5.18.2008
Oranges and Lemons
They were hesitant to approach after the initial introduction - all but one of them. She came right up and stopped before me, hands on hips with head tilted slightly to one side. She introduced herself loudly and then skipped off, making sure that I knew not only who she was but that she was in charge. I wasn’t the student that week, but I still had to pass a test. Their test. My timid stance and weak hello must have given her and the rest of the class the impression that I wouldn’t last more than a few hours. That’s why she was surprised when I came back the next day. She was the one who shocked me by frowning on the last day when I had to inform her that I was not a permanent teacher, but one of the many volunteers coming to New Orleans to help out temporarily.They aren’t blind to the camera crews or the busloads of tourists who come through for glimpses of houses in extreme states of disrepair. They aren’t ignorant to all of the attention they’ve been receiving. They’re neither oblivious nor appreciative of it. Annoyed is a more accurate description. You’d be weary of that fifteen minutes of fame if what you needed more than a quick feature on the six o’clock news was your home and all of your dearest possessions back.
It was the week after standardized testing had finished. The kids in my particular class were being treated to four field trips -- a swamp tour, an IMAX at the aquarium, a visit to the zoo, and a trip to the French Quarter for a ghost tour. I was assigned to a class of fourth, fifth, and sixth graders. The class was relatively small -- eight to twelve students depending on how many were absent that day. It was small in size yet difficult to manage. They’d zone out when instructions were being given, ignore the teacher’s pleas for quiet, and do their own thing whenever they pleased. One girl, the one who came up to me on that first day, was particularly troublesome. She’d get in fights often -- mostly verbal, occasionally physical. She acted as if she had something to prove at every moment.
I only had four days with those kids, but I made it my mission to get through the tough exterior of at least one of them. On that first day, I trailed along. I watched their interactions with one another. I studied that one girl, the one who I figured would be the hardest to get to know. I studied the way she took statements as personal attacks and the way she reacted defensively to everything. I could’ve easily befriended one of the shy kids, but I chose her.
The majority of the kids I met that week were only outwardly defiant. In large groups, they’ve got to maintain the big and bad attitude. Get a kid by himself and he’ll amaze you with what he wants to know, where he wants to go, what he wants to do in life. On the second day, I was able to do exactly that. We were at the aquarium and I had just taken out my camera. As soon as she saw my Canon, she wanted to know more. I put the strap around her neck, taught her how to use it, and let her roam the aquarium snapping pictures of everything. Not only did she have fun with it, but she was good at it. At lunch, I asked if she might want to be a photographer when she grows up. Despite the fact that she said no, I’m keeping my fingers crossed. Instead, she wants to be an actress. From that conversation on, she gravitated toward me. She hugged me when I came in every morning and before I left at the end of each day. She sat next to me on bus rides and during lunches and snack times. When the teacher needed the class to behave and she wouldn’t listen, I’d take her aside and ask her to cooperate.
She would always sit on the bus swinging her feet in the aisle with half of her body off of the seat. The teacher would constantly have to tell her to sit correctly. By constantly, I mean five times in the span of half an hour. The girl would get so frustrated because she just wanted to talk to her friend across the aisle. When I sat next to her for the first time, she’d just gotten in trouble for this again. She showed her frustration by crossing her arms tightly across her chest and pouting. I asked her if she knew why her teacher kept asking her to sit differently. She said that she didn’t know. I explained that it was because it was safer that way, because if the bus driver had to stop suddenly, she could get hurt badly. After that explanation, she sat correctly every time we got on the bus.
So I think that one of the biggest problems is that they have all of these rules. They’re constantly told not to do this and not to say that. And the teachers are spending so much time laying down the rules that they don’t have time to explain why those rules exist. These kids don’t know why they’ve been given so many rules so they have no real incentive to follow the rules.
What saddens me is to learn of things like grade 8.5. That’s where students who didn’t pass the standardized test in eighth grade advance to. It’s heartbreaking to see that they are so used to grade 8.5 that they don’t really view it as a negative. It’s just the natural progression of things to go from eighth grade to grade 8.5 and then on to high school.
These kids are obviously in desperate need of attention, but it has to be the right kind of attention. They don’t need TV cameras shoved in their faces. They need people who care about and believe in the dreams that they have. If there is one thing that these kids have an abundance of, it’s dreams. That, and potential. All they need are opportunities. I don’t mind the fact that the last few statements sounded like something out of the many lectures from inspirational speakers that I’ve had to endure as a high school student. The “you can be anything you want to be” mentality isn’t universal. There are some kids who won’t buy into that philosophy, no matter how much talent they have. As trite as my words may be, I wish more of those kids would believe in them. I really do hope to see that girl on my TV screen one day, fulfilling her dreams.
