Monica. What a beautiful name. What a beautiful person. The name Monica comes from a Greek word (how fitting, seeing as I am Greek) meaning solitary. That is so beautiful. Solitary, single, independent. Not that she's single, really (RYAN), but she's her own independent person. She is smart and strong and vivacious, and she manages to wear a stunning smile every single day.
I am so grateful for that smile. I know I can always count on Monica, no matter what, to make me feel better. Every single day. American Lit being the first class - which is always a bummer, since everyone's feeling like, "Aww man, the last thing I wanna do right now is leave my warm, comfortable bed and go sit in some class reading some boring book about a house *AHEM*" (just kidding Mr. M) - it's sometimes hard to be cheerful and concentrated. Monica always lifts me up. When I see her face I cannot help but smile. She puts me in a better mood just by being there.
And did I mention she's brilliant? If I don't understand something, or I need help answering a difficult question, she is always more than generous. She always has a great idea in that beautiful head of hers. She sees things in a way that sometimes I just don't see. She is the perfect person to have in an English class. When I sit next to her, I know she will have something intelligent to add to the conversation. Ahhhhh I'm smiling just writing this! I love that girl. I love to listen to her talk, and hear about her life. I love that she can speak Spanish so beautifully and that she has an amazing Panamanian family. She gets to live two worlds, and she shares her stories. She is a wonderful, cultural, talented girl. She can sing and play the guitar. She plays better than I do, and I've been playing twice as long. She's amazing. I learn so much from her every day.
And her blogs! They're so well written and funny, and creative and smart. Oy vey, I sound like I'm smitten. Which I am :) I'm so glad I know Monica and am in her class. I love talking to her and working with her and laughing with her. I feel like we really have a connection, which is something everyone needs. When we watched the Crucible in class, we were both trying not to cry. We decided we were going to have a Crucible party at her house and eat pizza and cry together at the end. This is the sort of person I love to be with. Someone who is not afraid to be herself and speak her mind, and who has the bloom of love and happiness in her. She adds so much to my life, and I am so, eternally grateful for her.
I LOVE YOU MONICA, MI AMIGA HERMOSA!!
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Friday, November 19, 2010
I am a plow
The farmer pushes his plow. Push, push. He pushes all day. It's hot outside. He's hot. The sun beats down on his shining head, the sweat trickles down his temple. The day is hot and dry.
His ears pick up the distinct sound of the woodpecker, pecking away at the skin of the tree across the field. He stops. He listens. He closes his eyes and his mind floats, his entire soul floats. He is that mockingbird. But reality snaps him back. He plows.
The farmer pushes his plow. He pushes, rows upon rows, he must finish before dusk falls. He has no choice. This is his life. He pushes until he has blisters on his hands. He feels the tender skin, longs for a time when he must plow no more. He closes his eyes and his mind floats, his entire soal floats. He is holding his hands under the cool, clear water. He hears the woodpecker pecking. He opens his eyes. He plows.
Mid-afternoon, she comes to him. She brings him water to drink and food to eat. He sits with her in the shade of the woodpecker's tree. He leans against her, his rock, his light, his life. He loves her. He wishes he could sit there forever. He does not want to plow. But he plows.
The farmer pushes his plow. He pushes until his day's work is done. The day's labor is finished, he can go home. But he must push the plow to it's resting place. He cannot leave it out. It is a burden he would rather not care for. But he pushes. He places it in it's bed, it's home, it's barn. It sits in the dark. It waits for morning.
The farmer pushes his plow. Push, push. He pushes all day. He hates his plow. He depends upon his plow. He loathes his plow. He loathes his plow. He loathes his plow.
I am a plow. The last wanted. The least preferred. I am the plow, that inconveniences the life around me, yet for some incomprehensible reason, I hold on still. They hold onto me, and I cling to them like a life-line. I do not want to be forgotten in the dark. I want to be reawoken each morning. But no one wants to awake me. Yet they come for me, each morning. They cannot live without me. I am a plow. Don't forget me.
His ears pick up the distinct sound of the woodpecker, pecking away at the skin of the tree across the field. He stops. He listens. He closes his eyes and his mind floats, his entire soul floats. He is that mockingbird. But reality snaps him back. He plows.
The farmer pushes his plow. He pushes, rows upon rows, he must finish before dusk falls. He has no choice. This is his life. He pushes until he has blisters on his hands. He feels the tender skin, longs for a time when he must plow no more. He closes his eyes and his mind floats, his entire soal floats. He is holding his hands under the cool, clear water. He hears the woodpecker pecking. He opens his eyes. He plows.
Mid-afternoon, she comes to him. She brings him water to drink and food to eat. He sits with her in the shade of the woodpecker's tree. He leans against her, his rock, his light, his life. He loves her. He wishes he could sit there forever. He does not want to plow. But he plows.
The farmer pushes his plow. He pushes until his day's work is done. The day's labor is finished, he can go home. But he must push the plow to it's resting place. He cannot leave it out. It is a burden he would rather not care for. But he pushes. He places it in it's bed, it's home, it's barn. It sits in the dark. It waits for morning.
