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Reminiscing and Learning from the Past

Although I may not always indicate it, I have been through many experiences of my life that didn’t exactly go as smoothly as I expected them to. I have desired for many days to flow smoothly with no major problems to talk about, but circumstances partially beyond my control would prompt me to get extremely nervous and paranoid. Even when the circumstances could be seen as not very anxiety-worthy by other people, my mind would be clouded by thoughts of how my parents would react when I told them about what happened. The first time I remember being nervous and paranoid in school was the second time that I got a C grade on an assignment that I completed. After both of my parents had harshly scolded me for keeping the secret of getting a D grade for the first time in my curricular history (they believed I hadn’t done my best and rushed without even trying), I was deathly afraid that history was going to repeat itself and I would be harshly scolded again. This would have once again emotionally scarred me and driven me to the verge of crying uncontrollably. I was so nervous that my stomach was aching for the rest of the day at school, as I could hardly wait for the chance to finally get the issue off my chest. The good news is that not only did neither this experience nor others like it elicit no actual anger or disappointment from my parents (although they did wish that I could have done a little better), but they also helped me to prepare for future experiences of similar natures. In a way, I suppose the mistakes I have made in the past could be considered blessings in disguise, as they have helped me to grow and learn as a person and taught me how to handle situations of similar natures in a more rational and responsible way.

The main protagonist of the novel The Yellow Birds is a young U.S. Army Soldier named Private John Bartle. He is 21 years old, emotionally reserved, and ultimately scared of what may come his way during the First Iraq War. As the story progresses, we witness him going through one traumatic experience after another, each one seeming to be even more heinous than the last. While Bartle is obviously horribly emotionally scarred, he somehow manages to maintain a stoic front, or at least an apathetic one. This repression of his emotions is what ultimately leads to him lying about his friend Daniel Murphy’s death, as well as his post-traumatic stress. The silver lining to the cloudiness of his experiences is that he eventually put the past behind him and settled his debts, albeit too late, as he had already been sent to jail for lying about Murphy’s status, having claimed that he was missing in action instead of killed in action.

Even when in jail, the past comes back to haunt him, more specifically in the form of Murphy’s mother Ladonna, to whom Bartle promised to take good care of her son before being shipped overseas. This visit from Ladonna forces Bartle to try and reconcile his past and learn from it, as he feels guilt not only for failing to protect Murphy, but for making an empty promise to Ladonna. In fact, before being shipped out, his squad leader, Sergeant Sterling, actually called him out on how stupid that promise was retrospectively. As he so-eloquently put it, “Promises? Really? You’re making f***ing promises now?” It is hinted but not explicitly written that Sterling’s argument against making promises of a similar nature to Bartle’s promise is that when you’re going to war, there is no guarantee that one specific man will come back alive. So it stands to reason that it would be foolish to guarantee a safe return when you cannot foresee the future, least of all make someone immune to death and destruction. Somehow, despite my lack of war experience, I seem to find myself to be relatable to Private Bartle, at least to a certain degree.

While I may not have been to war or suffered from PTSD, I have admittedly been through peculiar experiences that prompted me to get them off my chest and talk to someone about them. The most important distinction between my experiences and Bartle’s experiences (apart from their different natures) is that while Bartle had to bottle up his emotions until the end of the novel, I have been known to get my problems off my chest almost immediately when I get the chance. This is because I believe in a philosophy akin to “honesty is the best policy.” While I may sound naive and simple to some of the more cynical readers of this essay, I truly believe that if you are honest with someone about your actions when you make a mistake, not only will they still love you but they will also try to understand and help you to learn from them. Although, to be fair, my honesty policy is more applicable to minor mistakes such as getting a failing grade on an assignment than it is to problems as serious as murder and sadism. Besides, I am not exactly a fan of the concept of bottling up my emotions for so long that my sanity starts deteriorating and I slowly start to become stoic and depressed. But then again, who is, am I right? You see, I prefer to get my problems off my chest sooner so that I can feel as though the weight on my shoulders and the aching pain in my stomach caused by my anxiety have disappeared, or at least eased off on me.

