Afterthoughts

Blogging has been so different from anything I’ve ever done in my life.  It’s the first time where I’ve ever posted anything personal and things that I have written (excluding Facebook posts).   By blogging instead of turning in a hard copy of something I write, my writing has become a bit more casual, but at the same time, I have better thoughts and I express myself more when I blog - especially when I write about things that I didn’t think I would write about.

When I first started to blog, I started off with something that I had already written over the summer for homework.  My second piece of writing that I posted onto my blog was a response to a student blog, where I somewhat analyzed and commented on Stan's blog post about being bullied and the ASTI Constitution.  It was simple writing that didn’t take much time or effort to write about.  Afterward, we had a debate at school, and my partner, Tiffany, and I argued against lowering the drinking age in our opening statement.  I decided to make my blog posts about events and things I hear and talk about, and I opened quite some discussion in my post about the possible ASTI size increase.  Like usual, my procrastination made it hard for me to find a blog post by someone I didn’t often talk to, so I chose to respond to my friend’s blog post about teen movies.  I tried experiment with writing something at a park, which was mostly just a string of random thoughts that went through my mind, and then typing it up as a blog post.  That post, Anything and Everything, confused Mr. Sutherland, so in fear of losing points for a bad blog post, I created a fictional post about a miracle involving a chance for love to come once again.  For the response post that week, I responded to a post about vampires, since I used to be addicted to vampires and I found the topic very interesting to respond to.  My first essay was about Italo Calvino’s “The Dinosaurs,” and it analyzes Qfwfq’s character.  One day, I was really put down in class by one of my teachers, so I blogged about it and how I felt as a result of what the teacher said to me.  For that week, I responded to a post about a teacher that I loved, yet hated.  As the next week slowly rolled by, I continued to talk to my friends, and when I was talking to Amber, the subject of blogs came into our conversation, and she told me about how she made a blog post, which was a letter to our Kylie, who was once our closest friend that we would talk to all the time.  I read it, and it really striked me, so I responded to it by writing a letter to Kylie, and talking about how I felt about the lost friendship too.  Other than that, the week was pretty uneventful, so by Friday night, I was thinking up a subject that I could write about for my blog, and so I decided to write about communication.  When we were writing our Night essays in the computer lab, I decided to do some research about concentration camps, and made a short blog about what I found(mostly about Buchenwald).  The most recent post I have made is my Night essay.

I surprised myself this quarter, because I didn’t expect to like blogging, especially since it meant that I would post the things I write onto the world wide web, where anyone could read it.  It felt a bit awkward knowing my classmates could read and judge the way I write and what I write about, but at the same time, it was comforting knowing that I could see theirs too, just like they could see mine, and they could also give me constructive criticism to help me grow in my writing skills.  When I blog, my writing is more casual than it is if I turn in an essay to Corbally, where my writing is very formal and very structured, with an organized system.  In my blog posts, when I want to emphasize a point, I make the sentences short, for example, in my letter to Kylie, I wrote, “In some sense, I'm mad.  But still, I'm sad.  For me though, I cannot bring myself to tears over this loss friend.  It's not worth it for me.”  I was trying to emphasize my point that I was mad, yet sad, and couldn’t cry over this loss.  If I had written this and it was not posted onto my blog, the sentences would definitely be less choppy, and would flow better.  Also, when I write on my blog, I use a lot of contractions, which makes my writing a lot more casual, because in my final draft of essays for other classes, I cut out all the contractions that I want to use.

Now, when I think about having to write, it isn’t as painful as I once considered it to be.  If it is an interesting topic, quickwrites are very helpful and productive for me, because I can practice writing without stopping for ten minutes, and I am able to write down ideas that I have about the topic that I can use for a blog post, or even an essay on that topic.  

