Confession Tuesday: Counting Down the Days

Okay, so I have to confess- I am not in the mood to work. There's one week of school left, but we are having final exams, we're completing a mission in science, of course Mrs. Meadows has made us add four new posts to our blogs (and it's only Tuesday) and in Spanish we have to complete a project.

Ugggggh. What's the point? I heard grades dont even count after today or something, so must we continue to work our butts off? Perhaps it's the fact that I'm leaving, and I feel a little rebellious, defiant even, but either way, I'm sick of working

And I know you may be wondering why Im still coming to school if I'm feeling so incredibly lazy (see, I have no problem admitting it.) The answer is, that I want to see my friends. Not Due tomorrow written on the board.

So teachers, if you see this, no disrespect or anything, please dont go and get offended and then double our already traumatizing work, just lower the amount of assignments. Pretty please?

And P.S - I know more work for us means more work for YOU, the teachers, to grade, and believe me, we reeeeallly don't want to have to trouble you with deciphering our horrible handwriting, incorrect spelling, and misplaced comma, because if we win, you win. But if we lose, you lose.


Your choice.

Memoir Monday - Expecting the Unexpected

Unhang, crumple, throw into suitcase, and repeat. Unhang, crumple, throw into suitcase, and repeat.
I glanced at my almost empty closet, my bare dressers, and the piles and piles of wire on my floor. Yes, I hang my clothes on wire hangers.

Almost a year ago, I was doing the same thing but in a different house, different room, but now that I had experience with the process and was familiar to it, I could go pretty fast, and soon, in a haze, almost two suitcases were filled. Probably another two lay sprawled all over my bed, those were the "don't keep”s the clothes which had grown to small, or out of season, or had a hole or stain, or I just didn’t like. Although I was all for donating the clothes, I almost didn’t want to; it felt like the clothes held little memories of my past, and in the end, were just another thing I had to part my separate ways with.

I wondered what Daniel would be like, no, not some friend, that was the name of the school—J.J Daniel. I wondered if we would make it before it snowed, or if it even would, would we get to make those snowmen again this year? I wondered what Balboa would be like without me here. Who would be made fun of for talking (too) much? How would they be able to do Someone Like You in music the next quarter without me? Who would ask random questions in class or repeatedly say the word ‘Ghetto’ much to the annoyance of my friends? Whose state would be made fun of? Or would anyone even remember these small things as much as I would?

            As I closed my last suitcase, taking it outside to be weighed, I also put an end to all my doubts. Was I ever the one to prepare myself for the next mission, next phase of my life? Did I know I was changing schools, or moving to Panama, did I know I was moving back months in advance? No.

            Sometimes, I think it’s better to expect the unexpected, go with the flow and to have no expectations, but to see where life takes you.

Catcher Craze

Catcher Craze - Should it be read or not?

Catcher In The Rye. Although these are only four words, it kindled the interest of many, some positively, some negatively. Written by JD Salinger in 1951, it seemed everyone had caught the 'Catcher Craze'; some worked feverishly to get the book banned even making it one of the most frequently censored schools (Chasan 2) and some gave it to their classes to read, supporting it. In my opinion, the book has more than earned its right to be read by grades if past the age or turning the age 13.

My opinion on this matter is this way because of a few reasons. For one, the book was based off of the author's personal experience from the private schools he went to. So the book isn't about someone going on and on because from what the author thinks would happen; the events or disposition of many in the book actually happened, meaning the experiences Holden faces in the book are very close to real life events Salinger had to face. And if the stuff in his book has occurred in real life, who are we to degrade him and judge his life? Decide whether or not his life story should be told or not? That’s just it; we don’t have that liberty.

Another point is that the events and problems which Holden faces aren't just for that period of time or that generation, many of the coming of age issues Holden, the main character and narrator, faces can be applied to teenagers even now, in this day of time. For example, in the book, Holden feels like he's the misfit, he doesn't belong among his peers, and who can say they have honestly never felt like that? Even today, millions of kids must feel that way; Holden does not have the best relationship with either of his parents, where he feels they don't care about him as much as he wishes them to, and parent drama? Typical teenage drama 101.   

Even though I believe the book should not be restricted, I do understand why some parents would like to restrict their children from reading the book. Getting drunk, drugs and alcohol, having sex, an opposing view of everything; really, that's in almost every book now, so although it may not seem like a big deal anymore, it was a big deal back then. A book that used bad language, talked in length and detail about sex and hookers, and alcohol was definitely not what people were expecting, because in the time the book was written, most authors did not use such subjects in their book, so it was definitely a shock to many parents and schools districts, and as expected, many got together to stop the change that would ultimately, in my opinion, lead to many books being written in the new type of, almost daring type of manner as many are now.  

