Dreamers vs. Pesamists

In my book Tangled by Carolyn Mackler, there are four different characters with their own stories which intertwine. I wanted to talk about Jena- who lives in Topeka, New York. Jena is a hyper but smart girl who longs to experience love. She dreams so much about it and collects tiny bits of other people's exciting lives. The first thing I noticed about Jena was how she always thought about one boy at her school. She dreamed of her future with him.

There is nothing wrong with dreaming. The only problem is dreaming too much. Everyone needs to have dreams of what they plan to do, but they also need to know when their heads are too far into the clouds. Jena is one of those people who dreams too much. She does not even realize until she gets hurt! Dreams are good for inspiration, but they can blind you from reason. This was how Jena- much like many girls- was hurt. They see what they want to see, and then people take advantage of their dreams and crush them.

I often see people like Jena around me. They have high hopes and then when they are unable- or at least do not seem able- to happen.... They become depressed and unhappy. This is why I do not believe in love- why I do not believe in dreams I think will never happen. For me, I see it mostly with love. At school, so many people date, but it only lasts for a short while. My guess is probably because the people they choose may not necessarily go well with them. I also think it is because there is no such thing as "true love", as people put it.  Most of all, I do not believe I will find anybody.

Either way, you can get hurt. Jena is hurt by falling for someone who in the end treats her badly. I am hurt by not believing I can be able to do something. This is why being somewhere between the two is best. It is good to be determined and ambitious as well as realistic, but terrible to be blinded by dreams and doubt of not being able to do something.

We Are Our Best and Harshest Critics

In The Diary of a Young Girl by Anne Frank, Anne still hopes there will be an end to World War II. She still has hope she and her family will be safe from the Germans and have a future. Anne hopes to be a writer. Writing helps her think and relax. It also helps her remember. Anne is also her own greatest critic.

This reminds me of how we reflect on ourselves. Does anyone ever believe they are perfect? Well, no- unless there is something wrong with your head. No one is perfect and there is always room for improvement. We each know this above everyone else because we see our mistakes most. This means we tend to judge them most.

This entry reminds me of myself. I am my best- and harshest- critic. I criticise myself more than anyone- despite the fact I was born into a family of perfectionists(Haha. Perfectionist Christians. Excellent. How can that work? Christians are supposed to be patient and such). Anyway, we each see our mistakes and most of all.... Each person knows him/herself better than other people and he/she is the one going through his/ her situation. It means they know more behind their actions. Therefore, we know more of what we did right or wrong and what we need to improve on.

My Picture Book Draft

Picture Book Draft

Jacqueline Wong 806

Page #1

I watched silently from where I sat on the bench with eyes full of sympathy. The sight was terrible to see, but what could I do? No one ever listened to me. I was always the outsider of a group of people, forced to cope with everything. Who really wanted to listen to me anyway? Certainly, no one would listen if I tattled, telling how perfect Calley was bullying a weak, frightened version of the proud Duchess. Besides, cats got away with everything and anything. Everyone believed they were superior to dogs- which made all I had to say even less meaningful.

Calley stood over her with a terrifying scowl. She gripped a doll by the hand, holding it out of Duchess’ reach. The doll had curly, dark locks framing her fair-skinned face. Its eyes were a pair of shiny, green pools of sea. The doll’s dress was a deep blue with sparkling, silver stars. It was the kind of doll most female dogs could only press their pathetic faces with longing to the glass window of a toy shop. I remembered Duchess bragging during class about how her doting mother bought the best and most expensive doll for her beloved daughter. “Do you want it back or not?” demanded Calley.

Page #2

Duchess shook her perfect, pink head, too frightened to think up a better answer. Even from my distance, the salty tears in her anxious eyes were visible. Of course, no one could tell Calley “no.” Maybe I was wrong. “I’ll give it to you….” said Calley, hesitating purposely and feigning a thoughtful look. I saw Duchess’ dark eyes brighten with innocent excitement and naïve hope. “If you do whatever I say.”

Duchess’ expression became genuinely thoughtful, trying to decide whether or not she wanted the doll back enough to put herself in Calley’s hands. “Hurry up and decide!” barked Calley, lifting the beautiful doll high in order to smash it to the ground.

I bit my bottom lip. I could not bear to see this once proud dog face her doom. I hurriedly stood from my bench, beginning to walk away from the scene. My retreat was not fast enough, because I could still hear Duchess desperately plea, “No, please! I’ll do whatever you say!”

Page #3

I started walking home from school when I came across a young dog. She was sitting on the ground with her face buried in her paws. Her badly cut coat was covered in dirt and a red liquid I knew only too well. The wounded dog’s body shook with sobs and sniffles. I heard her whisper into her clawing paws, clearly ashamed. I turned away, knowing this was a private moment.

