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A New Enviroment

Posted by Anastasia Petropoulos in English 3 - Block - E on

When I begun writing my advanced essay my goal was to develop the idea of community.  Writing my first memory piece I was clueless as to what my larger idea was.  Yet once I finished my second and third memory piece I realized I had produced something that had potential.  From there on out it was easy for me to convert my ideas into fluid writing.  I feel like up to that point in the process I was very successful.  Developing my larger idea was difficult.  In the end I had an epiphany but I still feel like I could contribute more to the conclusion.

Being the new kid is overwhelming.  Regardless of the many times I have begun at a new school, it is still difficult for me to comfortably adapt.  The thing is, it’s impossible to magically fit the mold of a new group; I’ve concluded that there will always be an adjustment period, no matter how big or small.  I myself tend to asses the new situation I am entering, occasionally for longer intervals of time. Currently observing the people around me I notice how harmonious they appear, leaving me longing for community. 

When I was asked to think of a memory piece, something interesting, my mind kept circling back to a meaningful moment I experienced last year with my peers from my previous school.  I was in my 7th period class, Theater, and my classmates and I were discussing the events of the day.  My head snaps to the front of the room when the door opens, all conversation ceasing.  Ms.MA calmly walks in and starts collecting her belongings, her face set in determination.  I sit, momentarily dumbfounded, trying to comprehend why my teacher is preparing to go an hour before school ends.  Then Jade asks “Ms.MA, are you ok?” “I’m fine, just everybody grab your stuff you need to leave for the day.” she says in a steady voice.  As I slowly start to pack up, I feel my heartbeat quicken.  What had been said in the meeting she had just arrived from?  Feeling frantic at the scenario coming to mind, I scurry to shove the rest of my books in my bag.  A few minutes later I stand at the head of the room with my classmates, all of us sharing the same expression of concern, whispering quietly.  “Was she fired?” India asks, broadcasting the fear running through my mind.  Before we have time to further discuss Ms.MA cuts off all conversation, “Do we have everyone?” she asks.  I feel myself nod, and we shuffle out the door. The elevator ride is quiet.  Then I notice tears are silently rolling down my teacher’s cheeks.  We crowd around, wrapping her into a big hug.  Choruses of “Are you ok?” and “We will beat up whoever did this!” fill the elevator but she is quiet, muffled by our embrace.   

The emotion of that day lives on in my mind, with the recognition that everything was intensified with my classmates there.  I come to find that I am mourning the community I lost when I transferred.  Yet I must remind myself that though I think of my past family of classmates fondly, the community was not perfect.   There were times prior when I was not proud to be a part of that society.  Being included in a huge community does not make it a healthy community and you can’t always choose the people you wind up with.  However when the right individuals come together to form a group it can be a miracle.  I experienced this kind of connection on a friday in an earlier week of June.  It was about 5:40 when I got out of the car, my stomach in a twist.  Hearing the driver door slam, I turn.  “I’m coming in with you.” my mom says.  I groan but don’t argue seeing as she has already made her way around the car and is holding the gym door open for me.  Hesitantly, I take a step in.  “Come on!” mom says herding me past the threshold. As we make our way further into the gym, I see a few girls using the exercise machines and my nerves heighten.  “I just need to finalize some details with the instructor and then I’ll be out.” my mom is saying as a blonde woman exits a room just ahead, stopping in her tracks when she spots us.  “You must be Anastasia!” she exclaims, delighted.  “That's me.” I manage anxiously, stepping out from behind my mom. “I’m Erin, come on in!” she gestures leading us back into the room from which she had just exited.  While Erin explains some ground rules multiple girls file in and out of the room, introducing themselves as they go and I begin to relax.  Erin is finishing up introductions when a new girl enters the room.  “Ah, here’s Sheila, she’s new as well!” she exclaims.  I face Sheila as Erin goes to greet her mom. “Hi, I’m Anastasia, this is my first time here too.” I offer with a smile. “I’m Sheila” she says shyly, returning the gesture. “I’m going to go.” my mom says, turning toward the door. “Ok, bye.” I say, “I’ll be fine.” And once I say it, I know it’s true.

Connecting the way I did made me realize that the people which you are surrounded by truly make an impact on how you feel about a situation.  Upon joining Kickboxing the people I met were open and welcoming, allowing me to feel comfortable to be myself.  Situations in new communities are not always as rewarding.  When people think of a community, most often they relate the word to a huge group of people.  In actuality a community can be a family of two, a relative, a best friend, a cat or a friendly acquaintance.  Entering a new community it’s hard not to have huge expectations about creating a huge family of friends, but sometimes it can take one companion for someone to feel support and that is all that matters.

 




First Things Firsts

Posted by Indee Phillpotts in English 3 - Block - E on

My goal with writing this paper was to write something that I was proud of. I wanted to really enjoy my writing and connect with the topic that I decided to write about so that it could be the strongest piece of writing possible. I also really wanted my essay to have a nice flow. I think that I was really descriptive in the situations I was describing and how I was feeling. My conclusion was strong and tied everything together. I think that I could’ve really gone in to make sure everything worked well and it would make sense to people who aren’t just me.


There is always a first for everything. Each thing that you have done, riding a bike, playing an instrument, there was always that first time you experienced it. Because we have all had so many firsts it seems that the majority of them are pushed under the carpet so that only what is considered to be the most important firsts are what is shared. When you’re a child it’s your first words and steps. Although these are exciting for yourself, it seems to bring more joy to your parents. As we age, the firsts that are considered important become our first day of school and first time riding a bike and from there to first kisses and part time jobs. These are the firsts that most people remember, the ones that are kept on a shelf rather than under the bed. But why were these the memories that have been chosen for us to recall? What if they were swapped out for the first picture you took or the first real meal you ever cooked? Shouldn’t the memories of firsts depend on the person rather than all of us who have a version of the same story? It could show what is important enough to that person to remember the first time it happened.


“Come on Indee, we’re going to be late,” my dad called from the stairs. I started to put on my other sneaker. I sprinted down the stairs where my parents and Aunt and Uncle were waiting. We all piled into the car and drove through the night. When we got to the Electric Factory it was already full of people and buzzing with conversation. “Over 21, come and get a stamp,” a man with a chubby face called. We all entered into the building. It was hot, and smelled of stale beer, perspiration, and fifty different perfumes. Everyone's bodies were so close together and there was no room for personal space. As I stood, wide eyed, I realized how amazing this was. So many people here for the same reason, to listen to some good, live music. I had never seen anything like it. When the band went on everyone went wild. Arms flew up, heads and hips bobbed from side to side. You could tell what everyone's favorite song was because when it came on they would sing along like they were the one performing. Something about this type of connection felt so powerful. I couldn’t get enough of the bass blaring through the speakers, the beating of my heart matching its pace to that of the drums. “So, what did you think of your first concert?” my aunt asked as we were slowly being pushed out by the mob of bodies. It was exhilarating and beautiful. It filled me with an energy that pulsed through my fingers and toes.


