Hi, again.

"It's been a long time since I came around. Been a long time but I'm back in town, and this time I'm not leaving without you-writing."

It's been a while since i've been on my blog. I remember when it was homework. I remember writing in my ela notebook and then fixing my entry while I typed it into my blog. Not anymore. Now I am not in eighth grade anymore. I'm in ninth grade, in a different school, in a different environment. Now, I'm a freshman in High school in Leon M. Goldstein for the sciences.

And I love it. I've been in school for almost 2 months, and the marking period just ended this friday. I'm really happy because I think I did good in all of my classes. I didn't miss any homework, or any project, and so O'm very excited to get my report card next week. School has changed a lot. In high school, my schedule is much different than my schedule in 51 in so many ways. One of them is the time schedule- starting with no bells. That makes me crazy, because i feel like some periods are never going to end. But at the same time, I kind of like it. Also, we don't go out to lunch. And ohgosh, it sucks. Hahaha, no, it doesn't. I love lunch in my school, and it's okay because we have french fries.... everysingleday. Oh, and yeah, cucumbers and pickles! But i'm having so much fun <3

Outcast? Totally. (halfway-through-novel: Speak By Laurie Halse Anderson

        The book "Speak" by Laurie Halse Anderson is a very interesting novel. A freshman in MerryWeather High school named Melinda  Sordino becomes a complete outcast in a time where all of her friends leave her after she did something "unforgivable" through their eyes.

        Melinda is hiding a secret, and nobody knows what it is. She has no one to tell, except her only friend, Heather from Ohio. But Melinda doesn't tell heather the reason of why she called the cops at an end-of-the-summer party. So Melinda became the outcast she is. I realized that Melinda carries around many emotions along with her hardships. I found a poem called "Outcast" By Timothy Venard. It represents Melinda's life.

VERSE 1:
What lies outside my bars, 
Where the wild beast run free? 
Why am I forced to lurk in the shadows, 
And never to show who I really am? 
While ostentations peers, 
Amaze and amuse their friends




*** I think the first verse of this poem represents the lies she had to give her parents, and the lies she almost had to give to her parents, and the lies she almost had to say.  For example, on Halloween, she had to pretend to be mad and stomped up to her room when her parents told her that she was too old to go trick-or-treating. She had to pretend like it wasn't fair, when inside she was glad, because no one had invited to anything. She would've had to lie of having plans to be in a group of friends, when she has no friends- except Heather from Ohio. In the poem the line "Why am i forced to lurk in the shadows, and never to show who i really am?" relates to Melinda very well. Melinda has no way to speak the truth of what happened at that summer party. And lurking in the shadows for her would be spending time in her hiding place, an old janitor's closet in the senior wing of the school building. She makes it hers, personalizes it, and uses it when she needs to think.  She has to find a way to be cool, go back to her friends, according to the book.


VERSE 2:
Who am I?
I am the beast
I am locked up
I am unable to be accepted


*** I think the second verse of this poem represents Melinda's life becuase 

hello

I could stick around and get along with you, hello. 
It doesn't really mean that I'm into you, hello. 
You're alright but I'm here, darling, to enjoy the party. 
Don't get too excited 'cause that's all you get from me, hey. 
Yeah, I think you're cute, but I really think that you should know. 
I just came to say hello, hello, hello, hello. 

I'm not the kinda girl to get messed up with you, hello. 
I'ma let you try to convince me to, hello. 
It's alright I'm getting dizzy just enjoy the party. 
It's OK with me if you don't have that much to say, hey. 
Kinda like this game but there's something you should know. 
I just came to say hello, hello, hey, hey. 

Remember Me? (writing Prompt)

Remember Me?
My name is Gossip.
I have no respect for justice.
I maim without killing. I break hearts and ruin lives.
I am cunning, malicious and gather strength with age.
The more I am quoted, the more I am believed.
I flourish at every level of society.
My victims are helpless. They cannot protect themselves against me because I have no name and no face.
To track me down is impossible. The harder you try, the more elusive I become.
I am nobody's friend.
Once I tarnish a reputation, it is never the same.
I topple governments and wreck marriages.
I ruin careers and cause sleepless nights, heartaches and indigestion.
I spawn suspicion and generate grief.
I make innocent people cry on their pillows.
Even my name hisses.
I am called GOSSIP.
Office gossip-Shop gossips-Party gossip-Telephone Gossip. I make headlines and headaches.
REMEMBER, before you repeat a story, ask yourself:
Is it true? is it fair? Is it necessary??
If not, do not repeat.
KEEP QUIET.
GREAT minds discuss ideas...
Average minds discuss events...
Shallow minds discuss people...
Which are you?

By Ann Landers


This poem is about gossip, obviously. But it transports so fast, especially in school. Middle school, rumors are started faster than it takes you to snap. And everybody knows everything and anything before you can even blink. I think how much gossip you take in and let out can affect your coming of age.
The poem says gossip ruins your reputation, but I think coming of age comes with it too. There's a quote that says "All people love gossip until it's about them.:" I don't know who it's by, but it's definitely true.
 Gossip can lead you to so many things:
1) lies
2) hatred
3) misunderstandings
4) misinterpretation
5) losts (losing friendships)

And these are all things we wanna stay as far away from, as much as possible.

