Travel Journal: Clear skies

     My vacation so far hasn’t been exactly the most exciting; but today I woke up waiting for nothing more than a good day. Me and my family went all the way up to San Blas today and spent most of the day there. Of course no trip is ever perfect, at least not for me and my family. First of all,  5 in the morning?  I wanted to throw the pillow at my dad for waking me up. I nearly fell asleep in the bathroom.    The driver, ironically called Pacifico, picked us up at our house at about 5:30 and the whole way to San Blas he had on the loudest gospel music. In addition to that, he sang, THE whole way. Thank god for the loudest song on my i-pod and replay button. Other than that the day was good, no rain, clear water and clear skies all the way. I swear I could live at the beach.

San Blas 2011
Me and my sister

Lost Michaela

Michaela, she was known for being one of the few in her grade that was prudent and kept her grades up all year round.  Unlike our lackadaisical classmates her enthusiasm and school spirit exceeded any of the teacher’s expectations. Of course if you met her after those few months of tragedy in her family, you wouldn’t have known her like that. You would have never suspected that behind those bad grades and rebellious attitude she used to be the teachers one and only favorite. At the start of 12^th grade, the months past, she became troubled.  Her respectful attitude turned into an audacious one that teachers did not like or appreciate.

       I watched as more and more frequently, her serene manner in class disappeared as she would rankle teachers by mutiny against school work. No one knew exactly what had caused the recent change in this, before, conscientious girl. I knew though, her father had told me. I used to be her friend, that is, after all that had happened to her. But whenever in a principal’s, teachers, or counselor’s office (normally because they had confiscated things Michaela would pilfer from various students) they would ask her why she had become like this.

      She would never specifically depict the reason, only give certain inklings. She’d answer the questions with something along the lines of “There is a profuse amount of events happening in my life” and would leave at that, leaving everyone clueless.

       She found herself being rebuked by teacher’s everyday and just like me they grew despondent as to if she would ever go back to being the girl they all missed. On graduation day I watched from a distance as she sat among the parents, never having been able to graduate because of her slovenly class work. She sat watching as every single one of her classmates got on stage, received the award and stepped down. As I stepped up, I saw as she stood up and clapped the hardest she could, a smile on her face. I knew that girl I missed was somewhere, she wasn’t lost.
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Confession Tuesday: Destiny killed the Cellphone

I confess that when my parents heard the loud noise of a cellphone falling down 4 flights of stairs, it didn’t entirely happen accidently.  When my phone fell out of my pocket onto the floor, I was supposed to bend down and pick it up (something someone normal would do). But I stared at that piece of metal and plastic that I called my phone. So this is what happened, because that phone was everything I never wanted and because I’m particularly lazy on the weekends, I kicked it instead. Honestly I didn’t mean for it to go down the complete 4 flights of stairs,. Just one or two, I don’t know, maybe the phone wanted to die completely. Maybe it was destiny that the phone went all the way. But when it did fall all the way, i imagined my parents killing me. 

To top it off I ran all the way down stairs only to find my mom staring at the phone blankly. I looked at her, then the phone, then back at my mom. I literally threw myself at the floor; hugging that phone as if it was my new born baby. I whined and moaned for my mothers sake, but inside all I could keep thinking about was, when’s my birthday? Oh right the 26th. Great, I guess that’s when I get my new phone. I was having a joy fest in my head as my mother called Dad to tirade me about the responsibilities of having a cellphone. All I heard at the end of that conversation was what my father whispered to my mother. “I guess we have to get her a new cellphone for her birthday, we were going to anyways.”

To read more Confession Tuesday click,here.

Memoir Monday: Hugging Strangers

            I don’t talk to my friends in Guatemala as much as I used to. I’m horrible in the concept of keeping in touch. And it’s not that my friends in Guatemala and me weren’t close, no. A lot of the time I wish I was still back in Guatemala being ridiculous with my friends there. And even though there is a lack of communication that I wish there wasn’t, I still think about them constantly. They haunt my mind, reminding me that I miss them.

