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Tomorrow is my mommy's birthday... I'M EXTRA EXCITED!

I've been trying to figure out what to get her for her gift, even though I'm pretty sure that I gave my dad five dollars towards something for her that she really wanted back in March....but he doesn't seem to remember this so whatever. :p

Anyway, I think I am going to buy her flowers and her favorite candy (peanut M&M's).

Oh, and we are going to Olive Garden for dinner on Thursday. :D

Yayyayayayaya.

P.S.: Freda looks very good in a dress so everyone should just deal with it when she wears one to school and stop freaking out like "OMG FREDA YOU'RE A GIRLLLL?"

DUHHHHHH people.

k thankkkks!

​My link

Clear Glass- Small Sketch​ (Scanner didn't do the shading much justice.)

​Art History Assignment- Art In The Style of Alex Pardee

For my Art History Assignment I decided to do my artwork in the style of Alex Pardee. Pardee has been one of my favourite artists ever since my cousin introduced me to him a few years back. I adore his use of colour and his bizarre subject matter. My pieces had no real rhyme or reason behind their creation, I just based them off of inside jokes that my friends and I share. The media that I used was prismacolor markers and pen.

Here's a link to Alex Pardee's website if you want to check him out.

Today was lame. I feel like I'm tired all the time, no matter how much sleep I get. Can I stop being a teenager now? It's fucking terrible.

But on the plus side, the story slam tonight was pretty cool. I guess it running so late doesn't help with the whole tired thing, but whatever, I don't want to waste my youth.

I feel like if I write more I'll ramble out something stupid and regret it later, so just good night.

You are married. She is temporal.

Pure Love: mother's Love to Child.

for you, I'll give it all.

your eyes: the brightness of life.

You love him and I love you.

I almost died today (car accident)

too late. I am taken now.

Should of listen the good advises.

Finished my history benchmark/journal. now i sleep.

After analyzing and comparing the opportunities of a girl living in morocco and a girl living in the United States, I’m satisfies to say that I live here. Almost 50% of the girls from morocco don’t enroll high school. What do they girls do? They go home and learn how to do the chores of the house. Why? Because they need to be ready, for when they get marry. This is a completely different life style, for them family is the only thing that matters. This is expected because a good amount of their population is Islamic (religion). I feel that by the time that little girl hits her 40s, she will become depended on her husband, because she won’t be able to do anything else.

 

 

So today I probably heard something that I will rarely hear in my lifetime... or well working with the pharmacy that I work at now... My boss had finally said "Good job Oliver." It was a bit surprising because she usually says "Make sure to do a good job!" but never actually coming back to acknowledge the hard work that I have done. I learned to get used to it and just do what my job is after all thats... well my duty. Shocked to hear just the words "Good job" come out of her mouth. Oh and the good job was about a notice that was sent from the city of Philadelphia for carding a minor for cigarettes. I felt pretty special. She probably just said it because they did not get fined a bunch of money.... 

I often forget to write stories.
I always have one to tell I just forget to tell it. 

I went to a story slam tonight at World Cafe Live with Freda, Robbie, Christine, and Harrison. It was very nice. The stories started off kind of bad but then Christine went after much pressuring and encouragement. She did fantastic and everybody in the audience was laughing at her jokes. After Christine Ms. Weinrubb went and her story was really good as well. I really liked being there I felt so adult like. I kind of wish we could drink, not so we could get a buzz going on, but more so we can just look cooler with our wine glasses.  I warned Harrison not to put a lemon in his water because lemons carry much bacteria and are pretty unsanitary. Don't believe me. Google it.

- En el principio del libro se conoce a Yara y a su familia de cuantro. El libro esta escrito como si fuera un diario. Se trata sobre la vida de Yara en medio de los problemas politicos que están sucediendo en Cuba en estos tiempos. En el principio ella habla sobre como su familia se esta tratando de mudar para Miami, Florida con el resto de su familia. Su papa esta asiendo esto para que su familia no tengo que tener que vivir entre todo este trauma politico.


- En la segunda parte que a leído está Yara en la escuela del campo. Ella esta sufriendo porque es la primera vez que no esta con su familia por mucho tiempo, también esta su hermana mayor pero no la ve por la diferencia de edad. También en esta escuela que supuestamente esta para poder educar sobre las tierras de Cuba, pero ella pronto de da cuenta que solo los usan a ellos como labor gratis. 



