Free Verse Contest

Poem: Frozen by Natasha Head

Vanilla Ice Cream 1B OC-90

Benjamen Moore

The ice melts
As all its flavors arises.
The sweat creamy
Treat disappears
Down her warm throat.

White creamy drops
Falls from her hand
As sun rays attack
The cold icy treat.

The treat rises
Towards her mouth
As her arm raises
With the ice cream in the hand.

She takes one lick
At the sweat delight,
And colors spin in her mind.
Her eyes close
As she savors every flavor
She can grasp.

With a calm open of eyes
She takes another lick
And it all begins again.

Where I'm From...

I’m from hundreds of feet of
desert mountains
Covered in soft golden sand.
From the Atacama dessert
To the snowy, cold winters
In Montreal.

I am from hot days
And cold nights
When the temperature drops
As the clock strikes six.

I’m from white sanded beaches
Whose waters are crystal clear
With soft friendly currents
Allowing me to swim.
From thousands of tropical fish
To brown furry bears.

I’m from quiet neighborhoods
And green gardens.
From ice cream cones
Dripping as it melted
While I ate.

I’m from white snow
And cold winds
Somewhere far up north.

I’m from one place
We all know.
From a place we all live in.
From the place we call home.

Poetry Notebook

Life Keeps Going Description These poems are about life, and show that life doen't end until you die, so while you live your life will keep going on. Poetry

Long Island Sound by Emma Lazarus

Carnival by Rebecca Lindenberg

The Yellow Violet by William Cullen Bryant

Traffic by Bill Berkson

London Snow by Robert Bridges

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost

Woman Waving to Trees by Dorothea Tanning

Tear It Down by JACK GILBERT

Mother's Day by David Young

Trayvon Martin

There is a shocking and some what sad case that has recently occurred in the United States. It shows how people are so quick to judge, and don’t really think before they act. This case combined with the strength of media which has pervaded people around the world to be aware that racisim, and prejudice between different ethnicities still exists. This essay will give different sides to the Trayvon Martin murder.

Trayvon Martin was murdered by Goerge Zimmerman, a self appointed watchman on February 26, 2012. Trayvon Martin was walking in Sanford, Fla., gated community northeast of Orlando walking home from the convenience store after buying ice tea and skittles wearing a hoodie, and running down the street back home when a bullet was shot out of the self appointed watchmen’s gun. The 911 center heard the bullet being shot from a phone call reporting what was happening.

Everybody on this earth has responsibilities. One of them should be to protect the innocent. Everyone cares and loves somebody be it his or her family member or a really close friend. We all know we don’t want anything to happen to them, but if we all protect one another and fight for what we know is right the world could be totally different place as what we know it today. Trayvon Martin was just like any other kid; he could have been your son or your best friend. The difference between him and you is that you are alive and he’s not. Trayvon Martin will never have another day to spend with the ones he loves. The world needs to wake up and realize that there are bad people in this world and we have the responsibility to protect people who don’t deserve to die. If everybody made protecting the innocent a responsibility, then the world would join as one. We all can make a difference, but you are the one who should be the first to see the chance.

Prejudice is when somebody is focused on one specific thing in particular, and mostly only focuses on the negative part of the situation. When somebody doesn’t see the positive side of certain things it could lead to injustice for the other person part of the issue. It is not right that somebody who might not have done anything such as Trayvon Martin to be punished in such harsh way like he was.

People tend to fear things they don’t understand such as death. It is a normal thing for a human being to be afraid. The fear of a person comes from a worried feeling or a misunderstanding of some sort of matter. If people fear certain things they don’t understand, then they will never come to understand what they are really afraid of. When people fear what they don’t understand they tend to do things without thinking properly.

It is said Trayvon Martin was walking home from the convenience store the night Mr. Zimmerman noticed him. He wore a hoodie, it was dark, held a bag in his hand, was a young male, and had dark skin. He must have looked suspicious in some way, because we have a strereotype about men wearing hoodies are the ones who mob people on the streets. Stereotypes are very common. They tend to judge somebody by their appearance or way of being; everybody is classified in some sort of stereo type. In Harper Lee’s novel To Kill a Mockingbird the characters have a stereotype for Scout. It is said that girls aren’t supposed to do things that require pants. Scout is the type of girl who likes the outdoors, and loves acting just like her brother. This is similar to how George Zimmerman judged Trayvon Martin as he passed at night because of the way he was dressed and looked. I believe George Zimmerman being a “watch guard” or so he said should have confronted the boy instead of defending himself with a gun. Neither policemen nor watch guard should have their gun as their first option in cases they confront. Guns are there meant to protect people, but not hurt others if not necessary. People who have guns must know how and when to use them.