What I believe

Dreams- Kristan Booker

Sometimes your dreams are all you have to follow
Don't let anyone tell you they're empty and hollow
Your dreams will keep you and your hopes high
Sometimes your dreams are what will keep you alive
Dreams can be what you have while you're asleep
They also can be what you're aspiring to be
Dreams can be joyous,full of love and care
Or they can be sad and become a nightmare
It's okay to let them put your head in the clouds
But also be sure to keep your feet on the ground
Don't let your dreams go right down the drain
Your dreams can do alot even lead you to fame
Don't give up on your dreams they can come true
All you need is to have faith in your heart and in you
It's so amazing what can happen when you believe
So remember to live your life and to live your dreams


At the moment, dreams are meaning a lot to me. This is because they seem more real than ever. And I don't know why. One that stood out to me was one where I was in a really big fight with most of my closest friends about 3 years ago. And last week (i think, Saturday before mother's day) I saw two of them. One of them was really involved in our fight, more like the leader of our fight (Samantha), and the other one was in it, but with her it was just, more behind the scenes(Danila). And so i was trying to watch a parade, and then sun was in my eyes, and I couldn't see. And just when the music is about to start playing, I hear " Hi Celina." I turned around to see Samantha. Her face red, and wet, and her hair wet, wearing a black sweater. And next to her, smiling is Danila. Danila waves and I feel forced to say hi back to her, but not to Samantha. I even hug Danila. I can't even see Samantha anymore. But while i'm hugging Danila I see Samantha roll her eyes at me, and lift her arms up, as if saying "why?" And I see her cry. Tears in her eyes. And then I'm the one crying, she's the one smiling and just like that, Samantha leaves. Danila Leaves with her, mouthing "I'm sorry."


I wish I could go back and apologize, replace this dream with one of our best memories as friends. Dreams. I'm not letting go.

What Means The Most

Writing about my childhood brings up so many types of emotions. It makes me feel foolish and Happy. But it also brings me to tears knowing that I won't be able to go back to playground slides, strollers, messy writing, Barbie dolls, picture books, and little homework.

Now, I'm not supposed to have the training wheels on. They're off, and i'm supposed to be running.

And like every other teenager, I'm staying up late to do my homework, getting home a few minutes late from school, and getting in trouble a little more often. It might seem like too much, but it's actually not. Our responsibilities match our ages, and so we never are supposed to deal with more than we can. But sometimes we do, and it makes sense to sometimes feel like it, because we are maturing. And we aren't expected to act our age, we are expect to act a year or two older.

 

But we can't miss out on the precious years that are kept in sync with our brains, that keep us remembering who we are. And so I realize that keeping my memories is something really special & important for me.

And this topic of coming of age, brings me back to the 4th Grade.

Ah, my 4th grade year. It was the second year of playing the recorder in school, and I always looked forward to my music class. Music was on Wednesdays. Music was the class I wouldn't miss for anything in my life, until I lost my recorder, here at home. And so I made every possible excuse to stay home for almost every single Wednesday for two months, until I found my recorder. "mom, I've got a fever", "mom, my stomach hurts", "Mom, can I go to the doctors?", "Mom, half my teachers aren't going to be at school today, can I just not go?". Yeah, excuses, excuses, excuses. And then I also had to plan a reason to not be at after school music classes either, and not being there drowned me, since it was the only thing I enjoyed the most about those two days.

But some wednesdays, when my mom managed to get me to school wednesdays, I had to sit out for music class. And just hurt to see 50 loud minutes go to waste doodling in my music notebook. But on one of those wednesdays, The New York pops came to my school. They presented us with a book called Rhythm, Rhyme & Rap. And we studied different forms of rhythm, different ways to rhyme, and we learned how to rap. 

My group (group 5) was presented with a poem called "when I grow up" by Mary Ann Hoberman.

The Poem "When I grow Up" is planted very clearly in my mind. I know the words by heart. I was so fond of this poem, and nothing reminded me more about coming of age project but this poem:

"When I grow Up" ---- Mary Ann Hoberman

When I grow up, I want to be

A grown-up who remembers me

And what it felt like to be small:

How much I liked to bounce a ball

And pump my swing high in the air

And think of flying everywhere.

How scared I was of doors that creak

Or being it in Hide-and seek

Or if my friends* had a fight

Or when I had bad dreams at night.

How much I hated loud machines

and Slimy worms and Lima beans

What fun it was to dig a hole,

To make a cake and lick the bowl,

To ride my bike all afternoon,

To plan on going to them moon,

To find an egg inside a nest

And have my best friend like me best.

*friends- actually, the word in the poem is "parents", but to fit my life better, I changed it to friends. :D

This represents her childhood in so few words. But it means so much. These are the things that eventually, we will have to stop doing if we haven't so. But this poem is saying "hey, don't forget who you are. Who you were  and who you will always be".

Final reading response

Childhood Memories are the kind you will never forget. I have a video tape of me playing my guitar and singing at the top of my lungs different songs with my grandfather. I love watching that.

             But what if your memories are bad? What if your past brought you to a teenage asylum? What if the pain was the only sour remedy or bad medicine that could actually cure? Ellen Hopkins’s Impulse is a book about three teenagers’ hard lives. Tony is one, and he has a hard life. The book talks about his thoughts, cuts, and memories, in his perspective. Conner is another character. He doesn't feel the need to show his emotions/depression, but he thinks that death is his only way out. And Vanessa on the other hand, She is hiding herself in a blade's reflection, blinding the truths from hurried pain.

            Everyday teenagers can relate to the book. I mean, who hasn’t thought they’ve gone crazy? That they’ve completely lost it? No one. I believe we all have felt lost, or alone, at one point. No matter how much people love you, no matter how many of them are around. And these are the basic emotion of these three characters. They think they are in “living hell”. To them, every move is to drown in pain. They have many problems; A very conflictive life.

I’m not saying we all don’t have problems. Because we do. Our problems match our lives, and we all live differently. So we can’t compare them, no matter how “similar” they might sound. The kids in the book aren’t exactly, little kids anymore. They are older. Old enough to know right from wrong. And they know that what they are doing is wrong. But I am not one to judge them. I understand. The author’s purpose feels like it’s to express the essence of life. She makes pain look as the main theme, but from where I see it, it’s life.