Like everything in life, there are positives and negatives. So of course there are positive firsts and negative firsts. Like first love and first heartbreak. The majority of firsts that I mentioned were more joyous and I find that a lot of the time we accentuate the joy and pretend as if the sadder things do not exist. However it is those melancholy firsts that so greatly help shape who we are. Our first experience with loss, first breakdown, or heartbreak. Without these first, which at the time seem like the worst and only thing that matters, we would never be able to grow and learn, to understand and change so that the second or even third time we don’t make the same mistake. It’s sometimes good to follow the branches grow from your roots, to see how your firsts have affected the you of today.


If I were to choose three firsts that make me, who I am, I wouldn’t be able to. I know that this is not true for all but I feel that I have not lived enough years to decide exactly who I am or who I might be. I know the firsts that are not on the list. The first time I rode a bike, baked a cake, and stubbed my toe. But that doesn’t take the importance out of them. It’s just that I know what has left its mark on me and what has slowly faded to the background. In times when I need to lighten up I can think back to those firsts that make my eyes glimmer and when I need to remember a lesson I learned I can recall the times that dulled the bright glow. Maybe we should all stop focusing so intently on the future full of hundredths and thousandths  and just take a second to close our eyes and remember the firsts.



Advanced Essay #1: Fall Leaves

Posted by Ona Brown in English 3 - Block - E on

Descriptive writing is not always easy. You're basically trying to create a mental image in the readers mind. I wanted to approach this assignment with an open mind. I wanted to create a mental image that every reader from every background could see. I also wanted to make my reader feel every word and leave lasting impression on the idea of growing up. The scary reality of growing up and how age doesn't play a part in it. I feel very accomplished, I'm very amazed of how much I've grown as a writer. 


Fall Leaves

by Ona Brown



I always looked forward to Summer when I was younger, it was the most highly anticipated season for a young 12 yearold girl. Time for long days at the beach that leave you two shades darker than the shade you had when you came. Numerous visits to amusement parks. Having so much fun that you put your summer reading off, to do two weeks before school starts. Summer break felt so long, halfway through I would start to miss school. As I got older what felt like a year was gone in a blink of an eye. As I got older I started to anticipate the fall in summer. It’s something about Fall that makes everything feel more homey and close. It’s Not too cold and not too hot. Not too many rain showers to wash your worries away, just a silent wind that speaks to you with no words. It’s something about the warm orange, yellow and brown colors and the way the trees let us know it’s okay to change. It’s something about how the trees aren’t scared to be naked and how they don’t fear Winter coming soon. Fall made me see things so much clearer at a young age. It help me to realize that my age had nothing to do with maturity, rather it was my experiences.


My mom and I used to go to Linvilla orchards every year around October. But this particular time we decided to bring a couple of friends to tag along and share in the Fall activities. I loved getting on the Hayrides. It was the first thing my mind was focused on upon arriving at the Orchard. I made my way to line full of anxious faces, while using my right hand to guide my mom. I used all my weight anchoring my feet into the ground and pulling her arm with my upper body. She hated when I did that. She scream “Stop or we won’t go until it’s time to leave!” I stopped immediately, although every step she took I couldn’t help but wish she was running. I tried to focus on something else, like looking at all the small faces that looked just like the bigger faces they were with. Finally we made it to the line which was so long. After one minute of waiting I became anxious. A stern look from my mother reminded me to be patient. As we walked up the steps to enter the tractor, the corners of my mouth rose. We would sit close making it easy to see each others breath. We breathed in unison, small white clouds formed as we exhaled then they disappeared into the air, never to be seen again. As the farmer made his way through the field maze, taking different twist and turns he pointed out the earth's cultivation. From the small apples to the tall stalks of corn. I never understood how the small insecure seeds could become the big confident crops that laid before my eyes. I wondered if it was how long it took them to grow or their environment that made them ripe?


After the Hayride we picked sweet ruby red apples that showed the reflection of our little brown faces when we looked into them. Later we bought popsicle sticks and make candy apples that I lost my tooth to that night. But Every sweet bite made it worth it. The tooth fairy confiscated my tooth and replaced it with five dollars just to remind me change was okay that night. Soon a new adult tooth would be growing in the narrow empty space.


I know for a fact Fall was forcing me to grow up. The leaves pointed to the things I didn’t see before. The cold wind shook my body and told me to stay awake to not miss a thing. I truly started to understand why knowledge is pain and why it hurts to know. Why did knowing more have to mean you were growing up? I felt like I was out growing my friends. We were around that same age but our mindsets were totally different. The things I knew, they were just starting to understand and some weren't even starting. I hated when my mom told me to act my age. I wasn’t fresh, she just said I “worried about things I couldn’t control and I needed to just be a kid.” But can you really act your age? In my opinion, you can act like your experiences. People’s lives and what they are taught and see vary. I wanted her to see that you could be 40 years old and still haven’t grown up.


I remember that fall when I taught my brother that age had no correlation with growing up. The October air kissed my cheek passionately. My brown hoodie held my body snug. My heart was beating fast. Confusion and suspense filled my tiny mind as I held his rough callused hands. We walked down the steps at a fast pace. As we reached the bottom, he said “I’ll race you to the end of the block.”

I took off running, letting the wind caress my soft brown hair. I’m losing my     breath but I’m almost at the corner. Don’t give up *pant Don’t *pant. You can win this! I made it to the corner and came to an abrupt stop. I turned around and seen a frown plastered upon his face.

“What’s wrong?” I asked

“You cheated, ” He said.

For some odd reason instead of arguing how I won fair and square, I said

“No, what’s really wrong?”

He looked at me, like he didn’t expect me to utter those words out my small  mouth. I knew there was something else going on. I looked back at our house that was in the distance, now that we were at the corner. I heard a high pitch voice that sounded similar to my moms.

As soon as he caught my eyes and see how I was paying too much attention to the noise coming from the house, he said “Come on, we’re going to the park.”

As we crossed the street I couldn’t help but think about the noises.

*Ring *Ring. His phone was ringing. He stop walking and let me get a little ways in front of him. I was trying my best to block out all the extra noise so I could listen to his responses to figure out who he could be talking to.

“Yes”

“Are You Okay?”

“Yes, We’re fine”

“I took her to the park”

“Okay, call me if you need me.”

*Click

“Ona what’s wrong?” he said.

“Was that mommy?” I replied

He looked up then replied, “Yes.”

“What’s going on Brendon?” I asked

“You’re too young to understand lil sis.”

“Am I too young to understand that you’re trying distract me from whatever is going on at the house ?”

He smirked, “You think you’re so smart.”

It was his turn to be distracted.

“Look there goes a ball, First to 10!” I shouted.
He said, “You’re going to lose.”

I gripped the ball in my hands and threw it up in the air surprisingly making it into the net. “Who’s going to lose again?” I said with a grin resting on my face.  

He smiled so big that even the sun was no match for its shine.  

Life told me to grow up. I used to tell life, “I was too young that It wasn’t time.” But then life finally convinced me that age was just a number.