Page #4

            Before I could take a step, I heard a trembling voice softly whisper my name. “Bucket?” I looked over my shoulder to see the dog. With shock, I realized who it was. “Duchess?” I gasped. With all the blood and dirt on her once perfect coat, I did not recognize her. The broken nails on her paws were filled with grime. From her nose, a steady stream of blood ran its course down to her scraped chin, and black and blue bruises covered her soft cheeks.

Page #5

            “Bucket?” she said in a voice even more violent with trembling tears. “Did you…. Did you see what happened?” I felt my face burn with shame. Her eyes were shiny with insistent tears. I could not look at her. She always seemed proud and spoiled to me- traits I found the worst in any animal. I always had to put up with her because her kind mother was close friends with my own and since my oblivious parents completely adored her. Somehow, her tears and pain washed away all her bad traits, leaving her as a scared, innocent pup.

            I felt her gaze on my face, waiting desperately for my answer. “Yes,” I confessed at last. I did not want to see her outraged reaction, but I also just needed to see it. Tears flowed from her eyes like rivers- always abundant with water. I could read so many emotions in those pits of darkness; anger, pain, disbelief….

Page #6

            I started to wonder if Duchess would fall into a violent crying fit again. Just as I was sure she would run off sobbing, angry words I could barely understand bubbled from her once proud tongue. “You…. You saw all of it and d-did n-nothing? You saw her t-torment and b-beat m-m-me! Y-you saw her m-make a f-fool out of m-me! W-what kind of f-friend are you?”

            If there was not as much blubbering, I would have yelled back at her. I might have even considered slapping those irrational emotions off her face. Her outraged words seemed so full of weakness. The word “friend” stopped me short. Duchess thought I was her friend? How could that be? “I’m sorry,” I whispered- for once sincerely feeling that way toward her. I can tell you I said many apologies to her, but never one was as sincere as this one.

            “Sorry isn’t enough!” exclaimed Duchess. With that, she turned away and ran off. I watched with pity as she grew smaller in the distance until she had vanished from sight.

Page #7

That night, my mother came to tuck me into bed. A silent look of concern and anxiety was on her face. “What’s wrong, Mom?” I asked as she pulled the covers up to my chin.

She sighed a gust of air, taking a seat on the edge of my bed. “Your friend Duchess was beaten by one of those cats at your school.“ My tired body forgot all about its large amount of exhaustion and tensed at Duchess’s name. Did she tell my mother about me- about how I did nothing? Naturally, she would. Duchess loved tattling on me. Why should this time be different? The major problem was my mother always believed her.

“What happened?” I asked, studying her. I tried desperately to decode her quiet expression. I had to know what she was thinking.

Page #8

            My mother shook her head, not meeting my eyes.” The cat took the new doll Amber-“ Duchess’ mother “-gave her and used the beautiful thing to manipulate Duchess. She promised to give it back if Duchess did as she said, and Duchess complied. She did some actions as ‘favors’- some of which offended other cats- including your teacher. You know how dangerous that is; they beat her.  At last, the cat cut off tuffs of her coat and gave her a final beating, leaving her on the street with the destroyed doll.” She lifted her paw to wipe away a tear from her eye. “She immediately ran away in tears.”

            The story made my eyes sting with tears of my own. I could never have prevented Calley from inflicting such pain on Duchess. Even if I tried, it would never make the difference for Duchess. We would only both be beaten! What was the point of that?! I would never- could never make a difference. How could I make the difference? Dogs like me never were heard.

            The pain of my helplessness was too much then and too much now. I always had the need to break down in tears and cry like an infant. The whole world was against me- my parents, my siblings, my school- and I was no match for it all.

Page #9

            The next morning, I sat at the noisy table with my family. My mother walked about the kitchen in her busy way. Her white coat fresh and clean as always. My father sat at the table with his nose in the newspaper. He had his left paw around a mug of coffee. Every other minute, he lifted the mug to his mouth, taking a sip. My older brother Wendell wolfed down his sausages and pancakes, and my little sister Fluffy….

            She was the only one not in place. Fluffy stared at me with innocent eyes. Even as my mother placed a plate of breakfast in front of her, she continued to watch me. Her breakfast was a ghost, unseen. It made me wonder if she knew what really happened. I shook the ridiculous thought from my head. How could she know? She was not even there!

            “Morning, Bucket,” she said, pleasantly. I gave her a smile which I hoped did not look uneasy. Little pups could smell fear, as they say.