This quarter, I have surprised myself the most by writing fiction and posting it on my blog.  I often blog about events that have happened recently in my life, or I have heard being discussed, but until the blog post, A Miracle, I had never posted a work of fiction onto my blog.  When I wrote it, it felt like poetry.  I never read over what I wrote; I wrote as my mind churned to find the right words to use, and the worlds just flowed out like poetry.  It also really helped that romance, young love, and hope was my inspiration when I wrote it.  In the piece, the narrator reflects that, “We [narrator and lover] would talk about our fears, our hopes, our dreams.  It felt like when we were together, the stars were aligned, and all the wrong in the world became right.  Things seemed perfect; all those problems disappeared, stress relieved.”  When I wrote this, I thought about how I think and feel when I am most at peace, and what my closest friends and I talk about.  I really expressed my deeper feelings and emotions in this piece, with more of my soul in this piece and any of the other blog posts that I wrote.  I did write this somewhat because of the recent events in my life that made me really think about and analyze love and lust a lot more and much more harshly in my mind, than I ever have done.  By writing this post, it opened my eyes to how I felt, and how I really viewed the subject is like (I don’t want to point out the subject.  It is more than just one thing.  If you really want to see what subjects were in the post, go read it and think about it yourself.  It’s left for you to interpret your own way.  even I don’t understand myself sometimes).  

For the next quarter, I want to explore writing some fictional pieces, but expanding the subject to much farther than just love and lust, because I had wanted to become a writer of fiction at some point in my life, and I want to practice writing fictional, as a hobby, and to exercise my mind to think about some things that I otherwise wouldn’t.  I want to make a post about rhetorical questions, and my opinion and thoughts about it, because they are a curious thing, and are interesting to me.  They also confuse me, so I want to get down to the core of it, and to understand them better.  One of my major goals that I have that does not have anything to do about what subject I want to write about or my writing style is to avoid procrastinating the assignment.  When I post my blog post right before midnight, my writing isn’t the best it can be, and I can be a lot more analytical and creative when writing than I am now, since I procrastinated most of the blog post assignments from this quarter.

Adding yet ANOTHER Night essay onto your google reader list

The Holocaust is an event that is often thought about when people hear the words, “Jews,” “Germans,” or “Hitler.”  Even though there are many articles and documents regarding the Holocaust, there are few written first-hand accounts of it.  Elie Wiesel is the author of Night, a memoir of what he faced during the Holocaust.  In the novella, Wiesel mentions the events that occurred, people he met, and the many conflicts he faces, with the conflict against the supernatural the most prominent.  Throughout the story, Elie guides readers through the events he saw and experienced, and he focuses and discusses the great conflict he experiences with the supernatural (God).

Wiesel begins his memoir by introducing Moshe the Beadle, and explains his experiences, conversations with Moshe, and Moshe’s fate. When Moshe first notices Elie praying, the first signs of conflict between Elie and the supernatural appear: “Why did I pray?  A strange question.  Why did I live?  Why did I breathe? ‘I don’t know why,’ I said, even more disturbed and ill at ease” (2).  This is the conflict that Elie encounters with his confusion with religion.  He was uncomfortable that Moshe asked him about why he prayed and cried as he did so.  He is beginning to sense some discomfort with religion and the reasons he felt the way he did.  He is conflicted with emotion to why he did not know the reason behind the ways he felt.  The religion began to confuse Elie, because he could not understand the deep emotions that he felt when we communicated to Him with his hear and soul.  Because Moshe brought up the questions of why Elie felt a need to pray and cry, Elie began to see Moshe often to discuss religion with him.

As the memoir progresses and Elie is forced from his home, then away from his mother and sisters, he begins to feel even more conflicted with his relation to God, the supernatural.  After a SS officer asks Elie and his father for their age, Elie’s father begins to recite the Kaddish, blessing His name and praying that it may be magnified.  He begins to feel angered and says, “For the first time, I felt revolt rise up in me.  Why should I bless His name?  The Eternal, Lord of the Universe, the All-Powerful and Terrible, was silent.  What had I to thank him for?”(31).  This is the first time in the novella where Elie directly talks about his anger and disappointment at Him, the One that Elie had praised and wanted to have a master to guide him in his studies of the cabbala.  The Jews, who believe strongly in their God, still praise and pray and honor him, even though he did not do anything to stop and prevent the many deaths and torture and hardships that were forced on the Jews for their lifestyles, beliefs, and for being the enemy.  He does not remain much of an influence in Elie’s personal life, because Elie no longer becomes so devoted to Him, because of his betrayal to them, after all the time they spend respecting him and honoring his name.

