In beginning of the semester, my goal was to achieve 95s or higher in all my classes. However I did not achieve that goal in most of my classes, I believe it was because of change and sudden freedom that I expected less from myself, instead of reviewing what went down in class that day or studying for a test. I busied myself with useless things on campus and at home. Even though, I followed my goal of achieve 95+ in all my classes feverishly in the beginning of the semester, my drive that I gathered during my summer vacation and my excitement for college just died down along with the weather. I am not blaming anyone or anything besides myself for letting go of my goals that I set out to achieve, even though I had my ups and downs in my family during this semester in college I do not wish that to be the excuse I am not doing well. Coming to Hunter College is an experience I need, in order to understand what I really want in the future, and it is not lazing around and procrastinating but aiming for a goal, an ideal, and striving hard to reach it.
During my fall semester in Hunter, I really tried hard during in the beginning, listening attentively during lectures and reviewing my notes after class. However I realized that after a while my drive just died away, I started taking this form of education for granted. I realized at times when I should have been studying, I was just having fun instead. I did not do all the parts in becoming a successful college student like utilizing the facilities and taking my education in to my own hands. Unlike in the high school classes, where we have homework that would check up on the materials explain in class. The college classes only used exams as an evaluation of what I learned. It was really hard because I would have no idea what to study on, and when I finally have confidence that I will do well on a test, the result says the opposite. I just realized a week before the final exams that I really had to straighten out my priorities, they were crooked and I needed to focus.
Forensic Biology was my worst subject this fall semester; I expected to learn a lot of forensics during this class. However I underestimated the amount of biology and data that were tested, and the exams count as a large portion of the grade. I’m really not sure what the outcome for my final grade will be.
Pre-calc 125 was a little better because it took place in small classroom and more time for me to ask questions when I didn’t understand, there were also homework due every other day or so, which helped me tremendously because it helped me review before exams. I’ve realized that I’m a horrible exam taker so I took my time to review before them; however often in this pre-calc class I’ve always reviewed the wrong concept for a question that was going to be on the exam.
I have always said that I want to be a nurse because even though I wanted to be a doctor my grades will never let me be one, even now I doubt that I will become a nurse. I am just hoping that during my first college year I will work really hard and get the grades I want, and then get into a nursing program offered at the school.
English:
I am a good idea creator; I have all these ideas in my head about what should be put down on text. However it doesn’t get translated into words, I think even though I’m a good free writer, my final pieces always have some grammar mistake that I didn’t catch. What’s good about being a good writer is to have ideas down on paper and organized, it will help me to be articulate. I learned a lot of aspects in having a good fictional piece, like in order to engage a reader in a story and have it relatable. The ideas presented in my story needs to be universal and emotionally realistic. I think the piece of fictional writing I enjoyed the most would be the last assignment Sudden Fiction, because it allowed us to create a story using all ideas that we learned in class. It would have a big contrast to our first assignment of the year. I think all concepts are understandable to me, I would use the techniques taught in class and use it in my writing. I plan on working on my fictional writing in my journal, as free write as often as possible, because letting my ideas flow out would be great.
By end of the year, I would hope to be an accomplished free writer. I will always writing in my journal at least once every other day, and hopefully get some of the ideas from free write on to paper and final draft. I hope to understand what my real goals are from this pre-college program, I will work and try my best next semester in achieving my goal of 95 and above in all my classes.
This portfolio represents my adversity as a writer, and my ever changing knowledge of fictional writing and applying it to my own.
Monday, December 13, 2010
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Sudden Fiction Final: What I Long For.
“Anything in your big sized skull? When you do college application already? Why I tell you and nothing go in your head?” my mom yelled into my ear, with a drop of her angry saliva landing on my nose bridge, her usually already mean looking face now looked horrifying. Words upon words are trying to force their way out of my mouth to retaliate against her, I would maybe yell back saying I don't understand shit she's saying because her of horrible grammar and how her words doesn't comprehend in my awesome brain. Better yet, correcting her sentence into a grammatically correct one. On the contrary, my “big sized skull” is smarter than to let my words flow out, nothing is worse than having the satisfaction of saying what I want and then getting a beating for it later.
I gave my sister Dara, a desperate glance over my steaming bowl of rice. She in return gave me a knowing look and a weak smile that never reached her eyes, except defining her fine wrinkles around her eyes. There I was, just sitting at the dinner table avoiding all eye contact, making myself as invisible as I possibly can until the end of dinner. That impossible feat was almost achieved, but no, my mom has to bring me into her spotlight. “So you applied to all top ranking universities yet?” she interrogated pompously setting down her pair of chopsticks with golden dragon engravings snaking down from top till the tip.
“No ma, I don't want to apply to some of them.” I replied softly running my fork across the over baked turkey sized chicken leg.
“WHAT YOU MEAN NO, YOU HAVE TO. YOU HAVE NO CHOICE.” In her anger fueled scream attack, more spit landed on my dry and cracked mutant sized chicken drumstick.
“Okay, I will.” I replied, knowing I wouldn't do what I just said. Sticking my fork into the drumstick, I tried to pry it apart to get to the inner meat avoiding where I thought her spit landed.
“STOP DOING THAT, JUST EAT YOUR CHICKEN” she threw me a dirty look with her deep setting wrinkled eyes that never seemed to rest, darting me a look that would just kill.
I went to my room after loading the dishwasher, compelled to at least try to understand my mom's demeanor. I ran all the possibilities in my head, maybe it's because she's nearly 70, she's probably in her late life crisis where she needs to get all her rage out on me, or the end of her menopause that drives her.
Many late nights, I just stare at the ceiling listening to the rhythmic hiss of Dara's breath. Wishing it were only Dara and I living together, even though we are 14 years apart, we've always bonded in a way that other sisters never have and never will, she's more or less like a second mom to me. Today she looked down at my face in her lap with her small petite fingers wiped the build up of tears off the corner of my right eye, running her fingers through my hair, she said: “They say that every tear has it own reason, every smile has its own season. Don't take it to heart, what you are and nothing she say should ever change the way you feel about yourself.” She glanced the stack of paper on our desk. “I've been wanted to tell you this for a while--”
BEEP BEEP, her pager sounded with an emergency call from the hospital, with a sorrowful backward glance at me sitting up in her bed, she grabbed her car keys and rushed out the door.
After studying tirelessly to be a doctor for six years, Dara finally achieved her dream of helping others when they are in need. Selfishly I've always hinted that her time alone with me has been scarce and it made me realize the importance of having her with me. She works at a public hospital near by and lives at home sharing a bedroom with me, not because she doesn't have the ability to move out and get her own place, but because I begged her to not leave me in this hellhole by myself. Maybe it was my selfishness or persistence, I managed to make my sister stay with me for the past 7 years even when she was studying to get her doctorate. She and I will finally have a breathe of freedom after I go off to college somewhere far, beyond reach from my parents.
I dragged my feet to my desk, clearing the stack of paper off the table to use the computer. I lifted almost all the papers off and set it on the floor with a grunt, on the desk I left a sheet of paper, which I didn't manage to get, upon closer look it was a copy of my birth certificate. With cursive letters spelled out my name Bonny Jamie Chan, my birthday June, 6, 1993, the time of my birth, and finally listed my birth mom.
Dara Chan.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I sat front row next to Dara, surrounded by family members I never really cared to remember, I watched as my distance cousin or aunt laid a beige flower on top of my 'mom's' casket. Avoiding eye contact as the person turned around to sit back down. I laid my eyes on a pot of delicate orchids, the evergreen leaves and tainted fuchsia on the pale translucent petals looks as if a cloud of mist looms over it, this eye popping colors surely do not belong in that lonely corner, let alone a funeral house. Men in black suits brush past the petals as they hurried to leave after setting down her casket. Upon closer look, the pot of delicate exotic orchids is nothing more than a twisted bunches of plastic, coated by dust from years of display. I envied its resilience.
I fumbled with my cue cards that outlined what I should say for the speech to honor my 'mom' that passed away, according to movies right now I should be wearing dark sunglasses and weak in my family members arms from crying. I tried my best to remember the good times I had with her, there weren't much moments to choose from. I have to admit. I have always hated her for yelling and scolding me. It was the constant bickering that left an impression as I moved on to college, it was the emptiness that I didn't long for.
Sitting next to me, my sister Dara, my mortal support Dara, my mom Dara. She gave my clammy hands a squeeze, as I made my way up to the stand and stood behind the microphone.
The buzz of conversation lingered for a moment and then ebbed down, someone blew their nose with a honk. I sucked in my stomach and said: “May my grandmother rest in peace…”
I gave my sister Dara, a desperate glance over my steaming bowl of rice. She in return gave me a knowing look and a weak smile that never reached her eyes, except defining her fine wrinkles around her eyes. There I was, just sitting at the dinner table avoiding all eye contact, making myself as invisible as I possibly can until the end of dinner. That impossible feat was almost achieved, but no, my mom has to bring me into her spotlight. “So you applied to all top ranking universities yet?” she interrogated pompously setting down her pair of chopsticks with golden dragon engravings snaking down from top till the tip.
“No ma, I don't want to apply to some of them.” I replied softly running my fork across the over baked turkey sized chicken leg.
“WHAT YOU MEAN NO, YOU HAVE TO. YOU HAVE NO CHOICE.” In her anger fueled scream attack, more spit landed on my dry and cracked mutant sized chicken drumstick.
“Okay, I will.” I replied, knowing I wouldn't do what I just said. Sticking my fork into the drumstick, I tried to pry it apart to get to the inner meat avoiding where I thought her spit landed.
“STOP DOING THAT, JUST EAT YOUR CHICKEN” she threw me a dirty look with her deep setting wrinkled eyes that never seemed to rest, darting me a look that would just kill.
I went to my room after loading the dishwasher, compelled to at least try to understand my mom's demeanor. I ran all the possibilities in my head, maybe it's because she's nearly 70, she's probably in her late life crisis where she needs to get all her rage out on me, or the end of her menopause that drives her.