Page #10

            “How was yesterday?” Fluffy inquired. She always asked about my day. I always found it weird. Why did she want to hear about my day? At the same time, I was always grateful for her great amount of curiosity about how I was. Usually, no one besides her even bothered asking. Each day was the same as the next to outsiders- which included the entire planet except me.

            “Fine,” I said flatly. For once, I wished she would stop asking. I turned away to let her know I did not desire having a conversation. My gaze fell to the pieces of pancake I had cut. I held the fork in my paw- a piece of pancake on the edge. My paw let my fork wander about the plate as if it had a mind of its own; I was not interested in eating.

            “How was Duchess?” Fluffy asked. I could feel her dark gaze on my face, burning a hole in it.

            “Not very well,” I replied. I have to say I was never a good liar. I could not get away with anything. There really was no point in lying.

Page #11

I listened to the silence between us. She was waiting for me to elaborate. At last I gave in, not wanting the silence to go on for all eternity. “She was beaten by a cat at school.”

I looked up at Fluffy. Naturally, I would expect her to be wide-eyed and all, but my words had no effect on her besides the eruption of more curiosity. “Did you see it?” she asked. She always knew the right questions. I offered her a tentative nod. Again, Fluffy patiently waited for me to say more than I wished to say.

I sighed. “I didn’t help her,” I said, half-expecting my parents to start scolding me. My father looked up from his engaging newspaper and started talking to my mother about Wendell’s terrible eating habits. Somehow, I wished they would scold me, so I would at least know I was not always unheard.

The agitating Fluffy gave me a small smile. “What are you going to do?” There was no trace of laughter in her quiet smile.  I always found it strange how she was one of those very few kids that never laughed. Then again, I never laughed that much either.

Page #12

            “I can’t do anything to help her,” I said hysterically. “No one cares about what I say.”  With these words, I looked down at my plate, feeling hot tears fill my eyes, clouding my vision. “I have no voice in anything. Why should it matter what I have to say if I don’t have a voice anyone will care to listen to.”

            “Make them listen,” Fluffy insisted. Her smile grew and tears filled her own dark eyes. There was so much gentle patience on her face- too much for a child of seven years. “They will listen if you show you care.”

            I smiled a smile which was banished so long ago. I did have a voice! The person I least expected helped me to find it. It was strange: I would follow my little sister’s example, but look at her…. She was always heard, always listened to. She spoke up for what she thought was right. She was heard because of it and I could do the same too.

Gifts Are Not Satisfying

In The Ghost of Crutchfield Hall by Mary Downing Hahn, Florence Crutchfield- a mischievous girl from a grim orphanage- goes to live with her great-uncle Thomas, his sister Eugenie, and her sickly cousin James. She soon finds her deceased cousin Sophia is haunting her new home, seeking to put James in her place. Sophia died a year before Florence came to live at Crutchfield Hall, leaving the world and feeling unloved and miserable. The only person whose love she knew of was Aunt Eugenie's. All her life, Sophia envied her brother whom everyone adored because of her deceased parents. Sophia was determined to have the love her brother received.

It seems as if she believed love would show only through people giving her gifts. So many gifts can never satisfy. It only makes you want more. Aunt Eugenie gave Sophia the love she longed for so much, but she was still not content. Even in death, Sophia wanted another chance at life, not caring what the consequences were. Instead of resting in peace, she decided to use Florence. It came all to no avail though.

Getting a second chance means trying to be better. If you were just continuing to receive presents, will you ever be satisfied? Will you ever feel loved in Sophia's case? Not necessarily. Gifts are not love. You may think they are, but they are not; They symbolize caring. It is not same thing.

Civil War Medicine Mini Project

Purple- Research
Red- Revision before or when handed in

Civil War Medicine Mini Project

By Jacqueline Wong 806

Dear Mother,

            How are you, my young sisters and brother faring? I hope work is not too overwhelming between the children and chores. I am fine though there is much work to be done with so many sick or wounded soldiers.

            I have to tend to and clean wounds, so there is nothing to infect them and cause illness. It seems everything and anything will cause infection. I try to be very careful with this task although I suppose you can never be too careful- especially since so many soldiers die. It must be a clear sign we are doing something wrong.

            I have to feed meals to the soldiers. Many of them are unable to feed themselves. Whether from weakness from disease or just injuries, the duty is very popular.

            As I have mentioned, many men die in this hospital. This leads to another task; comforting the dying. It is terrible to watch as the light leaves their eyes or feel their hands become limp in my own. I can only hope God will offer them a good life in Heaven.