            I feel like they haunt me even at the mall, all the way over here in Panama. Yesterday as I walked out of the movie theater I stopped in my steps as I saw what looked like my friend, Alex.
            Alex is the kind of friend that smiles at every moment of the day. Everyone has that friend that is constantly joking and in a cheerful mood ,well , that was Alex. And other than our names being the same, she and I were like the same person.

So my initial reaction was to run up to her and hug her. But again, like I said before, it was what LOOKED like my friend Alex. But when you see a stranger on the street that looks EXACTLY like someone you really want to hug, your initial reaction is to do exactly that, hug them. Of course if it ISNT that person, you might go through a series of awkward minutes trying to explain why you hugged a complete stranger.
            Luckily I didn’t have to go through those awkward minutes. But that girl, she looked so much like Alex that I just wanted to hug her for that fact. Just for looking like Alex.
When you find yourself wanting to run up to a complete stranger and hugging them, you know you might be a little crazy. But it made me realize, if I was willing to hug a complete stranger just because she looked like my friend, I probably miss Alex more than I thought I did. I wanted to give that complete stranger the type of hug you give your best friend the first day of school after summer. Those type of hugs that start with you walking towards each other but then transforms into a light jog because you are so anxious to see them after 2 months.
      Oh God, imagine if I would have given her that hug. Probably would have thought I was trying to choke her.
            But back to my initial point; I do miss Alex. I miss staying in the art room to turn the music up to the limit, I miss laughing to what nobody thought was funny, I miss making weird faces across the room.

I remember the first time I noticed that Alex might be equally as odd as me. It was in the middle of class as we laughed silently to ourselves, on either side of the room, about a word that had sparked a whole train of inner jokes. Sometimes I still wish I could share those moments with Alex. Sometimes I wish she was here or I was there, just so we could laugh on either side of the room, silently, to ourselves. One of my best friends, and one of the strangest.

A Book Is Made to Be Read: Catcher in the Rye

             

The main reasons that Catcher in the Rye appears on so many school list as banned might have been more logical in the past. However in our time what was considered obscene and worth banning before are concepts that the children and youth today are more familiar with. The way Holden acts as a teenager might have been less realistic before but today it isn’t as unusual as it was before.

         The reasons for which it is banned like the language, prostitution, sexual references and obscenities are things that teenagers already know about. Children aren’t as innocent as they were before and if the reason that it is banned is because of those things then it is absurd because if not already, eventually, children will stumble upon these topics. Banning the book for these reasons will not prevent the children to encounter the concepts that are shown.

         The book is relevant to the teenagers of our time. The issues that Holden comes across are those that many teenagers face and happen frequently today. For example, the youth going against the authority, not wanting to grow-up, being rebellious and trying to find where you belong. It is also a coming of age book and teenagers today can relate while reading it.

 Many schools along the south of the U.S have banned it for being “anti-white”, for going against the “perfect” image of an American family. It is close minded to ban a book just because it goes against that unrealistic idea of everything being perfect. But I believe the children should at least have the option to read the book.  They should decided if they want to or don’t want to read the book of their choice.

        

                                                                  

The House on Mango Street

In The House on Mango Street, Sandra Cisneros tells about her experiences in a series of vignettes. She writes about her life while living on this street we have all become so familiar with, Mango Street.  In the book Esperanza struggles to believe that the house on Mango Street is truly her home. “I knew that I had to have a house. A real house.  One that I could point to. But this isn’t it. The house on Mango Street isn’t it.”(pg.5). She wants more, not a house that she is ashamed to live in. And although Esperanza hopes for and wants more, for now she is only a child and when growing up, there are certain limitations to being a women in her culture. But Esperanza soon finds out she does not want to let the limitations get to her.