Advanced essay by Luke W-S Nothing

Posted by Luke Watson-Sharer in English 3 - Block - E on

​Intro:


My goals while writing this was to write something clean and to make it crisp and grasping. I feel for the first thing I did well was time management because I had almost everything done a full day ahead at least for each due date. I feel as well my ability to broaden the topic like nothing helped me write a good essay. I'd like to improve on describing because things such as describing, grammar is something to always improve one


My picture is a picture I carry everywhere. It’s a photo of me, my twin brother Aaron and my older brother Dessler. We at this time are hiking I am like 4, and so is Aaron. Dessler is about six. My twin brother and I are wearing red shirts. I honestly do not know which one is which in this picture. Until we were 6 every picture we look the exact same. My older brother has a white shirt on. Not plain, it has a picture on it consisting of other smaller pictures. We are on a trail at this moment. We were almost on the way back to the car as we take this picture. As we take this my older brother and one of us have our arms over each other’s shoulders. While Aaron and I lock elbows and 1 of us point at ourselves. All three of us have black basketball shorts on. We also all look extremely similar almost like triplets. As we take this there is a lot of shade in the background from trees. These trees make it a good spot for a picture with a fair balance of sunlight. The ground is a pavement. Gray and smooth so when we used to ride our bikes along this trail as a kid when we went hiking. I believe that we are a fair height and are extremely happy in the photo. Sadly I do not remember well as I was young. Finally, my brothers and I had fun this day and as a token to our friendship I carry this in my wallet.  


Dubois- Good description of articles of clothes

Declan- Talk about trees


Part 2:


As we walk this trail we always begin walking by the creek. We continued down past the bridges to do our echos. As a kid making huge echos was fun. But as we finished our echos we saw a trail we never saw before. So we decided to walk down it. As we walked down it we soon realized we have no idea how to get back. As my brother panicked we tried to work our way back onto known ground. We were surrounded by so many plants and felt isolated into the forest. As kids we were afraid we’d become like the kids in lord of the flies. But after a while we saw a deer. Uncommon in philly even for a common hiking area sent us running like rabbits. We didn’t know that deers were not dangerous so the idea of one freaked us out. So we eventually ran into a place we knew. A commonly known rock that was known because of its unnecesary size. So we climbed the rock and found the trail we needed so we wouldn’t be lost anymore. So that day we learned things such as deers are scared of us and that when you are lost don’t panic and manage your surroundings.


Memory 2:

As a kid I would go to camp every year. It was an overnight wilderness camp and we every year played the best game ever. One that is very hard to play if you have no athletic skill, critical thinking and self awareness. Usually this made my team lose every single year(misunderstood the game). So this game is mission impossible. Like the movie you are given a task to find the pieces in 4 different parts of the camp. You have 60 minutes in the middle of the night to get as many as you can and to return to the base. So a few years ago we started and five minutes later many people screwed up on my team. They were afraid of all the trees and the surroundings. This was frustrating. So early in the match the people who search for you and if caught twice you lose we were caught because another team was too loud. So here is the relation we ended up after two objects getting lost. A few of our teammates were unaware of what to do and the surroundings scared them so we had to turn in ourselves so those kids would leave the group. After the third object we were almost found again. At this time we hid in bushes and I kicked a beehive. Stinging me a dozen times along with my teammates. So when we returned I had cuts and stings everywhere and by being handed every single year bad teams I lost every single time. But through the cuts and stings I had a lot of fun playing the best game ever.


Memory 3- I remember this game as if it was yesterday. The 2008 world series brought joy to all Philadelphians. Brad Lidge exits the bullpen to try and earn a save so the Phillies will win the world series. First up to bat is Evan Longoria 3B for tampa bay. After two pitches he gets to a 0-2 count, leading to a foul and an end result being a popout to Chase Utley leading the Phillies to their first out. We are a third of the way to being champs. Dioner Navarro comes up to bat. Lidge takes him to an early 0-2 count. Navarro anticipates and takes the ball to shallow right field for a single. Next the second basemen for Tampa Bay comes up to the plate. Ben Zobrist. After the 1-1 count the pinch runner steals second base putting a runner in scoring position for tampa bay. Zobrist on the 1-2 count lines it to right field making the phillies only one more out from being world champions. The next batter earlier in the matchup hit a homerun to center field. The first pitch results in a foul ball making an 0-1 count. The next pitch is a check swing by the batter. But the umps say that he went around the plate. The 0-2 count put the longest time between pitches for phillies fans. “The 0-2 pitch swing and a miss, struck em out the phillies are the 2008 world champions of baseball”.- Harry Kalas. At this moment my brothers and I dogpiled celebrating the win. One of the best nights ever, happening with the people in the artwork above my brothers.