I think that the main theme of the book is life because we’ve only got one chance to live, and this is it. We can’t exactly, start over, because it’s not a video game. Although I strongly believe in second chances, being born again isn’t one. And so we’ve got to make our lives worth it. So life just kind of stood out to me.

 Something I noticed from Hopkins’s writing style is that she won’t say things out directly. You have to find the hidden meaning behind her words, play around with them until they make sense. It sounds like something you have to do with Shakespeare, but still with her. For example, I didn’t realize what she meant when Tony talked about “being into” this new girl. I mean, we all assume he likes her right? But no. I misinterpreted what she meant. He doesn’t normally like girls, he’s gay. And things kinda got weird for me to keep reading from that point on. So I had to just go back a few pages to actually understand what I had misunderstood before. Another example comes in with Conner’s story. He tries to act like he can have everything, anything. But he hides so many secrets, and it seems so easy for him to keep them all bottled up. And since he believes everything he sees, he never actually discovers the truth. He thinks he can tell someone’s story just by looking at you for a minute. Like THAT would say anything about me. But he’s trying to seduce his doctors! And one of them… well, kind of gives in! It was confusing at first, because in a way she happened to know what was going on with him. I find this quite ironic. In my opinion it is because of her body language, what she says and wears. Here is the paragraph in the book:

“Her smile grows wider. Oh, I doubt that, Conner. Now, what did you decide about confiding secrets? My eyes lower to the V of her blouse. ‘you have to go first, but I guess I’m ready to play your game.’ Okay. When I was younger than you, but old enough to know right from wrong, I had sex with a teacher too. She knew?”

I kind of smirked at it. And then I thought of questions. But the author  wants to create tension to keep us in focus. And that is a strength in her writing. I really like her writing techniques. They seem simple, but it’s harder than it looks. And I tried to go further in with this book, and tried to capture the purity of what seems like a mistake. Sometimes it seems like there are fragments, but no. it’s just to throw you off. And I really enjoy that.

Impulse combines all times of emotions and themes, and different ways to picture this story. But it still is great no matter what.

Yet, I can describe another example with the last but not least of the characters.

Vanessa’s emotions are deep. Her father is in war while she lives with her grandmother and her brother. And it seems like she can’t really live. It seems to her like she can’t make sense of her life. And so it’s confusing, because she feel a special connection with Tony, and Tony with her, even though he’s gay. This kind of throws of the story and sets a different tone for both characters. All though all 3 are at the same asylum (Aspen Springs), they are different, and this kind of connects them all. This brings them into the story for real.

If there’s anything in common with these three characters, I’d say that they are missing love.  They live with too much solitude, and they close up with others instead of opening up. They lack the will to live, and they need to find themselves. I really love this book- I really don’t know why. I just think it’s phenomenal.

We all have impulses. And ones that I consider being the biggest in this book is to:

Break free. Let Go.

Consider. Continue.

 Death and all that comes with it.

Think before you act.

Love life ♥

I'm still suffering.

I'm still scared. I'm still afraid. I'm still suffering from the pain that seems to have happened a century ago. Wanting to take back my life, the one with no uneasiness- the unease I can't stay away from. I knew this day would come, when I could finally place the last puzzle pieces together. I had them all along. I just didn't know where they needed to go. But now I do. 

I crisscross around your words, taking them in, marveling around them. They're old, but somehow new.I've heard them before, I know they're smart ways, i just hadn't heard them that strong before. That bold. Why? They came along with other words. Ones that were definitely new, and others that we're familiar but not in the way I hoped. I love them. Just as much as I love that music, the one that feeds me something, the only thing that keeps me alive still. As I've said before, half-alive. Many things bring me to tears, but the simpler ones are the one that  manage to keep inside, sobbing. What I love the most are the straight-forward things. No shortcuts, no way out. They're just there, no cutting cones. Only sharp edges. 

Let's go back to that day, that day when no one else was around. No one besides you and me. You were smiling. And I was smiling. we were smiling. Nothing was more important than that to me. But its not that day anymore. So I guess i'm not the only one putting the show on for everyone anymore. You are too. You're not showing everyone what you are actually feeling. You aren't showing ME face to face what you're feeling. I am. I'm here, in your face, telling you everything. There's not one thing about me you don't know. So listen. Please. If6 you have something to say, say it. To me. Now. I don't want to get hurt anymore. Not this way. I'm dying. Yes, silently. Laying down on a table, arms together, hunched over to the side. Legs bent together. Eyes shut tight. I'm still suffering.

To the Best of My Ability

I want to think thing are fine. Okay, at least. I'm trying to change, to the best of my ability. And you might not believe this, But I really mean Thank you.

Thank you, for real. At a point you were the most important thing in my life. I never expected this to happen, and I think you didn't either. We grow farther apart day after day. I mean it with my heart and soul. It's not empty, it's filled with a heartbreaking cry, and a i want to smile sheepishly. Know that it's safe. It wants to replace the harm. But I know that harm cannot be replaced easily.

I'm here! Look for me, please. I beg you. Just look! It's just hard to look past all those layers of ashes and giant puffs and those fumes of smoke. I'm laying down flat, face down, head buried, eyes closed, half alive. Maybe a little less than half. But you can save me. I can revive.

I want to come back. I can't wait for you to listen to me, to hear what i have to say, all of my mistakes. But you can't stand to see me anymore. I try not to die when I see you look at me. I wish you understood what I mean by Thank you. Thank you for me was and is helping me see the mistakes i'm doing, look at all the cracks I've stepped on. Seeing all the imperfect corrections and liable fragments that have brought me a stair a stair down from what I had considered to be plain and good. Plain. Simple. For all the bad that was done. It's self reflection. Not just written down and on the mirror. Somewhere else. But you've just got to trust me on this one. Once. Just this once. I mean it, please.

I want to return more than anything.
Please believe me.
More than anything.

Just Don't Give Up On Me.