One of the more serious mistakes I had made in my life was when I was in sixth grade and we were taking SATs. I had just gotten back a graded assignment from math class which, once again, had received a C. I wanted to talk to my math teacher about it, but my homeroom teacher said that I had to wait until the SAT work period had ended. Unfortunately, I was so nervous that I wouldn’t take no for an answer, so I asked my SAT supervisor the same question and he gave me the answer I wanted. Of course my homeroom teacher found out about my manipulation and I had something new on my plate to confess to my parents. When I confessed my mistake of manipulating teachers in order to get the answer I desired, they were disappointed in me. They weren’t exactly horrified that I got another mediocre grade, as they were used to me getting the occasional C or D, they were really upset that I acted selfishly and dishonestly manipulated the teachers for my own personal gain. In order to make up for my crime of manipulating the teachers, I had to type up and send emails to each one expressing my apologetic sentiments and promising them that I would never do such a thing again.

Luckily for me, my punishment was temporary, as it was merely a suspension of my electronics privileges for the weekend. I managed to pull through that punishment by finding other recreational activities such as reading and pacing, as well as accepting that my punishment was more akin to a learning experience than to an act of sadism. I could see that my parents weren’t punishing me because they wanted me to lose my mind from a shortage of video gaming, but rather wanted me to learn from this experience so that I would never manipulate people like that again. Strangely enough, I actually felt some sense of enjoyment being suspended from video games for the weekend, as I recognized my punishment as a learning experience to reflect on. Besides that, I was able to keep myself occupied with other recreational activities, such as reading, pacing, watching a movie that Dad playfully forced me to watch, and eventually going out to dinner with my family on Sunday Night.

I’ve never been good at being honest. My apologies are harsh, and my confessions are quick. Often, I smirk when I’m discussing something serious about myself, as if my memories are some sort of misunderstood inside joke. I’m stingy with the punchlines. I cut and choose the amount of myself I give away very carefully. I remember my pain purposefully and privately. And worst of all, I write about it.

When I was eleven, I began a planned endeavour into depression. I started self harming routinely. Originally, I wanted attention. Or maybe help I didn’t know I needed. Isolation was closer to me than I liked to pretend. Ideally, my friends would see that my unhappiness was enough of a project to pay attention to. So I rolled up sleeves for easier visibility. Hurt myself a room away from someone in the hopes they would walk in. None of them ever did. I wasn’t disappointed, because I didn’t really understand what I wanted to happen. Emotional reflection and analysis is not a privilege afforded to sixth graders.

One day in July, I stripped next to the pool and two of my friends caught sight of my wrists. They spent the next two hours in the water twisting, pulling, grabbing, and scratching at them, giggling like maniacs. It wasn’t the reaction I expected. Technically it was attention. And technically it scared the shit out of me. Things spiraled. Friends saw, friends laughed, and friends always, always left. I stopped being able to tell the difference between boredom and numbness. Emotions started to make me feel pathetic. My mother found out, and I hated myself for exhausting her. So I told myself I had attempted an experiment and had failed. That all this nighttime would end and I’d be happy in the morning. It didn’t work. I underestimated addiction and its ability to stalk. Depression was quiet and dogged and dark and at fifteen I started writing it down.

When I came to high school and discovered slam poetry, I got jealous. A beginning poet is the most natural form of envy. I went to slams and saw these beautiful, emotional people giving themselves to crowds who reached back and shouted, We hear you! We love you! Give us more! The act of being received like that is a lonely teenager’s dream. So in freshman year, poetry became my newest and most accessible way to self destruct. I followed suit with what I had seen, and glamorized my own mental illnesses. I wrote poems about hurting myself, about my mother, about my father, about being sad, about crying, about suicide, etc. The audience responded the way I had hoped. I got support. I got more hugs than I could count. But it made me feel absolutely nothing. There was no clarity. No emotion. No resurfacing. No therapy. It was recitation of trauma. And I couldn’t understand why it wasn’t working. I think now I do.

Poetry is often known as a way of emotional expression and translation. But to me, its actual purpose has always been clear: to make grief pretty. Writing dormant pain back into existence is praised. Digging into oneself is rewarded. A large audience has no agenda for the performer because they are anonymous. So applause is conducive to how easy the story is to respond to. Writing about myself is an act of separation. Heart from body. Mind from thought. Joy from smile. I objectify my experiences to the point where I’m convinced I didn’t have them. Once the experience does not sound like yours anymore, you are ready to begin.