Frustrating- Indee

Awareness- Lukas

Surroundings, cuts- Xavier

Relation- Jake

Kicked, Misunderstood- Zeshawn


Nothing by Luke Watson­Sharer Nothing sings, talks, walks and sleeps. Nothing has the ability to persuade. Nothing has skills and concepts. Nothing has been here forever. Nothing tells us everything we know as nothing but everything as well. Nothing is our freedom as well as our dictator. Nothing is action; it is idleness. Nothing has power to give and take life. Part 1: Action and Idleness The sun, poised above the zinc roof, fried the wilting branches of mango and avocado trees. Both trees gently cried for rain. Together, roof and trees, sheltered an elderly, blind woman relaxing on the veranda. With each gentle push with her worn, calloused feet, she moved the rocking chair against the cement. It was another afternoon waiting for another evening. She would wait for her great­grandchildren to walk the dusty path home from school. She would wait for rain to quench the dirt’s thirst. She would wait for the night’s news of the day’s events. She would wait for the sun to quickly disappear and for her The elderly woman would spend the afternoon anticipating the wealth of family and food. Her movements were slight. Her gestures were nearly invisible. Her memories were wrapped into her lap blanket. She counted the tassel of thread, worn with her thumbs. Then, tapped her feet to a tune no one could hear. Nothing”,” but still air waiting for a splash of rain. The elderly blind woman did nothing while remembering Part 2: Idleness and Action As they load the panga at the docks, they lose count. One, two, three, four.... the count fades with the thump of another load. Ah, nothing. The driver signals. There’s room. Climb down. Steady. Feed bags piled on heads to fill the panga. Sit on top of feed bags of corn. Shift. Move the cobs to form a They need to get on the panga. The sun is here but then there will be nothing. No light on the river. No full moon. Just the still, damp slap of the water on the river’s bed. Soon the boat will remain idle. Another day lost. Tomorrow to gain. Where will they go? Anywhere. Nowhere. Escaping no food. Escaping threats of breathing. Forced travelers from all paths meander to the river. Dying for prosperity as blind as a bat sleeping in the sun. The travelers walk the path, which leads to a boat. The boat, covered in rust brown as bark; or it is red? The bark of mahogany draped before the river. The bark of a mutt snug against the first woman apparently in her second trimester. Or, it nothing but a lump of air. A deep breath? Then, she exhales relief; next Inhales fear. Nothing to fear but caring for a child she will soon bare. Behind her is a man missing an ear. Does he hear? The hole, instead of an ear, is formed from his head. It’s flat as a mid day horizon. His two eyes that peer at the boat piled with what could be nothing. As he bends, his white ripped shirt covers ribbs. His frame as long and thin as the first woman’s is short and round. They stand, lean and move toward the boat with nothing but their hope for a seat on cobs of corn. More people move toward the boat. Just one more seat. Finally, the driver holds up his hand: STOP. He nods and then shakes his head. The boat is full. 20 pounds could cost a life. Ah, but 20 pounds are nothing! The driver says in a low, hoarse tone: “The owner will kick everyone off if nobody follows.” Huh? Everyone is quick to throw something. A small, knit bag, a pair of holy socks or even a new blanket. With the toss of each item, the sky turn grey. The stillness turns to twists of wind. The clouds quickly fill with rain. Then, splat and With no dusk, the sun is gone and the driver becomes skeptical. Why chance the nothingness of night on a river? Why risk the sacks of corn? Why expose the travelers to a watery grave? The boat driver’s eyes suddenly fill with blood. His veins drained of hope. Hopelessness is nothingness. Surprised, the rain subsides. The remaining raindrops play a game of tag with the dust along the river’s banks. They are the center of civilization. One hundred kilometers from nowhere. If only the boat could float and carry the woman in her second trimester, the long man needing a shirt, the old couple smug in their hugs along with the line of humanity clinging to the hope of surviving tonight. Nothing else left of hope. The driver makes the call. His head tells him the river will be their guide. The river will coddle them with sweet waves and sounds of nothingness under a dark, moonless sky. He carefully reaches for the travelers, guiding them, assisting them, helping them sit between the cobs of corn. Then, out of nowhere, the boat becomes unbalanced. The long, lean man tips to the right. A streak of lightning brightens the sky. The water splurges into the back of the boat as the lean man dives into the river’s waves. Head first. Feet last. Disappear into the nothingness of river. Everyone gasps. The rain is no longer tapping the river’s waves. It is churning in anger. The sacks of corn begin to sway. Next, the woman in her second trimester loses her grip. She rolls off the sack of corn and into the river’s waves. Her body bounces against the boat. She grabs the side pulling a sack, and then young child, into the waves. Where is the moon? Where is the lightning? The sky has nothing to offer. Only the clouds give. They give rain and more rain. The only light is the corn. The boat quietly melts into the river. The motor attempting to fight. The driver treads water. There are a few other bouncing heads. Will any one remember? Is it too much to forget? Is there nothing left? The sun rose at 5 AM. Bright, round, and licking the gentle waves of the river. Cobs of corn were caught in a mango grove. Nothing left to reveal the graves of longing for everything. Receiving nothing. Their loss may seem like nothing in the midst of war but it was everything no one hoped for. Idling. Similar to those boys in the woods, knowing none of their locations, scared of what is to come and if they’d find a way back to the trail, waiting for a tomorrow. Waiting for nothing.

Advanced Essay #1

Posted by Sherell Messing in English 3 - Block - E on

Timely Mind
By Sherell Messing

With this paper my goals are to elaborate on the fact that everyone eventually grows up. When you grow up you will have responsibilities and you will not have the same kind of freedom that you were once use to. ​Despite the fact of it all, you must take time for yourself to me worry free, stress free, and let your mind be free. Without your sanity it would be hard to be yourself, or even to find yourself. In this paper I feel as though a did well when I gave detailed visuals so readers could see my words come to life. One thing I would like to improve is my way of blending, going from one topic to another.

This tiny piece of rainbow printed artwork slowly made its way into my hands all the way from Japan. No, I have never been to Japan. I have never even left the United States. Just like most teens and young adults of this generation I have been introduced and taken hostage of the wonderful person, place and thing we call the internet. I received this in the mail as a bonus item/thank you card. This was for buying from a specific company online that sells cool, fun and useful things from Japan that can not be found here in America. Right before I open the package I look at how smooth the cardboard edges feel. I wonder how it made it across the world and still look so untouched. The sweet, but yet strong, fresh scent of cardboard still lingered upon it.

I grab the small box and spun it upside down, left and right, examining each side just like people do to dice. Instead of searching for dots that represent numbers I was searching for the end of the piece of tape that kept presents inside and locked away from me. My fingers are the keys. I scratch at the edge of the tape with my red colored nails until I could grip it in between my index finger and my thumb. I slightly pull the tape back not trying to damage the perfected texture of cardboard. As I listen to the ripping and tearing I feel like I am doing something bad. Maybe I feel bad because I should not be wasting my time. I should be doing something like chores or homework. I choose to do something I want instead. Finally, I have the box open and a neatly folded sheet of bubble wrap is mirrored in my eyes.

I close my eyes and slide the wrap in my hands rubbing my nails against the soft plastic then piercing the paper with force repeatedly. POP! POP! POP! I sit back with satisfaction and think about all the air that touched this piece of plastic. It must have been on a plane. Or maybe a boat. Or maybe it traveled from car to car. Maybe it was all three. Was it a big truck or a small van that it was carried in? Was this package on the top of other packages? It must have been on the top. As I touch each bubble I imagine touching the ground of states in and out of the country. I wish I could travel just like bubble wrap.

This is one of the many times I feel like I have a free and childish mind. I am a high school student daydreaming on the tiny complexities of bubble wrap. I no longer have time to waste on such things. So, I steal time. I steal time on my way to and from school, while I eat dinner, and when I wash in the shower. I steal time because time was stolen from me. Life goes by way too quickly. If I do not have time to think of new thoughts then I think of the thoughts I had when I was allowed to have thoughts. Responsibility has made it hard to think for myself. As I sit in the crowded hallway on the third floor near the shiny silver elevators, up in a hard to reach window, I dose off from my work and think about when I was younger as my eyes stretch above the city building rooftops into the clouds of balloon animals. 

If the sky can paint itself with colors then I can too. I see right through the rainbow but I can never see through me. I wonder why that is if we both contain color. Sometimes if I stare at my hand too long I can see right through, until I realized I had closed the eye that was in front of my hand the whole time. But I like to believe that I can see through anything, even the darkest of colors.

I run on the steaming hot pavement without shoes like I always do, even if i’m not suppose to. I pick up my chalk and replicate what I see around me. Trees with birds, soil with worms, and a cookie on a plate. I like to draw what is real. I like to image what is not. Maybe that is why I can understand the darkest of colors. The pavement is made of black tar and it burns the bottom of my toes and the flip flops are pink which protect them. But I still decide not to wear them. The trees in the back yard have brown bark and give me splinters when I peel it and I have yellow garden gloves to protect me. But I use my bare hands anyway. Directions when cooking sweets like cakes and cookies state to bake until golden brown. They are full of sugar and I am not suppose to eat them all the time but I still love the taste.