I'm here. You might not see me, though. You're too busy looking for a way to avoid me. I'm sorry, that's not what I meant. I know you're looking for me. But... you can't give up on me so easily.

Hey, slow it down. Whataya want from me? Whataya want from me? Yeah, i'm afraid. So whataya want from me? Whataya want from me? There might've been a time when I would give myself away, Oh once upon a time, I didn't give a damn.
 But now, here we are. So whataya want from me? Whataya want from me?
Just don't give up, I'm working it out, Please don't give in, I won't let you down. It messed me up, need a second to breathe. Just keep coming around. Whataya want from me? Whataya want from me? Whataya want from me?
Hey, it's plain to see. That baby you're beautiful, and there's nothing wrong with you. It's me, i'm a freak. But thanks for lovin' me. "cause you're doing it perfectly. Yeah, perfectly.
There might've been a time when i would let you slip away, I wouldn't even try, But I think you could save my life.

Alone isn't what I thought it was.

This chest pain seems to kill me more than I think it does. Most of us don't realize what alone means until we are actually alone. Crying your eyes out in the bathroom, sitting in the tub with your legs out because you are scared of the pain just isn't enough for me anymore. I can't shout, I can't rip my hair out, I can't live. I have no one to explain my life to. No one will listen to my mistakes. I fear everything I see- things that are surrounding me, things that are very far away from me. Its all the same.

I'm not safe.
Who's gonna trust me if I can't trust myself? I wish I could say you. I wish you could make this easier for me. Easier for me to recover. You just make it harder. Night and Day. I wish I could actually get some sleep tonight. I don't want to stay up all night fearing the upcoming day, and thinking that the night will never end. Although, that's my wish. I want things to go back to normal. More than you do. And don't tell me no, because this isn't you in the first place. It's me. Its my turn.

Forgivement starts with me.

I'm sorry. I just don't know who I am. Well, not anymore. Before I can say anything, I have to find what's missing. Before I cry, I have to know the reason behind it. Before I feel sane again, I have tothink all of my mistakes through.

 I have to learn the hard way.

Let me just think about it.

Okay, I missed you. Alot. I had nothing to say, nothing to smile or laugh at. But I saw you everywhere, in my mind, in the chairs, here, there, and in my heart. I went through a day, though. A day with many mixed emotions, but a full 24 hours.

I wish I could say I don't feel like dying now. Because you leaving hurts, but that's not it. Let me just think about it. This pain, the one that's killing me. Because no, it's not you. It's my fault. I avoided before what I feel now in other's eyes, and now I get it back, slowly. By pieces. It's biting. It's killing me. A strong sense of malaise.

But today was diffrent from all the rest. I didn't care. I thought about you and that's all. Nothing else. Because good days don't exist. A day seems is not one if i'm not shedding a tear, leaving redness on my eyes, leaving the tears dry up on my face. It's like slamming into a brick wall with all you forces. It's  like climbing up a mountain and falling, tumbling, bleeding all the way down. No; It's probably worse. How? Because there is no sort of explanation for this.

I feel excluded, ignored, avoided. All I want to give you is my love, my laugh, my smile. But how do I get everything back? How can things go back to what normal was for me? When will my tears dry out fast enough to not be seen anymore?
So many questions without any answers. I'm afraid to ask them-even to myself. Everything seems so alone, scary. It brings back memories of the dark, the pain. The blood. The misery.

No, Thanks.
But if that's what it takes to get it all back, I'll do it. I'd risk it all. Take my life with me. To save you, to save me from myself. But I guess I have to start by saying I'm sorry. It's me. I know. I was never blaming you. I deserved it.

The unreal beginning of my side of the story

When did you come in?

Not through that door. It wasn’t this year, was it? Or was it two years ago? I don’t remember. I can’t really make my own decisions anymore. All the made up things are eating me alive.

I feel like I can’t let loose anymore. But as far as I can remember, did I ever? Probably not. Normal as can be. Although, nothing ever was normal. Don’t talk to me for pleasure, as a chat, as before. That’s changed.

Now it’s for need, for rehabilitation of the mind. But not mine. It’s all crystal clear in my mind. Blame it on the air, the distance. It doesn’t even exist. It’s not real. But it’s the force that’s keeping me with my eyes open. It’s the one that’s taking you away from me. But this isn’t a game, it’s real. And it’s all crystal clear in my mind.

But I want to know what you think. When did things become diff6erent? Why is it all gone? And sitting in this chair, you essence is somewhere here, surrounding me, and so I know I don’t live.

It’s like forgetting the words… of your favorite song. You can’t believe it, you were always singing along. It was so… easy, and the words so sweet. You can’t remember, you try to feel the beat. And so I spend half of my life trying to fall behind. And so I use my headphones and try to drown out the sound. That sound in my mind. But it just doesn’t work.

I became addicted, and I just couldn’t get enough of the lies, the noise, and my heart beating fast. Hard. I can’t.

But I think all I need is time to think. I can’t, though. Ever. Things turned into a blur a while ago. I can’t seem to find the right lens to focus in. And I’m sorry if I caused a distraction, or any ‘fore felt melancholy. I know I did. I caused problems. I caused harm, hurt, and pain. And most of all, I caused hate.  Nothing left to ruin, because there was nothing there on the first place.

I want the silence to continue. I don’t wanna leave. But I don’t want this to drag on. I want to scream, shout, cry. Cry with the tears I seem to hide. Hide on my pillow, washing away. Hid under my pillow like I do, waiting for the rising sun to be once again.

Like a dollar, I carry around love. Like a quarter, I carry around hate. Like a dime, I carry around what is planted, what right now is being explained. My mind. As a nickel, I carry  around the straps of cloth, or words. The unfinished letters from before. Before when everything was fine. Good. Sane. And as a penny, I carry you around. The most common to find laying on the street. The one that is barely used. Most common to find in your pocket. The one that is everywhere. The one no one can miss. The one you need.