But despite the protests, I insist that Catcher in the Rye should be a book taught in, if not every, then most schools. If parents are still upset, perhaps permission slips should be sent out, just to please both sides, but at the end of the day, I think the book should be read because it offers valuable life lessons to students all over. And besides, if children learn from the book, that’s what parents send their children to school for, right? To learn? And teachers have degrees in teaching, do they not? So why don’t we just leave the final decision up to the teacher which book they would like to assign to their students to read? I’m sure in the end, despite the arguments of others, the teacher will know best.

Memoir Summary.

The Summary of Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl

As one may tell from the title of the book, this entire memoir consists of epistles from the diary of a young Anne Frank, and is, in my opinion, absolutely breathtaking. To be able to get a one-on-one feel of the conditions Anne, and many other Jews, had to live like is horrifying but also immensely interesting. Through her diary we watch Anne grow up into a young lady through pages, a rather beautiful blossoming. She received her diary as a birthday gift for her thirteenth birthday, June 12th and less than a month later, Anne and her family went into hiding into what Anne refers to as the "Secret Annex" as to avoid the German concentration camps, and so does Anne’s diary.

Although Anne’s father doesn’t wish to explain why the Jewish people were being forced out of their homes to his naive daughter, Anne knows that her life will be different for the get-go. At first, the decrees banning Jewish people from doing certain things went above her head, and she focused on her happy life, her school work and friends, her gentlemen suitors being the biggest problem, but soon, Jews weren’t allowed to ride in public transportation, could only shop at certain stores, had to identify themselves by wearing patches, and couldn’t be in a school with other children—this is when Anne started to notice how things were changing, and when some of her friends stopped coming to school, she understood, although not so thoroughly, the situation she, and Jews all over Europe, were about to be put in. So did her father, apparently, because he was the one who readied the “Secret Annex” for their arrival.

During their time in the "Annex" the Franks allow the family of the Van Daans— Mr and Mrs Van Daan as well as their son, Peter— and later on, Mr. Dussel to live with them, also. The families went into hiding during the year of 1942 until 1944. They do not get to go outside, are given only a small variety of dried or canned food, their 2 or 3 set of clothes which are being shared with one another growing far too small, and what Anne describes worst of all, the quarrels; Mr. Van Daan fighting with Mrs. Van Daan, Anne with her mother, Anne with Margot, Anne with Mr. Dussel, Mrs. Van Daan with Mrs. Frank, of course such fights can only be expected when people, who previously did not live together and aren’t used to seeing each other day and night, are thrust into the position where they live together for 2 years.

From her diary entries you can tell Anne matures very much in the two years she lives in the "Annex", in my opinion, perhaps Anne has seen and knows far too much than any other 13 or 14 year old should. Instead of focusing on her school work, riding bikes, playing outside, and slowly maturing as most girls of this age do, Anne thinks of war, how her mother is not the ideal motherly figure she craves for her to be and how because of being hurt, she pushes her away, which in turn, hurts her mother as well more than she lets on, she takes pills to fight depression, and realizes that even though she's constantly reprimanded for "talking too much" Anne must talk in order to close the void she feels which is building inside of her. Anne realizes how wrong it is to judge people, not just by their religion or culture, but by their ethics, habits, race, color and anything else because she, herself, is inspected every day by the elders, who seem to be just waiting for Anne to slip up. Anne realizes that out of anyone, she judges herself the most, thinking over all her actions of the day at night, whether she could have done something differently, or better, or if this was irresponsible.

Nearing the end of the diary, Anne writes several entries dedicated to one topic- Peter Van Daan. In early January of 1944, Anne finds herself liking Peter as more than just a friend, and soon realizes that her feelings are returned. Anne and Peter form an unofficial relationship. Even though I’m happy Anne found a source of happiness in Peter and they are able to help each other cope through the difficult time they are in, I don’t think Anne would have chosen Peter as her love interest if for not being in hiding. In the beginning of the story Anne talks about Henry, a boy who fancies her, and she’s all but in love with, and so I think Peter, he’s not really one of the runners or candidates for Anne’s love, but the whole election. And although she feels happier when she’s with Peter, despite their precious moments spent together, Anne finds herself still unhappy.