My favorite part of the week, by far, was a conversation that I had with the girl near the end of the week. Every day that week, we’d play a game at the end of the school day called Oranges and Lemons. Each person would pick an orange, one thing that they liked about their day and a lemon, one thing that they didn’t like about their day. We’d go around in a circle sharing our oranges and lemons.
“You know what my orange and my lemon are for this week?”
“What?”
She told me that her lemon was the man who got angry with her on the swamp tour for no reason on our first day.
“Yeah, that was pretty rude of him. So what was your orange?”
“My orange was you.”
Labels: Travel
5.13.2008
Wasting Space
These days, I just exist. I wander the halls aimlessly. I watch movies in half of my classes and sleep through the rest. I haven't opened a textbook in a week and I'd like to keep it that way for the rest of the school year. I am exempt from all of my final exams (yes, even AP Calculus). From here on out, grades don't matter. I get the rare homework assignment every once in awhile, but the majority of my time is devoted to activities that I find enjoyable. It feels like I haven't had any free time in years so I am loving every minute of this.I only go to school anymore because, for whatever reason, the school district thinks it is necessary for me to drag myself out of bed at an unreasonably early hour of the morning, drive to school, and occupy space all day long. And I only have to do this seven hours a day, five days a week. Never mind the fact that I no longer bring text books to school (or anything else, for that matter). This is the way it has to be.
Graduation is at the end of May. I only have to continue to pretend like I care until then.
Labels: Uncategorized Thoughts
5.11.2008
Dear Mommy,
Thank you. For all of the bad days you've helped me through. For all of the times you've consoled me and all of the times you've provided the cure for my illness. For all of the crap you've put up with from me -- all those times I talked back when I shouldn't have. For all of those days where you really didn't want to get up at 6:30 AM to make me breakfast before school. Thank you.Last week, I did something stupid. I did something so terribly stupid that I probably left you stunned and wondering who this crying mess of a girl standing before you could have been. I came to you in tears, apologetic and pitiful. Your first reaction should have been anger, but instead it was concern. And for that, I thank you. For understanding that the knowledge that I'm going to have to pay for my stupidity both literally and figuratively is a punishment in and of itself and that getting angry at me while I'm in the middle of a breakdown wouldn't do much for the situation. Thanks for just being there. It may not seem like it's true all of the time, but I love you. Happy Mother's Day.
Labels: Family
5.05.2008
Two Years
Two years ago today, I started this blog. I couldn't have guessed what I was in for at the time.I didn't know how many times I'd have to hide my writing from my parents.
I don't understand what's so wrong about wanting to keep something to myself. Has it ever crossed her mind that maybe, just maybe, her daughter has secrets that she doesn't give her mother the privelege of knowing? I'm assuming that every teenager hides something from their parents and I'm almost 99.9% sure of this assumption. I know she did this at least once when she was my age. Shouldn't she be glad that I'm not hiding something more severe like... a drug addiction or an alcohol problem? I'm hiding one page of writing from her. How utterly horrible and unforgivable! I'm such a bad daughter.I didn't expect to ever receive hate mail.
Ever heard of a diary? Or privacy? Or certain rights guaranteed to me by the U.S. Constitution?
Whenever I see that familiar "Gmail - Inbox (1)" message at the top of my screen, I get excited. Often, it's spam that has somehow managed to get into my Inbox. Very rarely do I get e-mail from living, breathing human beings that do not live in third world countries and/or are not promising me huge sums of money. That (1) is always cause for me to get my hopes up. Today was no different.I didn't know that I'd tell the Internet all of the things that I don't talk about aloud.
At approximately 12:24 PM, I received my very first hate mail, an expletive-laden rant. I will reprint it in its entirety for entertainment purposes. I will omit a few of the harsher words AND I'll be nice enough to leave out her e-mail address...
I wonder why she finds it so hard to just yell at me for what she really wants to fight about. I would rather her admit how much she hates that I don't want to grow up to be what she wants me to be than scream bloody murder because, heaven forbid, I didn't make up my bed this morning. She's too afraid to fight about what really matters so she settles for the most trivial, unimportant things that no normal person would get that incensed about.That I'd spill my guts to a bunch of complete strangers.
You wanted all of this for me. It was your idea, and as ingenious as it may have seemed three years ago, the sheer brilliance of your plan has faded to a dismal hint of what it once was. Life does exist beyond SAT scores and straight A's. To say that we are not on the same page would be a gross understatement. You and I, we're reading two different books, unable to make sense of each other because, ironically, we are so damn alike.That I'd struggle with the act of writing time and time again.
