because you’re not their “type”? I don’t know about you, but I do. I think that the whole type thing is overrated and that it just falls into the same category as “it’s not you, it’s me.” I never thought I had a type, but apparently some people do. I think that people often construe their type to be the qualities that they like in a person. Not one person can have a definite type without a few qualities flying amuck here and there. I think that people need to drop the type and replace it with the image of a person who just simply makes them happy.
As far as the origin of types, I believe it was deeply rooted in some guy’s lame excuses for breaking up with a girl who didn’t quite satisfy him. Having a type, in my opinion, is one thing that will set you up for a lot of grief. You’re never going to find someone who fits the mold of your type exactly, so why are you still holding fast to an imaginary person? Maybe I’m a little harsh and cynical, but get real people. The perfect man or woman simply isn’t out there, based on the list of qualities that you believe to be of the utmost importance. Deeming a person “just your type” will set you up for sheer and utter doom. I’ve read that most divorces occur because of unfulfilled expectations. Hmm. I have a cousin (who’s not really a cousin just a family friend type thing) who actually has a list of things she’s looking for in a man. I knew ballerinas were perfect and meticulous, but a LIST? Really? As I said in the first paragraph, there will never be a person who checks off on every single quality; you might find that person but there will ALWAYS be a downside.
I think that men like women who are tall and blonde and women like men with scruffy beards because maybe they found someone who possessed those qualities and they really liked that person. This sort of reverts back to the long lost love thing; maybe one person is set in their ways of loving someone with a nasty beard because they once loved someone with said beard. Perhaps it’s all psychological (I’m just kidding, that’s a load of hooey). But seriously, the whole staying within your type threshold is just a silly safeguard so you won’t have to explore the different qualities that you fear in a person. Who knows, maybe someone who likes men with gross beards will fall in love with someone who has no beard at all. The world is full of surprises people.

writing topic # 3 pg. 794

I’ve never really had the opportunity to ‘behave in an official capacity.’ I’m assuming that this means a professional position. I guess I would have to say that being a captain of JV Dance Team my senior year of high school would be considered this kind of position. By junior year, we acquired a real coach, one that gave us real choreography and direction. I was so excited to have her there, while everyone else thought that she was overly strict for a high school dance team. I loved every bit of her personality and the way she taught us. Sure, she was strict, but we were the best we had ever been because of her. Sadly, she left for my senior year to go open her own restaurant and needless to say, we were lost. The next year, we sort of scrambled all the same girls together, held try outs, and decided that there would be two teams because of conflicts with girls who had been on the team all four years. It was decided that myself and a friend would be captains of the JV Dance Team. At first, when we were deciding how we would reign these girls in and teach them while still being nice to them. I was so stuck on our old captain’s methods and I wanted to be just as strict with them. However, as the year progressed, the girls became our friends and we rarely criticized them. We didn’t just let them run wild and free, but we had more of a friendship than a professional relationship. We taught them well while still having a little pow wow circle to just talk before each practice. We had a lot of fun, and now I wish that we had just toughened up a little bit so we could have prepared them better for next year’s try outs. Some of the girls did make it through the try outs this year (2010) and I was so surprised when one of them actually texted me to thank me for teaching her so much and for being a friend to her. It actually made me cry a little bit because I thought I had been too lax with them. Looking back on it, I regret talking too much and dancing too little, but I don’t regret all the jokes we had and how much fun we had even during practice when we were teaching them. I suppose that all the girls liked the way things went, but I can’t help feeling that there are some of them who thought that we were bad instructors. I’ll admit, we were sometimes. Lol but we never told them that they were bad, we never made them feel bad about themselves, and I think that ultimately helped them become better dancers.

mawage, that bwessed awangement

if you've never seen the princess bride, then you totally won't get my title. lol