For Sybrina Fulton and Tracy Martin, Trayvon Martin’s parents it must have been very excruciating the death of their son. Profound feelings must of invaded inside of them, but didn’t bring them down. Tracy Martin said on “Today” that “"I strongly feel that he [Zimmerman] needs to be arrested because a crime was committed. My son was murdered ... my son is not with us no more -- nothing can bring him back." I’m in total agreement with him. Zimmerman should be apprehended because he killed somebody with no need. I find it very surprising the parents disposition towards Trayvoy Martins’s death. They appear to have received the news in a very good manner. Mrs. Fulton, Trayvon’s mother said “I just hurt in my heart because this guy has not been arrested, and I just feel like the Sanford Police Department ... decided to be judge and jury. I just want this guy arrested so he can be brought to justice.” Hopefully the officials will do something about this case. Trayvon Martin’s parents have a lot of supporters who went out on the street on New York protesting about this case.

Chapter 8

Mrs. Radley died this morning. The citizen of Maycomb County didn’t show much concern to her death. Nobody arraigned or questioned the matter, but Jem and I had some inkling that Boo may have had something to do with it, but according to Atticus, she died of natural causes
School was cancelled today due to the bizarre snow fall this morning. I thought the world was ending cause I had never seen anything like it. I was afraid, but Jem wasn’t. I didn’t understand how he wasn’t, but Jem is something else so I was not surprised. Atticus told me to calm down cause it was just snow- a rare occurrence for Maycomb County. He said it hadn’t snowed since 1865.
After I calmed down, Jem and I got a brilliant idea: to build a snowman. I interrogated him on how you would make a snowman because I had never built one before in my life. Jem hadn’t either, but he seemed to know what he was doing.
Jem and I ran outside to where the snow fell from the sky. I opened my mouth and stuck my tongue meticulously out into the freezing air. I caught a snow flake on my tongue getting a sweltering feeling. I didn’t apprehend why it burnt, but Jem being the smart one told me why: “It swelters because it is so cold out, it feels hot instead.” Atticus told us there might not be enough snow on the ground for a snowman, but Jem didn’t care. He decided to get snow from Ms. Maudie’s garden in order to have enough snow for the snowman.
Jem brought several baskets of snow; most of filled with dirt instead. I told him the yard looked calamitous, but his response was “Looks messy now, but it won’t later” I believed him, but when we were done it looked like a “Nigger” snowman. Jem had added a cross face to our creation which made it look like Mr. Avery. For a final touch Jem placed a piece of stove wood on the snowman, or dirt man if you ask me.
Atticus came home later that afternoon, and at first view he liked it, but after stepping back and taking a better look at the creation he realized it was Mr. Avery. He wasn’t very impressed because he said we couldn’t go around creating creatures of our neighboors. Jem tried to defend his creation: he soon realized it was no use. He got Miss Maudie’s sunhat from her place across the street and placed it on the creations head. Atticus approved of Jems artwork, but Miss Maudie didn’t. She walked out of her front door not too impressed at the sight of a snowman wearing her sunhat. She talked to Atticus as she waved her hands all around the air. The only piece of the conversation I grasped was Miss Maudie telling Atticus that he will never raise us. A dissension aroused inside of me. I thought Jem and I were raised in a well mannered way, but according to Miss Maudie we weren’t and never will be.
The night came several hours later. It was chilly out, and more coal was needed in the fire to warm the house up. Atticus took care of that before coming to read me a bedtime story. The minute the coal touched the fire I could feel a difference. The house had acquired several degrees which made the house cosier. Atticus read me my story, tucked me into bed, and shut the light off. I fell asleep quite quickly cause I was so tired from the snow this morning.
What seemed to be minutes after falling asleep I got woken up. Atticus and Jem didn’t tell me what was going on until I saw it for myself. Miss Maudie’s house was in flames. Smoke flew out of the house and into the air; the sky grew darker. Everybody had gathered around her house: Atticus, Miss Rachel, Miss Stephanie Crawford’s among others. Atticus told us to stay out of the way and watch from a distance. We stood by the Radley house and watched. I saw furniture being moved. Atticus carried Miss Maudie’s heavy oak rocking chair: her most valued possession. I guessed everyone tried saving something before it was too late. Atticus believed the most valued possession is always the most important, which made him save the heaviest belonging there was; her oal rocking chair. I thought that she might have a hard time assimilating that her house had just burnt down.
At home later that evening we drank hot cocoa. Miss Maudie was going to stay at our place until she was settled down again. Atticus asked Jem and I if we could conspire with anything she may need during our stays. Of course I accepted, but it took Jem some time to agree as well. I sipped some hot cocoa from my cup when I noticed Atticus staring at me. He stared at a blanket that was thrown over my shoulders which I hadn’t even noticed. Jem said Boo had put the blanket around me and I didn’t even notice because I was too busy looking at the fire. I was frightened.
We went to sleep until we got woken up by Calpurnia at noon. It wasn’t too bad getting woken up though we talked to Miss Maudie and listened attentively to her stories. She puzzled me because I didn’t get how having lost all her possessions she still had interest in Jem and my life. It was nice of her, but confusing for me to understand.
The three of us talked: Miss Maudie, Jem and I. I wondered why Miss Maudies nose was a color I’d never seen before so I asked. Her response was she had been outside since six o’clock and her nose should have already frozen by now. Our talk ended soon after when Miss Maudie started acting in a weird manner: her lips moving silently, and her hand against her head chuckling.