Sorry, i made a mistake. Did I? Or is it just the need that i feel to apologize? Sorry, but no one is actually perfect.

No doubt, I have this feeling of living hell but who knows if I can actually live through that? Who knows if I am actually here? Who knows if I have hopes and dreams like everyone else? Who knows if this is actually all a dream and when we supposedly die, we wake up? No one. Is what I am saying wrong? I never misinterpreted anything. But it seems like I did.

Taking on Impulse: revised

Childhood Memories are the kind you will never forget. I have a video tape of me playing my guitar and singing at the top of my lungs different songs with my grandfather. I love watching that.
                      But what if your memories are bad? What if your past brought you to a teenage asylum? What if the pain was the only sour remedy or bad medicine that could actually cure? that's what they think. Their lives are long gone.  Ellen Hopkins does a good job in preparing this 'meal'. She blends hurt and craziness together. She adds a small amount of love. A tint of Hate. A teaspoon of butter, no never mind. But she adds 666 cups of 3 different ingredients: Tony, Conner, and Vanessa. They are the secret recipe.
                     Ellen Hopkins’s impulse is a book about their hard lives. There are three main characters. Tony has a hard life. The book talks about his thoughts, cuts, and memories, in his perspective. Conner is another character. He doesn't feel the need to show his emotions/depression, but he thinks that death is his only way out. And Vanessa on the other hand, She is hiding herself in a blade's reflection, blinding the truths from hurried pain. But there's no need handle a lot of that when you can take a staircase to hell. Ironic to us, isn't it?

            Everyday teenagers can relate to the book. I mean, who hasn’t thought they’ve gone crazy? That they’ve completely lost it? No one. I believe we all have felt lost, or alone, at one point. No matter how much people love you, no matter how many of them are around. And these are the basic emotion of these three characters. They think they are in “living hell”. We may not think so. Maybe we believe our problems cannot compare to theirs because they are completely irrelevant, or bigger or smaller.

But that’s not true. Our problems match our lives, and we all live differently. So we can’t compare them, no matter how “similar” they might sound. The kids in the book aren’t exactly, little kids anymore. They are older. Old enough to know right from wrong. And they know that what they are doing is wrong. But I am not one to judge them. I understand. The author’s purpose feels like it’s to express the essence of life. She makes pain look as the main theme, but from where I see it, it’s life.

To prove my thinking, I went back into the book. And I realize it took me a while to figure out the differences between the characters. It’s a little complicated to read sometimes because the character changes from one page to another. Whenever we get to the best parts of this continuous story, there is a change. But things are always interesting enough to keep you reading, leaving you with your tongue hanging, asking questions. Something else I noticed from Hopkins’s writing style is that she won’t say things out directly. You have to find the hidden meaning behind her words, play around with them until they make sense. It sounds like something you have to do with Shakespeare, but still with her. For example, I didn’t realize what she meant when tony talked about “being into” this new girl. I mean, we all assume he likes her right? But no. I misinterpreted what she meant. He doesn’t normally like girls, he’s gay. And things kinda got weird for me to keep reading from that point on. So I had to go back a few pages to actually understand what I had thought right and simple before. Another example comes in with Conner’s story. He tries to act like he can have everything, anything. But he hides so many secrets, and it seems so easy for him to keep them all bottled up. And since he believes everything he sees, he never actually discovers the truth. He thinks he can tell someone’s story just by looking at you for a minute. Like THAT would say anything about me. But he’s trying to seduce his doctors! And one of them… well, kind of gives in! It was confusing at first, because I a way she happened to know what was going on with him.

I find this quite ironic. In my opinion it is because of her body language,  what she says and wears. Here is the paragraph in the book:

“Her smile grows wider. Oh, I doubt that, Conner. Now, what did you decide about confiding secrets? My eyes lower to the V of her blouse. ‘you have to go first, but I guess I’m ready to play your game.’ Okay. When I was younger than you, but old enough to know right from wrong, I had sex with a teacher too. She knew?”

This was really clear, but I just didn’t know how to react. I kind of smirked at it. And then I thought of questions. And kept reading. Nothing. Next character. See? That’s how she makes us wait. She wants to create tension to keep us in focus. And that’s a strength in her writing. Yet, I can describe another example with the last but not least of the characters.

Vanessa’s cuts are deep. No, not really. But her emotions are. Her father is in war while she lives with her grandmother and her brother. And it seems like she can’t really live. It seems to her like she can’t make sense of her life. And so it’s confusing, because she feel a special connection with Tony, and Tony with her, even though he’s gay. This kind of throws of the story and sets a different tone for both characters. All though all 3 are at the same asylum (aspen Springs), they are different, and this kind of connects them all. This brings them into the story for real.

I really like her writing techniques. They seem simple, but it’s harder than it looks. And I tried to go further in with this book, and tried to capture the purity of what seems like a mistake. Sometimes it seems like there are fragments, but no. it’s just to throw you off. And I really enjoy that.

Impulse combines all times of emotions and themes, and different ways to picture this story. But it still is great no matter what.

We all have impulses. And ones that I consider being the biggest in this book is to:

Break free.

Let Go.

Consider.

Continue.

Life and Death.

Mr. Shakespeare, I just stalked your entire life.

Dear Mr. Shakespeare,
I wish you were alive to see how much about you I know. I wish you could see my "impressive" storyboard on Sonnet 13, and tell me you like it. I wish you were alive so I didn't have to do sooooo much research on you.

Quit daydreaming, kid.

....Okay, Daddy.