This phenomenon is not isolated to poetry or depression. O’Brien mentions his experience with it in The Things They Carried. “The act of writing had led me through a swirl of memories that might otherwise have ended in paralysis or worse. By telling stories, you objectify your own experiences. You separate it from yourself. You pin down certain truths. You make up others. You start sometimes with an incident that truly happened...and you carry it forward by inventing incidents that did not in fact occur but that nonetheless help to clarify and explain.” (158) He believes that trying to explain the war encourages him to falsify memories for easier delivery.

The exact same thing happened to my poetry. I created new incidents. They may have never actually happened, but they assist in making the pain seem more attractive and sensical. Being understable convinces the listener that the poet understands themselves enough to recover alone. And if not alone, then the most they’ll need is a few hugs and I love you texts. Writing about pain can make the conviction that there is only pride in steady recovery. Often the self fakes their own growth through their writing to reassure themselves and those around them that they no longer need help. A slam poet shouts, Look at what I’ve been through! Don’t you all feel something for me? The easier the trauma is to receive, the more support is given. And the more the changing world seems to accept the self, no matter how false the presentation of the self is, the more the self feels validated and, to a sense, normal. It’s the most seemingly honest way to seek attention.

Then something happens when the poet is no longer shy of the spotlight. When tearing yourself open becomes a paid pastime and the only familiar way to garner support, the microphone becomes just another addiction. You become dependent on the attention you receive. Many assume that writing is catharsis, but regurgitating trauma always comes with the price of acid reflux. Of course, the act of sharing can shake memories out of us that may otherwise have rotted in paralysis or dysfunctionality. But really it just hurts. And making it into an artform just makes it a procedural hurt. Therefore, we become jealous that other poets might utilize the pain that we worked so hard to get our bodies used to feeling. Slam poetry teaches children to fingerpaint with our trauma and the unhappiness of a poet is our only antecedent of paint. We’re swollen with heartache. And the pen’s only purpose is to prick.

In the same vein, I still feel reluctant to use the word trauma to describe that which I write about, because it has become such a foreign concept to me. What is trauma? I hurt myself, sure, but how valuable is that? Ongoing self harm doesn’t have enough balance between relatability and good endings to be appealing. Scars are artistic. Fresh wounds are not. Therefore, writing about scars is easy. But writing about the act of creating them is impossible. Clarity doesn’t always come with hindsight. Even this essay feels like a pitiful and futile reach for empathy where there is none. I can write poem after poem about tears and sadness and whatever, and never came close to honesty. Which, honestly, is what I did. And I was fine with that. Lying to the audience. To myself. It was familiar to say everything and speak nothing.

But of course, this facade catches up. It may take hours. It may take years. But the process of rebirthing yourself as someone you are not is always inevitably undone. In a way, my personal undoing is an ongoing process. Part of it is writing with brutal honesty. To not apologize to myself for how I have written about myself in the past, but to continue without doing so. This essay is a prime example. I did not lie once in what you’ve just read. And I won’t again.

In Barcelona, a troubled and anxious man, Señor Rodriguez (Ahlik), runs into a hospital alarmed about a text he received from his famous girlfriend Shakira (Afi). She texted him because she is in the hospital. He is surprised by the results of the hospital visit. Watch to find out what happens.

Ameena Atif

January 7, 2016

D Band

1. The film that I will be testing is Descendants. Descendants is a 2015 American film directed and choreographed by Kenny Ortega. The film stars Dove Cameron, Cameron Boyce, Booboo Stewart and Sofia Carson as the sons and daughters of Disney villains Maleficent, The Evil Queen, Jafar and Cruella De Vil. The plot follows these teenagers adjusting to life outside the Isle of the Lost (an island specifically for the villains), while on a mission to steal the Fairy Godmother's wand and free their parents from captivity. Descendants meets the Bechdel test because of its characters and plot. The movie features multiple young women in major roles. It also stars two young women in lead roles. These two women often conversate with each other and it is not always about a man. In fact Maleficent’s daughter, Mal, encourages daughter of The Evil Queen, Evie, that she doesn’t need a prince to make her feel special.