Secret Life Of Bees

Dear, T. Ray

It has been a long time since I have heard from you - ever since that day you stormed out of the Pink House here in Tiburon, SC. Many years have elapsed since the last time I saw you - twenty years ago-, and I know that this is a bizarre thing to say, but I miss you. I never thought I would ever come to a point in my life where I would miss having a dad. I have had a lot of time on my hands lately which I have spent thinking about Sylvan, and all the years you mistreated me. I have come to realize that it wasn’t that you didn’t love me, if not, you missed Deborah. As you stood there in front of the Black Mary in the Pink House with your hand pulling tightly on my hair and your mouth screaming out “you never should have left me!”, was when I finally realized you never wanted my mother to leave us. I realize that this was as calamitous for you as it was for me. I never thought about thinking how you felt, I was never meticulous to you behavior. I forgive all your mistakes, wishing you could forget mine. I love you daddy, and always did even though you didn’t back.
My life in Tiburon, has been marvellous. We –August, Zach, and I – are working very hard keeping our Black Madonna honey quality at the best we can, but with all that we swelter it makes it harder for us to work. I have learnt so many things about bees, which I never even thought were possible. I have learnt how to drive a car, thanks to August who taught me some years ago. Know instead of August driving us to the bee hive, I do. I have been given so many opportunities down there in Tiburon, which wouldn’t have been possible without having August, June, and Rosseleen by my side. They have assimilated me into their everyday life, which was one of the only wishes I ever wanted.
Zack proposed several months ago to marry him- I said yes. It wasn’t a shock though, I was expecting it for some time before. Our wedding seems imminent, though it is a month away. The wedding wouldn’t be something big, though it will be taking place in the Pink House. The sisters are coming over, and they say they will lionize me on that special day to come. Whenever I see them, they tease me and tell me they’ve conspired something great for my wedding. You are invited if wanted, but it is not mandatory. I would love it if you could make it to be able to see the women who used to be a young girl what seemed to be a few months ago.
I know we had many dissensions between us two, but I don’t believe that is should keep us separate forever. I hope you apprehend the message I’m trying to get across to you, and take it into consideration. I don’t really mean to interrogate you, but how have you been? How’s your health, and the farm? Hopefully it isn’t a total anarchy, I know how unorganized you can be. Take care!

Love, Lily

The Problem We All Live With

The Problem We All Live With was painted by a man with the name of Norman Rockwell in January of 1964. The scene of the painting, The Problem We All Live With is of a six-year-old African American girl by the name of Ruby Bridges who held her head up high while walking to school. She walked in her own way in a little white dress to her new School, the William Frantz School which was an all white school in the Deep South of the United States. On the wall next to Ruby Bridges there is the word “Nigger” written in black faded paint with a splatter of tomato juice. The tomato lies on the floor after the missed attempt of hitting Ruby. He also added three K’s standing for Ku Klux Klan on the top left corner.

The Problem We All Live With is a painting that needs interpretation to be able to understand what it means. It isn’t a simple painting of a flower that you can just grasp its meaning and you have the image of it in your mind. This painting takes a lot of thinking and analyzing before somebody can have the clear picture in their minds and realize what Norman Rockwell is trying to tell us through this painting. The viewers who look at this painting must feel shock and disbelief from the fact that a young African America girl is walking to school between four guards, and having tomatoes thrown at her because of her race. This concept is hard for me to understand, because I do not believe color makes us different.

Norman Rockwell created The Problem We All Live With with very somber colors like browns and beige. The brightest color on the canvas is the red from the tomato which was thrown at Ruby Bridges. What stands out the most is Ruby’s white clean pressed dress as a contrast on her very dark skin. Norman Rockwell was inspired to paint a painting of Ruby Bridges because he said “It’s wrong, and I’m going to say that it’s wrong.” (Clutch website). He found Ruby’s situation the most powerful of all six students. Of the six, Ruby was the only one to go to this school and all the parents of the white students picked up their children from school in protest, so Ruby spent the year by herself in class.