So many things are invented to protect the world from the most natural of things. I like to take the world as it is. If I start to draw the things that I imagine then somebody out there, somewhere, will invent something to stop my thoughts. I continue to draw the things I can see like flowers and bugs so people will not change the world. The sky is even more beautiful to me when the stars are out and the moon is bright inside a navy blue spread. I may not be able to see through my hand but I can surely made a cookie disappear.

If I could steal time I would spend it being young. 

Advanced Essay #1 It's Worth the Wait

Posted by Alexander Tristano in English 3 - Block - E on

My goals with this paper​ were to illustrate my first memorable experience with soccer. And to emphasize the importance of patients. I also wanted to show how teamwork and friendship is quite powerful, and can be thought of as a family or community. I felt that I did a good job with my descriptions of my experience and I feel proud of my writing. I still feel as if there are some things that I could improve upon. Sometimes my writing isn't up to par and I am still trying to paint pictures with my words, but I feel as if this is a challenge for me.

We ride up to the field on our bikes, my dad and I, as I feel a breeze wash over me like a welcoming. My eyes glance from one thing to another as I see the soccer field, my mom, and her team. “Stay focused! Look where you’re going!” My brain screams at me. I look up startled, but find no reason to be alarmed. “It’s just grass and a few trees here and there,” I tell myself. “There’s nothing to be afraid of,” I think. I hop off my bike and search for a tree to rest it against. “Where should I put it?” I ask myself, “Should I put it next to my dad’s bike or will that be inconvenient? Naw, I’ll just put it next to his.” I gently lean my bike down against his, making sure it doesn’t fall, then I look up and follow him as he heads toward the field. I jog a little to catch up, his huge legs giving him an advantage. He walks fast. I look back at the field where my mom is playing with her team. This is where they usually have practice at Edgely Field, and my dad and I often come watch her play.

The game pauses for a bit. She comes over to say hi. It looks like they’re just taking a break. She talks with her team about something I don’t register, and after about five minutes they walk back on to the field. Just then an idea springs into my mom’s head, and she walks back towards us. Now usually this wouldn’t happen, but on this one particular occasion, my mom thought that I would like the opportunity to play. I was only seven at the time, and had played soccer with the Fairmount Association for a few years, but these women were definitely bigger than I was, and had played soccer for several more years than I had. Because of this, my mom decides that it would be safest for me to play goalie. I had played goalie before and was pretty good.

I think about it. My mind races for an answer, searching for pros and cons of this situation. “Sure they are big and tall, and I am very small, but I will only be playing in goal. Maybe I could make some decent saves, and if I said no I’d be passing up an exciting opportunity.” Since that was the position I liked to play and that is what I wanted to play, my final answer was yes. Everyone on the field is waiting as I build up the courage to walk on to that field and join the team. I could feel the excitement in me bubbling, rising through my body and I step over the side line of the field. I jog across, the blood pumping through my veins. My heart starts beating just a little bit faster as my feet lead me closer to my position. I stop on the goal line right between two red flags. We unfortunately did not have full sized goals. The game begins. I am ready, I am hopeful, I am going to do well, but nothing happens. The ball doesn’t come anywhere near me, and to be honest I am bored. This is definitely something that goalkeepers have to deal with, standing in front of the goal and just watching the field is what you have to do.

All of the sudden, the other team stole possession of the ball. I feel a surge of energy and excitement rush through me this was going to be my big moment. I was not sure what would happen and I was definitely nervous, but there was no way I was going to let this breakaway frighten me. This is what I trained for. The player advances on me and I was ready to block the shot. My eyes were training on her like a hawk hunting for it’s next meal. Every little move of her body was a hint to me of what would happen to the ball when she kicks it. I see the shot coming and I jump into position, my bare hands extend out ready to block the shot no matter how much pain they would feel. Out of nowhere, I saw my teammate charge. Her only objective was to get herself between the shot and me. She raced for the attacking player about to shoot. She fought for the ball trying to get possession and I glimpsed my teammate trying to clear the ball, but nothing could have prepared me for what happened next.

Without warning, I felt the ball slam hard into my face. I felt as if my face was permanently dented. I was thrown down on to my back by the force of the ball. The pain surged through my body and my injured head. I felt myself about to let out a scream that could not be contained any longer. I cried out desperately in pain. I couldn’t see, in fact I didn’t want to try, for fear that it might hurt my head even more. I decided just to lay down and cry for help. I heard voices, people worrying if I was okay. And I heard my own teammate keep saying “I’m so sorry I’m so so sorry!” Turns out, instead of actually clearing it, like she wanted to do, she accidentally booted the ball right into my face. It took quite a lot of coaxing and care to actually get me up and standing again. I slowly start to walk off the field with help. I feel drowsy. I was sure that without help, I wasn’t going to be able to stand up by myself. I would have fallen down without the team's support. They help me walk off the field and sit me down. I need rest. I need sleep, I need to lie down. My mom decides I should probably not play with the team until I was older. Showing up to their games and cheering them on their games, we agreed, was the best thing I could do to support them.

I will have to wait nine years before I can officially join their soccer club, and I don’t mind waiting. Now nine years later, joining the soccer club that my parents have been apart of since I was six months, is something that I was ready for. This summer I played with some of the same women in Summer League, as back then. But now, I’m a lot taller than them. I can certainly say it was worth the wait.

Advanced Essay #1: What You See, I Don't

Posted by Ashlye Fitzmaurice in English 3 - Block - E on

One of my goals writing this paper was to develop a story that many could relate to. I've struggled with many things as a child and I wanted to let the audience know where I come from and the person I am because of that struggle. Not only that, I also wanted to write something from the heart. My struggle may be cliche, though it is truly something that I was always insecure about. Just writing about something that I've experienced before is always easier, though it was difficult letting it out and showing it to the world. 
One thing that I think I did well in was going back and adding in memory scenes. I would make it seem as if that scene was actually happening, but then snap back out of it and jump into the reality of it. I could maybe improve it by making it more clear if it was not clear enough, but overall, hopefully it made sense. My essay is below and I hope you enjoy. 


New York city was where it was at. Bright lights, upbeat music, and a crowd full of people. I was backstage, peeping through the white curtains. It was like watching Gabrielle on High School Musical preparing for her duet with Troy. Only this time it was me, alone- getting ready to step out into the spotlight of thousands of people who had came out to see my show. The backstage organizer, who was dressed in all black wearing a black headpiece on his head, placed his hand on my back and lead me to the center of the stage. There infront of me, just about 3 inches from my eyes, I stare at a creamy, white, clean curtain. My mind goes blank and my eyes shut. All I can think about is how does my hair look? My outfit? What if I trip walking on these five inch heels? Next thing you know, a microphone is placed into my hand and my eyes open wide. All I hear and see is a man standing on the left side of me, just about ten feet away counting down with his fingers. “..3..2..and…” Suddenly the “..1..” disappears into the air and the curtains start to spread apart, allowing the bright lights to beam into my eyes.