            Other duties are administering medications, searching for wounded on the battlefields, and assisting the doctors during operations. My least favorite of the operations is amputation. The sight is terrible. Whenever a bullet is in the flesh or bone mainly, I have to hold the patient down as the doctor performs the procedure. The soldiers tend to move given the fact the chloroform is in such small supply.

            We usually use it to dull the bodily sensation when it is available. In this way, the patient would fall unconscious, so he may not feel it when a limb is amputated. We apply it to a cloth and hold it over his nose and mouth. At least, there would be less pain, noise, and movement. If the surgeon was distracted, he may be more likely to make a mistake.

            Sanitation is very important for when equipment is used, so we have to clean them between operations. Using unclean equipment or used on people with diseases can infect someone else. Therefore we make sure to clean it with cloth or in water.

            There are many diseases. Often the soldiers have temperatures or some sort of strange blemishes. Many of these men have never been around people and illness. It makes a less chance of their survival so it would seem, because all of a sudden they are amongst sickness and people.

            I prefer talking to the soldiers and writing letters for them. What I like is learning about their stories and families. These men are from different parts of the country- different homes. I love listening to them describe their home states before the war. It reminds me there was a time before this long war at all. It also gives me a taste of all these places I hope to one day see. Besides, every person has a story to tell.

            I love listening to what they wish to write to their families. Their words are very heart- felt and filled with the roughness of hard conditions and war. It all makes me think of my own father and two brothers John and William.

            It makes me wonder if they are also telling our stories. It makes me wonder how they are. Each day, I pray to God for their safety. Tell me, Mother. Have they written of their own hard conditions and battles they fought?

            All families wait for a letter from their loved ones who fight bravely for their country- their Union- whether they are Confederate civilians or our own Union civilians. Do we all wait desperate to hear if our loved ones are dying or well?

            The war has taken its toll over all of us. Will our loved ones ever return to us alive? Will the war ever end? I hope it will end soon, so every family may be gathered at their different and beautiful homes in happiness and good health.

Your Hopeful Daughter,

Margaret Hamilton

Carpenter-Smith Bill

Introduction: "I'm John Carpenter and this is my associate John Smith-" said Alex. "-or Athena- Godess of Wisdom," I said. (The red is what I said, the black what Alex said.)

Carpenter-Smith Bill

By Alex Casimir and Jacqueline Wong 806

            As Republican representatives of New York, we believe Congress should impeach President Johnson and make its own reconstruction plan.  The president will not compromise and does nothing while southerners murder innocent people. There must be a way to compromise, yet he makes no attempt to find one. He takes sides, letting these states discriminate the freedmen’s rights and the locals steal these people’s lives without being tried for the sake of justice. He encourages the former Confederates to protect these men’s rights, yet he never sees to it they do so.

            The president is not- and never will be- the type of person who will be able to execute what is best for this country. Change is what this great nation needs now. President Johnson will never bring this change. This change is giving rights to these men.

            “No State shall deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without the process of law; nor deny any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.”--- The Fourteenth Amendment

            President Johnson should be impeached since he will never be able to- being he will not agree to what persons say besides himself therefore- execute what is right for this nation and its people.

We believe Johnson is the worst president in the United States’ history. It is not because he fought the passage of the Fourteenth Amendment, although he did. And it is not because he failed to create a way forward for Southerners of all races, -- though he did that, too.

No, it is because he did all of this because he could. He just inherited the presidency and used it to push his own prejudices. As I quote: “This is a country for white men, and by God, as long as I am President, it shall be a government for white men.” --- Andrew Johnson, 1866

History will never forgive him for that, nor should it.

The freedmen must have the right to vote since they are citizens. White men have the right to vote for their leaders, so these men should also have a say in their government.

I propose we have the former Confederate states rewrite their state constitutions so they may not be against the Supreme Law of the Land. They must ratify the Fourteenth Amendment before they rejoin the Union. If they do not, the war- which was recently ended- would have been for naught. We would not have accomplished one of the very goals we were at war for. It is one of the issues why the South succeeded to keep everything they wanted the same. The ratification of the amendment will mean the end of part of our great conflict with the South.

You Never Feel

You never feel true distress
until you cried, knowing
no one would come
to your aid, knowing
no one can hear your cries,
no one can see your
bowed head, your hair
glued to your face, your
red eyes still flowing
with your eternal tears,
knowing you are no more
than one emotionless rock,
a ghost in the dark unseen.

You never feel true joy
until your father tells you
how proud he is of you,
tears spring in those
dark eyes of yours, knowing
someone saw you- not looked
through you, but truly
saw into your very being,
knowing you meant something
rather than nothing.