My perspective of the painting The Problem We All Live With is that it is hard to understand, and hard to believe people were discriminated and African Americans were treated so differently just because of the color of their skin. In Norman Rockwell painting I can see that Ruby wasn’t paying any attention to her surroundings, her mind was focused on what was coming, going to school. She looked in front of her as she walked and was probably very scared because she had no idea what might happen once she got to her all white school.

Day 15

Happy New Years 2012!!!

Day 7

Today is the day before Christmas Eve and my sister and I helped my grandmother set up for supper tomorrow. Every year we have my whole mother side of the family over at my grandmothers house and we eat meat and chicken fondu (a special soup which is really hot and you put the raw meat or chicken inside to cook, and then eat) and for dessert we have chocolate fondu ( dip fruits in melted chocolate). This year my cousin is bringing his girlfriend for first time, so instead of having ten people celebrating we will be eleven.:)

Day 1

Travelled all day to get to Miami to find out that we where five minutes late for our next flight to Montreal, Canada. What happened was that we left really late from Panama, so we arrived in Miami a fifty minutes before our next fight and that wasn't enough time to be able to make the connection (needing to co through costume, pick up our bags, check back in and run to the next fight), but tomorrow we will take the first flight to Canada at 8 am

An inseparable Friendship

Dear Maha

I remember that day. The day our friendship embarked. The day when you needed someone that would listen while you talked. Someone who would help you through your problems. There I was, always by your side with any advice you needed, and helping you decide whether it was right or wrong. Available 24-7 with anything you needed, whether if you wanted profusion of hugs or just a simple “I love you”, you knew you could count on me.
Ever since that day we both started becoming more and more conscientious about each other. My audacious plan of growing closer to Maha ended up with a wonderful friendship. A friendship which is inseparable, one that nobody will ever destroy. There were times where you would rebuke me for the simplest things, but at the end of the day it didn’t matter. What mattered was our friendship, and nothing else.
Each day went by, and our attitudes didn’t show a lackadaisical. Our love for each other kept growing, and we started dedicating more time to one another. Nicknames like Bestie and Twinie were my favourite part. Being able to have somebody who would loved me just the way I am, and treated me as if I was her twin.
Know as I sit and think, I realize what an honour it was for me to have met you. I will always remember you, and have a special spot for you in my heart for the beautiful you, Maha.

Love,
Amanda Mast

The biggest Waffle failure

It’s early in the morning, and the sun just woke up. I jump out of bed, and tip-toe down the stairs. In the kitchen, the recipe book lay in the middle of the counter. I flip page by page until it read Homemade Waffles. I quickly gather all the ingredients it said. I poured the flour, milk, eggs, butter, and vanilla into a big white bowl that I found underneath the counter. A metal mixer mixed the ingredients together as my hand held it strait. The clock ticked, and the ingredients mixed, but there was only one problem, the dough was one big disgusting clumpy ball. My eyes look intensely down at the bowl trying to think of a quick solution. The thought of the perfect mother’s day breakfast wasn’t going to be perfect anymore ran through my head. I realized that milk was the perfect solution if it was added in right quantities, but of course, I added too much. The whole grain flour wasn’t the problem anymore, it was the milk. I ignored the fact that my batter was a disaster, and sprayed butter into the waffle pan.

The butter bubbled and made a crackling noise. It smelled amazing, so I decided it was perfect to pour the mix into the fifty perfect squares of the waffle maker. As I held the white bowl over the waffle pan, the dough slid rapidly out of the bowl into the pan, filling each one of the squares. I closed the lid and waited. I stood there for a whole minute waiting (for me it’s a lot) looking at the waffle maker. I kept opening and closing the lid, but for the more time I waited the worse it became (stuck more to the pan). I finally opened it for last time and decided to take the waffle out. At first I grabbed a plastic fork which I had used in the past to take waffles out of the machine, but this time it didn’t work, the dough was stuck to the pan. I tried taking it out with a metal fork, but that didn’t work ether. The more I tried, the more useless it became. I didn’t care anymore, so I socked the dough with the pan in water to make the dough soggy so I could take it out easier. Hours past and I decided to go back to the waffle maker. I lifted the lid, and grabbed another fork and started picking. It didn’t work, nothing came off. I had no idea what I was going to do.In the first place I didn’t make a nice breakfast for my mom, and secondly I damaged the waffle maker.

As I kept trying to clean the pan, my mom walked into the kitchen. I close the machine as if nothing and I pretended to do something else. As my mom cleaned some dishes I hadn’t cleaned from my failure of a waffle attempt she opens the waffle maker and pour out the water. She carries it to the garbage can and drops it.“What are you doing?” I asked her.