So anyways, I know you were born on St. George's day. April 23rd in the year 1564. I also know that you were baptized the 16th of April, in that same year. I also know that you were born to a family of.... How many kids?
well, let's count.
Before you were born, two of your sisters were born. The first, Joan Shakespeare. The poor child died in infancy, only 2 months after birth.  After little Joan, came Margaret Shakespeare. This child lived longer than Joan, but only by 10 months. Margaret died at the age of 1. And then the Bard himself was born. This child atleast, survived infancy, and led us into great literacy. Though he was not the last, he was the one that outshined the Shakespeare family. After william came Gilbert Shakespeare, who was born on October 13th, 1556. Gilbert died at age 46. He died at a younger age than William did.  After Gilbert, Joan was born. Yes, Mary Arden and John Shakespeare did name two of their children by the same name. Although the first one died only after a few weeks of birth. The second Joan Shakespeare survived the longest. Complete opposites with the other Joan! ut this second one died at age 77, older than any one else in this family. She was born in 1569. Three years later, in 1571, another Shakespeare child was born. Anne Shakespeare on september 28th. Anne was only alive for seven years, though. After Anne, came Ricahrd on March 11th. He was alive until the age of 39. And last but not least, Edmund Shakespeare. Edmund died in 1607, at the age of 27. Atleast the were all baptised.
The Bard was the first son of four sons. He had four sisters. There were eight children in total.
William's mother's name was mary and his father's name was John.

William shakespeare was Baptised In a Holy trinity church. William lived with his family on Henley Street, Stratford. becuase his parents decided he should be helping his father in business. It was the same year that young Anne died. This was also the year when his parents had many financial problems. Not only that, but all of the people inthat time had HYGIENE problems. Even though it might sound weird to us now, but the Elizabethan Era was very "smelly". People didn't bathe everyday, and their only was either Ale or Wine. But besides all that, Young William came home with the news of a soon newborn. He'd been with an outsir named Anne Hathaway, who was eight years older than he. She'd been 26, while Shakespeare was only eighteen. They did have their Child, and it was a girl Called Susanna Shakespeare. She was born on the year of 1583. William and Anne were married before they had Susanna, in November 1582.  two years after Susanna's birth, Anne discovered she was pregnant again, and she had twins. William named the male Hamnet, and the he called his second daughter Judith. William loved his family very much.

William was quite the multi-tasker. What he did, no one could compare. He was a son, a father, a husband, an actor, a playwright, and a poet at all circumstances. He was so good ast everything he did. His first play is said to be Henry VI part I wchih was producedby the Acting troupe in the Rose Theatre, with Lord Strange's men. This was just part one, so they is assumed to be a part 2 and a part 3 of Henry VI.  He wrpte these plays between the years 1590 and 1592. And during this time, playwrights were not though of as literary experts. it was poets who were known as the brains of the time- and yet, playwrights were not viewed as highly acceptable people who were educated intellectuals.

What other plays did he write? Oh, there were many. But there are those that are more popular. Let's see, have you heard about...
1) Hamlet?
2) Othello?
3) Macbeth?
4) Romeo and Juliet?
5)The Tempest?
6) Julius Caesar?
Oh, come'on. Don't tell me you haven't. That'd be like the tragedy of Macbeth...
No.

There are 37 plays in total. I listed them below as 1. Comedies, 2. Tragedies, and 3. Histories.

The Plays
Comedies
All's Well That Ends Well, As You Like It, Cymbeline, The Comedy of Errors, Love's Labour's Lost, Measure for Measure, The Merchant of Venice, The Merry Wives of Windsor, A Midsummer Night's Dream, Much Ado About Nothing, Pericles, The Taming of the Shrew, The Tempest, Troilus and Cressida, The Two Gentlemen of Verona, Twelfth Night, The Winter's Tale
Tragedies
Antony and Cleopatra, Coriolanus, Hamlet, Julius Caesar, King Lear, Macbeth, Othello, Romeo and Juliet, Timon of Athens, Titus Andronicus
Histories
1,2, and 3 Henry VI, 1 and 2 Henry IV, King John, Henry V, Henry VIII, Richard II, Richard III
 
And recently, I went to see "as you like it" with my class, as part of an ELA trip. Fun. I really loved it.
 
But, let's not forget all of his other writing.
Anyone know how many sonnets Shakespeare wrote? (raise your hand)
 
Celina....
.....Uhm, was it, 154?
CORRECT. William Shakespeare wrote 154 sonnets. Oh poor me, who only had the ability and immagination to write a single one. -> I really liked my sonnet ;)
They were all listed as numbers. For example, the 54th sonnet written would be titled "Sonnet 54". That was for all.
Of course, they are those sonnets that were the most popular. Here's a list with the intro line of it:
 

• William Shakepeare's sonnet 18- Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
• William Shakespeare's sonnet 29- When in disgrace with fortune
• William Shakepeare's sonnet 116- Let me not to the marriage of true minds
• William Shakespeare's sonnet 126- o thou my lovely boy
• William Shakespeare's sonnet 130- My mistress's eyes

And none of those is one of my favorite.Yeah, I did read a couple dozens of his sonnets. Well, till my head hurt, and that took a while. I got up to... Sonnet 83? Oh well, who knows?
And out of all I liked Sonnet 23 the best.
* Note that that's the poem I chose to do a storyboard besides my own.

In case you wanna check out the sonnets, all 154, here's the link that gives them straight at you:
http://www.william-shakespeare.info/william-shakespeare-sonnets.htm

But Mr. Shakespeare, I really lovee your work.
It's great.
It's elaborate.
It's simple.
It's you.
BYEEEE <3

Taking On Impulse

                      Childhood Memories are the kind you will never forget. I have a video tape of me playing my guitar and sining at the top of my lungs different somgs with my grandfather. I love watching that.
                      But what if your memories are bad? What if your past brought you to a teenage asylum? What if the pain was the only sour remedy or bad medicine that could actually cure? that's what they think. Their lives are long gone.  Ellen Hopkins dioes a good job in preparing thsi 'meal'. She blends hurt and craziness together. She adds a small amount of love. A tint of Hate. A teaspoon of butter, no nevermind. But she does add 666 cups of death.
                     Ellen Hopkin's impulse is a book about their hard lives. There are three main characters. Tony has a hard life. The book talks about his thoughts, cuts, and memories, in his perspective. Conner is another character. he doesn't feel the need to show his emotions/depression, but he thinks that death is his only way out. And Vanessa on the other hand, She is hiding herself in a blade's reflection, blinding the truths from hurried pain. But there's no need handle alot iof that when you can take a staircase to hell. ironic to us, isn't it?
                