In the many journeys from concentration camp to concentration camp, many men died in the extreme labor and effort it took, and also from the freezing weather.  On the journey to Buchenwald, Rabbi Eliahou asked Elie if he had seen his son, whom he had stayed with through the three years of concentration camps with.  Elie tells him that he had not, but he soon realizes that he did see him running by his side, and that the son had seen the Rabbi losing ground and falling towards the back of the column, but he began to plow ahead to the front of the line.  Elie reacts to the sudden realization: “...in spite of myself, a prayer rose in my heart, to that God in whom I no longer believed”(87).  Even though Elie no longer believes in Him or honors Him like he once did, he still has the natural reaction to pray to Him to not act like Rabbi Eliahou’s son did to his father.  There is still a religious side in Elie, that loyally prays to Him in times of need, and for hope and guidance in life, but he tries to avoid that side, because he does not believe in Him anymore, because he had stayed quiet in their time of need when the Germans stripped them of all their belongings, life, religion, and freedom.

Throughout the novella, Elie’s belief and respect toward Him, the supernatural greatly changes.  At the beginning, Elie highly respects Him and wants to be able to learn and follow His beliefs and teachings.  After being moved to a concentration camp away from his mom, sisters, and old lifestyle, he is angered at Him and begins to lost his faith.  By the time he is transferred to Buchenwald, he has completely lost his faith in Him for quite some time, but he still prays to Him, somewhat reluctantly, but as a natural instinct.

MiNdBlOwN

OMG! I didn't know that Shiyun had 2 siblings!!! :O and that Peter had a brother... >.<

Buchenwald Concentration Camp D;

Before I started seventh grade, I went on a huge trip to Europe. with one of the teachers at my school.  I remember before we went on the trip, I had to do some research for the places we went, and luckily, I wasn't assigned to research and write about the Buchenwald Concentration Camp that we went to.  I just did some research on it, and for those who are interested, here's a link with photos and information about the camp:
Buchenwald concentration camp
Here's the wikipedia page.
The gate into the concentration camp (here's a pic) reads, "Jedem das seine" which literally means, "to each his own," which was meant to mean that everyone who was in the concentration camp got what they deserved."

D; The history of the Holocaust is interesting, but so sad and depressing...

Communication

I can no longer remember the days when I used to have to send mail or make a phone call from the house phone to talk to a friend or relative that didn’t live very close to me, or just meet with them face to face. 

When somebody asks or tells me to contact somebody, I immediately either think of facebook, texting, or emailing (although, emailing, not so much). 

What has happened to our communication?  I talk to people so much more on facebook or through texting than I do in person.  With my closest friends, I talk to them in person for nearly the entire day, but the people I’m not as close to, I text them to get to know them better, but we don’t really talk at school.  We acknowledge each other when we see each other at school, and sometimes have short conversations, but they are never deep discussions that make the friendship bond stronger.  They are just conversations that keep the acquaintance there.  Only with one person have I actually got to know them better by both texting and talking to each other at school.  Oddly enough though, with some of those people, I tell them my “secrets” or complaints, online or through aim or text, rather than in person.

There are a few people I know solely from meeting them off the internet only, and I have never met them, nor do I ever intend to, but I did meet one person on my way to school, and we still talk.  Not on the phone, but on facebook and through texts. 

Is the new way of communication between people good or bad though?

In some ways, it’s good, because it keeps people connected faster than old school snail mail, and allows people to still get a chance to “talk” and get to know people across the world without the hassle of waiting for a few days to weeks to get an answer to a question in a letter.