“I’m throwing away the waffle machine.” she replied.

“Is it because of me?”

“Yes.”

At that point I felt worse than before, not only did I waist ingredients and time, if not I damaged the waffle maker. “Don’t worry, we need another anyways,” she told me, “And it doesn’t matter, what matters is that you tried, and that is the most important part.”
After all it turned out to be fine, but I realized that I can’t make the Home made Waffles because that recipe is a disaster. I will just stick with the plain old Aunt Jemima mix from now on.

Catcher in the Rye-Persuasive Essay

As I read The Catcher in the Rye by J.D Salinger ,a coming of age novel in Mrs. Meadows, I first thought it was too graphic and not relevant for our age, but as the book went on and the discussions kept going, I realized that eight grade is the time were teenagers need to understand and fell open to talk about sex, and understand what they are reading in a proper way. I believe that school should keep reading this book in class, but making sure there are class discussions so that the students are able to understand the content in a better way. It should start being taught around eight grade because most students are mature enough to understand the material that this book contains.

The Catcher in the Rye should be read and taught in schools for many reason. One of the main reasons I believe this novel should be taught, is so that kids can get a better feel for sarcasm. Holden Caulfield the main character of The Catcher in the Rye uses sarcasm in most things he say. “He never stopped talking, and what was awful was, he never said anything you wanted to hear in the first place.” P. 161. This quote is an example of how Holden uses sarcasm because most people know that nobody talks and doesn’t stop like Holden made it seem, and besides, Harris Macklin, the guy Holden described probably said many interesting things in his conversations, but Holden, like most other people only remembered the negative. If schools teach this book, students will be able to get a feel for how much sarcasm is used if the world. It would teach kids that not everything said is true, and that many things are said in different ways and tones of voices which can help identify whether it is sarcastic or not. If a kid is able to difference when somebody is being sarcastic, it will help them a lot in the rest of their lives with a better sense of humour and would not have the need to keep asking if someone is joking of being real.

As well of teaching sarcasm, The Catcher in the Rye teaches students how to read behind the lines. The Catcher in the Rye takes a lot of thinking and interpretation. If a class reads it as a group, there will have to be class discussions which will help most people understand the novel better than if somebody reads it by themselves. Most likely if somebody reads a story they will not put much thought or time into the interpretation of the novel the way we did in class. It also shows people how it helps to understand a book. When you understand a book, it makes it so much easier to keep reading than if you don’t understand. If you start learning at a young age to understand what you are reading, later on in life everything you read will become easier to understand, and you will learn how to read faster and more fluently.

I believe The Catcher in the Rye has to many visual part which aren’t very appropriate. For this reason I think it shouldn’t be taught in schools, and I understand why some people in the 1950’s weren’t in agreement with kids reading it. The world has developed since 1951 in the sense of swearing and sexual contact is not a big deal anymore, so that plays a big part in making The Catcher in the Rye be appropriate for more ages know than it was.

Schools should have the right in teaching The Catcher in the Rye. They should start teaching it at the ages around thirteen. If books like this one never get taught in schools, kids will never learn and come to understand that sexuality is normal in a teenagers life.

Christmas 2011

Christmas, the season where families unite, and love is shared. Love is a simple gift to give, but sometimes it is hard to share. I find love should be given all year round, not only during Christmas time. Just with a simple hug and kiss you are making one more person in this world happier.

These last few days I have been thinking. Thinking about my life, and realizing how many things I have. How lucky I’m, but have never realized before. Things that are so simple to me, could mean the world to others. Things I have never appreciated, but I should have; things such as love, happiness, and family.

My family is my most precious possession. For many people family doesn’t mean a thing, and others don’t even know what it is like to have one, but for me, I would give everything I own to keep them.

69 Lakeshore Road, the place where you can find me every year on December 25th sitting at an endless table with nine special faces. Each of those faces belong to me, belong to my family. For that reason my heart is full of joy to share. I have realized how many children on our planet Earth have no place to go to share a smile, or to feel loved. My heart breaks just with the thought of how many tears are being shed, and wish someday I could be the one to say “I made a difference”.

My goal for this Christmas 2011 is to enjoy every moment. Enjoy all the hugs and kisses that are given to me, and every smile which is shared. All the children out there who have no plate in front of them, and no roof to sit under wish they had my life. The life they have where they have the opportunity to travel all around the world, and have a family to love and share moments with, so for this reason I’m going to make this Christmas, 2011 the best I have ever had.