In the months to come, talk of a revolution and the end of the war is very hopeful, and all the residents in the “Secret Annex” are very optimistic, in fact, Anne even tells her diary about D-Day, June 6^th and all of the Franks as well as the Van Daans and Dussel hope to soon be out of the confined space which they have been living in, to get fresh air, to take luxury baths, and to eat warm meals, already picturing how wonderful it will be after the war. Anne however, refuses to let herself hope too much, because she fears her expectations might be let down.

August 1^st, 1944 is Anne’s last journal entry. In this rather short entry, Anne takes a break from talking about the war and talks about herself and how others perceive her- the loudmouth, the “Bundle of contradictions”, the “Boy Chaser After”, all these titles, Anne admits, were only given to her by others who don’t understand her. People think of her to be far too loud and talkative, but Anne confides that she only talks as a way to distract herself. To convince her mind she is happy, although in her heart, she’s really not. However, as you can tell from the many quarrels described with Mrs. Van Daan over this topic, others do not understand this.

The end of the book are not pages from Anne’s diary but a telling of what experts believe to have happened to the Frank family: on August 4^th it is predicted a Dutch informer told the Gestapo of the “Secret Annex” and the eight Jews were taken to their headquarters in Amsterdam and after a few weeks of imprisonment, were sent to Westerbork. On September 3^rd, the Allies captured Brussels, but alas, the Franks were among the last 1,000 shipment of Jews to leave Holland.

The families were separated, the Frank women in one camp and Otto Frank in another. Soon Anne’s mother and sister, Margot, died. Although, from claims of people who survived, Anne was never informed, perhaps she sensed something to be amiss, but her speculations were never clarified. Anne soon also dies. Two weeks later, Allies win the war and invade the concentration camps. I personally think it’s almost too tragically horrible to be real. She could have lived if only the Allies came 2 weeks earlier. 14 days. That’s all it would have taken, and after surviving all she’s been through, Anne dies only a little too soon. Now Mr. Otto Frank is the only living member of the Frank family and returns to the “Annex” to see paper all over the floor, this turns out to be Anne’s diary.

At reading the diary, Mr. Frank is said to have cried immediately after, and at first, he chose to keep the diary his own special possession, which no other eyes could see, but after being urged by a professor, Mr. Frank submits Anne’s diary to be made into a book.

Once published, the book became a best seller, selling over a million copies, then translated into over 20 languages, selling approximately five million more copies. The name of Anne’s diary was changed, from the German name, Het Achterhuis, this is the name Anne originally wished to call the diary if it was ever published, although there’s no exact translation, the closest means The Secret Annex, however, this name was changed to Anne Frank, and now simply, it is known as Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl.

I feel so thankful after finishing the book, for all that I have, and I feel horrible for how we take things for granted when people like Anne have to live in a box almost, isolated from the world for two years and to no avail. Germany also feels shameful because the story was turned into a play, which when performed in Germany, received no applause at the end but a single despondent cry. There are many schools and places named after Anne as well, including the school Anne went to, before their family went into hiding.

Overall, the book was an absolutely amazing read of the struggles Jews faced during World War 2 as well as a major reality check for yours truly, and I now understand what all the hype for this book was about. I think if Anne knew how many she was inspiring with her stories, she’d feel just as proud of herself as I, and I’m sure millions of other people, do as well.

Thank you Anne.

Out of His Head

The Legend of Sleepy Hallow

               I stood there and looked at myself in the mirror. I had always been told

I was a beautiful, affable young woman but was it just the pleasure of seeing me that impelled these suitors to return day after day, or a much more superficial cause? This thought haunted me daily and although fathers words reverberate through my mind telling me this could not be further from the truth and to put such thoughts out of my mind, I can not help but be despondent.  

              For this reason, I fear wearing my heart on my sleeve. I act hopeful when in reality I have to swallow pills every morning to ward away the despondent feeling inside of me growing larger and larger, seeming interminable. Still, I hold my tongue and put on a brave face and a fragile smile, save, of course, when I'm with them.

          I can't quite decide on who I like best, but when in their presence, nothing feels amiss. Which is why I soak up their entreaties for my hand greedily; their love water and I the sponge for I'm never too sure when their patience with my will run thin.

         Naturally, they abhor each other, I know Abraham for a fact has played pranks on darling Ichabod, his irascible personality revealed whenever Ichabod is in sight. Abraham has made him the laughing stock of the town, but none the less, Ichabod returns to me every day. The knowledge of such a thing fills me with such satisfaction that my usually tremulous smile stretches from eye to eye in a refreshing way I don't often feel.