You never feel true depression
until your friend abandons you
for another without a single word,
leaving you to believe you
did something wrong
or perhaps did not
do something you were
meant to do- maybe
just not being the right
person, the right friend,
knowing you will never
be the right friend
in anyone's eyes-
not even your own.

You never feel true irritation
until your brother claims
everything is your fault,
that you can do
no right just as your
father seems to say
with unspoken words,
knowing deep down
you can't do right
no matter how hard you try.

You never feel true longing
until a boy comes and
makes you angry
enough to yell in his face
yet wish to help
him in any way you can
and until talking to him
is no longer a desire
but a need, knowing
he will never see you
the way you do him,
knowing you will never
find the perfect person for you.

You never feel true anxiety
until reality hits you
in the face and you have
to walk the hallways, unsure
where each way will take
you, unsure what the future
may hold for you, knowing-
never knowing what will
come next.

You never feel true peace
until you can escape it all
and go fly on wheels, letting
the breeze go through your hair
letting yourself try to outrun
youself to see if you can
leave behind your body and
all your problems and instead
return to the comfort of your
memories, knowing time will not
slow down for you yet
knowing memories are precious
and no one can take them away
from you, knowing to hold on
to them but move into
the future set before you.

Notification

I am in the book club Sold, so I will post about the book soon. Truthfully, I am starting to wonder what will happen(Don't you dare, Taylor, tell me what happens in the book. *smile and accusing look*). I wonder if it will be so terrible I will cry. I have teared up a bit before while reading. I will probably post tomorrow(Too much violin and homework! By the way, I am auditioning for La Guardia, so I have to do extra practice to work on my sight reading. Wish me luck.). Thanks, y'all(Let me guess- the "y'all" consists of a wall)!

Ode to My Brother

So wonderful are your words
of criticism on all topics-
music, words, life....
never bothering me
despite how you see
all my faults,
So generous are your actions;
taking my pen- my greatest weapon-
my witch hat- my possibly greatest accessory-
even sometimes just taking nothing,
yet still making me believe
you did take something,
taking even my joy and
replacing it with frustration,
irritation, anger, sometimes even depression;
So beautiful is your mushroom head(haircut)
of dark, straight threads,
your thin, but broad-shouldered
still growing figure which
has passed me, leaving me
with the feeling of being small
and others with astonishment
at finding my darling brother
is younger than his already
newly-teenaged sister,
Your sense of humor endless,
full of sarcasm and
often going miles even after
the joke holds amusement no longer,
How honored we are to have
such a brother and son
in my family-
with you going between
sister and sister,
one older, one younger,
making each scream
which you take such delight in.

The Diary of Anne Frank Response

Anne Frank are very different in character. She is headstrong, talkative, and temperamental while I am quiet, stubborn, and temperamental as well. I suppose being stuck with the same people each day in closed space brings out your personality negatively.

Her family, the Van Daans- family friends- and Dr. Dussel- obviously a doctor- all critize her. Anne was never the favorite between her and her sister Margot to begin with- Margot is quiet and will easily give in. But now they all critize her. "If I talk, everyone thinks I'm showing off; when I'm silent they think I'm ridiculous; rude if I answer, sly if I get a good idea, lazy if I'm tired, selfish if I eat a mouthful more than I should, stupid, cowardly, crafty, etc., etc." Critizing Anne only brings out the worst of her. It is a cycle. They critize her, she loses her temper, they critize her, and so on.

She and I are very alike in this way. The main people who critize me are my dad and my brother. Between the two, naturally my dad's critizisms bother me most. Usually, his scolding is enough to send me into tears. Sometimes I feel like he and my brother will not leave me alone! I feel like I can do nothing right."More than once, after a whole string of undeserved rebukes, I have flared up at Mummy: 'I don't care what you say anyhow. Leave me alone: I'm a hopeless case anyway.'"

When I was younger- and even now- I would yell at my brother to leave me alone. "Do you want to play with me?" "No." "Why not?" "Because I don't want to play!" "That's not a good reason." Sometimes this would happen in the morning and my yelling would wake up the whole house- my dad was never in a good mood when this happened. I may seem very quiet at school, but at home I can be loud when I wish to be.

Thanks for reading. I think I would have done better if I wrote this immediately after I read that journal entry. I did not write too badly, did I? Oh. Well, I guess I can do better.

Saying Good-bye

With each day, I come
closer to leaving the world
I love filled with my family
and friends, yet come closer
to the place of plenty
where He is-
where I will see
His face and know
my wait is over.

There where the sky
blue and filled with
bright sunshine, the air
fresh and unpolluted,
the people- His people-
praise Him eternally
for His mercy and love,
where there is no
darkness, no temptation,
no pain, no war....
only light and beauty.