Chinese Cinderella

The memoir Chinese Cinderella by Adeline Yen Mah tells us about when she was a child. She lost her mother two weeks after she was born due to a high fever that started three days after Adeline’s birth. Since Adeline’s mother died soon after her birth, she was thought to have brought bad luck for the family. Even without a real mother she could count on, she fights through her life having to deal with a terrible step mother who had no love for her, and a father who doesn’t even know her name. Her six siblings, two of whom are her stepbrother and stepsister, always reminded Adeline of how terrible she was because of the fact they believed she was the reason they were living without a mother. Her stepsiblings were given more privileges and freedom than the rest, but her real brothers and sisters had nothing to say at home, and never disagreed with their father and Niang, their stepmother.
Adeline lived a lonely and depressing childhood, with nobody to count on. Her grandmother Nai Nai, and soon after, her grandfather Ye Ye died while Adeline was quite young. The loss of her grandmother and grandfather was a very despondent time for her because they were the only ones in the family who loved her, and didn’t treat her as if she was a bad omen. When her Ye Ye lived, every week, he would give Adeline money despite the fact he had very little saved for himself, this continued until the day her stepmother, Niang, found out and forbade him from giving Adeline any more.
Adeline used the pocket money she had saved from Ye Ye so that she would be able to take the tram to and from school, but soon the money dwindled down to nothing and everyday she had to walk to school whether it was pouring rain or shinning sun. Every day, she needed to go through the embarrassment of walking to school while everybody else got dropped off at the door by their chauffeurs. Adeline made a friend called Wu Chun-Mei, she was a great friend to Adeline. In the memoir, there is a line which showed me what a true friend would do for someone else. “Though Wu Chun-Mei’s chauffeured car invariably awaited her when school finished, she often chose to walk with me until we reached her house, with her driver trailing behind at a snail’s pace. In the mornings, if she happened upon me trudging along, she would order her driver to stop and would hop out and accompany me all the way.” pg. 59. I find that very few friends in today’s society would commit such a loyal action. Many people don’t really care very much about their friends which I find sad. Many times it is hard to find a true friend. A person who would do practically anything for you, like Chun- Mei did for Adeline.
Years went by, and Adeline stayed the top of the class. She became the class president, which brought her happiness for the school year. Every little thing as simple achievement, for example, becoming the class president, brought Adeline happiness. Adeline wished for a special thing to happen to her so that she would grow to be happier. She started putting aside all her problems at home, and realized there was more to life. She spent hours reading and she studied all day waiting for the day when her father would realize she wasn’t a worthless nobody. It was the only way she could get away from the life she lived in. She began discovering the world, things she had never known before. She became very smart and skipped two years of school, but nothing changed at home, her parents still thought she was no good, useless, and treated her as if she was less than the rest of the children. One day Adeline won the playwriting competition; this for the first time, made her father see her in a different way. Her father gave her the opportunity to go to college in England just like her brothers, but on the condition, she would study medicine. She didn’t care what she studied, as long as she went to school, especially if it meant being away from home.
Chinese Cinderella ended when Adeline was fourteen. She realized how her childhood wasn’t the end of her life, if not the beginning. She realized that the only way she was able to keep studying and going to college was because she had won the playwriting contest which was the only thing that opened her father’s eyes. After all, she is grateful she had entered the competition, and it wasn’t another mistake she committed in her life, because her father actually approved.
Chinese Cinderella got its title from a story Aunt Baba told Adeline. It was a similar story as the life Adeline was living. It’s the story of a girl named Ye Xian who had lost her mother and father, and now lived with a stepmother. Her stepmother has a daughter of her own which she loves much more than Ye Xian. Ye Xian’s stepmother prohibits her to attend the talent show she had been practicing hard for. This is similar to Adeline’s life, living with a stepmother who prohibits her from doing certain things. Adeline learns that she is not the only person in this world who has lost her mother and has to live with a stepmother who doesn’t love her.
The Chinese Cinderella was written in a sequence of time. It was easier to understand due to all the years and months she put at the begging of most chapters. The memoir was put together in order of how they occurred in period of time. Adeline Yen added feelings into her memoir, which made me feel her pain as I read. Chinese Cinderella was written in a vignette form having a brief episode of her life in each chapter.
Before I started the Chinese Cinderella I wasn’t very interested in reading it, but as the book went on, I started realizing the importance of knowing different cultures and families. As I flipped the pages in the memoir the words were visible, but the meaning wasn’t. Anybody could read this memoir, but only some will really find the life lesson behind all of it. I think Adeline is trying to spread the word to the whole world. She wanted to use her life as a way to help all the young kids who have lost their mothers and have a stepmother who doesn’t love them. Also I find it could apply to the other half of the world where I belong who are fortunate enough to have a loving mother and don’t appreciate it. Having written this memoir, Adeline will teach young kids without a mother, that they aren’t alone. That there are many more people suffering the same feelings as they are, and that there is more to life than just the childhood. She also will teach the kids who have a mother and don’t acknowledge the importance of having one, and what a big a role it plays in a child’s life even though you might not think so.
In the Chinese Cinderella there was a line that I loved which was “ Don’t beat her anymore. She is only a baby!’ I blurted out with terror.” pg. 34. I find this line amazing because it shows that no matter what age you are you still should fight for what is right, and stand up for what you believe in. In this case Adeline says this to Niang when Niang’s real daughter arrived from Shanghi and didn’t recognize her mother because of the long period of time without seeing her. The little baby rejected her, so Niang got mad and started giving her baby stinging slaps on the face. It amazed me how nobody else of the family did anything, and it had to be the youngest to speak up.