But that was just all a dream. It was six-thirty in the early fall morning and my mother had just walked into my room. She spread the curtains wide apart allowing the sunlight to beam onto my eyelids, trying to annoy me so I would get out of bed. My alarm was still ringing I had not remembered or rather heard it going off. I squint my eyes shut and quickly rolled over to the right where it was much darker and less awakening. I stretch out my arms and legs, moaning. “Wake up, it’s time to go to school!” My mother exclaims. She picks up a few of my clothes on the floor and places them into the white basket in her other hand. Then she leaves the room with the door wide open and alarm still ringing. I eventually force myself out of bed and hit the alarm button off.

As I am brushing my teeth, I realize that my eyes are still shut; struggling to retain open. Then suddenly, I remembered it was picture day! I quickly rinsed my mouth and washed my face. I ran back into the room and slid my closet doors open; banging to the sound of frustration. I knew I should've woken up earlier. After I quickly picked out my outfit, black high waisted skinny jeans with a nude-pink blouse, I rushed over to my vanity. I then remembered that I left my makeup bag in my bookbag, so I rush down to the living room and quickly scrambled through my things. I grabbed the petite black bag and immediately ran for the stairs back to my room, but everything falls out. “Really?” I screamed aloud. This day could not get any worse! As I quickly shoved everything back into the bag, I look up. My grandmother’s photo comes across my attention and I stop.

I’ve never really paid attention to the photo. It was her alone, sitting in a stool, posing for the camera. It reminded me of exactly what I will be doing today. As I quickly examined the photo, I noticed her perfectly lined lips and smooth skin. She looked absolutely beautiful and flawless.

I ran back upstairs and unzipped my makeup bag. I spreaded everything out and stopped. I stared at myself in the mirror, wishing I looked just as beautiful as my grandmother. But as I quickly did my makeup, my mother calls me down. She tells me to hurry it up and leaves, grabbing her keys. I grab my black knee-high boots and sit on the couch. I slipped them on and stood up. The picture grabs ahold of my attention again and I smile. I grab my bag and I am out the door, hoping I look okay.

I’ve made it to school on time, exactly at 8:15. I run up the stairs, hoping I would not be late for Morning Meeting. But as I am making my way down the hall, I hear my classroom number being called on the loudspeaker. “Room 500, please report to the office to take your pictures. Room 500, please report to the office. It’s picture day!” I enter my classroom and everybody is in line. I had not expected to be taking pictures this early in the morning. I place my belongings down and I step into line. Oh lord, I think. Why today?

As we are aligned outside of the office, Teacher Andy instructs us to get into alphabetical order, starting from last names. That means I am the fourth person in line. My heart begins to pound and all I can think about is how do I look.

As a kid, picture day was always the worst day. I think to myself, this is just a replay of second grade. I close my eyes and for a second, I blank out.

I am sixth in line, waiting to be called. I look in front of me, noticing every girl nicely dressed with their dresses perfectly pressed and hair perfectly curled. I turn around with my head tilt down and eyes closed as I think, “Let this be over. Please.”

But that was all just a memory of second grade. Today, I stand fourth in line; surprisingly ready. My heart beat starts to slow down and I question why. What is this feeling?

Teacher Liz makes her way over and unexpectedly says, “Ashlye. You look really stunning today! I love the mature look.” I say, “Really? Thank you.” She smiles and enters the office.

I look around, a little embarrassed but relieved. Embarrassed because I was put onto the spotlight and relieved because I thought I looked absolutely awful.

Taking pictures was always an insecurity of mine. I was never comfortable in my own skin and I felt as if I always needed to look presentable everywhere I went. Standing in line, I realized that today was not a very special 8day. Picture day comes every year and I shouldn’t be focused on how I look. Although I wish to look just like my grandmother in the photo back at home, I have to accept my flaws to see the true beauty in me.

Stepping out into the spotlight, constantly concerned of the way I look, I know the world will always judge. But it’s the thought of accepting the judgements and turning them into my own beauty.

As the line continues to get shorter, I stand there, calm and collected. The first that I’ve ever felt confident.  

Advanced Essay #1: The Connection We Make

Posted by Sianneh Vesslee in English 3 - Block - E on

​My goal with this paper is to be able to successfully get my point across in this topic that is very important to me which is music. I feel that I did very well with my examples that I had with my topic. I also feel that my analysis was really strong throughout the paper. I would have liked to have improved on my concluding paragraph. I just felt that it could have been stronger as well as my grammar check 

When I was little, one of my favorite parts of the summer would be the family cookouts we would have. My Dad and my uncles would gather around the grill, drinking and catching up with each other while my mom and aunts would be helping to serve the food. All of the kids would be running around back and forth annoying all of their parents. One of the most memorable parts of these get togethers would be the dancing and the music. Whether it had to do with watching the dance moves of my parents, and sometimes joining in or just singing along, Music was one one of the constant points in my childhood that has connected me with many people. Especially my family members.

   Music has been and always will be, in my opinion, one of the ways for people to connect with one another. Music has the ability to tell one’s story and it’s through that story the musician tells, you have people who will relate to it or learn from it. Meaning, you either relate to the experience or you relate to the feeling, or at least the basic theme, that the musician is talking about. Or when you are just on the learning side of the connection spectrum, you are taught a story that will open up a new world to you. Either way, you’ll see a connection with people that probably never would have happened if both parties never would have sat down and pressed play.

For instance, take into account the song "Sing about me, I'm dying of thirst" by Kendrick Lamar. In this song Kendrick takes the point of view of two people that he had known while growing up as well as adding his own commentary in the end. Throughout this song, Kendrick tells the story of Dave's brother and Keisha's sister. Starting with the brother of Dave, Kendrick explains through his story the bloody, destructive cycle of ghetto that the people take part in. This especially takes a toll on the children, since the destructive cycle leaves them without any proper guidance. Which explains the verse "this orphanage we call a ghetto is quite a routine". Later on, Dave's brother expressed his views on gang affiliation and how in the verse "it's a trip how we trip off of colors" explains how blood is senselessly spilled over pointless matter, like wearing the wrong color that associates with another rival gang.

Next Kendrick brings up the story of Keisha's sister. She starts talking about Kendrick putting her sister "on blast...judging her past" in his previous song talking about Keisha's being a prostitute . She criticizes him for doing that especially its states in the song "well it's completely my future". She sees that kind of life in her future which indirectly makes her feel like she is being judged as well. Towards the end of the song come again at Kendrick stating "you lying to these motherfuckers, talking about you can help'em with my story". She has lost all hope for change from that kind of lifestyle. She firmly believes that telling her story won't make the slightest difference. The prostitution world will still keep going long after this song has lost its popular appeal.

The song then ends in Kendrick point of view. He starts to express how he doesn't want to be forgotten. This is the common that is repeated throughout the song. That's trying not to be forgotten. Even in the in chorus where it says " promise that you will sing about me" he wants to leave his mark. He wants to make sure that he meant something that why he ends his part with " Am I worth it? Did I put enough work in?". He wants his mark on the world to be more than a passing inconvenience.