Your motives are blatantly obvious. If I do go to medical school, that's one more to add to your laundry list of things to brag about. Yet I'll go on enduring this tedium, burying my insecurities, weaknesses, doubts, and worries under a pile of textbooks weighing more than I do. I'll continue existing in this melancholy state, forever rationalizing my urges to drop everything and quit with a strong mentality pushing me to persist, if only for your sake.
Yeah, I'll keep doing this for you because I love you. And when you yell, I'll get nostalgic for times when macaroni necklaces and abstract drawings done with finger paints were enough to satisfy you. Times when I could still spell my name with the backwards "J" and get away with it. Times when the only wrong I could possibly do was coloring outside the lines. I'll keep trying to stay inside the boundaries of what is acceptable.
I rarely write on impulse anymore, never stopping to sit down and just write. Without thinking or editing or wondering if I need a comma here and a semi-colon there. Punctuation slows the sentence down, but it also gets in the way of the thought process. The best writing usually comes when I write without allowing myself to pull the pen off of the paper. I guess things changed when I started typing rather than writing. Typing is so impersonal. You punch a key. The letter shows up on the screen. There is no real effort involved. It's not the same as taking the time to form a letter, dotting the i's and crossing the t's, scratching out misspelled words and squeezing extra thoughts into the margins.Or that I'd ever write an entry that I thought was pretty good.
I want to write without stopping. On a daily basis and on paper again. That's my goal for this summer. I want to write about anything, even if it doesn't necessarily inspire me. A word. A phrase. A quote. A song. Anything that sparks an idea. It could be something that I know nothing about. That adds an element of difficulty to it. It'll force me to step outside of myself, out of this comfortable little bubble that I've grown too cozy within. I'll try the unfamiliar, even if I fail miserably at capturing the exact idea. That's just it, though. I've never been about being exact. When you're out of focus, nothing is exact. There are no details. It's all fuzzy around the edges and somehow, that's acceptable
I could never have known that there would be so many comments and e-mails and "I've been there's" and "I've done that's". I didn't expect anyone to care and I certainly didn't expect anyone to respond.
I'd just like to say thank you. Yes, you. Each and every last one of you. You've made this blogging experience wonderful and I sincerely doubt that I'd have kept at this as long as I have without all of the feedback, both positive and negative. Thanks for reading (or at least pretending to read) the stuff that I don't feel like admitting to my friends and families. Thanks for the praise, the criticism, the hate mail, the birthday e-cards, and the spam. It really means a lot.
Labels: Blogs/Blogging
5.02.2008
"A" vs. "The"
The woman who delivered me eighteen years ago prescribed me birth control a few hours ago.I've neither had my first boyfriend nor my first kiss. I'm not sexually active and I'm not planning on having sex anytime soon. I simply have one major problem that somehow warrants the taking of an unnecessary pill every single day. I'd have preferred the prescription for extra strength ibuprofen all by itself, but somehow I got tricked into taking home these tiny pills that are arranged in a neat little calendar-like packet. I am freaking out.
I went to see my mother's Ob-Gyn today because of a problem that I've had for a few years. I get the worst menstrual cramps ever. They are so severe that all I can do is curl up in the fetal position, cling to my pillow, and wish for death. I have a whole slew of other problems in addition to the abdominal pain. My back and my legs tense up. I can’t walk without someone else supporting me. I go from feeling hot to having chills in a matter of seconds. I can’t eat because I get too dehydrated to swallow. Unfortunately, I need to eat in order to take pills that shouldn’t be digested on an empty stomach.
In all honesty, it is debilitating. Functioning like a normal human being becomes an impossibility. I have had to leave school for it on more than one occasion. I skip work sometimes because I'd much rather be a nauseous, crying mess in the comfort of my own home. Ibuprofen has become my best friend.
One day I decided that I didn't want to have to deal with it anymore so I asked my mom to schedule an appointment with someone who could actually do something to help. I went in today expecting to come out with something stronger than the over-the-counter crap that I've practically been inhaling. I came out with free samples and a prescription for birth control pills.
"I can put you on a pill that will ease the symptoms. You have to take it daily though."
There is a difference between a pill and The Pill. The Pill is a big deal. Having to take The Pill at the same time every single day is no small feat. Throughout the entire appointment, she never once said "birth control". I don't like being talked to as if I'm stupid. To me, this is a huge deal. To gloss over it as if it's just medication for my cramps is ridiculous. Call it what it is. Don’t try to lure me with promises of the “good” side effects.
“You won’t gain any weight from this pill and your skin will get even clearer!”
I don't have that much acne as it is. I have no desire to take a pill just to eliminate the occasional pimple. As stupid as it sounds, I'd love to gain weight. Can we please, for just one second, pretend like this is as major as I think it is? She came up with this plan for me in a matter of minutes. Whatever happened to having options? Where are the alternatives? I don’t see the point of the prescription for the 800 mg Motrin that she wrote for me as well. That, by itself, seems sufficient.