The Best Gift Ever

The mitt. That famous mitt. The baseball mitt Joey always used to wear. He wore it on his left hand. The mitt came from Matthew Arnold for Joeys tenth birthday. Matthew Arnold was Joey’s favourite writer. He would write Matthew Arnold letters telling him how much he looked up to him. In one of Joey’s letters he wrote to Matthew Arnold, he told him about his love for baseball. He added that his birthday was coming up and was going to celebrate it on the field. I guess when Matthew Arnold read his letter he decided to send Joey a brand new mitt so he could play with it on his birthday. It was Joey’s favourite present from his tenth birthday.

He cherished his mitt more than anything he owned. He kept it in his bottom drawer. He would lock it every night to make sure that it was safe. He would always use it while he was on the field. Joey kept it to himself. He never lent it to anyone, except me. I never used it because I’m not that much of a sports player. I don’t really enjoy playing sports. I never would play with Joey, I would always watch. Now I regret never wanting to play with him. I regret it a whole lot. I will never have another opportunity to play a match with him because he’s dead.

Joey died from leukemia when he was in Maine. He was only eleven years old on July 18, 1946, the day he died. It was tragic. It was terrifying to see my best friend go. To see such an intelligent, nice person disappear so young. Disappear into nowhere at all. Disappear forever. I was two years older than him, but that didn’t change the fact the he was fifty times more intelligent than I. He was so intelligent that his teachers even wrote letters to our mother telling her what a pleasure it was having him if their class. I feel terrible now that my mom doesn’t get anymore letters from a teacher telling her how smart her sons are. I wish my teachers would send my mother letters telling her how smart I am, but they don’t. Instead they probably send her letters telling her how bad I’m doing. So bad that I’m flunking.

Joey’s mitt is a dark color, sort of blackish. It has strips of leather on the outside and a soft cozy material on the inside. It is quite comfortable I have to admit. It is stiff, but a good support for my hand. The hand I hurt the night Joey died, the night I slept in the garage and broke the window with my fist. It still hurts. Joey wrote poems from Matthew Arnold in green ink all over the fingers, pockets and everywhere. He wrote them so that he’d have something to read when he was in the field and nobody was up to bat. I found it very smart. It was amazing that he never wasted any minute of his life, the short one that he had.
I would like to share with you one of my favourite poems that Joey wrote on his mitt. It is quite long. I never got how Joey always could fit so many words onto something the size of his mitt. It was incredible. He was incredible. I love him.

“I miss you. I miss your happiness, your way of being. I miss your perspective on life. You had everything I always wanted, everything most people wish they had. You had a happy, loving personality. You never got mad at me, well at anyone. You were the person I looked up to. I miss you”. Those are the words I tell him every night, wishing he would be listening. Listening to how wonderful he was when I had him around. How he will always be remembered by everyone.

My Life in Jamestown

16 September, 1607

Dear Jonathan,

How are you over there in Italy? How is our family? How is Brother John? Is he feeling better from his fall he had last I saw him. There are so many questions that I would like to ask you, but since we are so far way I can’t. I wish I was by your side to be able to hear your soft calming voice in my ear. I promised Alexander I would stay by his side at all times no matter what. I stick with my word, but this time leaving the place I most know, I almost didn’t. I know it was a risk I was going to have to take, and ended up to be a successful one. I am glad everything worked out well.

Jonathan, I am sending you this card with lots of love to let you know how my life is going on my journey to the new world. I finally reached land after days of being sea sick and depressed, but it is nothing like I expected it to be like. The land I’m living on is called Jamestown. There is a type of organization called the House of Burgesses which is the 1st example of a representative government. Don’t worry Jonathan, a government is not a bad thing. It is actually a good thing in some cases, it is imperative that their rules and laws are obeyed. Some people guile others into believing certain things that aren’t necessarily true.