2. Bechdel Test

• The movie has to have at least two women in it.

• The film has two main characters that are women and other supporting characters. However there is a young man in this film that is getting ready to obtain a position of the power (Mitchell Hope as Prince Ben, son of Queen Belle and King Beast). This does display a patriarchy. The roles that the women play in this movie do not depend on the roles that the men play.

• who talk to each other

• The female characters in this film talk about the legend of the good and the evil, their current situations, and eventually how they can make everything better.

• about something besides a man

• The female characters in this film talk about different things than men. The main focus is the legend of the good vs. the evil, their current situations, and eventually how they can make everything better.

3. My Film Test and Review

1. The roles that women in this film perform should not be dependent on the roles that men perform.

1. The film has two main characters that are women and other supporting characters. However there is a young man in this film that is getting ready to obtain a position of the power (Mitchell Hope as Prince Ben, son of Queen Belle and King Beast). This does display a patriarchy. The roles that the women play in this movie do not depend on the roles that the men play.

2. The women in this film should not pictured to mimic the “bitchy woman” stereotype.

1. Maleficent and The Evil Queen are portrayed negatively however that is credited more towards their role as a villain and not their role as a woman. Their children, Mal and Evie, are portrayed negatively in the beginning of the film because of their mission to steal the Fairy Godmother’s wand. However I must say that all of the villains’ children (boys and girls) are portrayed negatively because they all worked on the mission to steal the wand.

3. There should be people of color in the film.

1. There are people of color in this film.

Overall I think that Descendants is a good movie and perceives women well.

1. Movie: Legally Blonde 2

2. Background: This movie is about Elle Woods who goes to Washington to help pass a bill. She meets a friend that helps her out by the name of Victoria but she was playing behind her back; not supporting her bill as she said that she was. Elle finds a true friend in Grace who helped her to find the truth about Victoria.

3. Meeting Bechdel or Mako Mori Test: This movie meets the requirements of both the tests however I would consider it to meet more standards of the Bechdel test. It meets the requirements of fiction, two women talking about things other than men and sometimes names are added. However the names are added as much as what could be considered. My rating for the movie under the Bechdel test is about a 3.5 out of 5.

4. If I was to create my own anti-gender bias film test I would call it: WORM (Women Origin Roles’ Matter). The criteria to meet this test would consider

1. At least two female characters; One of a considerable minority ethnicity

2. Not beginning the movie because of a failed relationship (boyfriend/girlfriend, marriage resulting in divorce) or sparking the movie for finding love.

3. Not supporting a man’s story

5. Writing a review using my own anti-gender bias film test, in other words using the WORM test I would rate Legally blondes at a 4 out of 5. This is because the movie supports the requirements for having at more than 2 female characters and one is a minority. Nevertheless at a high position job on Washington which isn’t portrayed very often in television or movies. So that stands out a lot. In addition, the main character was engaged but she left her husband to go to a different state for her own beliefs. She didn’t beg him to come nor have a hard time because she was following her own story not his.

Review of Highway (2014 Hindi Film)

By: Rifah Islam

“Highway” depicts a kidnapping of a secure and protected young girl named Veera. She is the daughter of a very rich and important man in the business industry who has political connections. In the beginning of the movie, she is getting married. There are festivities all around the house. Tired, bored and looking for adventure, the night before her wedding she calls her fiance and asks him to take her on a long drive on the highway. He is initially hesitant, but gives in after Veera persists. On their way home, they stop at a gas station. Veera gets out of the car to stretch but instead finds herself in the middle of gun shots. The gang involved captures her, knowing that she witnessed them robbing and take her away. Soon they realize whose daughter she is and they start to get nervous. One of her abductors Mahabir, however, is especially willing to do as much as he can to stay out of trouble. Mahabir, a friend and hostage Veera move from city to city to try to stay hidden. At first, Veera is met with physical abuse from the boys. She is extremely scared. Once she even manages to run away while they hide out, only having to run back because there’s nothing around miles and miles.