In other ways, its outcome isn’t as positive though, because teenagers do not talk to each other in person and build actual friendships as much as they talk to others through technology and an electronic screen.  When we teenagers grow up, we cannot base our relationships solely through electronics, but we need actual people there to talk to. 

I think that technology should still be used, but maybe just not as often.  We need to start to go out, get some fresh air, and hang out!

What do you think about electronics and technology?  Good or bad?  Helpful or what?  Share your ideas with me!!! :D

I miss you D;

Gomez made a post about how much she misses Kylie.  I was thinking about commenting, but I don't think a comment is enough to talk about how I feel too.

Gomez's blog about Kylie is here.

"I don't know what happened, but we used to be such amazing friends. You were that one guy I could talk to about anything. You, Amber, and me were so close."

You know, blogging about this makes me feel weird, because Kyle's already so far away from us, but I'm going to do it anyways.  Also, even though I'm mostly talking to Kyle, part of this is to Gomez too.

Kyle, what happened to you?  What happened to our days spent at the water stop, those hours we wasted away talking about everything?  You act like it never happened, but it has, and maybe it's because Gomez and I are girls (not trying to be sexist or anything) or maybe, you never intended to stay with us in the first place.  We entrusted our friendship to you, and expected you to return it, but now, all those happy moments have faded away from my memory, and all I can remember is the betrayal, the gossip, the bumps in our friendship, and the empty space there is now when we bike.

Let me start from the beginning. I've known you since kindergarten.  We had the same teacher, Ms. Yoon and Ms. Goldspring.  We never talked much, but we still knew each other.  As the years progressed, we became middle schoolers.  I still remember those lunches.  Sixth and seventh grade, my friends and I would sit on the ampitheater stage for lunch, and we would constantly be bombarded by you and Calvin's pineapples and grapes.  Same with Eighth grade, except you sat on the stage then and us on the steps.  We still were attacked.  After a while though, you began to sit on the steps next to us.  My friends disliked you, and you knew that.  In PE, I would tease you and I still remember always hitting you with the hockey stick.  We got along okay in Mr. Hill's class too.  I would tsk at you for eating your lunch in his class, and you never bothered to hide it.  We never had close bonding moments or anything though.  We were mutual "friends" if you can call that friendship.

When I found out that you were going to go to ASTI, I complained so much.  I kept on claiming that I would kill myself if we ended up going to the same college, because I was so annoyed with you. (I was joking. I wouldnt. Really.)

Since we lived so close to each other, we decided to start biking together.  You, Gomez and I.  We originated with the water stop after getting Starbucks on the first week of school.  After that, we started to stop there when we biked, to drink water, Starbucks. or in my case, chrysanthemum tea.  Soon, we began to sit down, and talk.  Those conversations soon got more personal, and we would talk about our secrets, crushes, and problems.

Halfway through the year, we got into all those trust issues, and you would say things that I told to you privately, to Gomez, and vice versa.  Soon, you started telling her that I was saying things behind her back, and someone else told her that I was telling others about her secrets, and she even thought that I was making up things to try to keep her and her special someone apart, even though I wasn't.  I nearly lost a good friend three times that year.  If I did, I don't know how I would've gotten through high school, seeing a person who I would've easily said was my sister in a second, but no longer could really talk to as best friends.

All those moments we've shared, our days of friendship, deep conversations, venting, and ranting, have all gone down the drain.  You're a different person, so much more different than the ones you changed into last year.  You left us for others a few times, but you still came back to the friendship of the Ambers.  I don't think that's ever going to happen again.

In some sense, I'm mad.  But still, I'm sad.  For me though, I cannot bring myself to tears over this loss friend.  It's not worth it for me.  I'd just be crying for something that has been lost, never to come back again, and crying won't make it any better or fix it in any way.  It'll only leave a deeper impression and gaping hole where you're friendship used to be.

Now, as I go through everyday, I still see you around, but no longer is that sadness still there.  Its been replaced by a wall of cloth.  Blocking away the pain, but still the pain can slip in and remind me of those days we once shared together.

I've got to go now, but Kylie, I miss you.