Autumn Sonnet

Falling leaves of maples and dreamy days
Feel the coming kisses of the winter.
nevertheless, the coldest soft embrace;
Come in young and beautiful, come enter.

Happiness tickles the rattling greens,
look at the shadows of oak and pine.
The windy breeze on which the branches lean,
remembering the boots that once were mine.

Later on frolicking on the wet leaves,
watching the season with my bare eyes.
Collecting piles of hundreds at ease,
all we do is collect our colors and our lives.

Following the path of the hollow lane,
I think september is all that remains.

Credit To Amazing blogs- Many besides 3

In class 810, there are many students. And though we like to fool around, and act churlishly,  we write elaborately. This is because we express our feelings very well, and we do it "straight up". when we write, we don't joke arounjd. We are serious, and that helps us grow. But some of the students in this class really caught my eyes with their posts, and here are just 3 that are show good work, in many areas:

1) Isaiah nardone. What I like about Isaiah's writing is his mood. His poetry is very wel written. He puts so much emotion in his writing, it seems unreal. The conflicts that go on in his writing are very realistic. they are real. I've felt his writing more than once. He wrote an amzing sonnet for ELA as well. His writing expresses alot of emotions and it is usually long and great! =]

2) Melody Wallace. The vivid colors of the writing grab my attention. In that case, it makes me want to read it. And her posts aren't bad at all. I like how she selects different colors to respresent the different words. Some are obvious like for orange joiuce, she uses orange. And brown for bread. And that makes it exciting. I feel like her posts are very meaningful to her because they are funny and she is has a very lively personality. I really like her posts.

3)And Last, but not least, is Daniel Bortoluzzi. I love his writing in general. He writes with passion, and with real live situations. It's all very enchanting. I love his poems, they might be very short, or they can be long, but either way, I love them. It shows many emotions and I can relate to all of them. I feel like his posts are meaningful to him, all of them relate to our daily lives. Some of his posts are hilarious, but are situations that happens to him. For example "promotion in doubt". That's a poem he wrote about a letter being sent home from the board of ed, and he might not pass the grade. And he talks about raising his grades even if it costs him not bursting out laughing in class like he always does. Even if it costs him to not talk while other people talk which he always does.  But he has a very creative mind, and I really enjoy/love that.

Found poem

***************CHANGING THE TIMES***************

A great american
Symbolic shadow
Light of hope
Joyous daybreak
Long night of captivity

The life
Crippled by the manacles of segregation
and the chains of discrimination

Island of poverty
vast ocean of material prosperity

Our republic
The magnificent
Declaration
Independence
A promise
guaranteed
rights of life
liberty
pursuit of hapiness

Justice is bankrupt
great vaults of opportunity

Nation
Hallowed spot to remind America

Fierce
Time to change

Luxury xooling
Tranquilizing dose of gradualism
real promises.

Times to rise.
Desolate Valley.
Sunlit path.
JUSTICE.

Sorry!!!!!(technical difficulties)

I'm very aware that it seems as if i've not been doing my homework
WHICH I HAVE.
But on this, it seems like i have to post things a gazillion times
before it actually shows up on my page!!!
I have to repost, and things will show up a week later!
atleast 2 or 3 days.
So, sorry if this has caused an inconvenience for when either Ms.Galang or Mr. Records looks at my blog!
I guess I just have to post things a bit earlier so that they will show up on time.
For example:
1)My found poem that was put upon Wednesday the 26th or January, but seems to not be on my blog yet.
2) The poem I wrote based on "please don't take my air jordans" was "supposedly" posted on Tuesday the 18th of January, But is still not up! I guess I'm gonna have to repost it again. Bleh. What a pain.
3) The observations on a painting (observations, inferences, and observations) was posted once, and reposted 6 times. And no response. I dod try a different method, and even though it was for last quarter, and it shows up later, it will probably count as of technical difficulties. I cant remember the date, but yes, about two or three... three and a half weeks ago.

If anything else happens I will be sure to report this as soon as possible.
Thank you for (hopefully) understanding.

*I have thought of opening a new blog, so that difficulties won't happen, but, i really don't want to, and changing the format of it, kind of help to speed up the process, but somethings seem to be long lost.... as if i never posted it, or i'd never done it. BUT I REALLY DO DO IT! TRUST ME, PLEASE!
So yes...............
I don't know what else to do.
For now,
SORRY. SORRY. SORRY.

Finding My thoughts

breathing is hard
especially when near you
even if  you are nothing new

Talking is a disaster
Whenever you are here
I turn everything aside...
and I completely dissapear.

Looking is an obsession
watching you with a deep stare
I feel no wind, no air
can't trun around
i don't want to rely on it
But i'm i'm always space bound

Is this love?
Is this bad?
Is this good?
Is this LIVING?
Anything but this hell.
Nothing I can change.
A dangerous force that I can't control
I just can't stop it.
You just make it
hard for breathing.

Colorless Life

                                                                                 A colorless Life
 
                                            

Bright eyes
Low lights

Let it all combine

In all this there's a cure
a silly soul fixed for sure

Let it all combine

Long life
Shine high
Let the colors bring you alive

Let it all combine
Whatever you do.....
Please...........
don't
don't don't
don't don't don't
have a
COLORLESS
life.