Many late nights, I just stare at the ceiling listening to the rhythmic hiss of Dara's breath. Wishing it were only Dara and I living together, even though we are 14 years apart, we've always bonded in a way that other sisters never have and never will, she's more or less like a second mom to me. Today she looked down at my face in her lap with her small petite fingers wiped the build up of tears off the corner of my right eye, running her fingers through my hair, she said: “They say that every tear has it own reason, every smile has its own season. Don't take it to heart, what you are and nothing she say should ever change the way you feel about yourself.” She glanced the stack of paper on our desk. “I've been wanted to tell you this for a while--”
BEEP BEEP, her pager sounded with an emergency call from the hospital, with a sorrowful backward glance at me sitting up in her bed, she grabbed her car keys and rushed out the door.
After studying tirelessly to be a doctor for six years, Dara finally achieved her dream of helping others when they are in need. Selfishly I've always hinted that her time alone with me has been scarce and it made me realize the importance of having her with me. She works at a public hospital near by and lives at home sharing a bedroom with me, not because she doesn't have the ability to move out and get her own place, but because I begged her to not leave me in this hellhole by myself. Maybe it was my selfishness or persistence, I managed to make my sister stay with me for the past 7 years even when she was studying to get her doctorate. She and I will finally have a breathe of freedom after I go off to college somewhere far, beyond reach from my parents.
I dragged my feet to my desk, clearing the stack of paper off the table to use the computer. I lifted almost all the papers off and set it on the floor with a grunt, on the desk I left a sheet of paper, which I didn't manage to get, upon closer look it was a copy of my birth certificate. With cursive letters spelled out my name Bonny Jamie Chan, my birthday June, 6, 1993, the time of my birth, and finally listed my birth mom.
Dara Chan.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I sat front row next to Dara, surrounded by family members I never really cared to remember, I watched as my distance cousin or aunt laid a beige flower on top of my 'mom's' casket. Avoiding eye contact as the person turned around to sit back down. I laid my eyes on a pot of delicate orchids, the evergreen leaves and tainted fuchsia on the pale translucent petals looks as if a cloud of mist looms over it, this eye popping colors surely do not belong in that lonely corner, let alone a funeral house. Men in black suits brush past the petals as they hurried to leave after setting down her casket. Upon closer look, the pot of delicate exotic orchids is nothing more than a twisted bunches of plastic, coated by dust from years of display. I envied its resilience.
I fumbled with my cue cards that outlined what I should say for the speech to honor my 'mom' that passed away, according to movies right now I should be wearing dark sunglasses and weak in my family members arms from crying. I tried my best to remember the good times I had with her, there weren't much moments to choose from. I have to admit. I have always hated her for yelling and scolding me. It was the constant bickering that left an impression as I moved on to college, it was the emptiness that I didn't long for.
Sitting next to me, my sister Dara, my mortal support Dara, my mom Dara. She gave my clammy hands a squeeze, as I made my way up to the stand and stood behind the microphone.
The buzz of conversation lingered for a moment and then ebbed down, someone blew their nose with a honk. I sucked in my stomach and said: “May my grandmother rest in peace…”
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
My Bedroom, Journal entry
I tried hard to not lay my eyes on anything in my room, walking with my back towards the beast in the cage he made me take care of, I made my way to the neat pile of folded clothe stacked next to it, I picked my shirt and walked out the crammed house without even putting it on. Even after de-cluttering all weekend, my dorm room is still ransacked as ever. No, not because of me, the neatest person in the whole dorm building, but because of my roommate that keeps inviting his band mates over to practice late into the night. Walking to the bathroom across the hall, I made up my mind to never let him take advantage of my easygoing personality every again.
Sudden Fiction Draft 3 ( they say every tear has it's own reasons, every smile has it's own season.)
“Anything in your big sized skull? When you do college application already? Why I tell you and nothing go in your head?” my mom yelled into my ear, with a drop of her angry saliva landing on my nose bridge, her usually already mean looking face now looked horrifying. Words upon words are trying to force their way out of my mouth to retaliate against her, I would maybe yell back saying I don’t understand shit she’s saying because her horrible grammar and how her words doesn’t comprehend in my awesome brain. Better yet, correcting her sentence into a grammatically correct one. On the contrary, my “big sized skull” is smarter than to let my words flow out, nothing is worse than having the satisfaction of saying what I want and then getting a beating for it later.
I gave my sister Dara, a desperate look over my bowl of rice. She in return gave me a knowing look and a weak smile that never reached her eyes. There I was, just sitting at the dinner table avoiding all eye contact, making myself as invisible as I possibly can until the end of dinner. That impossible feat was almost achieved, but no, my mom has to bring me into her spotlight.
“So you applied to all top ranking universities yet?” she interrogated pompously setting down her pair of chopsticks with golden dragon engravings snaking down till the pointed tip.
“No ma, I don’t want to apply to some of them.” I replied softly running my fork across the over baked turkey sized chicken leg.
“WHAT YOU MEAN NO, YOU HAVE TO. YOU HAVE NO CHOICE.” In her anger fueled scream attack, more spit landed on my dry cracked mutant sized chicken drumstick.
“Okay, I will.” I replied, knowing I wouldn’t do what I just said. Sticking my fork into the drumstick, I tried to pry it apart to get to the inner meat avoiding where I thought her spit landed.
“STOP DOING THAT, JUST EAT YOUR CHICKEN” she threw me a dirty look with her deep setting wrinkled eyes that never seemed to rest, darting me a look that would just kill.
I went to my room after loading the dishwasher, compelled to at least try to understand my mom’s demeanor. I ran all the possibilities in my head, maybe it’s because she’s nearly 70, she’s probably in her late life crisis where she needs to get all her rage out on me, or the end of her menopause that drives her.
Many late nights, I just stare at the ceiling listening to the rhythmic hiss of Dara’s breath. Wishing it were only Dara and I living together, even though we are 14 years apart, we’ve always bonded in a way that other sisters never have and never will, more or less like a mom to me. Today she looked down at my face in her lap with tear filled eyes, running her fingers through my hair, she said: “They say that every tear has it own reason, every smile has its own season. Don’t take it to heart, what you are and nothing she say should ever change the way you feel about yourself. It’s okay because I love you. I’ve been wanted to tell you this for a while--”
BEEP BEEP, her pager sounded with an emergency call from the hospital, with a sorrowful backward glance, she grabbed her car keys and rushed out the door.
After studying tirelessly to be a doctor for six years, she finally achieved her dream of helping others when they are in. Needless to say, her time alone with me has been scarce and it made me realize the importance of having Dara with me. She works at a public hospital near by and lives at home sharing a bedroom with me, not because she doesn’t have the ability to move out and get her own place, but because I begged her to not leave me in this hellhole by myself. Maybe it was my selfishness or persistence, I managed to make my sister stay with me for the past 7 years even when she is studying to get her doctorate. She and I will finally have a breathe of freedom after I go off to college somewhere far, beyond reach from my parents.
I dragged my feet to my computer desk, 2 piles of paper blocked my way, I lifted both off the desk and set it on the floor with a grunt. On the desk I left a sheet of paper I didn’t manage to get, upon closer look it was a copy of my birth certificate. With cursive letters spelled out my name Bonny Jamie Chan, my birthday June, 6, 1993, and finally below all the numbers for the time of my birth, listed my birth mom. Dara Chan.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I sat front row next to her, surrounded by family members I never really cared to remember, I watched as my distance cousin or aunt laid a beige flower on top of her casket. Avoiding eye contact as she turned around to sit back down, I lay my eyes on a pot of delicate orchids, the evergreen leaves and tainted fuchsia on the pale translucent petals looks as if a cloud of his looms over it, this eye popping colors surely do not belong in that lonely corner. Men in black suits brush past the petals as they hurried to get van for the removal of her casket. Upon closer look, the pot of delicate exotic orchids is nothing more than a twisted bunches of plastic, coated by dust from years of display. I envied its resilience.
I fumbled with my cue cards that outlined what I should say for the speech honored my mom that passed away, according to movies right now I should be wearing dark sunglasses and weak in my family members arms from crying. I tried my best to remember the good times I had with her, there weren’t much moments to choose from. I have to admit. I have always hated her for yelling and scolding me. It was the constant bickering that left an impression as I left for college, it was the emptiness that I didn’t long for.
Sitting next to me, Dara was my support, my sister, my mom.
Gave me clammy hands a squeeze, as I made walked up to the stand behind the microphone.
“My grandma once said,
I gave my sister Dara, a desperate look over my bowl of rice. She in return gave me a knowing look and a weak smile that never reached her eyes. There I was, just sitting at the dinner table avoiding all eye contact, making myself as invisible as I possibly can until the end of dinner. That impossible feat was almost achieved, but no, my mom has to bring me into her spotlight.
“So you applied to all top ranking universities yet?” she interrogated pompously setting down her pair of chopsticks with golden dragon engravings snaking down till the pointed tip.
“No ma, I don’t want to apply to some of them.” I replied softly running my fork across the over baked turkey sized chicken leg.
“WHAT YOU MEAN NO, YOU HAVE TO. YOU HAVE NO CHOICE.” In her anger fueled scream attack, more spit landed on my dry cracked mutant sized chicken drumstick.
“Okay, I will.” I replied, knowing I wouldn’t do what I just said. Sticking my fork into the drumstick, I tried to pry it apart to get to the inner meat avoiding where I thought her spit landed.
“STOP DOING THAT, JUST EAT YOUR CHICKEN” she threw me a dirty look with her deep setting wrinkled eyes that never seemed to rest, darting me a look that would just kill.
I went to my room after loading the dishwasher, compelled to at least try to understand my mom’s demeanor. I ran all the possibilities in my head, maybe it’s because she’s nearly 70, she’s probably in her late life crisis where she needs to get all her rage out on me, or the end of her menopause that drives her.
Many late nights, I just stare at the ceiling listening to the rhythmic hiss of Dara’s breath. Wishing it were only Dara and I living together, even though we are 14 years apart, we’ve always bonded in a way that other sisters never have and never will, more or less like a mom to me. Today she looked down at my face in her lap with tear filled eyes, running her fingers through my hair, she said: “They say that every tear has it own reason, every smile has its own season. Don’t take it to heart, what you are and nothing she say should ever change the way you feel about yourself. It’s okay because I love you. I’ve been wanted to tell you this for a while--”
BEEP BEEP, her pager sounded with an emergency call from the hospital, with a sorrowful backward glance, she grabbed her car keys and rushed out the door.