I no longer know this
world as it has grown and
I will never be able to
understand it as I once had,
the world belongs to
the generations after me,
I no longer belong,
I belong somewhere else,
my time is closing
when it will be time
to say good-bye.

A Story Based Partially on My Life

My name is Jean Hannah Axelrod-Davidson. My life would never be interesting on paper to outside readers. Even if someone found my story interesting, they would never be able to feel the emotions I felt through the writing of my story.

I write this on paper not for others, but for myself. If someone were to read this, I would be extremely embarrassed and full of dread for the rest of my youthful life. Would a reader truly want to hear my story? If you are looking for a really happy ending, my advice is to find a fairy tale. No real story has a happy ending. In those Disney movies little kids watch, the people who made the movies knew little kids would watch them, so they replaced the real ending with a "better" one.

My story is real. If you care, read ahead. If not, oh well!



Stuck between two families. Marvelous, is it not? Does everyone dream their parents will start up different families of their own? I never dreamt of it, but the undreamt dream came true anyway. So now, my dad has five children with a woman who is not my mother and my mother has a boyfriend and a baby with him- along with her first born child Talia.

Keep in mind, techniquely, the only people I am actually related to in the bunch are my parents. I do not care if my half-siblings have half the same DNA as me. Do not tell me otherwise.

Anyway, I will give an outline of my life of 17 years. I was first born in Manhattan to a very happy couple. Well, at least I thought they were happy until this one night. The night before my 6th birthday. I heard my parents talking. It was a strange time to be awake- almost three in the morning. Talia- two years older than me- was my most beloved companion since I first met her in the hospital and just happened to be sleeping in the bed opposite me. I shook her awake. "Mmm. What is it?" she said, moving sleepily toward my voice.

"Mommy and Daddy are up," I said. "I want some milk, but it's dark." Yes, I was afraid of the dark. I would be even a couple years later. Really, being afraid of the dark should not be surprising at that age. "What if a monster jumped out at me?"

Tally never really believed in monsters of any sort. I still believe there are monsters out in the world- just not ones with claws and fangs. Ones even more dangerous, because you cannot tell they are monsters. "There are no monsters," she said.

Any other sibling would just pull up the covers and go back to sleep, but not Talia. Instead, she climbed out of bed. We walked quietly together downstairs, looking out for monsters hiding in the shadows. Just before she pushed the living room door open, a loud crash came from inside. A loud cry which was my mother's was so shrill I had to cover my ears.

If I was not as frightened compared with now, I never would have flung open the door and run to my  mother's aid. I never would have thrown my arms around her- who was on the floor crying. I never would have been so naive to believe my parents would tell the truth. Your parents never want you to be upset. That is why they lie to you. They do have favorites. They will never tell you something is wrong.

"Mommy!" I cried. "What's wrong?" I studied her with anxiety. Her face- which I thought at the time was the most beautiful in the entire world- was covered with her brown hair, glued to her face with her tears. Her eyes were red and swollen. Somehow.... Somehow she was still able to smile at me.

"Nothing, sweetheart," she said. "Go back to bed." People say children can sense emotions. I was not one of those children. Just like any other young child, I believed her. Why would my darling mommy ever lie to me?

"Daddy?" I asked as my mother picked me up. I was tired to the point of closing my eyes against my will, but even I could see his surprise. "Daddy, will you tuck me in too?" I saw him look at my mother through my eyelashes. He seemed uneasy all of a sudden.

"I have to do last-minute work, Jean," he said. "Maybe next time."

Later, after my mom left, Talia whispered, "Are you sleeping?" Her tone was soft and tired yet alarmed at the same time.

I opened my eyes even though there was nothing to see but darkness. I heard her shift in her bed opposite me- probably to sit up. "No," I whispered. My voice sounded foreign to me. "Why?"

"I think Mommy and Dad are upset," she said. Silence hit. What was wrong with them?

"Why is that?" I asked.

I heard her sigh. "Did you see the broken picture?" she asked. What did a broken picture frame have to do with this? I never would have taken her seriously, but there was great urgency in her voice. No one could not help  but listen. "The picture was of them together."

The picture was of my parents on their wedding day. I remembered seeing it everyday of the beginning of my life. After that night, I never saw it again. It was swept from existence as if all our happiness was gone forever.

A Story Based Partially on My Life

My name is Jean Hannah Axelrod-Davidson. My life would never be interesting on paper to outside readers. Even if someone found my story interesting, they would never be able to feel the emotions I felt through the writing of my story.