The farmer pushes his plow. Push, push. He pushes all day. He hates his plow. He depends upon his plow. He loathes his plow. He loathes his plow. He loathes his plow.
I am a plow. The last wanted. The least preferred. I am the plow, that inconveniences the life around me, yet for some incomprehensible reason, I hold on still. They hold onto me, and I cling to them like a life-line. I do not want to be forgotten in the dark. I want to be reawoken each morning. But no one wants to awake me. Yet they come for me, each morning. They cannot live without me. I am a plow. Don't forget me.
Changes in the Classroom?
I totally love this class. I love our discussions and our opportunity to chose our own book for independent reading. I love how we get homework that is beneficial to us without causing us to fall over dead with exhaustion and boredom. It's a really awesome credit. Soooo, you should probably give me some extra credit now, Mr. McCarthy..... :) Just kidding.
But seriously. This class is da bomb. With a "d". One thing I think would be a nice change is if we, um, AHEM AHEM, changed the book we are currently reading, The House of the Seven Gables. It's a...uhh...very....riveting book...with great description and....detail. It's a great book. If you're blind. Just kidding. Sorry, that's not funny. Especially if you're blind....yeeahhh...
Since I can't think of anything to change in this class, I shall speak of other classes. Or just school in general. I think we should have current events. Tons of people (including myself) don't know what the heck is going on in the world, and that problem could be remedied if we talked about it in class. I don't think we should get really deep into it, but talking about a piece of news every day or something would be nice.
I also think we should get less homework (duh, of course). But honestly, I believe half of the homework teachers give us is just busy work that actually decreases our learning capacity. Doing homework takes away time we could be sleeping, and sleeping is ESSENTIAL to learning, and health. Homework is devastating to our health. The end. Of my blog.
Also I enjoy canoles.
But seriously. This class is da bomb. With a "d". One thing I think would be a nice change is if we, um, AHEM AHEM, changed the book we are currently reading, The House of the Seven Gables. It's a...uhh...very....riveting book...with great description and....detail. It's a great book. If you're blind. Just kidding. Sorry, that's not funny. Especially if you're blind....yeeahhh...
Since I can't think of anything to change in this class, I shall speak of other classes. Or just school in general. I think we should have current events. Tons of people (including myself) don't know what the heck is going on in the world, and that problem could be remedied if we talked about it in class. I don't think we should get really deep into it, but talking about a piece of news every day or something would be nice.
I also think we should get less homework (duh, of course). But honestly, I believe half of the homework teachers give us is just busy work that actually decreases our learning capacity. Doing homework takes away time we could be sleeping, and sleeping is ESSENTIAL to learning, and health. Homework is devastating to our health. The end. Of my blog.
Also I enjoy canoles.
Friday, November 5, 2010
Modern Day Slavery
This is going to sound so terrible. So don't judge me till I'm done explaining. For my entire life, I've known that slavery is awful. I've known that people were mistreated for years, and what a miracle it was for slaves to be freed. But I've known it like I know the sky is blue. I never actually thought about it. Oh okay, slavery, yeah that sucked, thank God we had Abraham Lincoln, right? I never really, really thought about what it meant. Then, a few weeks ago (I don't remember what brought it up), it hit me. Slavery. People owning people. The idea that ANY human is better than another, enough to feel that they can literally own, like a piece of clothing, someone. To make them do all their work. To scold them. To beat them. It's sick. I know it's absolutely horrible that I've just come to that realization, but that's just how it happened. Maybe because slavery has been taught about at school, sort of as a time period almost, rather than getting into the personal aspect of it.
I know that slavery is illegal now. I know there aren't slaves in the United States like there were hundreds of year ago, humans that are owned by other humans to do their strenuous work. There's no such thing. But that does not mean there aren't other types of slaves. By definition, a slave is a person who is the property of and wholly subject to another. A bond servant. So no, there aren't slaves like there were years and years ago. But there are still slaves. Slaves to addiction. Slaves to work. Slaves to each other, even still. There are things people do to each other that are too horrible to even imagine. Kidnapping and rape and sex slaves. This all exists, and it is in its own way a form of slavery. Yes, we outlawed slavery. Yes, things are way better than they were. But we still need to watch. We need to watch to make sure these things don't continue to go on in the world. Because it's slavery.
I know that slavery is illegal now. I know there aren't slaves in the United States like there were hundreds of year ago, humans that are owned by other humans to do their strenuous work. There's no such thing. But that does not mean there aren't other types of slaves. By definition, a slave is a person who is the property of and wholly subject to another. A bond servant. So no, there aren't slaves like there were years and years ago. But there are still slaves. Slaves to addiction. Slaves to work. Slaves to each other, even still. There are things people do to each other that are too horrible to even imagine. Kidnapping and rape and sex slaves. This all exists, and it is in its own way a form of slavery. Yes, we outlawed slavery. Yes, things are way better than they were. But we still need to watch. We need to watch to make sure these things don't continue to go on in the world. Because it's slavery.
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