- En esta parte del libro Yara pierde a sú mejor amiga por los problemas del govierno, por que los padres de sus papa si los apoyan pero la familia de Yara va salir de Cuba a buscar refugio en un mejor pais, donde ahi van a poder ser mas libres, y muchos de sus vecinos no apoyan esta asi que tienen que tener mucho cuidado a quien le dicen y que tan intensa es.

I created my own audiobook!

A selection dedicated to the ever-going Israeli-Palestinian Conflict that has plagued those nations for all too long. In a battle of territory, it somehow refrains from ever growing old; this is a daily issue. From people on the inside and out, these pieces are here to inform of the depth and reality that goes down behind these borders.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Act I, Scene 1

Character:
Lael, a Jewish female reporter who questions the essence of the problem.

Prologue: A woman with shoulder-length brown hair and confused eyes sits on love seat watching television, wondering where did it all go wrong.

LAEL
Colors, sounds, texture; none have reached my eyes because it doesn’t matter. It never mattered. The television in front of me couldn’t even keep my attention. What was the use? Sitting here, doing absolutely nothing. Waiting for the next day to come, to wake up, go to work, come home, make dinner, and fall asleep on this love seat only to wake the next day and repeat the process. But, what was the use? It all amounts to nothing in the end. It’s not like I’m helping anyone but myself. I’m being selfish without having the intention to be.

I’m lucky. I’m on the other side of the border. The safer side, the richer side, the better side, the safer side. I’m married, I have kids, I have a job, I have a house - what more could any sane person ask for? But, people on the other side don’t have that. The luxury of sitting with nothing on their plate; without a care in the world. They don’t have that option. Instead, they wake up every morning and leave home - not knowing if the place they headed to is still there or their family will be there when they get back.

Palestinians are only miles from this house. What makes me better than them? Are their lives any less valuable than mine? I don’t understand. How can anyone, anyone allow others to live like that? To everyone else in the world, it doesn’t matter. The strikings, the destruction; we need change. I want it to change. People are blind, ignorant and just don’t care - it doesn’t affect them. Whether a child lives or dies in Gaza, won’t make a difference. Her death will just only spark more controversy, more tension and more death to those who don’t mean any harm. That little girl will just be another death, another causality, another number to add to the total death count.

It’s stupid, this whole ordeal. Officials argue or “have peace talks,” and accuse each other of wrongly accusing each other and so on and so forth. Militant groups return to violence as a way that appears to make a statement towards the government or in the Name of God, which I fall to recognize. The only thing they succeed in doing is killing innocent bystanders and getting blood on their hands because somehow, in their minds that gets there point across. And, we can’t forget the border crossing that is practically sealed shut to anyone getting in or out. Honestly, I find it funny. No one notices that it’s lives there playing with. The officials, the government, the U.N., the suicide bombers, the smugglers, and even the reporters, like me.

As easily as I flip through these channels and switch between shows, it reminds me of how lives are being treated. That world seems to be giving up on those who are faultless, turning off on their lives as easily as I turn off the T.V. I’ve seen things, but maybe, I haven’t seen enough. To make the right decisions, to actually look at all the facts, to take to take the time to choose a side.

But what can I do? I’m just lone person in a endless battlefield.  Maybe, if I see enough blood, I won’t be as disturbed. Maybe, if I watched someone being killed, it won’t have as much as of an affect. And, maybe if leave my job, I’ll be free. But, not blind. I’m trying to tighten my grip on reality, but I can’t let go of what is in front of me here. I have to keep reporting. I can’t stop now. I’m not going to be just another reporter. Maybe, I’ll save a life. Or, maybe, I’ll be just another death, but I’m okay with that. Because at least then, I’ll make a difference. Because I’m not gonna tune them out - the tears, the screams, the blood. To me, life is worth more and I’m not going to turn off the T.V.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Act I, Scene 2

Character:
Noor, a child who does not understand the depth of the problem.

Prologue: A young child sits in her room - lights off, silence eerie. She plays a trinket.

NOOR
    (tracing the object)
Hey. I’m doing great. Mommy and Irfan are good, too. It’s kind of nice here. The shooting and the shells don’t come as often, which means everything must be getting better. I hope no more people will die because of them. I don’t want them to lose their biggest brother like I did.

I’m helping around the house now. Mom is kind of busy with work, so I have be a big girl and take charge and do what big girls do. Me and Irfan clean and dust and sweep and wash and dry and do all those things Mommy does. I feel like I’m helping a lot, so that way when she comes home, she won’t have much to do.