After studying tirelessly to be a doctor for six years, she finally achieved her dream of helping others when they are in. Needless to say, her time alone with me has been scarce and it made me realize the importance of having Dara with me. She works at a public hospital near by and lives at home sharing a bedroom with me, not because she doesn’t have the ability to move out and get her own place, but because I begged her to not leave me in this hellhole by myself. Maybe it was my selfishness or persistence, I managed to make my sister stay with me for the past 7 years even when she is studying to get her doctorate. She and I will finally have a breathe of freedom after I go off to college somewhere far, beyond reach from my parents.
I dragged my feet to my computer desk, 2 piles of paper blocked my way, I lifted both off the desk and set it on the floor with a grunt. On the desk I left a sheet of paper I didn’t manage to get, upon closer look it was a copy of my birth certificate. With cursive letters spelled out my name Bonny Jamie Chan, my birthday June, 6, 1993, and finally below all the numbers for the time of my birth, listed my birth mom. Dara Chan.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I sat front row next to her, surrounded by family members I never really cared to remember, I watched as my distance cousin or aunt laid a beige flower on top of her casket. Avoiding eye contact as she turned around to sit back down, I lay my eyes on a pot of delicate orchids, the evergreen leaves and tainted fuchsia on the pale translucent petals looks as if a cloud of his looms over it, this eye popping colors surely do not belong in that lonely corner. Men in black suits brush past the petals as they hurried to get van for the removal of her casket. Upon closer look, the pot of delicate exotic orchids is nothing more than a twisted bunches of plastic, coated by dust from years of display. I envied its resilience.
I fumbled with my cue cards that outlined what I should say for the speech honored my mom that passed away, according to movies right now I should be wearing dark sunglasses and weak in my family members arms from crying. I tried my best to remember the good times I had with her, there weren’t much moments to choose from. I have to admit. I have always hated her for yelling and scolding me. It was the constant bickering that left an impression as I left for college, it was the emptiness that I didn’t long for.
Sitting next to me, Dara was my support, my sister, my mom.
Gave me clammy hands a squeeze, as I made walked up to the stand behind the microphone.
“My grandma once said,
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Sudden Fiction Draft 2 ( Who should I kill off? Dara? or the 'mom'?
“Anything in your big sized skull? When you do college application already? Why I tell you and nothing go in your head?” my mom yelled into my ear, with a drop of her angry saliva landing on my nose bridge, her usually already mean looking face now looked horrifying. Words upon words are trying to force their way out of my mouth to retaliate against her, I would maybe yell back saying I don’t understand shit she’s saying because her horrible grammar and how her words doesn’t comprehend in my awesome brain. Better yet, correcting her sentence into a grammatically correct one. On the contrary, my “big sized skull” is smarter than to let my words flow out, nothing is worse than having the satisfaction of saying what I want and then getting a beating for it later.
I gave my sister Dara, a desperate look over my bowl of rice. She in return gave me a knowing look and a weak smile that never reached her eyes. There I was, just sitting at the dinner table avoiding all eye contact, making myself as invisible as I possibly can until the end of dinner. That impossible feat was almost achieved, but no, my mom has to bring me into her spotlight.
“So you applied to all top ranking universities yet?” she interrogated pompously setting down her pair of chopsticks with golden dragon engravings snaking down till the pointed tip.
“No ma, I don’t want to apply to some of them.” I replied softly running my fork across the over baked turkey sized chicken leg.
“WHAT YOU MEAN NO, YOU HAVE TO. YOU HAVE NO CHOICE.” In her anger fueled scream attack, more spit landed on my dry cracked mutant sized chicken drumstick.
“Okay, I will.” I replied, knowing I wouldn’t do what I just said. Sticking my fork into the drumstick, I tried to pry it apart to get to the inner meat avoiding where I thought her spit landed.
“STOP DOING THAT, JUST EAT YOUR CHICKEN” she threw me a dirty look with her deep setting wrinkled eyes that never seemed to rest, darting me a look that would just kill.
I went to my room after loading the dishwasher, compelled to at least try to understand my mom’s demeanor. I ran all the possibilities in my head, maybe it’s because she’s nearly 70, she’s probably in her late life crisis where she needs to get all her rage out on me, or the end of her menopause that drives her.
Many late nights, I just stare at the ceiling listening to the rhythmic hiss of Dara’s breath. Wishing it were only Dara and I living together, even though we are 14 years apart, we’ve always bonded in a way that other sisters never have and never will, more or less like a mom to me. Today she looked down at my face in her lap with tear filled eyes, running her fingers through my hair, she said: “Don’t take it to heart, you know you are better than that. It’s okay because I love you. I’ve been wanted to tell you this for a while--”
BEEP BEEP, her pager sounded with an emergency call from the hospital, with a sorrowful backward glance, she grabbed her car keys and rushed out the door.
After studying tirelessly to be a doctor for six years, she finally achieved her dream of helping others when they are in. Needless to say, her time alone with me has been scarce and it made me realize the importance of having Dara with me. She works at a public hospital near by and lives at home sharing a bedroom with me, not because she doesn’t have the ability to move out and get her own place, but because I begged her to not leave me in this hellhole by myself. Maybe it was my selfishness or persistence, I managed to make my sister stay with me for the past 7 years even when she is studying to get her doctorate. She and I will finally have a breathe of freedom after I go off to college somewhere far, beyond reach from my parents.
I dragged my feet to my computer desk, 2 piles of paper blocked my way, I lifted both off the desk and set it on the floor with a grunt. On the desk I left a sheet of paper I didn’t manage to get, upon closer look it was a copy of my birth certificate. With cursive letters spelled out my name Bonny Jamie Chan, my birthday June, 6, 1993, and finally below all the numbers for the time of my birth, listed my birth mom. Dara Chan.
I gave my sister Dara, a desperate look over my bowl of rice. She in return gave me a knowing look and a weak smile that never reached her eyes. There I was, just sitting at the dinner table avoiding all eye contact, making myself as invisible as I possibly can until the end of dinner. That impossible feat was almost achieved, but no, my mom has to bring me into her spotlight.
“So you applied to all top ranking universities yet?” she interrogated pompously setting down her pair of chopsticks with golden dragon engravings snaking down till the pointed tip.
“No ma, I don’t want to apply to some of them.” I replied softly running my fork across the over baked turkey sized chicken leg.
“WHAT YOU MEAN NO, YOU HAVE TO. YOU HAVE NO CHOICE.” In her anger fueled scream attack, more spit landed on my dry cracked mutant sized chicken drumstick.
“Okay, I will.” I replied, knowing I wouldn’t do what I just said. Sticking my fork into the drumstick, I tried to pry it apart to get to the inner meat avoiding where I thought her spit landed.
“STOP DOING THAT, JUST EAT YOUR CHICKEN” she threw me a dirty look with her deep setting wrinkled eyes that never seemed to rest, darting me a look that would just kill.
I went to my room after loading the dishwasher, compelled to at least try to understand my mom’s demeanor. I ran all the possibilities in my head, maybe it’s because she’s nearly 70, she’s probably in her late life crisis where she needs to get all her rage out on me, or the end of her menopause that drives her.
Many late nights, I just stare at the ceiling listening to the rhythmic hiss of Dara’s breath. Wishing it were only Dara and I living together, even though we are 14 years apart, we’ve always bonded in a way that other sisters never have and never will, more or less like a mom to me. Today she looked down at my face in her lap with tear filled eyes, running her fingers through my hair, she said: “Don’t take it to heart, you know you are better than that. It’s okay because I love you. I’ve been wanted to tell you this for a while--”
BEEP BEEP, her pager sounded with an emergency call from the hospital, with a sorrowful backward glance, she grabbed her car keys and rushed out the door.
After studying tirelessly to be a doctor for six years, she finally achieved her dream of helping others when they are in. Needless to say, her time alone with me has been scarce and it made me realize the importance of having Dara with me. She works at a public hospital near by and lives at home sharing a bedroom with me, not because she doesn’t have the ability to move out and get her own place, but because I begged her to not leave me in this hellhole by myself. Maybe it was my selfishness or persistence, I managed to make my sister stay with me for the past 7 years even when she is studying to get her doctorate. She and I will finally have a breathe of freedom after I go off to college somewhere far, beyond reach from my parents.
I dragged my feet to my computer desk, 2 piles of paper blocked my way, I lifted both off the desk and set it on the floor with a grunt. On the desk I left a sheet of paper I didn’t manage to get, upon closer look it was a copy of my birth certificate. With cursive letters spelled out my name Bonny Jamie Chan, my birthday June, 6, 1993, and finally below all the numbers for the time of my birth, listed my birth mom. Dara Chan.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Sudden Fiction Draft 1
“Anything in your big sized skull? When you do college application already?” my mom yelled into my ear, with a drop of her angry saliva landing on my nose bridge, her usually already mean looking face now looked horrifying. Words upon words are trying to force their way out of my mouth to retaliate against her, I would maybe yell back saying I don’t understand shit she’s saying because her horrible grammar and how her words doesn’t comprehend in my awesome brain or maybe even correcting her sentence into a grammatically correct one. However my ‘big sized skull’ is smarter than to let my words flow out, nothing is worse than having the satisfaction of saying what I want and then getting a beating for it later.
I gave my sister Dara, a desperate look over my bowl of rice; she in return gave me a knowing look and a weak smile that never reached her eyes. There I was, just sitting at the dinner table avoiding all eye contact, making myself as invisible as I possibly can until the end of dinner. That impossible feat was almost achieved, but no, my mom has to bring up the topic of college applications.
“So you applied to all top ranking universities and colleges yet?” she interrogated with her seemingly always-snobby voice.
“No ma, I don’t want to apply to some of them.” I replied softly.
“WHAT YOU MEAN NO, YOU HAVE TO. YOU HAVE NO CHOICE.” In her anger fueled scream attack, more spit landed on my dry cracked turkey or mutant sized gigantic drumstick mounted on top of my pile of rice.
“Okay, I will.” I replied knowingly that I wouldn’t do what I just said, sticking my chopstick into the drumstick, I tried to pry it apart to get to the inner meat avoiding where I thought her spit landed.
“STOP DOING THAT, JUST EAT YOUR CHICKEN” she threw me a dirty look with her wrinkled eyes that never seemed to rest.