        Although Ichabod may act like a sage, experienced in being a school teacher and all, he's immensely superstitious. In fact, in our vocal lesson yesterday, he came to me with such a frightened way about him, fidgeting, his hands tremulous, and constantly looking over his shoulder as if he had just seen a ghost. His disposition soon made me weary and when I asked him to explain his sudden change of behavior, he told me the the Headless Horseman was what was bothering him now that he knew it was more than just a mere legend. At hearing this, I could not stop myself from laughing, right in his face too, but now I feel horrible, realizing that the Legend gave Ichabod quite a fright.  

      He left our farm early that night even denying my offer of tea, and Monday he missed our lesson, as the rest of the week. Thinking he was offended, I went to meet him at his school, but when I asked if Ichabod had come was informed he had not come in at all this week, and was promptly asked to leave. And so I did, but my next stop was not our farm, but Ichabod's home. When I arrived there, the door was locked, the -ights off, and the only living thing around as far as I could tell, was Ichabod's horse. I saw the horse immediately but the owner was no where in sight.

         At this point I was so worried, I even thought of the Headless Horseman riding after Ichabod in his nightly quest of his head, convincing myself I had heard a scream the night he left my house. Ridiculous right? Anyhow, that is the point of which I came to you. Please, please, find Ichabod, because now as the circumstances are, I've decided; I choose Ichabod. And I know you say Abraham looks exceedingly knowing when one mentions Ichabod's disappearance, but I have to assure you, Abraham would never kill Ichabod, play a few pranks now and then but he means no harm, and I firmly and truly believe in this. As for now, I will return to my farm, but as soon as your staff and yourself have the slightest idea or hunch of where he may be, please ask someone to relay the news to me.

     Thank you so much for your time, I know with you on the case and I can put my mind at ease. Goodbye now.

Catching Leukemia

Catching leukemia

I stroked the worn out edge of it with my thumb, holding it in my hand memories flooding though me. It belongs to me brother Sterling— or at least belonged.

He got it for his birthday. Mom wanted to take us out to some fancy restaurant and then let Sterling pick out his own gift. He didn’t eat anything; but he ran to the shop absolutely giddy. He came back with the mitt in his hand, eyes glimmering.

I remember talking about it with him after his game, asking why he kept writing those poems onto it. He set the mitt down and looked at me like he couldn’t believe I had to ask. But instead of answering my question he just smiled that toothy smile of his and ran his fingers through his scarlet hair before turning back to the glove.

This just about drove me crazy. Not Sterling avoiding the question, but him running his fingers through his mane, as if he needed to draw even more attention to the thing being as bright as it already was. I had told him this before, but he still did it, and not just every once in a while, but all the time!

He paused looking lost in thought thinking of the next poem to write down. While he thought I gave him a quick up-down; he looked weaker than before, the circles under his eyes more prominent than ever and even though he was smiling he looked as feeble and unhappy as I’d ever seen him. Then suddenly I remembered a quote, “How about ‘every spectacular incident of evil will be balanced by 10,000 acts of kindness?” I asked. Sterling closed his eyes thinking it over, perhaps, before quickly reopening them, pausing to stare at me, “Are you sure you’re not the smart one in the family?” he joked causing me to roll my eyes and scoff, though I was secretly pleased, at the same time trying to think of a good comeback, but before I got the chance Sterling picked up his mitt again.

That was the last time I spoke to Sterling before his leukemia got him, alone, in the dead silence of the night.

He never officially gave me custody of the mitt, but that horrible night when I ran to my room, hoping when sunrise came he’d be back in his room re-reading the poems, there it was, sitting on my bed. I must’ve read those poems more than a hundred times before managing to go to sleep that night, tossing and turning, even in my sleep, wishing Sterling there with me.

Now with the mitt warm in my hand, I knew he would always be with me, even if it was just by the memory of him running his hand through his hair, holding the same glove that I held now, that night.

Jamestown Letter

                                                                                                                         Aug 2, 1607 Dear journal,

We have recently arrived in the colony which has been named
Jamestown. Although this is a amazing accomplishment, since we do consider ourselves the first permanent settlers in the New World, the disposition of the colony has only gone from bad to worse.