It’s at this point in the song that you come to see the connection that many people can relate to this artist on. And that is the main theme throughout this entire song which not wanting to be forgotten. No wants to be forgotten, and it is a fear that mostly everyone can relate to. No one likes to be forgotten because we want to feel like they are more than just filling space, that what they are doing will make a difference in the future and they will be remember. People want someone to sing about them when their gone . He conveys all of this through his song which is amazing, and why I love music and the connections it makes.



Egnlish Advance Essay #1: Through back

Posted by Kai-Nuo Chen in English 3 - Block - E on

My goal was to go back in time and talk about how I feel about almost everything starting by seeing one picture to my experience of everything. I feels like I did well when I describe how scared I was before my first day of school, and I want to improve lots of my grammar. 

Every Time when i’m looking for  things on my phone, I  always end up seeing the same old picture, and it seems like it is calling me to click on it. Oh man, this picture reminds me of everything back then, remember the person who took this picture for me? He is still in my class now, and his name is Zeshawn, he is the longest friend I have. Four years ago, when I first came to America, I barely have friend, but now I made a lot of friends. I was so excited that I will be coming to America, things are so going to be better than my country, but I was wrong, things didn’t get better till my high school year.


What do America look like? What do American look like? Are they nice? Are they mean? Is it a lot different than here? When I’m on my way to America from my country Taiwan, I was keep asking myself those questions. I will no longer being lonely, I can finally have friends. I was so so happy when I finally have a chance to move to America. At the very first moment when I stepped on America’s land, I feel very special, this is what America feels like, the air that I breath, the view that I see, the ground that I stand, everything are different than my country, this is just too unexpected wonderful.


Two weeks until school starts, my nerves is being weird, my brain are all blank, my whole body are shaking like crazy, this is going to be my very first day of America’s school, I don’t speak English, and I don’t know their rules, i’m afraid that I will mess something up. I need to relax, I need to chill, I keep trying to calm myself down, but it doesn’t seem to be working.


Finally this day have come, my very first day of school in America, I come into classroom and say “Hi my name is Cano Chen” and this is all I know, “ where are you from?” “What is your favorite color?” “Do you have any pets?”, my answer for all of them are the same, “ Sorry I don’t understand English this much”. I think because of that, body wants to be my friend, because I am too boring to talk with.


The very first friend I’ve ever made in America is a boy named Marcus, he is so nice to me, and he always help me out when I got stuck, and always talk to me when I feel lonely, he is just amazing. Everything here are different than my country, my language, my look, my lifestyle, my culture, and everything, and this is one of the biggest reason that everybody will ask me, “Do you like America so far?” “Can I hear you speak your language?” “What kind of music do you listen to?” and every question that’s related to a person who’s new to this country.


When I was in eighth grade, I finally made my very first best friend in my whole life, he is the very first and only person who always hang out with me, since we live next to each other, we will always go to school and go home together, his name is Patryk, he is a Polish, and he is new to this country too! He just came to America the summer before I turn into eighth grade, and he is one year younger than be, but we were in the same English second language class, it was boring to be honest, but at least I can have class with him for just this little bit. He is just like a brother that I always wanted, we always celebrate every holiday together, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year, etc. He will always invite me to every holiday, and his parents are both really nice to me too. I wanted this for my whole life, and who knows a Polish boy who live next to me will be my best friend?


At the middle of eighth grade, I moved, now I live a little far from him, but even so, I still wake up one hour earlier just to walk with him, so I go all the way to his house, and then go back to school, and I will still go home with him too. So distance doesn’t mean everything, it can’t stop us from being best friend.

After all of those memrise, when I look back at this picture again, I feels like it is really worthed to keep staring at this picture, because all of my emotion, my feelings, and my history are all in this one simple picture.

Advanced Essay bu Luke W-S Nothing

Posted by Luke Watson-Sharer in English 3 - Block - E on

Intro:


My goals while writing this was to write something clean and to make it crisp and grasping. I feel for the first thing I did well was time management because I had almost everything done a full day ahead at least for each due date. I feel as well my ability to broaden the topic like nothing helped me write a good essay. I'd like to improve on describing because things such as describing, grammar is something to always improve one

Description of artwork:

My picture is a picture I carry everywhere. It’s a photo of me, my twin brother Aaron and my older brother Dessler. We at this time are hiking I am like 4, and so is Aaron. Dessler is about six. My twin brother and I are wearing red shirts. I honestly do not know which one is which in this picture. Until we were 6 every picture we look the exact same. My older brother has a white shirt on. Not plain, it has a picture on it consisting of other smaller pictures. We are on a trail at this moment. We were almost on the way back to the car as we take this picture. As we take this my older brother and one of us have our arms over each other’s shoulders. While Aaron and I lock elbows and 1 of us point at ourselves. All three of us have black basketball shorts on. We also all look extremely similar almost like triplets. As we take this there is a lot of shade in the background from trees. These trees make it a good spot for a picture with a fair balance of sunlight. The ground is a pavement. Gray and smooth so when we used to ride our bikes along this trail as a kid when we went hiking. I believe that we are a fair height and are extremely happy in the photo. Sadly I do not remember well as I was young. Finally, my brothers and I had fun this day and as a token to our friendship I carry this in my wallet.  


Dubois- Good description of articles of clothes

Declan- Talk about trees


Memory 1:


As we walk this trail we always begin walking by the creek. We continued down past the bridges to do our echos. As a kid making huge echos was fun. But as we finished our echos we saw a trail we never saw before. So we decided to walk down it. As we walked down it we soon realized we have no idea how to get back. As my brother panicked we tried to work our way back onto known ground. We were surrounded by so many plants and felt isolated into the forest. As kids we were afraid we’d become like the kids in lord of the flies. But after a while we saw a deer. Uncommon in philly even for a common hiking area sent us running like rabbits. We didn’t know that deers were not dangerous so the idea of one freaked us out. So we eventually ran into a place we knew. A commonly known rock that was known because of its unnecesary size. So we climbed the rock and found the trail we needed so we wouldn’t be lost anymore. So that day we learned things such as deers are scared of us and that when you are lost don’t panic and manage your surroundings.


Memory 2:

As a kid I would go to camp every year. It was an overnight wilderness camp and we every year played the best game ever. One that is very hard to play if you have no athletic skill, critical thinking and self awareness. Usually this made my team lose every single year(misunderstood the game). So this game is mission impossible. Like the movie you are given a task to find the pieces in 4 different parts of the camp. You have 60 minutes in the middle of the night to get as many as you can and to return to the base. So a few years ago we started and five minutes later many people screwed up on my team. They were afraid of all the trees and the surroundings. This was frustrating. So early in the match the people who search for you and if caught twice you lose we were caught because another team was too loud. So here is the relation we ended up after two objects getting lost. A few of our teammates were unaware of what to do and the surroundings scared them so we had to turn in ourselves so those kids would leave the group. After the third object we were almost found again. At this time we hid in bushes and I kicked a beehive. Stinging me a dozen times along with my teammates. So when we returned I had cuts and stings everywhere and by being handed every single year bad teams I lost every single time. But through the cuts and stings I had a lot of fun playing the best game ever.