My dad just sat there with his brow furrowed, not even looking up as my mom’s anger broke the mood at the dinner table, sometimes I wonder if my mom is actually my step mom, or maybe I’m just entirely adopted. Seriously where in the world will you find such a family that is always degrading their youngest daughter? Maybe it’s because of my mom’s age she’s nearly 70, which is way too old even in my eyes to be my mom, she’s probably in her late life crisis where she needs to get all her rage out on me, or her menopause that fuels her anger.
I wonder sometimes late at night, why my parents had me at such a late age. They didn’t worry that maybe I will come out all weird or deformed because how old the mom was? They certainly did not think of how I would get made fun of for having such old parents every time there was a parent teacher conference.
Sometimes I just wish it were only my sister Dara and I living together, even though we are 14 years apart, we always have bonded in a way that other sisters never have and never will. Most of the time, Dara consulted me and cared for me like what a mom should have been doing. She always did the best for me and cared for me in a way my mom never has, she always consulted me after my mom’s fits of rage towards me.
My sister’s a nurse at a near by hospital and lives at home sharing a bedroom with me, not because she doesn’t have the ability to move out and get her own place, but because I begged her to not leave me in this hellhole by myself. Maybe it was my selfishness or persistence, I managed to make my sister stay with me for the past 7 years, she and I will finally have a breathe of freedom after I go off to college somewhere far, beyond reach from my parents. That wish will become true because I worked so hard to get good grades and study in order to live away from home.
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I sat front row next to Dara, surrounded by family members I never really cared to remember, I watched as my distance cousin or aunt laid a flower on top of the casket.
I fumbled with my cue cards that outlined what I should say for the speech honored my mom that passed away, according to movies right now I should be wearing dark sunglasses and weak in my family members arms from crying. I tried my best to remember the good times I had with my mom, there weren’t much moments to choose from. I have to admit I have always hated my mom for always yelling and scolding me, I haven’t had much of a conversation with either of my parents after I went off to college. It was just my sister that I kept in contact weekly,
I gave my sister Dara, a desperate look over my bowl of rice; she in return gave me a knowing look and a weak smile that never reached her eyes. There I was, just sitting at the dinner table avoiding all eye contact, making myself as invisible as I possibly can until the end of dinner. That impossible feat was almost achieved, but no, my mom has to bring up the topic of college applications.
“So you applied to all top ranking universities and colleges yet?” she interrogated with her seemingly always-snobby voice.
“No ma, I don’t want to apply to some of them.” I replied softly.
“WHAT YOU MEAN NO, YOU HAVE TO. YOU HAVE NO CHOICE.” In her anger fueled scream attack, more spit landed on my dry cracked turkey or mutant sized gigantic drumstick mounted on top of my pile of rice.
“Okay, I will.” I replied knowingly that I wouldn’t do what I just said, sticking my chopstick into the drumstick, I tried to pry it apart to get to the inner meat avoiding where I thought her spit landed.
“STOP DOING THAT, JUST EAT YOUR CHICKEN” she threw me a dirty look with her wrinkled eyes that never seemed to rest.
My dad just sat there with his brow furrowed, not even looking up as my mom’s anger broke the mood at the dinner table, sometimes I wonder if my mom is actually my step mom, or maybe I’m just entirely adopted. Seriously where in the world will you find such a family that is always degrading their youngest daughter? Maybe it’s because of my mom’s age she’s nearly 70, which is way too old even in my eyes to be my mom, she’s probably in her late life crisis where she needs to get all her rage out on me, or her menopause that fuels her anger.
I wonder sometimes late at night, why my parents had me at such a late age. They didn’t worry that maybe I will come out all weird or deformed because how old the mom was? They certainly did not think of how I would get made fun of for having such old parents every time there was a parent teacher conference.
Sometimes I just wish it were only my sister Dara and I living together, even though we are 14 years apart, we always have bonded in a way that other sisters never have and never will. Most of the time, Dara consulted me and cared for me like what a mom should have been doing. She always did the best for me and cared for me in a way my mom never has, she always consulted me after my mom’s fits of rage towards me.
My sister’s a nurse at a near by hospital and lives at home sharing a bedroom with me, not because she doesn’t have the ability to move out and get her own place, but because I begged her to not leave me in this hellhole by myself. Maybe it was my selfishness or persistence, I managed to make my sister stay with me for the past 7 years, she and I will finally have a breathe of freedom after I go off to college somewhere far, beyond reach from my parents. That wish will become true because I worked so hard to get good grades and study in order to live away from home.
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I sat front row next to Dara, surrounded by family members I never really cared to remember, I watched as my distance cousin or aunt laid a flower on top of the casket.
I fumbled with my cue cards that outlined what I should say for the speech honored my mom that passed away, according to movies right now I should be wearing dark sunglasses and weak in my family members arms from crying. I tried my best to remember the good times I had with my mom, there weren’t much moments to choose from. I have to admit I have always hated my mom for always yelling and scolding me, I haven’t had much of a conversation with either of my parents after I went off to college. It was just my sister that I kept in contact weekly,
Sunday, October 31, 2010
“You’re late…again” she said, leaning back on her chair sipping her latte in a to-go cup. Lying on the table was a bunch of coupons for the café.
“Sorry babe, I was at an audition across town, there were so much traffic getting here. It won’t happen I again, I promise.” he said carelessly as he sucked in his belly to lift his pants and tuck in his t-shirt peeking out from under his leather vest, after wiping sweat off under his bandana tied across his forehead.
“What they say? You think you will definitely get in this time? We really need to find a way to pay our rent, you know?” she retorted in a sarcastic manner, furrowing her heavily penciled in brows together.
Not even looking at her, he replied confidently. “Yahhh, I will definitely get in this time, trust me babe. It’s just the other companies doesn’t have taste. They will for sure regret not picking me over some twiggy kids that wants to be the next Justin Bieber.” Rolling his eyes and crossed his legs, tapping his feet like he’s impatient for this conversation to end or something.
“That’s what you say every time, why don’t you use that useless confidence and get another job or something. A practical one that is.”
“Why don’t YOU get a job? It’s 21st century, women work you know?”
She picked up her latte cup and swigged down rest of the drink. He face red like the lipstick on the cup rims, she crumpled the cup into a paper ball squeezed it until her knuckles turned white and threw it hard into the trashcan next to her.
She muttered under her breath. “I DO work, I just didn’t tell you cause I was at least considerate of your feelings”
Not hearing what she muttered, he smoothed his hair back with his spit and added “It’s only temporary, by the end of the day they will definitely call me back and sign me. Then we will be living the goooood life.”
“You know, the deli we always go to is hiring.” She said looking at him intently.
“Yahhh, think about it babe. By tomorrow I will be famous and the deli would be so happy they served a famous person”
“I said the deli is HIRING”
“And what do you want ME to do?” he said looking irritated.
“Maybe you know, you could work there just in case you don’t get signed again.”
“That is for losers, they will definitely sign me”
She got up “Yah, call me when you do. But now I’m going on date with a working man”
“Sorry babe, I was at an audition across town, there were so much traffic getting here. It won’t happen I again, I promise.” he said carelessly as he sucked in his belly to lift his pants and tuck in his t-shirt peeking out from under his leather vest, after wiping sweat off under his bandana tied across his forehead.
“What they say? You think you will definitely get in this time? We really need to find a way to pay our rent, you know?” she retorted in a sarcastic manner, furrowing her heavily penciled in brows together.
Not even looking at her, he replied confidently. “Yahhh, I will definitely get in this time, trust me babe. It’s just the other companies doesn’t have taste. They will for sure regret not picking me over some twiggy kids that wants to be the next Justin Bieber.” Rolling his eyes and crossed his legs, tapping his feet like he’s impatient for this conversation to end or something.
“That’s what you say every time, why don’t you use that useless confidence and get another job or something. A practical one that is.”
“Why don’t YOU get a job? It’s 21st century, women work you know?”
She picked up her latte cup and swigged down rest of the drink. He face red like the lipstick on the cup rims, she crumpled the cup into a paper ball squeezed it until her knuckles turned white and threw it hard into the trashcan next to her.
She muttered under her breath. “I DO work, I just didn’t tell you cause I was at least considerate of your feelings”
Not hearing what she muttered, he smoothed his hair back with his spit and added “It’s only temporary, by the end of the day they will definitely call me back and sign me. Then we will be living the goooood life.”
“You know, the deli we always go to is hiring.” She said looking at him intently.
“Yahhh, think about it babe. By tomorrow I will be famous and the deli would be so happy they served a famous person”
“I said the deli is HIRING”
“And what do you want ME to do?” he said looking irritated.
“Maybe you know, you could work there just in case you don’t get signed again.”
“That is for losers, they will definitely sign me”
She got up “Yah, call me when you do. But now I’m going on date with a working man”
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Stalker character profile sheet.
Trista Wu
10.19.10
Character Profile Worksheet
Basic Statistics
Name: Billy Jean
Age: 33
Nationality: White or Hispanic
Socioeconomic Level as a child: Middle class
Socioeconomic Level as an adult: Low class on government aid
Hometown: Not NYC
Current Residence: In NYC
Occupation: Jobless?
Income: Low
Talents/Skills: He was in a band that broke up after a month, he was the lead singer that got kicked off.
Salary: $0
Birth order:
Siblings (describe relationship): Younger Brother, lost contact after he won’t give up auditioning to talent agencies
Spouse (describe relationship): None
Children (describe relationship): None
Grandparents (describe relationship): They passed away
Grandchildren (describe relationship): None
Significant Others (describe relationship): A white/Hispanic women that is same age as him
Relationship skills: He likes going to parties to show off his girlfriend and to get wasted.
Physical Characteristics:
Height: pretty tall around 5’7+
Weight: 200+
Race: White
Eye Color: Dirt brown
Hair Color: Highlighted blond.
Glasses or contact lenses? None
Skin color: Uneven tan lines, farmers’ tan.
Shape of Face: Round, with triple chin.
Distinguishing features: Not much, just his mullet.
How does he/she dress? Like in the past, still stuck in the 70’s with his fashion.
Mannerisms: Not very considerate of others, more centered towards what he feels.
Habits: (smoking, drinking etc.) Heavy drinker but with low alcohol tolerance.
Health: Overweight, almost obese.
Hobbies: Going to pubs.
Favorite Sayings: I’m going to get signed.
Speech patterns: Not much different sober or drunk, likes slurring words together.
Disabilities: None
Style (Elegant, shabby etc.): old shabby style, torn jeans etc.