Writing Topic Numero Uno Pg. 589


Wow, reading this story made me really furious. To say that a women should “keep her silence” absolutely makes me want to go on a homicidal rampage and destroy men everywhere. But that’s not what I’m supposed to be writing about. J This man’s definition of how a marriage should is so out of line and selfish. I’ve never been a big fan of arranged marriages, and I hate that it still happens today. It is so unfair that a person should not be able to choose the person they want to marry and that they are told they can’t marry who they want to. The attitude that this father has about marriage are definitely different from my own and from my parents. I have never felt stifled by my parents when it comes to who I love, and that’s because I’ve only loved like what..2 people? The first person I brought home to them didn’t make them extremely happy, but it didn’t make them want to curl up and die. As far as their attitude about marriage goes, I think that they have a pretty standard opinion: it doesn’t matter if you are young, as long as your man can take care of you, and he better treat you with the utmost respect otherwise your father will mame him. My parents married very young, my mom was only 18. I can’t imagine being in that position now, even though it is much more acceptable. I think that sometimes they can be a little old-fashioned, but never to the point where they won’t let me marry who I want to. Sure, they hate tattoos, piercings, and guys without jobs, but if it’s my wish to marry one then so be it because it’s my mistake. I think if I brought home a guy who had no job, played video games and his guitar all day, was covered in tattoos and piercings they would have an extremely difficult time accepting our engagement. You see, my sister has this boyfriend (aside from the tattoos), and my parents absolutely can’t stand him. Of course they treat him with respect, but they still hate him. My parents would never tell my sister that she couldn’t marry her boyfriend, and they would show up to the wedding and wish her well, but they wouldn’t be too happy about it. I’m finding it really hard to squeeze out five hundred words this week lol. Despite the fact that my parents may not like who I marry, they would never in a million years cut me off completely and disown. I think that people who do that are horrible parents and shouldn’t have had children in the first place. I think my parents will always stand by me and support my decisions, regardless of their feelings towards them.

all is fair in love...and war?

The best way I can describe the war on terrorism is to compare it to a fad, like a diet program. At first, everyone was into it and when the going got tough, they decided they did not like the idea so much anymore. The attacks that occurred on September 11th shook the entire country, and the war did not seem like such a bad thing. However, the war continued on much like the Vietnam War (even though our current losses do not match the losses in the 70’s), and the public wanted out. They wanted their family members back, which is understandable to say the least.
I think that the desire to bring freedom and democracy to such a chaotic country is a noble cause, and yet I still think the war has gone on too long. I think that over time, that purpose has faded a little and now we as a country are afraid to pull out our troops because we fear what the people of Iraq and Afghanistan might do to retaliate. Not every person in the Middle East appreciates our cause, and so we in turn have become the terrorists. I am not denouncing my support for the war and our troops, nor am I saying that every person in the Middle East must bow to the American way, I am saying that the “war” was a good idea, but it has lost the glimmer of maintaining a country’s government. To watch a program on the Military Channel and witness our soldier’s interacting with the people and helping them is so deeply touching to me. However, I’m no idiot and in no way do I think that that’s all that goes on over there. No part of any war is glamorous; every part is tragic. My belief is that war is a necessary evil, not a defense mechanism to intimidate other countries. This whole entry may sound all over the place, and that’s because it is. I have so many opinions that it’s hard to decide where I stand. I’m right in the middle.
Regarding what the U.S. might do if another country decided the same path that Iraq and Afghanistan did, I can’t really determine what might happen. I think that with our new president, we would most likely stay out of it this time, because I don’t think Obama would risk throwing another war on all the people that voted for him; they wouldn’t be too happy. No President is perfect, and the war on terrorism may have been a mistake. However, in order to have a strong country we must learn from our mistakes and better our thought processes and hastiness regarding being the police dogs of the world.

Oversexed and Under Aged

Oversexed and Under Aged:
In a previous blog, I had mentioned what peer pressure encouraged me to do. Among these things was engaging in sex. For some, this topic may be a little touchy or even embarrassing, but as I’ve matured I’ve learned to embrace my sexuality and be comfortable with my decisions regarding it. I will be the first person to admit that I’m not perfect, and I’ll tell you that sex is the absolute ONE thing I always eschewed with a firm hand, even when it came to the phase in my life where no wasn’t an answer to my friends. I was willing to do anything to harden my soft exterior, but sex..scared me. I was only thirteen, fourteen. My friends were more than experienced in that field and I felt completely left out and weak because I wasn’t willing to French my boyfriend of one day in front of them. They acted as if I was a scared little child among them, and I and everyone else knew I didn’t belong. It always made me feel terrible, and I often found myself asking ‘why don’t you just suck it up and play the game?’ Even though I would do anything (or at least pretend to do it or lie about it) to build up their confidence in me, this was the one thing I could never bring myself to do. And somehow, the guilt always landed on me and I was left alone with a boyfriend who just stared at me like I was a useless virgin. Some people might find that to be an offensive term, but looking back now I highly appreciate it. Although most of the boys I ‘dated’ dumped me when they found out I wasn’t a child prostitute, I was glad that they did because it meant I didn’t have to say no to them anymore. I may have felt guilty about saying no all the time, but it was the one thing I had that I wouldn’t compromise.
Your parents always tell you to not have sex, it’s bad, but you never realize how right they are. At such a young age, sex can ruin you. My ‘best friend’ from my last blog was the school’s..umm bicycle. And at fourteen! She may have been popular, and my boyfriends always dumped me for her, but she ultimately lost (in more ways than one if you know what I mean, and I do think you do). To this day I can tell you that I have never regretted my decision to be the girl that no one ever got to. My virtue meant the world to me and I wasn’t about to lose that because some loser with a deceivingly cute face wanted it. I knew, even at that age, that boys didn’t want it because it was a ‘special experience that you share with someone you love’, it was something they needed to boast about in the gym locker room. And I am so glad I never gave in.