We go to school again now, me and Irfan. A different school. It’s a little farther because Mommy said we can’t go there anymore. I think it’s because it blew up but Irfan just shushed me. He said it didn’t matter, that it was ‘in the past,’ whatever that means. But, it’s nicer. I know some of the kids from our old school but a lot of them are new and I’ve never seen them before. But, I have some new friends now and that’s nice. I like them; they make me smile and I make them smile. There was this one girl. Her name was Raina. She was sitting alone. But, I went up to her and said hi. We became friends. Yesterday, she wasn’t there. The teacher said she would not be coming anymore. I asked why, but she didn’t say anything.

Irfan is changing now. He doesn’t talk to me as much but he’s just always there. He always in the room I’m in and if he’s somewhere else, he gets all sneaky-like and watches when he thinks I’m not watching, but I can see him because I’m sneaky-like, too. But, he’s always, always watching. It makes me feel like I have to be watched - that I can’t be trusted. me. He’s acting like he has to watch me, instead of liking to watch me, like he used to. I think he thinks that watching me is a chore and I don’t want to be chore. I want to be Irfan’s little sister, just that, only that.

(smiles) You know something, Sami. I still didn’t give it to Irfan. I wanted to, the day you died, but I couldn’t. I wanted it, I wanted something - anything - to remember you by. He had your clothes, your chores, the rest of your room, your everything but all I had was memories. Nothing real, memorable. I needed it. I needed to remember you. But, I am losing you. (voice breaks) Your voice, your face. I can’t remember you. This (clutches the object) is all have and I’m not going to give it. I won’t. I just won’t.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Act I, Scene 3

Character:
Irfan, a twelve year old who is a both an older and younger sibling.

Prologue: Two young boys sit in an alleyway, side by side. The shadow rests upon them, making their figures indescribable. They are both silent, waiting for the other to start. In the distance, the bustling of a market can be heard.

IRFAN
Yup.
Mom’s good.
Rana’s fine.
School’s...
    (pauses)
School. You?
Doing all of your homework?
That’s good.
So, Avi... It’s been a while, hasn’t it?
What happened? You just kinda disappeared for a few weeks there.
Your dad? Again?
I know. Your house isn’t that far from here and it’s not like we  o anything but sit here and talk... Except for that one time.
    (laughs)
What? You don’t remember?
But it was so funny.
How did you even manage to shoot the soccer ball that high? The third floor, how was that possible. Honestly, the managers of that building should have praised you instead of chasing us down.
Yeah, because I didn’t do it.
Fours years. But, your face when your dad stopped us from running all of town. (pauses) Priceless.
    (grins and laughs. the boy sheds a fake tear, then pauses)
Life is life. Me and Noor are going back to school, so that doesn’t take up most of the time, then helping around the house will.
Oh, yeah. You don’t know. Mom got a job.
I know. I never thought she get one too, but she landed the job a few weeks ago. So, money isn’t that big of an issue now. It’s just that she’s not around as much, so I have to watch Noor. But, I don’t mind because she’s happy. And, she hasn’t been this happy since dad died. And, since she happy, I’m happy.
Yeah. But, some people don’t like her having a job.
Like the neighbors. The women used come around the house and talk about her. They say she needs to get married. That “a woman like her shouldn’t be trying to get a job.” That “she could get that she could get married easily.” But, Mom said she isn’t interested in getting married. She has a job now, so she doesn’t need anybody except us.
People keep saying that she should get married because she needs a man in her life.
I don’t know. But, they say she will have a hard time without a husband.
She doesn’t mind.
She said that she can deal with anything people throw at her. She believes in herself. And, I have to believe in her, too. You know, for support. Anyway, how’s your family?
Wow. Really?
I never pictured your mom as a reporter. But, I never picture my mom as a reporter either, so...
My mom is a reporter, now.
Yeah, maybe they’ll work together. And, search for stories together. And, report crime together. That would be cool.
    (sigh)
    (awkward silence)
Yup, today’s the day.
It’s okay. It’s been two years now, if I’m not over it by now, I never will be.
Yeah, it seems like just yesterday, he was teaching me how to play soccer. (sighs)
I told you it’s not your fault. It’s not your fault he died.
I know, okay. It’s just that I don’t like talking about him.
Because he’s dead.
Because he’s not.
Because he was killed.
Because he’s was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
    (looking down)
Because the bag he was carrying looked suspicious and when they called him, he didn’t stop walking. Because he didn’t here them call his name. Because it was busy and the soldiers calling his name probably got mixed in the rest of the noises. Because it was late. Because he was a young teenage boy. Because he was a young Palestinian teenage boy. Because he wanted to get home to the rest of us. Because we were hungry and Mom had stay us and Sami was the only one who could get it. Because, we were young. Because Dad was working that night. Because, he went to the store across town to the best pick. Because he wanted the best for him and his family. Because the bag looked to be stuffed to the rim as the soldiers say. Because milk, bread and chick peas that were covered his blood could have been “carrying explosives” as the police put it.
Because it was my birthday. Because we were suppose to celebrate. Because it was suppose to be safe and fun and safe. Because nothing bad was should have happened.
(jumps to his feet, eyes moist with unshed tears) Because I know. Because I’m his brother. Because I still remember my father yelling and my mother crying and my confusion when I saw Sami, my big brother, my role model, my savior, my Sami laying on the living room, deathly still, bloody to bits, so pale I thought he was a ghost.
Because, Avi. Just because.
    (walks off)