Greatest flaw: bad drunk
Best quality: Don’t have any/
Intellectual/Mental/Personality Attributes and Attitudes
Educational Background: high school graduate, dropped out of community college.
Intelligence Level: Not important to him, so that part of his brain is not developed.
Any Mental Illnesses? None.
Learning Experiences: None.
Character's short-term goals in life: To get signed by a talent agency.
Character's long-term goals in life: Be more known and loved than Justin Bieber.
How does Character see himself/herself? A person that is too cool for others to comprehend.
How does Character believe he/she is perceived by others? Really awesome that everyone wants to be like him.
How self-confident is the character? He has high self confidence
Does the character seem ruled by emotion or logic or some combination thereof? He ruled by his emotion of thinking that everyone likes him, and driven by the need to get famous.
What would most embarass this character? Someone making fun of his mullet.
Emotional Characteristics
Strengths/Weaknesses: High self confidence, his mullet.
Introvert or Extrovert? extroverted
How does the character deal with anger? By drinking
With sadness? He just shuts himself in the bathroom
With conflict? He avoids the topic and pretends that he didn’t hear
With change? He’s okay with it
With loss? Cries in the bathroom.
What does the character want out of life? Getting famous
What would the character like to change in his/her life? To be a rock star
What motivates this character? Being famous and well known by other people
What frightens this character? Being insignificant
What makes this character happy? Getting drunk, going to parties, having girls, concerts
Is the character judgmental of others? He thinks everyone is less cool than him.
Is the character generous or stingy? Generous but he doesn’t have much to give besides his signature
Is the character generally polite or rude? Stuck up and rude.
Spiritual Characteristics
Does the character believe in God? No
What are the character's spiritual beliefs? Nothing
Is religion or spirituality a part of this character's life? No
If so, what role does it play?
What does this character want?? Need? Wish? Hope?
I don’t really know what the character want, but because he dresses like he was in the 60-70’s and rock star style, he probably wants to be famous or he’s just really into the fashion and music during that time. When I was watching him on the train he was standing up with his girlfriend leaning against the door and a pole with his girlfriend cornering him. He kept on wanting to get off the train and saying that he has to go home, but his girlfriend is saying that it’s not his stop. He was kind of drunk enough to have no common sense, by the way his girlfriend and him looks, it doesn’t seem like they are very high class.
10.19.10
Character Profile Worksheet
Basic Statistics
Name: Billy Jean
Age: 33
Nationality: White or Hispanic
Socioeconomic Level as a child: Middle class
Socioeconomic Level as an adult: Low class on government aid
Hometown: Not NYC
Current Residence: In NYC
Occupation: Jobless?
Income: Low
Talents/Skills: He was in a band that broke up after a month, he was the lead singer that got kicked off.
Salary: $0
Birth order:
Siblings (describe relationship): Younger Brother, lost contact after he won’t give up auditioning to talent agencies
Spouse (describe relationship): None
Children (describe relationship): None
Grandparents (describe relationship): They passed away
Grandchildren (describe relationship): None
Significant Others (describe relationship): A white/Hispanic women that is same age as him
Relationship skills: He likes going to parties to show off his girlfriend and to get wasted.
Physical Characteristics:
Height: pretty tall around 5’7+
Weight: 200+
Race: White
Eye Color: Dirt brown
Hair Color: Highlighted blond.
Glasses or contact lenses? None
Skin color: Uneven tan lines, farmers’ tan.
Shape of Face: Round, with triple chin.
Distinguishing features: Not much, just his mullet.
How does he/she dress? Like in the past, still stuck in the 70’s with his fashion.
Mannerisms: Not very considerate of others, more centered towards what he feels.
Habits: (smoking, drinking etc.) Heavy drinker but with low alcohol tolerance.
Health: Overweight, almost obese.
Hobbies: Going to pubs.
Favorite Sayings: I’m going to get signed.
Speech patterns: Not much different sober or drunk, likes slurring words together.
Disabilities: None
Style (Elegant, shabby etc.): old shabby style, torn jeans etc.
Greatest flaw: bad drunk
Best quality: Don’t have any/
Intellectual/Mental/Personality Attributes and Attitudes
Educational Background: high school graduate, dropped out of community college.
Intelligence Level: Not important to him, so that part of his brain is not developed.
Any Mental Illnesses? None.
Learning Experiences: None.
Character's short-term goals in life: To get signed by a talent agency.
Character's long-term goals in life: Be more known and loved than Justin Bieber.
How does Character see himself/herself? A person that is too cool for others to comprehend.
How does Character believe he/she is perceived by others? Really awesome that everyone wants to be like him.
How self-confident is the character? He has high self confidence
Does the character seem ruled by emotion or logic or some combination thereof? He ruled by his emotion of thinking that everyone likes him, and driven by the need to get famous.
What would most embarass this character? Someone making fun of his mullet.
Emotional Characteristics
Strengths/Weaknesses: High self confidence, his mullet.
Introvert or Extrovert? extroverted
How does the character deal with anger? By drinking
With sadness? He just shuts himself in the bathroom
With conflict? He avoids the topic and pretends that he didn’t hear
With change? He’s okay with it
With loss? Cries in the bathroom.
What does the character want out of life? Getting famous
What would the character like to change in his/her life? To be a rock star
What motivates this character? Being famous and well known by other people
What frightens this character? Being insignificant
What makes this character happy? Getting drunk, going to parties, having girls, concerts
Is the character judgmental of others? He thinks everyone is less cool than him.
Is the character generous or stingy? Generous but he doesn’t have much to give besides his signature
Is the character generally polite or rude? Stuck up and rude.
Spiritual Characteristics
Does the character believe in God? No
What are the character's spiritual beliefs? Nothing
Is religion or spirituality a part of this character's life? No
If so, what role does it play?
What does this character want?? Need? Wish? Hope?
I don’t really know what the character want, but because he dresses like he was in the 60-70’s and rock star style, he probably wants to be famous or he’s just really into the fashion and music during that time. When I was watching him on the train he was standing up with his girlfriend leaning against the door and a pole with his girlfriend cornering him. He kept on wanting to get off the train and saying that he has to go home, but his girlfriend is saying that it’s not his stop. He was kind of drunk enough to have no common sense, by the way his girlfriend and him looks, it doesn’t seem like they are very high class.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
The Number 6
6 Word Memoir: You wanted to see me fall...
6 Word Fiction: Medically induced coma saved his life.
6 Sentence Fiction: The love I borrowed. Every glance at you I stole, now fade. The laughs we shared are just now echoes. Inside jokes we laughed to became the past. Now don’t go taking the memories away from me, because those are my source of confidence. What would I be without the past?
6 Word Fiction: Medically induced coma saved his life.
6 Sentence Fiction: The love I borrowed. Every glance at you I stole, now fade. The laughs we shared are just now echoes. Inside jokes we laughed to became the past. Now don’t go taking the memories away from me, because those are my source of confidence. What would I be without the past?
Sunday, October 10, 2010
What's Left of It. (Final)
I finally had enough of this life, after living 5 years with my boyfriend, Fred. The romantic and peaceful life that I longed for from before is certainly not coming back, he’s now addicted to all-night partying and drinking with his college buddies. Tonight he came home, staggering from the front door to the bathroom. He sat on the floor next to the toilet, spewing his contents out of his mouth all over the white bathroom floor and the toilet seat, as he missed the toilet bowl, then passed out with his red haired head laying on the toilet seat. Looking at his pale lips, I see saliva dangling off the side; his pale face that used to be so full of expression depressed me.
What happened to the guy that used to cook me dinner before my big final exam in college, and buy me flowers because he was so sure that I would ace it? Looking at him sleeping in the bathroom, is this the queue for me to start over and find back the life that was mine? Instead of lingering on the memories of my past and ignoring what’s happened to it? I went back to the living room, staring at my diner for two that’s now cold. I stormed to my room and packed my bag, I did not even look back once as I went out the front door and hailed the nearest cab. The driver asked me a question that I wasn’t even sure of how to answer, where are you going? My best friend Lisa’s face popped into my head, her smile so radiant it cheered me up. The question was answered then and there.
As I arrived at her house, I rang the doorbell that sent an annoyingly loud and cheerful melody through out the house. After much silence, the door cracked open with her beaming down on me. Suddenly a wave of emotion over came me and I embraced her and cried like I’ve never cried before. The girl who know me better than I know myself led me to her room, where I spent the night spilling my heart out and ruining any chance of me having normal, not puffy and bloodshot eyes the next morning. That night I fell, into an uneasy slumber with my mind left wonder, bring out all the memories that I had with Fred. The picnic last spring with cherry blossoms falling from above as the wind rattled the tree that Fred and I sat under, surrounded by lush grass, he serenaded me with love songs and poems that would even make birds sing along. But that was before, now we are in two different worlds of despair, him alone with hangovers and mine alone crying over him.
Suddenly in the darkness were a pair of bloodshot hazel eyes staring at me blankly, above those sat a bush of blood red tangled bunch of hair. Clearly it was Fred, but why was he in my room? How did he even get in here? Is he going to apologize and say that he will change for the better? Instead he just stood there, staring at me with dull glassy bloodshot eyes, in a flash. He reached out to me and grabbed a fist full of my hair, and dragged me off the bed and pinned me to the wooden floor. I don’t feel pain, instead looking up to him; I see fury in his eyes and his eyebrows knitted together in the middle.
I’m struggling against him, kicking, flailing, and trying to scream for help. Yet nothing is coming out of my open mouth, like a fish out of water. Why can’t I scream? Why don’t I have any energy to push him off of me? What is he trying to do? I twisted around under him, trying to crawl out. Then I feel Fred’s hands grasp around my neck, slowly his grip is getting tighter and tighter, as I tried to free myself I twisted around again. All of the sudden, all the air rushed out of my lungs as I gasped. I thought to myself, he’s really trying to kill me! As I struggle to free myself, it feels as if my eyes were bulging out of their sockets. My head is thumping with my heart; it feels like an overinflated balloon, ready to burst any minute. Slowly before me, I see Fred’s pile of red hair starting to fade to grey and black, like the static on a broken TV screen, but this time it’s me that’s breaking. I don’t want to die! I still have a life to live, I still have to get married to a sober man who loves me and have kids that I will love. I’m starting to lose feeling in my legs; it feels as if death is crawling feet first up to my body. Is this what it feels like to be paralyzed? Is this what I get for leaving him?