While venturing with her kidnapper Mahabir, Veera realizes that she has found more freedom through this kidnapping then she has had her whole life. Her relationship with Mahabir starts to strengthen and there is no longer abuse in the relationship. She begins to trust him so much that tells him about being molested by her uncle. When she told her mother, her mother made her promise not to tell anyone and did nothing in order to help her. Soon Mahabir realizes that he has fallen in love with her and tries to send her back home, but Veera refuses. She loved this newfound freedom and him. The two decide to continue to travel, eventually finding a house in a mountain village and spending a night there. The next morning, the police have found Mahabir and Veera. They shoot him and he dies. Veera is completely shocked and heartbroken. She is brought back home but can no longer stand her family and their hurtful antics. Veera ends up telling her family the truth about her uncle. She tells them she no longer wishes to live with them and has other plans instead. Flash forward, Veera has a job in a factory and buys a house in the mountains to live in. In the final scene, she remembers Mahabir and how the journey they took together changed her forever.

This movie does not meet the requirements of the Bechdel test. There are not two women with names who talk about something other than a man. In fact Veera is the only female character with a name in the movie who has lots of speaking time on screen. However, Highway does pass the Mako Mori test. Veera is a strong female character who gets her own narrative and doesn’t support a man’s story. The whole entire film is about her and her story. Her captor Mahabir is only a supporting character in her story. This film passes my version of an anti-gender bias test. The requirements of my test are

1. A strong female character

2. Who is given enough speaking and screen time to resolve their conflict

I think Highway passes my anti gender bias test. Veera is a power packed character who is able to resolve her conflict by the end of the film. Most of the scenes in the movie include her. In many ways, regardless if the movie passes the test or not, Veera is a feminist character. I think the final scene shows that especially, how she no longer cared about the consequences of telling her secret to the rest of her family and how she becomes an independent woman who lives off of her own work. It’s really inspiring and overall Highway was an amazing film.

The first quarter of English 2 for Copper stream was the beginning of an era for my learning experience. It marked the beginning of what would be a world-changing period of educational growth. In terms of outline, Copper stream wasn't far from any other 10th grade English class in the city. What made the experience so unique was the discussions we were able to have on the text that we all read as a class. Reflection on last year, specifically in that class, I've been able to come to the conclusion that group analysis and discussion is the best way to understand literature.

Since its original publishing in 1954, William Golding’s “The Lord of the Flies” has grown to be one of the most frequently challenged novels in recent history. This is due greatly to its allegorical references to society. I remember sitting and picking apart and analyzing the content of the book in E-band for almost the entirety of the first quarter. The fact that there was enough in the book to allow me to analyze it for a whole quarter and still find new things is what makes it so powerful. As we powered through the book, the students that were truly engaged in the class and its works were building up to a mass revelation. As we were preparing to begin the process of our benchmark, I was anticipating Kay assigning the class a prompt about human nature, due to the fact that it frequently appeared in the book and was often discussed in the class. That wasn’t the case, but it wasn't far off from what we actually ended up doing. We were given the task of forming a thesis statement and justifying our thesis throughout the course of our essays. Having only written essays based on specific prompts before, this style of writing was all new. Writing that essay caused me to reevaluate the manner in which I wrote analytical papers. I had never been given the task of forging a thesis that had to meet specific standards before. D.U.C.K stood for debatable, unique, creative, and knowledgeable. If our thesis statement failed to meet that criteria, we would only be granted approval when we submitted something that did. Within a week, the majority of the class had submitted their essays and were awaiting a grade. After he had read and graded the essays of the class, Mr. Kay commended Copper Stream, stating that the batch of essays that had been submitted might have been the best that he’d ever seen. I would like to think that we did the novel some justice. The goal of Lord of the Flies was to spark great debates and conversations, and that’s exactly what it did.

The thesis that I used for that essay was “People are often restrained by society. In the William Golding’s “Lord of the Flies,” the boys have been on the island for around two months when Jack begins to paint his face. When Jack begins to paint his face, it symbolizes his release from societal restraints.” I proved this thesis by using a series of quotes. The first quote and analysis was “When Jack first paints his face in chapter three he begins to break away from his societal restraints. When he wore the mask, Jack felt liberated from shame and self-consciousness.” What came with reading so far into the book was being able to see from the get-go that most often, it will contain some form of metaphorical symbolism, and not everything should be taken so plainly as a boy deciding to paint his face.