I write this on paper not for others, but for myself. If someone were to read this, I would be extremely embarrassed and full of dread for the rest of my youthful life. Would a reader truly want to hear my story? If you are looking for a really happy ending, my advice s to find a fairy tale.No real story has a happy ending. In those Disney movies little kids watch, the people who made the movies knew little kids would watch them, so they replaced the real ending with a "better" one.

My story is real. If you care, read ahead. If not, oh well!



Stuck between two families. Marvelous, is it not? Does everyone dream their parents will start up different families of their own? I never dreamt of it, but the undreamt dream came true anyway. So now, my dad has five children with a woman who is not my mother and my mother has a boyfriend and a baby with him- along with her first born child Talia.

Keep in mind, techniquely, the only people I am actually related to in the bunch are my parents. I do not care if my half-siblings have half the same DNA as me. Do not tell me otherwise.

Anyway, I will give an outline of my life of 17 years. I was first born in Manhattan to a very happy couple. Well, at least I thought they were happy until this one night. The night before my 4th birthday. I heard my parents talking. It was a strange time to be awake- almost three in the morning. Talia- two years older than me- was my most loved companion since I first met her in the hospital and just happened to be sleeping in the same room as me. I shook her awake. "Mmm. What is it?" she said, moving sleepily toward my voice.

"Mommy and daddy are up," I said. "I want some milk, but it's so dark." Yes, I was afraid of the dark. I would be even a few years later. Really, being afraid of the dark should not be surprising at my age. "What if a monster jumped out at me?"

Tally never really believed in monsters of any sort. I still believe there are monsters out in the world- just not ones with claws and fangs. Ones even more dangerous, because you cannot tell they are monsters. "There are no monsters," she said.

Any other sibling would just pull up the covers and go back to sleep, but not Talia. Instead, she climbed out of bed. We walked quietly together downstairs, looking out for monsters hiding in the shadows. Just before she pushed the living room door open, a loud crash came from inside. A loud cry which was my mother's was so shrill I had to cover my ears.

If I was not as frightened compared with now, I never would have flung open the door and run to my  mother's aid. I never would have thrown my arms around her- who was on the floor crying. I never would have been so naive to believe my parents would tell the truth. Your parents never want you to be upset. That is why they lie to you. They do have favorites. They will never tell you something is wrong.

"Mommy!" I cried. "What's wrong?" I studied her with anxiety. Her face- which I thought at the time was the most beautiful in the entire world- was covered with her brown hair, glued to her face with her tears. Her eyes were red and swollen. Somehow.... Somehow she was still able to smile at me.

"Nothing, sweetheart," she said. "Go back to bed." People say children can sense emotions. I was not one of those children. Just like any other young child, I believed her. Why would my darling mommy ever lie to me?

"Daddy?" I asked as my mother picked me up. I was tired to the point of closing my eyes against my will, but even I could see his surprise. "Daddy, will you tuck me in too?" I saw him look at my mother through my eyelashes. He seemed uneasy all of a sudden.

"I have to do last-minute work, Jean," he said. "Maybe next time."

Later, after my mom left, Talia whispered, "Are you sleeping?" Her tone was soft and tired yet alarmed at the same time.

I opened my eyes even though there was nothing to see but darkness. I heard her shift in her bed opposite me- probably to sit up. "No," I whispered. My voice sounded foreign to me. "Why?"

"I think Mommy and Dad are upset," she said. Silence hit. What was wrong with them?

"Why is that?" I asked.

I heard her sigh. "Did you see the broken picture?" she asked. What did a broken picture frame have to do with this? I never would have taken her seriously, but there was great urgency in her voice. No one could not help  but listen. "The picture was of them together."

The picture was of my parents on their wedding day. I remembered seeing it everyday of the beginning of my life. After that night, I never saw it again. It was swept from existence as if all our happiness was gone forever.

Prada and Prejudice Response

Callie Montgomery returned to her real world just as she began to enjoy the year 1815. She has returned to where she was before a different person. In the beginning of the book, Callie was self-concious, depended greatly on friends to have a good time, and, most of all, cared too much about what others thought of her. When she ended up in the world of 1815 after a fall in her new prada heels, she had to learn how to be independent and herself. Being a 21st century girl, she did not fit in with either the "in-crowds" in either her own world or the London world in the 19th century. But, in 1815, all of the beliefs of high society bring out her own mind's words. She also has to help her new friend Emily escape an arranged marriage. In this case, instead of Callie depending on her friends, she had to be Emily's "rock" and support her. All these things bring out the inner "Rebecca"- the inner person who is unafraid to speak her mind.