I reached out my hands, trying to claw for his face in a last attempt to free myself, but I just can’t seem to reach him. Why is he so far away? As the grip around my neck gets tighter, it’s almost euphoric. It feels like the room is a Tea Cup ride in the carnival, it goes around and around until everything becomes nothing. There’s no more hope, the song The End by The Doors starts to play in my head. The end, beautiful friend, this is the end, my only friend the end.
Ding-dong! The annoyingly loud doorbell rang out; it jerked me back to my senses. As I opened my eyes, the sun in the room is shining; cool soothing air refills my lungs. Breathing in and out, I looked around my room. Where’s Fred? What just happened? I sat up, looking down I see my bed sheets curled around my neck tightly. I ripped it away from my neck and threw it on the ground, next to the pillow laying there discarded. My usual morning drowsiness doesn’t set in; instead I’m wide-awake with adrenaline pumping through my veins. My heart raced as I survey the surroundings, I got up slowly from the bed. My water cup on the bed stand next to me lay toppled over, water flowing across the desk in a stream that turns into a waterfall off my desk into a pool on the floor. The sun is shining through my curtains that are floating as the breeze push up against it. I stood there startled as my realization that it wasn’t Fred choking me; it was the bed sheet that was wrapped around my neck.
Ding-dong, I walked slowly to the door and peeked through the peephole. The view was blocked by flowers that was pushed up against it, slowly opening the door, I realize standing outside was a person with clean-shaven face, and twinkling eyes that I haven’t seen for a while. It was the Fred from my past memory, before the hardcore partying and drinking that took the young and clean look away from him. He started off my saying: “I went to rehab this morning…”. The rest is history.
What happened to the guy that used to cook me dinner before my big final exam in college, and buy me flowers because he was so sure that I would ace it? Looking at him sleeping in the bathroom, is this the queue for me to start over and find back the life that was mine? Instead of lingering on the memories of my past and ignoring what’s happened to it? I went back to the living room, staring at my diner for two that’s now cold. I stormed to my room and packed my bag, I did not even look back once as I went out the front door and hailed the nearest cab. The driver asked me a question that I wasn’t even sure of how to answer, where are you going? My best friend Lisa’s face popped into my head, her smile so radiant it cheered me up. The question was answered then and there.
As I arrived at her house, I rang the doorbell that sent an annoyingly loud and cheerful melody through out the house. After much silence, the door cracked open with her beaming down on me. Suddenly a wave of emotion over came me and I embraced her and cried like I’ve never cried before. The girl who know me better than I know myself led me to her room, where I spent the night spilling my heart out and ruining any chance of me having normal, not puffy and bloodshot eyes the next morning. That night I fell, into an uneasy slumber with my mind left wonder, bring out all the memories that I had with Fred. The picnic last spring with cherry blossoms falling from above as the wind rattled the tree that Fred and I sat under, surrounded by lush grass, he serenaded me with love songs and poems that would even make birds sing along. But that was before, now we are in two different worlds of despair, him alone with hangovers and mine alone crying over him.
Suddenly in the darkness were a pair of bloodshot hazel eyes staring at me blankly, above those sat a bush of blood red tangled bunch of hair. Clearly it was Fred, but why was he in my room? How did he even get in here? Is he going to apologize and say that he will change for the better? Instead he just stood there, staring at me with dull glassy bloodshot eyes, in a flash. He reached out to me and grabbed a fist full of my hair, and dragged me off the bed and pinned me to the wooden floor. I don’t feel pain, instead looking up to him; I see fury in his eyes and his eyebrows knitted together in the middle.
I’m struggling against him, kicking, flailing, and trying to scream for help. Yet nothing is coming out of my open mouth, like a fish out of water. Why can’t I scream? Why don’t I have any energy to push him off of me? What is he trying to do? I twisted around under him, trying to crawl out. Then I feel Fred’s hands grasp around my neck, slowly his grip is getting tighter and tighter, as I tried to free myself I twisted around again. All of the sudden, all the air rushed out of my lungs as I gasped. I thought to myself, he’s really trying to kill me! As I struggle to free myself, it feels as if my eyes were bulging out of their sockets. My head is thumping with my heart; it feels like an overinflated balloon, ready to burst any minute. Slowly before me, I see Fred’s pile of red hair starting to fade to grey and black, like the static on a broken TV screen, but this time it’s me that’s breaking. I don’t want to die! I still have a life to live, I still have to get married to a sober man who loves me and have kids that I will love. I’m starting to lose feeling in my legs; it feels as if death is crawling feet first up to my body. Is this what it feels like to be paralyzed? Is this what I get for leaving him?
I reached out my hands, trying to claw for his face in a last attempt to free myself, but I just can’t seem to reach him. Why is he so far away? As the grip around my neck gets tighter, it’s almost euphoric. It feels like the room is a Tea Cup ride in the carnival, it goes around and around until everything becomes nothing. There’s no more hope, the song The End by The Doors starts to play in my head. The end, beautiful friend, this is the end, my only friend the end.
Ding-dong! The annoyingly loud doorbell rang out; it jerked me back to my senses. As I opened my eyes, the sun in the room is shining; cool soothing air refills my lungs. Breathing in and out, I looked around my room. Where’s Fred? What just happened? I sat up, looking down I see my bed sheets curled around my neck tightly. I ripped it away from my neck and threw it on the ground, next to the pillow laying there discarded. My usual morning drowsiness doesn’t set in; instead I’m wide-awake with adrenaline pumping through my veins. My heart raced as I survey the surroundings, I got up slowly from the bed. My water cup on the bed stand next to me lay toppled over, water flowing across the desk in a stream that turns into a waterfall off my desk into a pool on the floor. The sun is shining through my curtains that are floating as the breeze push up against it. I stood there startled as my realization that it wasn’t Fred choking me; it was the bed sheet that was wrapped around my neck.
Ding-dong, I walked slowly to the door and peeked through the peephole. The view was blocked by flowers that was pushed up against it, slowly opening the door, I realize standing outside was a person with clean-shaven face, and twinkling eyes that I haven’t seen for a while. It was the Fred from my past memory, before the hardcore partying and drinking that took the young and clean look away from him. He started off my saying: “I went to rehab this morning…”. The rest is history.
Medias Res
Day and night, the hobo always guards the 2nd bench in the 23rd street subway station with his hammer and donkey by his side. It’s scaring off the straphangers that use this station to go to places, in order to eliminate this problem Jeff the social worker is assigned to this case. Jeff visits him every morning at 7:45 sharp on his way to his office, however he’s used be sitting in his chair at the office at 7:53 sharp everyday, Monday to Friday. However, visiting this hobo upsets his whole daily routine set since 3 years ago, Jeff wishes that the hobo would just move into the homeless shelter already. He has to keep visiting the hobo until he convinced him to leave the station and live in the shelter, but no matter how much convincing Jeff does the hobo does not budge an inch.
2nd draft
Jenna finally had enough of this life, living with Fred, my boyfriend of 5 years. The peaceful and romantic life with him, is not quite the same after he got addicted to all-night partying and drinking with his college buddies. He, who used to make dinner before I got home, buy flowers for me when I aces my test, is now every night staggering from the front door to the bathroom. Spewing his contents out of his mouth, all over the floor and seat cover after missing the toilet bowl, and passing out on the bathroom floor with saliva dangling off the side of his pale lips and white face, deeply contrasted against his blood red hair.
Is this the queue for me to start over, and find back the life that was mine? Instead of lingering on to the memories of the past and ignoring what’s happening right now?
--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---
After another night alone, with dinner for two left cold on the table. I finally decided pack my bags. As I left out the door, I did not even looking back once as I got on a cab to Lisa’s house, she’s my best friend and my roommate from 5 years ago. Arriving outside of her door, I ranged the doorbell that played the annoyingly cheerful ring tone throughout the whole house. The door cracked open and a face poked out that brought back so much memories. Beaming down on me, I embraced her with hug that seemed to bring out all my locked up sadness, it overwhelmed me and left her crying in Lisa’s arms like a baby. As she wept and spilled her heart out to Lisa, her sadness that used to overwhelm becomes less painful as Lisa’s soothing words made her feel better little by little.
She fell into an uneasy slumber, as the night went on her mind wondered. Replaying all the happy times that she had with Fred, the picnic last spring on her birthday, cherry blossoms falling from above as the wind rattled the tree they sat under, with food and birthday presents. But that was before, now he’s in the world of partying and drinking, and she’s in the world of despair and sadness. Whose fault was it that he became like this? Certainly not hers.
Suddenly in the darkness were a pair of bloodshot hazel eyes staring, above it sat the bush of deep red colored hair, clearly it was Fred that was in her room. Did he come to ask her to go back, is he going to apologize and say he’s going to change? Instead he just stood there, staring at her with dull glassy eyes, suddenly he charged at her, his hand grasped handful of her hair, dragging her down to the cold wooden floor. Fred is now pinning her down by her hands; she’s struggling against him. Kicking, flailing, trying to scream for help, yet nothing came out of her open gasping mouth. Why couldn’t she scream? Why can’t she seem to gather enough energy to push him off of her? What is Fred trying to do?
Jenna twisted around, trying to crawl out under Fred. Then something wrapped around her neck, looking for the source Jenna sees Fred’s hands around her neck. Slowly his grip is getting tighter and tighter, trying to free herself, she twisted around again, this time facing Fred. She sees the fury in his eyes, the anger in his knitted brows, her breath rushes out, this time the grip got so tight her eyes felt like its bulging out of their sockets. She’s trying to free herself and breathe, but her airway feels collapsed. Jenna is now losing feeling in her legs; it feels as if ‘death’ is crawling up her feet. It’s getting numb now, is this what it feels like to be paralyzed? Is this what she get for leaving him? Why is he trying to kill her?
Slowly before her, Fred’s short pile of blood red curly hair began to fade to grey and black like the static on a broken TV screen, but this time it’s her that’s breaking. She doesn’t want to die, she still wanted to get married to a sober husband, have kids that she will love. Panic starts to set in as she struggled; cold sweat is seeping out of her hairline, rolling over her smooth baby skin forehead, sliding down her nose. Blood rushing to her head, it’s starting to feel like an overinflated balloon, the tension just before it’s about to pop. Her hands outreached clawing for his face to get him to release her, but are her arms too short? She can’t seem to get her hands on him, he feels so far away. As the grip around her neck gets tighter, it’s almost euphoric; it feels as if the room is like a Tea cup ride in the carnival, it goes round and round until everything becomes nothing. Slowly it feels like it’s starting to end, the song The End by The Doors starts playing in her head. The end, beautiful friend, this is the end, my only friend the end.