Frustrating- Indee

Awareness- Lukas

Surroundings, cuts- Xavier

Relation- Jake

Kicked, Misunderstood- Zeshawn


Memory 3- I remember this game as if it was yesterday. The 2008 world series brought joy to all Philadelphians. Brad Lidge exits the bullpen to try and earn a save so the Phillies will win the world series. First up to bat is Evan Longoria 3B for tampa bay. After two pitches he gets to a 0-2 count, leading to a foul and an end result being a popout to Chase Utley leading the Phillies to their first out. We are a third of the way to being champs. Dioner Navarro comes up to bat. Lidge takes him to an early 0-2 count. Navarro anticipates and takes the ball to shallow right field for a single. Next the second basemen for Tampa Bay comes up to the plate. Ben Zobrist. After the 1-1 count the pinch runner steals second base putting a runner in scoring position for tampa bay. Zobrist on the 1-2 count lines it to right field making the phillies only one more out from being world champions. The next batter earlier in the matchup hit a homerun to center field. The first pitch results in a foul ball making an 0-1 count. The next pitch is a check swing by the batter. But the umps say that he went around the plate. The 0-2 count put the longest time between pitches for phillies fans. “The 0-2 pitch swing and a miss, struck em out the phillies are the 2008 world champions of baseball”.- Harry Kalas. At this moment my brothers and I dogpiled celebrating the win. One of the best nights ever, happening with the people in the artwork above my brothers.




Nothing

by Luke Watson-Sharer


Nothing sings, talks, walks and sleeps. Nothing has the ability to persuade.  Nothing has skills and concepts. Nothing has been here forever. Nothing tells us everything we know as nothing but everything as well. Nothing is our freedom as well as our dictator. Nothing is action; it is idleness. Nothing has power to give and take life.


Part 1: Action and Idleness


The sun, poised above the zinc roof, fried the wilting branches of mango and avocado trees.  Both trees gently cried for rain. Together, roof and trees, sheltered an elderly, blind woman relaxing on the veranda.  With each gentle push with her worn, calloused feet, she moved the rocking chair against the cement.  It was another afternoon waiting for another evening.  


She would wait for her great-grandchildren to walk the dusty path home from school. She would wait for  rain to quench the dirt’s thirst.  She would wait for the night’s news of the day’s events.  She would wait for the sun to quickly disappear and for her bed to plead for her presence.


The elderly woman would spend the afternoon anticipating the wealth of family and food.  Her movements were slight.  Her gestures were nearly invisible.  Her memories were wrapped into her lap blanket.  She counted the tassel of thread, worn with her thumbs.  Then, tapped her feet to a tune no one could hear.  Nothing”,” but still air waiting for a splash of rain.  The elderly blind woman did nothing while remembering and foreseeing everything.

Part 2:  Idleness and Action


As they load the panga at the docks, they lose count.  One, two, three, four…. the count fades with the thump of another load.  Ah, nothing.

The driver signals.  There’s room.  Climb down.  Steady.  Feed bags piled on heads to fill the panga.  Sit on top of feed bags of corn.  Shift.  Move the cobs to form a cushion.

They need to get on the panga.  The sun is here but then there will be nothing.  No light on the river.  No full moon.  Just the still, damp slap of the water on the river’s bed.  Soon the boat will remain idle.  Another day lost.  Tomorrow to gain.

Where will they go?  Anywhere.  Nowhere.   Escaping no food.  Escaping threats of breathing.  Forced travelers from all paths meander to the river.  Dying for prosperity as blind as a bat sleeping in the sun.  

The travelers walk the path, which leads to a boat.  The boat, covered in rust brown as bark; or it is red? The bark of mahogany draped before the river. The bark of a mutt snug against the first woman apparently in her second trimester.  Or, it nothing but a lump of air. A deep breath?  Then, she exhales relief; next Inhales fear.  Nothing to fear but caring for a child she will soon bare.

Behind her is a man missing an ear.  Does he hear?  The hole, instead of an ear, is formed from his head. It’s flat as a mid day horizon.  His two eyes that peer at the boat piled with what could be nothing.  As he bends, his white ripped shirt covers ribbs.  His frame as long and thin as the first woman’s is short and round.  They stand, lean and move toward the boat with nothing but their hope for a seat on cobs of corn. Nothing but full sacks.

More people move toward the boat. Just one more seat. Finally, the driver holds up his hand:  STOP.  He nods and then shakes his head. The boat is full.  20 pounds could cost a life.  Ah, but 20 pounds are nothing!  

The driver says in a low, hoarse tone:  “The owner will kick everyone off if nobody follows.” Huh?  Everyone is quick to throw something. A small, knit bag, a pair of holy socks or even a new blanket. With the toss of each item, the sky turn grey. The stillness turns to twists of wind.   The clouds quickly fill with rain.  Then, splat and splash.

With no dusk, the sun is gone and the driver becomes skeptical. Why chance the nothingness of night on a river?  Why risk the sacks of corn?  Why expose the travelers to a watery grave?  The boat driver’s eyes suddenly fill with blood.  His veins drained of hope.  Hopelessness is nothingness.  

Surprised, the rain subsides. The remaining raindrops play a game of tag with the dust along the river’s banks. They are the center of civilization.  One hundred kilometers from nowhere. If only the boat could float and carry the woman in her second trimester, the long man needing a shirt, the old couple smug in their hugs along with the line of humanity clinging to the hope of surviving tonight.  Nothing else left of hope.

The driver makes the call.  His head tells him the river will be their guide.  The river will coddle them with sweet waves and sounds of nothingness under a dark, moonless sky.  He carefully reaches for the travelers, guiding them, assisting them, helping them sit between the cobs of corn.  Then, out of nowhere, the boat becomes unbalanced. The long, lean man tips to the right.  A streak of lightning brightens the sky.

The water splurges into the back of the boat as the lean man dives into the river’s waves.  Head first.  Feet last.  Disappear into the nothingness of river. Everyone gasps.  Who is next?  

 The rain is no longer tapping the river’s waves.  It is churning in anger.  The sacks of corn begin to sway.  Next, the woman in her second trimester loses her grip. She rolls off the sack of corn and into the river’s waves.  Her body bounces against the boat.  She grabs the side pulling a sack, and then young child, into the waves.

Where is the moon?  Where is the lightning? The sky has nothing to offer.  Only the clouds give.  They give rain and more rain.  The only light is the corn.

The boat quietly melts into the river.  The motor attempting to fight.  The driver treads water.  There are a few other bouncing heads.  Will any one remember?  Is it too much to forget?  Is there nothing left?    

The sun rose at 5 AM.  Bright, round, and licking the gentle waves of the river.  Cobs of corn were caught in a mango grove.   Nothing left to reveal the graves of longing for everything.  Receiving nothing. Their loss may seem like nothing in the midst of war but it was everything no one hoped for. Idling. Similar to those boys in the woods, knowing none of their locations, scared of what is to come and if they’d find a way back to the trail, waiting for a tomorrow.  Waiting for nothing.


ENG3-2

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2015-16

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