The house on Mango Street is not her home, Esperanza dreamed of so much more.  Her parents would tell her about the house they would eventually own for themselves, a good life style. But unlike the house that her parents mention, this house lies of Mango Street; it’s a sad red house with small spaces and the bricks, that are supposed to be compact, crumbling.  Her neighborhood is filled with neighbors who are evidentially not

wealthy; many of them showing the same cultural background as Esperanza and her family.

While living there Esperanza is surrounded by many female figures. But all of them have been tamed. All have been tamed by their husband or father. She tells about her great-grandmother, who she is named after. She was a “wild horse of a woman” but when Esperanza’s great-grandfather became her husband all that freedom and independence was thrown out the window. She sat at the window all her life thinking of what could have been, never forgiving Esperanza’s great-grandfather.  And like her great- grandmother, many of the women in Esperanza’s family and on her street share the same story. “I have inherited her name, but I don’t want to inherit her place by the window” (11) This is one of the lines that I like most in this memoir because It shows Esperanza starting to be independent and knowing what she wants in the future. It shows the path she wants to take is a successful one unlike most of the women around her.

Esperanza knows of women who cry into the night, cry for their home, women that are abused by their father or husband, women that sit at their window wishing for more.  And it is these women that impel Esperanza to wanting more. Esperanza knows that her future does not consist of any of these things. She doesn’t  want it to consist of any of these things, she wants to be free, make her own profit; she does not want to be tamed, stopped by anything or anyone. She then realizes what will set her free is her writing. What had been just a pass time and something she enjoyed doing would be her future and hope of exceeding the expectations there was for a women in her neighborhood and culture.

At the end of the book it is truly Mango Street that has changed Esperanza. The people there have shaped her dreams and hope of becoming a free woman. At the end of the day, Esperanza decides, the house on Mango Street is truly her home. Where she will come back to after many years, and think of as her childhood, where she belongs. “They will not know I have gone away to come back.”(110)

The Legend of Sleepy Hollow

         The Legend of Sleepy Hollow takes place in a Dutch settlement, where Ichabod Crane lives. Ichabod was a tall,lanky man who had fallen deeply in love with Katrina Van Tassel. But Katrina's beauty and affability lead Brom Bones to fall in love with her as well.
       While Ichabod Crane was wise and sage, Brom Bones had nothing other than his appearance and was nowhere near being as profound as Ichabod. Seeing that Ichabod was also competing for Katrina's love, Brom began to abhor him.
         One night Katrina's father organized a fest at which Brom and Ichabod were invited and attending to. Brom was very irascible and at the first sign of Ichabod and Katrina interacting and dancing he became furious. But refusing to become despondent, he pulled Ichabod aside and told him the story of the Headless Horseman, the spirit that haunted the Sleepy Hollow Woods.
         Ichabod, being the superstitious man that he was, left the party tremulous that he might find on his path home through the woods, the Headless Horseman. On his way home Ichabod, finding his fears becoming reality, heard the laughter of the Headless Horseman reverberate off every corner of the chilling woods.
         Ichabod Crane was never seen again and although the author never officially states it, it is believed that Brom's jealousy had impelled him to dress up as the Headless Horseman and scare Ichabod off.
         After there were no more signs of Ichabod, Brom, taking advantage, entreated Katrina to become his wife. Soon enough Brom Bones and Katrina Van Tassel were married.

Johnny's Mitt

                          Johnny was my younger brother. He was a baseball player and when I say baseball player I don’t mean a mediocre one; that would be an understatement. He was good, really good.
                 But his excellence didn’t stop there. He shined in so much more. Just like his fiery red hair shined from miles away. In academics he would excel the teacher’s  expectations every time; they would always rave on about how smart of a boy he was. And he was too, he really was. Even though he was two years younger than me, his intelligence was superb to mine.
                But back to him being a baseball player. He wore this baseball mitt, and boy did he love it. Honestly, back then, I didn’t know what he found so special about that particular mitt. But it was very important to him, his most prized possession. On the mitt he had written poems.  Words flowed all over it. I remember watching him writing, he would write all through the mitt’s pocket and fingers. Just take out that green marker and continuously mark down his own poetry.
            During games he would look down at the glove, every time. He reads the poems and then plays.  He would read the poems I mean, Johnny is gone. And that insignificant mitt that I found no importance to when Johnny was alive is now mine. The mitt in whole is mine. With poetry and all, the only remains I have of Johnny is that mitt.
           