Ding dong! The annoyingly loud doorbell rang out, panting she opened her puffy eyes, jerked back to reality. Cool soothing air refills her lungs, breathing in and out. What happened? She asked herself, looking around. The sun is now shining through the curtains that’s floating as the breeze pushed up against it through the open window. Feeling something around her neck, she looks down and rips the bed sheet that‘s twisted and wrapped around her neck away and throw it to the ground. her usual morning doughtiness doesn’t set in, but instead she’s wide-awake adrenaline pumping through her veins. Jenna surveys the surroundings as she got up slowly to her feet from the bed, what just happened? Where’s Fred, wasn’t he just trying to choke me? My room is really bright; my pillow lay on the floor, away from me. My water cup on my bed stand lay toppled over, water still flowing across my wooden desk in a stream to the edge dripping on to the floor.
Suddenly, the doorbell rang that sent an annoyingly loud melody through Lisa’s apartment. I crept out of my room and went to the door, looking through the peephole, stands a person that looks like Fred from my past memory. With twinkling eyes and clean-shaven cut that I haven’t seen for a while.
Is this the queue for me to start over, and find back the life that was mine? Instead of lingering on to the memories of the past and ignoring what’s happening right now?
--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---
After another night alone, with dinner for two left cold on the table. I finally decided pack my bags. As I left out the door, I did not even looking back once as I got on a cab to Lisa’s house, she’s my best friend and my roommate from 5 years ago. Arriving outside of her door, I ranged the doorbell that played the annoyingly cheerful ring tone throughout the whole house. The door cracked open and a face poked out that brought back so much memories. Beaming down on me, I embraced her with hug that seemed to bring out all my locked up sadness, it overwhelmed me and left her crying in Lisa’s arms like a baby. As she wept and spilled her heart out to Lisa, her sadness that used to overwhelm becomes less painful as Lisa’s soothing words made her feel better little by little.
She fell into an uneasy slumber, as the night went on her mind wondered. Replaying all the happy times that she had with Fred, the picnic last spring on her birthday, cherry blossoms falling from above as the wind rattled the tree they sat under, with food and birthday presents. But that was before, now he’s in the world of partying and drinking, and she’s in the world of despair and sadness. Whose fault was it that he became like this? Certainly not hers.
Suddenly in the darkness were a pair of bloodshot hazel eyes staring, above it sat the bush of deep red colored hair, clearly it was Fred that was in her room. Did he come to ask her to go back, is he going to apologize and say he’s going to change? Instead he just stood there, staring at her with dull glassy eyes, suddenly he charged at her, his hand grasped handful of her hair, dragging her down to the cold wooden floor. Fred is now pinning her down by her hands; she’s struggling against him. Kicking, flailing, trying to scream for help, yet nothing came out of her open gasping mouth. Why couldn’t she scream? Why can’t she seem to gather enough energy to push him off of her? What is Fred trying to do?
Jenna twisted around, trying to crawl out under Fred. Then something wrapped around her neck, looking for the source Jenna sees Fred’s hands around her neck. Slowly his grip is getting tighter and tighter, trying to free herself, she twisted around again, this time facing Fred. She sees the fury in his eyes, the anger in his knitted brows, her breath rushes out, this time the grip got so tight her eyes felt like its bulging out of their sockets. She’s trying to free herself and breathe, but her airway feels collapsed. Jenna is now losing feeling in her legs; it feels as if ‘death’ is crawling up her feet. It’s getting numb now, is this what it feels like to be paralyzed? Is this what she get for leaving him? Why is he trying to kill her?
Slowly before her, Fred’s short pile of blood red curly hair began to fade to grey and black like the static on a broken TV screen, but this time it’s her that’s breaking. She doesn’t want to die, she still wanted to get married to a sober husband, have kids that she will love. Panic starts to set in as she struggled; cold sweat is seeping out of her hairline, rolling over her smooth baby skin forehead, sliding down her nose. Blood rushing to her head, it’s starting to feel like an overinflated balloon, the tension just before it’s about to pop. Her hands outreached clawing for his face to get him to release her, but are her arms too short? She can’t seem to get her hands on him, he feels so far away. As the grip around her neck gets tighter, it’s almost euphoric; it feels as if the room is like a Tea cup ride in the carnival, it goes round and round until everything becomes nothing. Slowly it feels like it’s starting to end, the song The End by The Doors starts playing in her head. The end, beautiful friend, this is the end, my only friend the end.
Ding dong! The annoyingly loud doorbell rang out, panting she opened her puffy eyes, jerked back to reality. Cool soothing air refills her lungs, breathing in and out. What happened? She asked herself, looking around. The sun is now shining through the curtains that’s floating as the breeze pushed up against it through the open window. Feeling something around her neck, she looks down and rips the bed sheet that‘s twisted and wrapped around her neck away and throw it to the ground. her usual morning doughtiness doesn’t set in, but instead she’s wide-awake adrenaline pumping through her veins. Jenna surveys the surroundings as she got up slowly to her feet from the bed, what just happened? Where’s Fred, wasn’t he just trying to choke me? My room is really bright; my pillow lay on the floor, away from me. My water cup on my bed stand lay toppled over, water still flowing across my wooden desk in a stream to the edge dripping on to the floor.
Suddenly, the doorbell rang that sent an annoyingly loud melody through Lisa’s apartment. I crept out of my room and went to the door, looking through the peephole, stands a person that looks like Fred from my past memory. With twinkling eyes and clean-shaven cut that I haven’t seen for a while.
Draft 1
Labored breathing trying to get the breath of life, but the airway is squeezed shut by an iron hand. It felt as if death is crawling up her feet then to her legs, it’s getting numb now, is this what it feels like to be paralyzed? Slowly before her his red curly hair start to fade to grey and black, like the static in a broken TV but this time it’s her that’s breaking. As the grip around her neck gets tighter, it’s almost euphoric; it feels as if room is like a Tea Cup ride in the carnival, it goes round and round until everything becomes nothing. Slowly it’s starting to end, the song The End by The Doors starts playing in her head. The end, beautiful friend, this is the end, my only friend the end.
Okay, am I scaring you? Lets rewind, go back to when everything was good. Almost out of a fairytale, she has the prince charming and they are going to ride off over the rainbow into the sunset happily ever after.
Okay, am I scaring you? Lets rewind, go back to when everything was good. Almost out of a fairytale, she has the prince charming and they are going to ride off over the rainbow into the sunset happily ever after.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Freewrite
After waking up from my afternoon nap, my red bulging eyes and prickly sensation sent me scrabbling from my bathroom to under the covers on my couch again. Peaking out eyeing the room, my sight landed on the repulsive windows smeared with white and black lumpy pigeon droppings and an AC unit peeling with chunks of white paint chips with rust on the underside. Past the unworldly gruesome site, there’s the green forest of trees in Central Park that I’ve never walked in once. I start to realize living years in the crammed hellhole; I should enjoy the outside more. My studio made me feel like I was living in a naked mole rat hole, not see what was around me only burrowing under my covers on my sofa bed.
Sticking my foot out of the sheet, feeling for my slippers, in the process stubbed by a lose nail sticking out from the floorboard. Finally pushed myself out of the sofa with a grunt, I’m out the door with 4 locks and chains. While on the 42-year-old creaking elevator, I yearned for the waft of fresh air that would slam against me as I opened the lobby door.
Sticking my foot out of the sheet, feeling for my slippers, in the process stubbed by a lose nail sticking out from the floorboard. Finally pushed myself out of the sofa with a grunt, I’m out the door with 4 locks and chains. While on the 42-year-old creaking elevator, I yearned for the waft of fresh air that would slam against me as I opened the lobby door.
If you can read this, and not get dizzy. Feel free to.
1. When people ask me what am I afraid of, I blank out. Am I supposed to always respond with an answer that people are okay with? Such as, I’m afraid of bugs, or I’m afraid of heights. Am I supposed to be always afraid of something? But what if I say, I’m not really afraid of anything yet? This won’t go well with some people, some will start thinking, oh that girl is so fake or that girl is overly confident. But really, I just haven’t figured it out myself yet. I still have to look deep within myself to see the fear that I don’t want others to know. If I do finally know my fear, I will definitely update this.
2. Again, I don’t know what I’m willing to die for. I can say that I’m willing to die for my family. But what if the time comes and that doesn’t happen? Sometimes people say they are willing to die for something, but in reality, they won’t even know if they willing when the time comes. Because everything that happens, happen in that moment. No one would be able to know what he/she would be feeling in that moment, I won’t know until the time comes and I die for someone I really care about, then I will know what I’m willing to die for.
3. Music calms me down in the toughest times; it drowns out my sorrow and what I don’t want to hear. Before I discovered music in my early teens, I would get so depressed when I hear my parents fight because I have no way of blocking it out. But now music makes my life more ‘peaceful’, because I don’t have to face the yelling and words piercing each other in my home. Same as running, it’s my excuse to feel more at peace. I know it’s cowardly to run out when it’s like a battlefield in my house, but I run and run to take my frustration and make it into the sweat that comes out of my pours.
4. There are a lot of places that’s special to me, but closer to home would be the staircase in my building that is always empty. 50+ floors of stairs is my kingdom, when I bellow my heart out with my frustration or meet my friends in it, I can always forget what’s happening at home or school and get it out. Sometimes I just stay there and read or listen to music for ages where no one bothers me, that’s why the staircase is special to me.
5. I’ve been to a lot of places with my parents, I enjoy seeing different aspects of culture in this world, but it also inspires me in things I do. My music taste changes when I go to a different country, my view on the world changes when I go to a 3rd world country. I can’t say it makes me who I am, but it’s takes up a great deal of me.
6. When I have spare time and feel lazy, I just stay home where my friends are the computer and food. It doesn’t depress me that I spend hours on end at home watching soup because it relaxes me. Where as other people my age would go out and hang out, it’s my ‘hobby’ and I don’t have to worry about what others think of me inside my home.