The noblemen refuse to work, although we are barely able producing enough food to keep one another from starving. Because of this, there was talk of perhaps returning to Britain. When the burgesses heard word of this however, they were infuriated.
This is why the burgesses decided to instill a new rule by John Smith : "He who does not work does not eat". This is also why many of the people now awaken at day break and work until nightfall. Even the noblemen. Providing of course they would like to eat.

The noblemen are outraged by this new rule, but I suppose it is only right since we, the people of the colony, did elect the house of burgesses ourselves. So despite the protests of the noblemen the burgesses insist that it is imperative that we start living our day to day lives by this stanza.

You might wonder, dear journal, what it is I do during these days. While most of the other people are out planting the latest cash crop-- tobacco-- and others stand watch of the rumored guile nearby natives, I was assigned the task of the up raising of the younger generation.

Even though many of the children are very young, it's almost as if they can sense the unrest in the colony as we prepare for our first winter. Almost as if that they know that the growth of the colony is not as spontaneous as we hoped it to be. I hope only for the best, we can only hope for the and wait to see if our colony is meant to perspire or not.

The Night Before

Today's writing challenge is to create an account of the murder of the point of view of the murder victim, the subject, the police, or the witness based on the details from the "The Tell Tale Heart" by Edgar Allan Poe.

P.S --- I don't really know wether this is going to be good or not, so keeping that in mind, here we gooo


The Night Before 


It didn't seem very serious. Just a paranoid neighbor having read a frightening novel before retiring to bed. Scared of the contorted shadows, chirping crickets, imagining shreiks, or specifically a single gruesome shreik from a nearby house. Nothing to corroborate the statement. But claiming that he surmised foul play, for the man had much fortune any greedy soul would unhesitatingly take.
We did try to convince the frightened citizen to return to bed, but to no avail. After much arguing the chief succumbed and deputed us three to investigate the claim.  We arrived grimacing and fairly quick at the house for not many people take strolls at this hour. It was about midnight when we were notified and left the station.
When we arrived the care taker seemed calm enough, innocent even. This serenity I now know was stimulated. The caretaker bade us welcome into the house informing us that the proprietor was absent from the country at the moment. The caretaker led my fellow officers and I further inside the building allowing us to take a cursory inventory of the abode. The home looked not out of the ordinary, the caretaker pleasant, and I derived there seemed to be no wrong. As we reached the end of our endeavor and walked into what seemed to be the master bedroom, my suspicions had been diminished to nothing. The caretaker assembled a few chairs allowing us to sit and brought in refreshments saying it seemed we were dehydrated from our search. We four sat and chatted, while sipping our drinks, about nothing in particular.
And suddenly it happened. The caretaker abruptly arose from his seat as if electrified. "Villans!" the caretaker shrieked as the other officers and I quickly stood and readied our weapons "Dissemble no more! I admit the deed! Tear up the planks! Here, here! It is the beating of his hideous heart!"
The other deputies stood by the crumbled heap of what formerly was the caretaker, who now rocked vigorously on the floor. While I tore and clawed against the floorboards in an abrasive manner, my emotions detached for I knew what I would stumble upon was likely to be unpleasant. Although I knew this, I knew it like the back of my hand having had experiences like this before, I could not help but gasp seeing the face of the old man. While most of his body still clad by the floorboards I could see his face. His expression seemingly unsurprised as if expecting death was upon him and perhaps even welcoming it. There he lay, mesmerizing, frightening, ghastly and horrifying all at once, but the one thing I will not be able to forget despite my hardest efforts to, the one thing that still haunts my dreams to this day, was his one open, lifeless, vulture-like eye.

Day 1

Today (August 10th) is a Wednesday, hence a short day of school. But I stayed afterschool with Maria and Gaetane. When I got home I wanted to start copying the notes I wrote on paper onto the notebooks I forgot at home in my binder. As I was rummaging through my stuffed bag, I saw the homework pass I earned last year from Ms.Rees. But like most things I have, I lost it and had no memory of it what-so-ever. That is until Ben gave it to me today. (I have no idea how he got it either. Gosh, I really should get a locker!) I just put it off to the side and started my work.
It was pretty late when I closed my last notebook, and I saw a glance of yellow on my bed from the corner of my eye. I picked up my homework pass and saw she spelled my name wrong...Again! But it's okay, it's been about a year, so I'm used to it. But, I can't help but hope she'll get it right this year!

Oh, and blogger isn't working. At all. Maybe it's just my house, but I took pictures of the site saying 'Blogger no esta actualmente disponible' . You know, for proof.