concepts of death

Making Connections pg. 161:

The poem “Hanging Fire” by Audre Lorde illustrates a fourteen year old girl’s fear of death and her constant worry about petty things; she worries about a boy, her ashy knees, learning to dance for an upcoming party, having a room that is too small, being a better student than the boy she worries about, wearing braces, having nothing to wear for the next day, and all the while she is simultaneously worrying about if she’ll die before graduation, if she’ll die soon and her mother will still be in her bedroom when it happens. The silly things that she worries about are common among girls her age, but dying? It all seems a little strange to me, worrying about dying and still making time to worry about her looks.
In the poem “From the Diary of an Almost Four Year Old” by Hanan Mikha’il ‘Ashrawi, the young girl is preoccupied with the loss of her eye, which she lost when she was shot by a soldier. Her concern is that of a much younger girl, a nine month old girl, who was also shot; and she wonders if the soldier that shot her was the same one that shot the younger girl. She expresses that the younger child did not deserve the same fate she suffered, simply because she was a baby.
It seems that the two girls in the poems have nothing in common. The teenager is more concerned about worldly things while the child is wondering why a soldier would shoot a baby and how she will see the world now that she is missing an eye. The four year old seems to have a better grasp on life, a more mature grasp while the teenager is all too concerned with death and tomorrow’s outfit. It is ironic that a four year old who was shot is less plagued with the fear of death than a teenager who has never suffered a near death experience. The younger child almost seems to be fed up with life, simply because a baby was shot, and the teenager is fed up with life because she is going through the notions of being a teenager. The child does not fear death because she has seen it and does not wish to continue with life. I’m not exactly sure why the teenager fears death so much. Now, this is just an opinion, but from the lines “I’m old enough, almost four, I’ve seen enough of life, but she’s just a baby who didn’t know any better” I gather that she doesn’t like life too much because of the cruelty she has witnessed at such a young age. The main difference between these two poems is the mature attitude that the child expresses and the petty attitude that the teenager expresses. The child does not fear death as the teenager does and therefore has a better outlook on her life.

entry numero tres

writing topic on page 263:




One experience that pressured me into acting like a complete mess was middle school. I know that I should narrow it down to one specific event, but the fact is that the two years I spent in middle school were one big mess of an experience. Going to a new school was always a tricky thing because you had to figure out how you would survive your first day and eventually make new friends. On my first day I met someone and we were best friends instantly, calling each other right when we got home from school, having sleepovers, ditching class together, and spending every minute together. However, I was never quite like her or the people she introduced me to. She and her friends were into smoking, sex, and alcohol. I had just transferred from a tiny hole in the wall Christian school, and was in no position to go with the flow. I had no idea what I should do; go along with their antics and survive, or go my own way and not have fun. Being stupid, I chose to try to mold myself into a girl that maybe she could have fun with. I never realized just how much pressure could destroy a person’s intelligence. I had always been a straight A student, but when I started trying to fit in with these losers I almost flunked out of the seventh grade. How I didn’t see that I was being a complete idiot is beyond me even still. It was the simple fact that I was never quite tough enough, was never willing to drink as much or smoke as much that sent me into the idiot phase of my life. Peer pressure can be as real or as insignificant as you want it to be, and I was too stupid to see the difference between having friends and hanging out with burnouts that to this day haven’t done jack with their lives. The one thing that bothers me most is that I let them change me and my standards. I don’t want to sound stuck up, but I was better than these people. I knew I wanted to graduate with a 4.0 and go to a university, while they just wanted to get high at lunch. It’s not pressure from friends, but all the people around you who make you feel like you should change yourself.
I think I may be missing the point a little on this topic, but when I really think about it, public pressure can be from your friends too and not just people in general. Everyone has suffered from pressure, and it has changed them all either for the good or the worse. I don’t believe it to necessarily be a horrible thing that happens to a person, I believe that it can be a wonderful thing. I think this because I have been changed for the better; I have become a strong person and learned to always listen to myself first.