7. One of my top goals in life is to have a job I love, from the experiences I hear around me, I don’t want to be stuck with a job that I hate for rest of life. Because it drives a person absolutely crazy to do what they hate for hours on end, so I want a job that makes me feel happy in what I do. Right now, I am thinking of becoming a nurse because they help people during their lowest time and don’t have all the pressure of being a doctor.
8. I feel happy when I set a goal for myself and achieve it, because it’s like running a furious race with yourself and winning at the end. I think this explains itself.
9. My day would suck if I didn’t have a shower in the morning to wake myself up, the whole day would just be like a blur to me and I won’t remember a thing that I did that day. Mornings are the most important to me because it maps out the rest of my day. If I got up feeling refreshed and have a nice breakfast, it would make my day so much better. Where I pay attention more in class and feel great for a test. Of course everything else counts too, to study, to finish all the homework and to go to class prepared.
10. Sometimes I feel like the future is so unnerving for me and other kids my age, compared to what teenagers went through 50 years ago. We now have to go through so much obstacles and competition compared to before. There’s double the competition now in the world to be up against, and it pains me to picture myself not doing what I want in the future, because thousands of others are fighting for the same dream I have.
2. Again, I don’t know what I’m willing to die for. I can say that I’m willing to die for my family. But what if the time comes and that doesn’t happen? Sometimes people say they are willing to die for something, but in reality, they won’t even know if they willing when the time comes. Because everything that happens, happen in that moment. No one would be able to know what he/she would be feeling in that moment, I won’t know until the time comes and I die for someone I really care about, then I will know what I’m willing to die for.
3. Music calms me down in the toughest times; it drowns out my sorrow and what I don’t want to hear. Before I discovered music in my early teens, I would get so depressed when I hear my parents fight because I have no way of blocking it out. But now music makes my life more ‘peaceful’, because I don’t have to face the yelling and words piercing each other in my home. Same as running, it’s my excuse to feel more at peace. I know it’s cowardly to run out when it’s like a battlefield in my house, but I run and run to take my frustration and make it into the sweat that comes out of my pours.
4. There are a lot of places that’s special to me, but closer to home would be the staircase in my building that is always empty. 50+ floors of stairs is my kingdom, when I bellow my heart out with my frustration or meet my friends in it, I can always forget what’s happening at home or school and get it out. Sometimes I just stay there and read or listen to music for ages where no one bothers me, that’s why the staircase is special to me.
5. I’ve been to a lot of places with my parents, I enjoy seeing different aspects of culture in this world, but it also inspires me in things I do. My music taste changes when I go to a different country, my view on the world changes when I go to a 3rd world country. I can’t say it makes me who I am, but it’s takes up a great deal of me.
6. When I have spare time and feel lazy, I just stay home where my friends are the computer and food. It doesn’t depress me that I spend hours on end at home watching soup because it relaxes me. Where as other people my age would go out and hang out, it’s my ‘hobby’ and I don’t have to worry about what others think of me inside my home.
7. One of my top goals in life is to have a job I love, from the experiences I hear around me, I don’t want to be stuck with a job that I hate for rest of life. Because it drives a person absolutely crazy to do what they hate for hours on end, so I want a job that makes me feel happy in what I do. Right now, I am thinking of becoming a nurse because they help people during their lowest time and don’t have all the pressure of being a doctor.
8. I feel happy when I set a goal for myself and achieve it, because it’s like running a furious race with yourself and winning at the end. I think this explains itself.
9. My day would suck if I didn’t have a shower in the morning to wake myself up, the whole day would just be like a blur to me and I won’t remember a thing that I did that day. Mornings are the most important to me because it maps out the rest of my day. If I got up feeling refreshed and have a nice breakfast, it would make my day so much better. Where I pay attention more in class and feel great for a test. Of course everything else counts too, to study, to finish all the homework and to go to class prepared.
10. Sometimes I feel like the future is so unnerving for me and other kids my age, compared to what teenagers went through 50 years ago. We now have to go through so much obstacles and competition compared to before. There’s double the competition now in the world to be up against, and it pains me to picture myself not doing what I want in the future, because thousands of others are fighting for the same dream I have.
The List
1. Things I’m afraid of: (still figuring this out)
2. What am I willing to die for: nothing yet.
3. What makes me feel at peace: Music, running,
4. Places that are special to me: The staircase in my building, my bed, that bench in my park.
5. What inspires me: traveling with my parents, successful people
6. Things I love to do during my spare time: eating, watch comedy, sleep.
7. My top goals in life: Go to a college that I like, get a job I really love, have a family to take care of.
8. What makes me happy: achieving a goal.
9. My day doesn’t feel right without: a nice long shower, 8 hours of sleep, filling breakfast, a run on the treadmill.
10. My insecurities: the future, bonds I have with people.
2. What am I willing to die for: nothing yet.
3. What makes me feel at peace: Music, running,
4. Places that are special to me: The staircase in my building, my bed, that bench in my park.
5. What inspires me: traveling with my parents, successful people
6. Things I love to do during my spare time: eating, watch comedy, sleep.
7. My top goals in life: Go to a college that I like, get a job I really love, have a family to take care of.
8. What makes me happy: achieving a goal.
9. My day doesn’t feel right without: a nice long shower, 8 hours of sleep, filling breakfast, a run on the treadmill.
10. My insecurities: the future, bonds I have with people.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Am I a Good Liar? (2 Lies, 1 Truth) (Check Tag for answer)
2 Lies, 1 Truth
1. I touched a baby crocodile during my vacation to South America with my parents in 2005. During the trip we stopped and stayed a few days next to the Amazon River in Peru, one day the tour group decided to tour the Amazon River on a small boat. It was really fun because we stopped along side the riverbanks and went into the deep jungle; I even saw and feed water to spider monkeys (?). The most memorable thing was during the boat ride, the tour guide decided to stop and catch a baby crocodile for the tour group to see. I was only 11 at the time and even though it was really small, it looked like a monster to the ‘mini’ me. But I gathered enough courage to touch its back, but only because the tour guide had its mouth and feet bind together. I learned some interesting facts on baby crocodiles, but I don’t remember them anymore because it was so long ago. This was the thing I remember most about my trip to South America besides the amazing scenery, food, culture and everything else that was there. I really wish I could go back to South America some day and revisit all the amazing places.
2. I used to be a bad girl in kindergarten and wear the cone of shame in the corner of the class in China. It was because my parents weren’t with me and I lived with my grandparents, I was basically out of control and wild. It was the past but really, I was the worst kid in class. I would fight with girls and boys, bully kids on the playground and not listen to a word that my teach say. I really regret it now because I wish I had a better memory of my childhood back in China. Sometimes I wonder why I was like that, it’s not comprehendible to me now because my mind set is different than before. I would also like to say sorry to my grandparents that always had to come and talk to the teachers about my bad behavior, it must have been hard for them to come to kindergarten every week to pick me up from the principles’ office.
3. I love jogging near where I live because it’s next to the Hudson River, the fresh air and smell of grass is the best thing to jog too. I also don’t feel left out or strange when I jog because there are tons of other people jogging too, I hate the feeling where everyone is looking at me because I’m jogging and everyone else is just walking to work or going to school. I feel like jogging cleans my brain from all the stress and nonsense I have to go through everyday at home and in school, sometimes I feel like just jogging forever and never looking back.
1. I touched a baby crocodile during my vacation to South America with my parents in 2005. During the trip we stopped and stayed a few days next to the Amazon River in Peru, one day the tour group decided to tour the Amazon River on a small boat. It was really fun because we stopped along side the riverbanks and went into the deep jungle; I even saw and feed water to spider monkeys (?). The most memorable thing was during the boat ride, the tour guide decided to stop and catch a baby crocodile for the tour group to see. I was only 11 at the time and even though it was really small, it looked like a monster to the ‘mini’ me. But I gathered enough courage to touch its back, but only because the tour guide had its mouth and feet bind together. I learned some interesting facts on baby crocodiles, but I don’t remember them anymore because it was so long ago. This was the thing I remember most about my trip to South America besides the amazing scenery, food, culture and everything else that was there. I really wish I could go back to South America some day and revisit all the amazing places.
2. I used to be a bad girl in kindergarten and wear the cone of shame in the corner of the class in China. It was because my parents weren’t with me and I lived with my grandparents, I was basically out of control and wild. It was the past but really, I was the worst kid in class. I would fight with girls and boys, bully kids on the playground and not listen to a word that my teach say. I really regret it now because I wish I had a better memory of my childhood back in China. Sometimes I wonder why I was like that, it’s not comprehendible to me now because my mind set is different than before. I would also like to say sorry to my grandparents that always had to come and talk to the teachers about my bad behavior, it must have been hard for them to come to kindergarten every week to pick me up from the principles’ office.
3. I love jogging near where I live because it’s next to the Hudson River, the fresh air and smell of grass is the best thing to jog too. I also don’t feel left out or strange when I jog because there are tons of other people jogging too, I hate the feeling where everyone is looking at me because I’m jogging and everyone else is just walking to work or going to school. I feel like jogging cleans my brain from all the stress and nonsense I have to go through everyday at home and in school, sometimes I feel like just jogging forever and never looking back.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
My mottos for my senior year 2010~2011
Albert Einstein: The important thing is not to stop questioning.
Francis Bacon: Knowledge is power.
Francis Bacon: Knowledge is power.
Welcome to my portfolio.
My personal goal(s) for this year in English class is…
~ To achive my 95 and above average in all of my classes.
~ To finish all my assignments on time and make sure it's scrupulous.
~ To eliminate my procrastination habit and to always finish my assignment without a glitch.
~ To try and use more SAT vocabularies in my everyday life and on paper. (Please correct me, if I used them incorrectly)
~ To go to sleep earlier every night, so I can be refreshed and attentive in all my classes the next day.
~ To use my time wisely in and out of school.
~ To achive my 95 and above average in all of my classes.
~ To finish all my assignments on time and make sure it's scrupulous.
~ To eliminate my procrastination habit and to always finish my assignment without a glitch.
~ To try and use more SAT vocabularies in my everyday life and on paper. (Please correct me, if I used them incorrectly)
~ To go to sleep earlier every night, so I can be refreshed and attentive in all my classes the next day.
~ To use my time wisely in and out of school.
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