Incident I couldn't... stop.

Walking and walking
And never stopping
feeling the heavy rain on our shoulders.

We stepped aside
and with big pride
He said, "I'll go first."

The idea was premature
And i wasn't so sure
But after all He knew...
He'd been there before.

But Things didn't go well
he tripped and fell
and shattered he looked
and there really wasn't anything to do
....
just let the sorrow bite in
Because his life now thin....
was on me. And just me.

But this...
this incident....
I couldn't.....stop.

Follow The Leader

You're the drug...
I am a
Bee that sucks in
The Pollen

You're the Fake ID...
I am a
Dirty old and bent
Snapshot; Yet hidden

You are the Liquor...
I am a
Rust door
Difficult to open
Challenging to Close.

You're the Kidnapper...
I am a
 the thief of souls
Pained and Hurt.

Did I follow correctly? CLOSE ENOUGH


By Celina Santin

Interpretation

meaning To meaning
and No understanding
not socially awkward and strange.

meaning To meaning
and No understanding
different points and a type of range

meaning To meaning
and No understanding
always writing with your name

I know it's fine
and it's okay
you show your emotions a different way

I like it all
from beginning to end
you just have a different aim

By Celina Santin

From Deep Inside

So clear, yet so untouchable
Going back to what I used to be.
Not out in the air, but inside be known
And be valued for who I stand to be.

I ignore it all
Even if I know someday...
Things will be that way.

Trying everything along the path
pushing pulling
to get to the top.

From december
To december
I start a new roll.
I play a different character.


I believe in curiousity.
And experimenting.

I know
my capicities
my strengths
and
my weaknesses.

I learned this:
From deep inside.


By Celina Santin

Sharon Olds in Her younger years
This is the author of a very diverse poem. A poem that is written with some kind of emotion that I can't seem to find. But I can tell she understands. She understands what the girl from the photograph is going through, everything. She explains the photo from many perspectives, helping me get an idea of what it looks like. What it feels like. In my head, she see the girl clearly, I see it in black and white, lifeless colors,but very strong at the same time. Here is the poem:

The girl sits on the hard ground,
the dry pan of Russia, in the drought
of 1921, stunned,
eyes closed, mouth open,
raw hot wind blowing
sand in her face. Hunger and puberty
are taking together. She leans on a sack,
layers of clothes fluttering in the heat,
the new radius of her arm curved.
She cannot be beautiful, but she is
starving. Each day she grows thinner, and her bones
grow longer, porous. The caption says
she is going to starve to death that winter
with millions of others. Deep in her body
the ovaries let out her first eggs,
golden as drops of grain.


This is the poem that is-in my opinion- awkwardly written. But I kinda like it. It has a hard meaning to understand..... but its fine. She creates such a deep meaning and she interprets it in another way that I personally could not expect to "see" from a picture.
When I mean see, I mean find a deep meaning. But that's what you expect from a good poet. to read through the lines, and write what you see. Simple as that.

My Eyes & Heart in Poetry

What is poetry?????

Live Life
On the edge of your seat
Look at the world with a passion that can't be beat

Live Life
Like never before
Stay awake
Don't sleep and snore

But in the Middle
I hope you you find
The most extra-Ordinary emotion
A one of a kind

I hope that you find
the urge to
write all day
and to
write all night.

Because when you open
the gates of your
eyes and heart
with a kinfe.....
you'll hear poetry
the simple sound of life ♥

The Starry Night

That does not keep me from having a terrible need og- shall I say the word-religion. Then I go out at night to paint the stars. -Vincent Van Gogh in a letter to his brother

BY ANNE SEXTON

The town does not exist
except where one black-haired tree slips
up like a drowned woman into the hot sky.
The town is silent. The night boils with eleven stars.
Oh starry starry night! This is how
I want to die.

It moves. They are all alive.
Even the moon bulges in its orange irons
 to push children, like a God, from its eye.
The old unseen serpent swallows up the stars.
OH starry starry night! This is how
I want to die:

into that rushing beast of the night,
sucked upby the dragon, to split
from my life with no flag,
no belly,
no cry.

This is a beautifully written poem with similes and metaphors about Van Gogh's painting: The Starry Night. What I like about this poem are the small details that relate you to her life. It shows you about her writing, her feelings, and her opinions. This poem is such a great description of the painting, and you can tell that Anne has a passion for it. But when i started reading this poem, I thought about suicide. Ramon and I made inferences about how she could be really depressed, and it turns out, we were right! And I think that many things in this poem represent that big idea. I thought about this during the lines, "this is how I want to die", "sucked up by that great dragon", and "to split from my life with no flag". For the first qoute, I think she refers back to the first line of her poem, or open thoughts, which is "The town does not exist". To me, the first line means that the town is something impossible. I think she means being too perfect-non-existent. Too quiet- non-existent especially if you live in the city, well, Brooklyn.  And a simple, beatiful view of the stars, and the moon, and the mountains in the back- That, I can count as a fifty percent chance of being existent. For the second quote, I think of the dragon beaing LIFE, and being sucked in by life, meaning that she can't take it anymore. That leads me to another inference Ramon and I had about Anne being depressed, and how it seemed Van-Gogh was depressed-being in an asylum, and how she later on commited suicide made me think that she could really relate to him, and thinking about how she felt like she didn't belong- which is what I read in a book when you are depressed, and how their problems were just simply turned into 1 whole, by this piece of art. And for the third qoute, i think about no forgiveness in the world, and i visualize a flag being taken down after a war, with no victory. Then a picture the flag being all rugged on the ground, and muddy, and stepped on, during a heavy rain. But that's just me. But to leave your life in a way God doesn't want, well, That's just you. And well, this is just my interpretation. There are many other that we came up with in class.