Jamestown is the 1st settlement in America, the land I’m currently writing you this letter from. The colonists wanted riches. A man by the name of John Smith made a statement that evoked a spontaneous reaction, which impacted many people in Jamestown. His statement said...“He who doesn’t work, doesn’t eat.” This means that I’m working as well. I’m not very used to working and don’t really know how to, but I surmise that that is the reason why John Smith said that. I work at a tobacco cash crop everyday for more than twelve hours, which is very excruciating for me. The disposition of the tobacco plants are in such an organized way that it looks very neat. It is an enormous piece of land about fifty seven acres planted full of tobacco.

It was a pleasure writing to you Jonathan. I miss you very much. If I don’t ever see you again because something happened to me I want you, Brother John, and mama and papa to know I love you all.

Sincerely,

Louise R.

Midnight

It was a dark, stormy night. It was perfect for a death to occur. Water was crashing on the houses and blasting across streets. It was coming from the big evil cloud that surrounded the darkness of the sky. Wind was blowing in all different directions and knocking over light posts. Lightning was electrifying all objects in sight, and thunder was rattling all around.
Every night before I would get silently clad in the comfort on my pyjamas and lay in my old wooden bed, I would do a brief inventory check to make sure nothing had gone missing. As I quickly reviewed my list I heard footsteps coming closer and closer to me. Slowly I walked toward the squeaky wooden door that separated my room from the rest of my house. I peeked out to see if I saw anything, but all I could see was a big blur of darkness. I quickly walked to my comfortable bed and lay down. Slowly I closed my eyes, but I still had a surmise feeling that there was somebody inside my house.
This was not the first time that I had this gruesome feeling. Every night while I did my inventory list I would hear these strange noises coming from downstairs. I was always scared to actually find out what it was, so instead I would lie in my bed and let them pass. But tonight they didn’t stop. They kept going and becoming louder and closer. Then suddenly the noises had ended, but a strong feeling inside me told me that there was a pair of evil eyes looking straight at me.
I lay gingery in my bed trying my very best not to make it obvious that I was still awake, in case my thoughts were correct. My heart raced and I couldn’t, but needed to stay calm. After the clock circled around several times, I fell into a deep unpleasant sleep.
The dream I dreamt was the same every night. It never changed. It was a stormy night just like the one I was witnessing. I lay silently in my old wooden bed, as I saw a tall, muscular, black haired man walk into my room in the attic. He would always walk to the same, old wooden rocking chair located in the far corner of my room. He would sit down carefully not to make much noise, and then he would start rocking back and forth making a squeaking sound. He did it on purpose so that I would wake up. I would open my eyes slowly. All I could see was a big, abrasive, blurry shadow of a man, but soon afterwards I couldn’t see anything at all. I was dead.
With a big and heavy breath I woke up. My heart pumping, blood racing and I didn’t know what had just happened. Was it a dream, or did it really happen. There was nobody sitting in the old wooden rocking chair. The lightning was still striking, and thunder still sounding all around. Suddenly I felt dehydrated. My throat was as dry as a desert, I needed to get some water. I didn’t want to get up from my bed, I was as scared as I could be, so I just stayed laying down.
I lay back in my bed, closed my eyes, but my eyes didn’t stay closed for long. I heard the same old footsteps as I did while I was doing my inventory list, but now they were inside my room. I could see a bright light shining from the lantern of a man that was standing in the doorway. I could see he was looking at me. I could see he was coming closer. I glanced through my room in a cursory manner to see if there was any way out, but there wasn’t. I could see his evilness. I could see it was not the first time he had endeavour to murder me. Because I knew, that all this time there was somebody in my room up in the attic, I could corroborate that something was very wrong, after hearing this man walking closer to me.
As the man stood over me, I grimace because I was scared. I had the terrible thought from my dream stuck in my head, his plans of murdering me. Slowly I realized that the man standing over me was someone I could recognize. I succumbed to relief, this feeling didn’t last long. Suddenly I felt two big, strong hands grab my two weak legs. In no time I was laying on the cold wooden floor. My body was weak, I couldn’t move. I just laid there hoping for the next day to come quick. But there were no more days left for me. This was it. My time had come. The last sound I heard was a big thump. The thump of my old wooden bed, crashing on top of my old weak body, was just lying on the wooden floor. The man had simulated my dreams, and derived great satisfaction with the end result.
I lay dead on the floor. My heart, as still as it could be, blood rushing out as fast as it could. No thought, no air, nothing left inside of me. I laid silently in peace, as I did on my old wooden bed which was currently lying on top of me. My life had ended. No more thoughts, nor dreams. No more worries, nor mysterious thoughts. Everything had ended once and for all.

Day 1

Today I created my account on Blogger :) I have designed my blog with pictures, so go check it out :)