Literature isn't something that can be memorized and regurgitated onto a piece of paper so someone can say you understand it. Everyone has to come to their understanding of literature at their own pace and point. Nobody reads literature the same way, and nobody understands it the same way. Literature is a powerful thing, and I'm glad I got to experience it the way I did.

I found my pace, and eventually, my point, by being able to share my literary journey with a group of people embarking on the same journey. Through this, I found my own way. Discussions allowed me to see how everyone was comprehending it, therefore making me look at things in a multitude of different lights. Literature never only means one thing, so it shouldn't be taught like it is either.

2 Questions:

How many memories would you suggest that I use?

Reflection:

I learned that not everyone is going to have the same view as you and not everyone has the same preferences but that's okay because not everyone is the same. I also learned that I should take the things people are saying in a positive way not a negative way, I say this because you can learn from mistakes or you can get advance for the present or the future.

I switched the picture of me because there was a white border on the previous picture and it was out of place and drawing attention away from the rest of the slide. I also added a picture to cover more of the slide, and lastly I also rearranged the words and their placement.

In grade school I had a friend named nick. Teachers would always call him out because he was scared to read in front of the class. From the beginning his self confidence was low. He was very shy and didn't talk to many people, and if someone new tried talking to him he would take a long time to feel comfortable with them. Nick had a stuttering problem. Whenever he was in front of a large group of people his voice would lock up and he would shut down. His self confidence was destroyed in the 8th grade when a teacher made him stand up in front of the whole grade, all 225 of us. He was alone and he shut down completely botching his graduation speech. I talked to him afterwards and he said he had never felt so sick before in his life. His confidence was no longer existence, he shut eve the people who were closest to him out.

People with speech impediments and other problems with speaking and writing have severe problems with their self confidence. They feel as though they are not normal. But what is normal? Is there a direct definition that labels these impediments as not normal? Normal is defined as standard, usual, typical or expected. But how do we define normal? Society's normal is, if people are all the same they are normal. Any defining feature or change to their personal, or physical appearance warrants them to be “not normal.”  There is a story written by Mike Rose called “I just want to be average,” And that is a direct quote from the story that points out how people who are not seen as normal feel about their surroundings. People who are not “Average” or “Normal” can feel like somewhat of a group of outcasts. They are separated from the mainstream classes and put in their own “Vocational Track” which means d-level learning which does not help. In d level classes you are not treated as a human being, and you are certainly not respected by the people who are teaching you. This very easily make these students feel like they do not matter. This is why many of them act out or show off, in an attempt to get the attention that they so desperately need. If people took their time to sit down with these students and try to help them, they would not feel the need to act out and do bad things to get someone's attention.

My older cousin Nicky had a speech problem when he was younger. It was hard for him, he was teased and put in a special learning class. A teacher sat down with him one on one and walked him through how to cope with stuttering. He told me it was one of the hardest things he has ever done, but having a teacher to help him and calm him down when he got annoyed or angry with himself, helped push him through the problem. Today he is an officer in the United States Navy, and has no problem whatsoever with speech.

With proper learning strategies and help, people with speech problems and other disabilities can feel like they are part of this so called normal society.

I decided to make some major changes to my slide. When critiquing my slide, many people told me that my image that I used was pixilated and a little to difficult to see. Looking back on my slide, I agreed with what they said. I also thought that my slide had too much blank space in a way that did not look appealing to the eye. I decided to just get rid of my image altogether and replace it with a new one. To keep my slide from looking too empty but still not cluttered, I decided to make an image my background. The image still pertained to my passion, which is reading. I changed the color of my words from red to white so that they would contrast better with the image as suggested by one of the sources we had. The source said to have a color palette that contrasts, which is why I had white words on top of a darker image. I stilled used kerning to fit the words “my passion” on top of the “read” section of the word “reading” in a way that is visually pleasing. I also slightly moved my words so that they did not touch at all, since that was one concerning to some viewers. The rule of thirds still applies because I  positioned my slide so that the image catches the viewer’s attention first.