I thought how the scene of when Callie returns to her world was much like what Nanny McPhee said in the movie Nanny McPhee. "'When you need me, but don't want me, I will stay. But when you want me, but no longer need me, I have to go.'"That whole time in the 19th century, Callie needed to learn these lessons. She needed to be there, but did not want to be there. So she had to stay. Now she has learned and no longer needs to be there.

Everyone needs to leave the place they learned from. To take these lessons and apply them to the world. It is what makes us better people and in a world just a bit better- piece by piece. How else will the world get better? You cannot wait for the world to become better, you need to make it better yourself by learning a little more everyday and applying that knowledge to life.

Life Is

Life is \
a book full of
color, both dark
and bright,
a thing full of
memories, beauty,
joy, yet so much
darkness; cruelty,
hate, fustration,
death, confusion,
yet I wish
it was not as
full of desperation
and depression.

Life is
trying and trying,
continously trying
to do the right thing,
yet ending up in
face-down failure.

My Appreciation- Freak the Mighty by Rodman Philbrick

My Appreciation

By Jacqueline Wong 806

            Rodman Philbrick’s Freak the Mighty is a book in which personalities have large contrast and in which friendship is full of adventure and imagination. The beauty of Max and Kevin’s friendship and their quests bring readers back to reread it. I first read it when I was eight or nine. I found Maxwell Kane’s perspective interesting despite his negative personality. In nursery school, he met Kevin- an intelligent but disabled boy with a love for quests, words, and technology. Max met Kevin again years later, developing an adventurous friendship which led them often to danger.

            Max is a boy with low self-esteem and a negative opinion of the world. He is closed up from the world around him because of what happened many years earlier, causing people to judge him before they even try to know him better. Yet Kevin looks beyond Max’s intellect, seeing what is laid behind his negative attitude. Together they go on dangerous quests to restore a piece of property to a fair maiden, imprison a dangerous man, and so much more. Along the way, Max starts to open up as he finds happiness. But happiness is not enough to bring him to complete openness and a good change in personality. It is not until he loses his only friend does he see the true meaning of life. There is always hope- even through something as terrible as loss.

            I tend to connect most with Max, because I see the world’s darkness- the negative side of everything. “I don’t know if this makes sense, but for a long time I felt like I was a balloon and somebody had let the air out of me. I didn’t care if I ever got the air back, because what does it matter if we’re all going to die in the end?” (p158) In this part, Max has lost hope of any good in the world. He has lost so much more than air. I often believe there is no hope and no good in the world. In this excerpt, it makes me think of my own thoughts of death. Sometimes I think of suicide. Is there a way better than ending your life before your time comes or is death the only way which can end your misery? Would death not be pleasure if you suffered so much? In my religion, it says those who repent and believe in Jesus go to Heaven- the land of plenty and God’s kingdom. But life is a gift. There is both good and bad to life. Life does have meaning even if it is limited.

            I am also an outcast like Max. Both of us have our comfort zone which we lock ourselves in, afraid to go beyond the borders. This causes us to make ourselves into outcasts and prisoners in our own worlds. “There’s a place I go inside my head sometimes. It’s cool and dim in there and you float like a cloud- no you are a cloud, the kind you see in the sky on a windy day, the way they keep changing except you can’t really see it changing…. What I do is lie on the floor under my bed, where you can just barely see the bedsprings and stuff because it’s so dark, and before long I’m somewhere else, sort of floating, and it’s so cool and empty in there, you don’t have to think about anything. You’re nothing, you’re nobody, nothing matters, you’re not even there.” (p21) Max is in his own world. This is when he closes up right after the Fair Gwen- Kevin’s mother- runs off with Kevin, believing Max was going to hurt him. Part of the reason we are afraid to go beyond the walls of our own prisons is because of what others think of us- how people see us. People see Max as a large, brainless brute (Even his grand-parents!). We somehow listen so much to their words, we start to believe them. This is why Max and I have never been good at making friends. Why I have never been able to join people’s laughter or fun. Closing ourselves up to the world often leads to consequences.

            Often, there are many sides to us. Just like Max is a caring person beneath his attitude, I am a much more good-natured and kind person in my head. “We run in and Freak [Kevin] is leaning back in his chair making this wheezing sound, panting real fast, and his eyelids and flickering…. I run out in the street and start waving my hands and jumping up and down so they’ll [ambulance] know where to stop and I keep running back in the house to check on things….” (p146) People around us cannot really see, but there are many good people beyond their outer personalities. Max is one of those people. You can tell by how much he cares about Kevin. He panicked when he saw Kevin wheezing.

As you read, you will find the wonders friendship can do to open your mind to others….