Response to Ms. Valdez

From Vy's blog post about Ms. Valdez, I decided to respond to a few lines in the first and second paragraphs.

Last year at ASTI we had an English teacher name Ms.Valdez. She was one of the most mmm..interesting teacher ever. Ms.Valdez always had to have it her way and be right no matter what. She even said “when I’m right I’m right and when I’m wrong, I’m still right,”... Ms.Valdez love her food, her fridge was full of food that’s been there for weeks. It was her punishment to her students, mess with her and you would have to deal with her fridge, that thing stinks.  

 Ms. Valdez was one of the most difficult teachers that we had last year.  She had a different method to teach English that any other teacher I've ever had, and her policy was often "If I'm comfortable, then you're comfortable." To be honest, I liked Ms. Valdez more as a person, than as a teacher.  I didn't learn much from her class, because her method to teach was unhelpful and pointless.  She often gave us handouts to fill out that were designed to help us organize our ideas and create the basic outline to our essays.  At the beginning of the year, she demonstrated to us how to make a dialectical journal (DJ) and how to write a log.  The point of the dialectical journal was to write a quote on one side of the t-chart and our annotation, opinion, and perspective of what happened.  The DJs weren't as helpful as annotating in the book though.  She had a fairly sustainable classroom environment that wasn't amazing, but it wasn't that terrible either.

Like Vy said, if you messed with Ms. Valdez and made her mad, the consequence was often to clean her fridge.  She kept a lot of food in there, and I remember a classmate complaining about how it took forever to clean the fridge and how there was orange stuff stuck to the walls of the fridge.

Overall, Ms. Valdez wasn't a terrible teacher, but it was hard to accept her grading style and classroom procedures.  She rarely paid attention to the other amounts of homework we had to do, and once even made us read over 60 pages of a book in one night and do a DJ on it too.  She was really amusing in class though, and friendly with students most of the time.

The Stupid Question

Have you ever heard of the quote, "The only stupid question is the one you don't ask"?

I used to believe that too.  Until I was insulted by my teacher for asking a question. 

The logic of the quote makes perfect sense.  If you don’t understand something, then ask someone else about it and you can learn by asking the question, even if it sounds ridiculous.  Asking questions to try to understand things you don’t understand is the equivalent of opening new doors to new explorations and opportunities.

I learned from the past that if I don’t speak up and ask questions for myself, no one else will.  I need to do things on my own, and there won’t always be somebody standing there with me guiding me through the next step of my life.  If I don’t act, things will stay the same.  I finally realized that a year or so ago, but I was always still too shy to speak out and talk to others that I didn’t know very well.  I finally started to speak up for myself and to try to make my voice and opinions heard, to make some kind of influence on things.  Ever since, I’ve learned more about things, and I have gotten to know more people and things about them.  I started to ask questions in class like I never had, because I was to shy to talk to teachers.  By asking more questions, I started to finally understand the things that I didn’t understand before, and was able to use that new knowledge for other things that were influenced by it. 

I have begun to speak up around school, and am pursuing new opportunities, like PTSA.  If I have a question about something in class, I ask the teacher about it, instead of asking a friend to ask the question for me. 

This Tuesday, (I won’t mention what class for the sake of the teacher, but those who have that class with me and talk to me probably heard me talking about it for a while) I didn’t understand the question that the teacher gave us to work on.  I asked a clarifying question, just to make sure that the question was correct and that he/she didn’t write the question incorrectly.  He/she responded by saying to me “I don’t even know why you asked that question.”

It was seriously insulting to hear a teacher say that to me.  I was honestly confused and unsure about how to answer the question he/she put up.  I wasn’t the only person who didn’t understand it either.  I asked the classmates around me if they understood, and the people around me did not.  After I got that response from the teacher, I wrote in my notebook, “I’m only asking for those who did not want to ask, and because I don’t get it.  It’s not a crime to ask.  I’m not the only one who had that question.  I’m just the only one who was willing to ask.”

I don’t think I’m asking questions in that class again.