No Longer an Ocean Away

Dear Abigail,

I regret ever taking that journey I took 13 years ago. But the master had told me, that dreadful day that I left you that we would both leave in search of riches and wealth. And now, it is clearer than ever that I shouldn’t have left, because that promise the master had made, was nothing but guile. He has worked me, almost to the point of complete starvation.

Our plan to come to this world did not turn out as easy as we thought. The supply of food is dwindling, for the wealthier people , like the master, refuse to work and find food. Since the master is one of them, he requires of me to do all his tasks. But the news of your soon to be arrival has lifted my spirits. Now the only thing I have to look forward to is you coming. Although you are leaving for the Plymouth colony, and I am settled in Jamestown, knowing that you are some miles away comforts me.
         The persecutions in England, I’ve heard, are becoming more frequent .And I couldn’t bear thinking that you might be in danger.  It is imperative that you come before anything happens to you. I am blissful to know that you are leaving for Plymouth. Your religious beliefs will be welcomed and accepted. You will no longer have the disposition of feeling exposed to any possible danger. 

Your journey is sure to be successful. You have been planning it for months and it is nowhere close to spontaneous. It seems all is perfectly worked out and I will be looking  forward to  more frequent letters from you , now that you won’t be a ocean away. I am eager for your arrival. I wish you the best on your voyage.

                  

Sincerely,
Jack 

No Sleep

                   The boy has been with me years, day and night. But never had I felt more kindness and loyalty from him. The boy was there whenever I needed something. I would feel dehydrated at night, the boy would offer me water, I would want a book from downstairs, the boy, he was there, to do or retrieve anything I wanted.
                 That night after I had shut my window- because I derived that if I didn’t a robber might slip into my house- I took out my inventory of pills and felt them go down my throat as I filled my mouth with water.

                 I lay in bed and turned the light off, but that night, no sleep came. I sensed tension in  the air  and the air was thick,as I surmised that someone was in my room, but I could only surmise, the room was pitch black. I made and endeavor to fall asleep, but like I said, no sleep came that night.
                Feeling that there was a presence in my room electrified my senses, and any sound, no matter how small, startled me. By then I figured the boy was the one I was feeling the presence of. Gingerly, I turned around in bed with no sudden movements, so that the boy wouldn’t know I was awake. I simulated to be asleep, but my heart gave regular hits against my chest rapidly, and it only seemed to increase in speed with every second that passed. With one quick jolt I sat up in bed and screamed to anyone, assuming it was the boy that was in my room. No answer, I lay back, just wishing to be able to fall asleep; but no sleep came that night.

                I closed my eyes just yearning for nothing more than sleep. But instead saw the door being flung open, the boy leaped into the room, light pervaded, and the boys face, oh that boy’s face, his eyes were wild.   With one cursory movement he flipped the bed, which one second ago I was laying in, over me. I was clad under the heavy weight. I felt a grimace come across my face and gritted my teeth as I experienced gruesome pain coming from my knee where the bed had made an abrasion. I felt my raw skin on my knee burn, I gasped for air, tried to lift the bed, but I had to succumb. That boy had been so kind to me, and if it was killing me that pleased him, then I would not argue. But killing me and not letting guilt get to him was another story.

Day One

Took me the longest time just to make this blog, i hope its worth it ms.meadows, i know it will be

thanks to angelicas "brainstorming" in class, or watever she calls what she is doing here??