I guess my problem is that I didn’t speak up for myself when I had the chance. I didn’t question. It’s hard when your mother is sitting in the chair next to you nodding her head in unison with the doctor’s. What have I gotten myself into?
[Yes, I'm still planning on writing about my trip... eventually.]
Labels: Uncategorized Thoughts
4.27.2008
Elevator Music Does Not Make For a Good Prom
Prom was as exactly as I expected. I can describe it in one word -- overrated. This isn't me being bitter about not having a date. My best friend surprised me with a corsage and I got to dance with everyone so being dateless certainly wasn't a factor. I just feel like we spend so much on this one night -- so much time and money and energy. My dress was $160. The shoes were $40. My half up, half down-do was $35 and the mani-pedi was the same. The only free part was the makeup which I pretended to absolutely adore, but really hated. I don't think that an abundance of eye shadow makes anyone look attractive. I don't think that all of the money that was spent was worth it, but I guess that's just me being cheap. It's all about the memories and the experience. Right?I loved my dress. It was red, strapless, and very long. It even had a small train that looked wonderful in pictures but got stepped on a lot. There was white silk around the very top of the dress as well as around the waist. The silk came around to the back and formed two very pretty sashes with flower-y embroidery in the same color as the dress. I thought that I found a great dress for a pretty good price, especially after hearing that some of my friends purchased theirs for over $200. The lady who sold it to me promised that I'd be the only girl at the prom with that dress and she was right. Nobody had anything that looked similar.
The food was the best part of the night. I ate an embarrassingly large amount of it. The music was mediocre. I felt like I was trapped in an elevator for the first hour. There isn't much to say about the decorations because there weren't many, but the location was great. We were on the top floor of a hotel and we had a view of the entire city.
I did try to dance as best as I could without ruining my dress. I'm one of those girls who can't really dance but does so anyway because she isn't at all self-conscious about things like oh, I don't know... making a fool of herself? I'm glad that I have friends who can appreciate that.
It's likely that I didn't get very excited about prom because I was exhausted. I hadn't slept a full night in days. I'd had two hours of sleep the night prior to prom. Having to wake up for a six o'clock flight is not easy. Our cab driver didn't make it any easier by talking for the entire ride to the airport.
"Let me tell you something. Can I tell you something? I'm going to tell you something. I'm going to tell you why you shouldn't go to Stanford."
I dozed off for the majority of his rant so I guess I'll never know why I'm making a mistake by going to Stanford. Getting taken aside by airport security for having an expired license wasn't much fun either. They didn't stop me for it in Texas. Why California?
Everything about the day leading up to prom was frustrating. I chipped my nail polish two seconds after walking out of the nail salon. Apparently, booking a hair appointment for 4:00 PM means nothing. That time is merely a suggestion. The lady didn't get started on my hair until 45 minutes later. I didn't want anything complicated, but she tried to make it that way. It's like she had this idea in her head of how my hair should have looked and it did not match with what I explained to her before sitting down. She spent about 15 minutes stabbing the back of my head with bobby pins before finally giving up and doing what I told her in the first place.
Prom is supposed to be one of those once in a lifetime events that you look back on fondly. You're supposed to have stories to tell your grandchildren. My story? I was the girl at the table over by the speakers eating her weight in food. The one who kept pulling up her dress because strapless size 6 dresses don't fit really thin girls, no matter how many alterations the seamstress does. The only girl whose feet didn't hurt because she was smart enough to realize that nobody can see the shoes you're wearing under a long dress. The one who looked very silly on the dance floor.
That was my prom and it wasn't as memorable as I had hoped, but I'm okay with that. I'm looking forward to graduation.
[Admit Weekend was amazing. I'll write about it properly tomorrow.]
Labels: Uncategorized Thoughts
Prom
Labels: Photography
4.22.2008
First Visit to the Farm
I'm leaving for Palo Alto tomorrow. It's Admit Weekend at Stanford and I'm really excited. I'll get to stay in a dorm, sit in on classes, try the food, and meet other ProFro's (that's prospective freshmen, for those of you who aren't in the know). The number of acronyms used in the brochures leaves me both amazed and confused. How do they manage to remember it all? There are HoHo's (house hosts) and RoHo's, FroSoCo and FroYo. This gives me the impression that Stanford students are so busy studying that they can't waste time saying actual words. In the interest of time, everything is abbreviated. I also love how the campus is called "The Farm".I'm flying back on Saturday in enough time to get ready for prom. I'm just hoping that my flight won't be delayed and that my baggage will arrive in a timely manner. As with every other vacation, I'm not sure about internet access or about the time I'll be able to devote to blogging. I'll be sure to have lots of pictures to show and stories to tell when I return.