responding to literature

Nothing beats the satisfaction you get from reading a good book. Not only do you feel a sense of accomplishment, but you also feel like you are broadening your understanding of literature. Well, that may not be the case for everyone who picks up a piece of literature, but for some people it can expand their knowledge. I think that people can respond to literature in many different ways, like crying at the end of a book, throwing the book across the room in frustration, or getting excited when something marvelous happens to one of the characters. However, not all people get fired up when reading a book. I just asked my mother how she responds to literature, and her reply was “with a yawn.” To some extent, I can completely relate to that. Sometimes, literature can be so utterly boring that you’d rather be “slapped for an hour” than read a crappy novel as my Psychology 101 teacher once said so truly. Forced reading has always been a pain in the neck for me because I’ve had such bad experiences with it (Paraclete’s idea of good literature is severely off key). Getting back to the topic; there are other ways of response to literature that are not physical reactions. One can emotionally respond to literature, be it a poem or a novel, by feeling what the character or the author feels; understanding the message hidden deep within the words and rhythm. Some people, when reading a book or poem, can get emotionally attached to the character or writer. This is a reaction that I am all too familiar with. As you know from reading my first entry, I love books more than air, and I know what it’s like to have such a deep understanding and passion for what you are reading. Literature provides us with fantasy, something we all know, love, and crave in our lives. Something as small as a romantic sonnet can send us reeling into a world of want; a desire for what the writer is conveying. By reading, we can expand our minds and open ourselves to new interpretations of the world. As English teachers in our past years of education have taught us, it is important to interpret and analyze what we are reading in order to fully understand it. In some ways, I do agree, but for the most part I find it to be a tedious task that only further confuses me; particularly when it comes to poetry. I think that if you don’t really understand or react to a poem, then you should just leave it be. Analyzing it can be so boring and I’d rather spend my time reading a poem that I understand and drawing some kind of emotion from it. Literature can change your perspective on life if you take it deeply into consideration. Books that make you think about yourself and how you react to the world around you are of the most important things we can learn from analyzing literature.

how literature has impacted me

When I hear the word “literature”, I tend to think of things like enormous text books filled with ordinary short stories and boring poetry. However, literature cannot be condensed into one giant text book sent by all English teachers to torture their students. Literature can be an amazing thing if you look in the right places. Whether it is in a simple poem that speaks to you every time you read it or in a series of large books that make you feel every part of it, literature speaks, in some way, to everyone. Throughout high school, I had a fairly good relationship with reading. I was always open to starting a new series or reading a five page poem. My English teacher sophomore year made English my favourite subject. Some of my peers hated her strict schedule and did not appreciate the method in which she taught us to love literature as she did. I was said to leave her class by the time junior year rolled around, and I was even more depressed when I found out just how one teacher could butcher a single subject. My last two years of high school English were more than enough to put an entire community to sleep. And when I say that this teacher completely ruined my love for literature, I mean it. Every day was the same old routine of reading poems and short stories that held no meaning. I never thought one semester could be so dull. Once I had finished high school, I was glad to be rid of the monotonous schedule of tending to poorly written….crap. I didn’t start really reading again until I went to work for my dad; the work load is pretty light and I often find myself with no papers to file or counters to clean. The days seemed endless with a touch of Facebook here and Myspace there. To backtrack a little bit, my cousin has been giving me books for Christmas for years now, and I had already read every single book known to my house, so I decided to dig into the pile of somewhat interesting looking books. To no avail, my search for a good book dwindled down to me reading a few pages in the middle to see if the book was any good. When I started reading a series of British books about a teenage girl, I was immediately hooked. The way the author wrote had me laughing at every sentence. You know that feeling when you change the channel, and on a commercial you suddenly realize that you are missing part of an awesome movie? That’s the best way I can describe my passion for reading. Nowadays, when I hear the word literature, I don’t think of crappy reading assignments from a stiff text book dirtied with doodles and the occasional ‘I hate poetry’ scrabbled next to a sonnet, I think of a giant novel filled with scenarios and passionate characters that I never want to stop reading. Literature is my escape when my own world is too boring. I fear that my life without a good book would be meaningless. I love literature (books in particular as you may have noticed). However, I still get the same feeling of satisfaction from reading a poem that makes me swoon. I hope that this class will teach me a greater appreciation for every type of literature, not just books; although I am not entirely spent on the idea of finding another amazing novel.