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Act I, Scene 4

Character:
Imad, a teenager who sells newspaper in the cit of Cairo, Egypt.

Prologue: An Egyptian teenager sells newspaper though he doesn’t see a need to buy one.

IMAD
    (hands a paper away, smiling)
Thank you.
    
        (turns, facing a crowd)
Paper! Paper! Get your paper! Only three pounds! The best news! The newest news! The only news! Only three pounds! Get your paper!  
    (crowd surrounds him, asking for the paper)

    (the crowd slowly walks away, satisfied)
The news gets old quick. It’s the same thing everyday. Someone dies everyday. It’s a part of life - you’re born, you grow and you die. It’s simple. You can’t expect death. It’s a daily occurrence.

Something that I wonder why people even bother to read about.

“A suicidal bomber killed a man, and two children - one six, the other four. Hamas has taken responsibility for the bombing and the police begin to investigate. The U.N. says that it will not stand for such...” Or something of the like. The cover of the newspaper is always something depressing about how someone died. It’s obvious. If you already know that death, mayhem and destruction conclude what’s inside of those pages, why buy the paper in the first place?
Sure, I feel sorry for those individuals trapped in Gaza, but death happens. I know that they are stuck inside with the borders surrounding their country and I feel sorry for them. But, there is nothing I can do. I’ve excepted it and the people need to to Gaza need to as well.

But, what about us? The people of Egypt. Sure, the Palestinians have dealing with that issue for so long. But here we are, being portrayed as the bad guys? Because somehow, Israeli taking Gaza soil is my problem. Because apparently, those who are dying, there blood has written my name. And, there’s a way, just a way, that ties in all the world’s problems back to me.

The thing is, though, I never asked for any of this. Truth be told, I’d rather have the Palestinians have a way out. I’d rather not have their blood spilled for the cause of “all of” Egypt’s apparent stupidity. He doesn’t speak this government does not speak for me. Heck, this country doesn’t even speak for me anymore. The people don’t have a say. We’re stuck, too. We want change that will never come. Just like Palestinians, however, we’re seen as the bad guys. The people of Egypt are stuck in the in between. Our voice has no voice. So, why should theirs, the Palestinians, matter?

    (turns)
Paper! Paper! Come get your paper!

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Act I, Scene 5

Character:
Harrison, a activist in his later years.

Prologue: A middle-aged man is paces his office, in search of his glasses.

HARRISON
    (lifts a book)
Where did I put those blasted glasses?
When did Mitchell said?
    (rubs temple)
At least, no later than 10.
    (glances at clock, groans)
    (sits down)
I need to finish this and soon. Eliza expects home before then.
(looks at computer in front of him, squints)
What is this? Ancient Greek? And, these pictures? Just how many pixels is this?
    (sighs)
I work with amateurs.
(types, squints, and resumes typing)
I feel sorry for these people, the people of Gaza. They live with everything they need, but never can access their wants or desires. The want to get out of that hellish excuse for a country. For Pete’s sake, half the population is under the age of nineteen. It’s like this conflict is being waged with kids. Young, unlucky kids who are stuck inside those walls for some apparent reason that is bigger than the whole lot of us.
    (hunches)
Sure, those people have water and food and medicine, but what about the things that matter even more. How about a stable home, a safe environment, an ideal education? What about those things are so deadly that people should deprived of?
    (growls)
And, where are those damned glasses? I need them. I need to see to clearly. I need to see the shapes and figures, the symbols and the words. I need to see the poster before it begins to cover the lampposts and bulletins of the city. So, it informs and shows these people, the outsiders, those who don’t belong, what is really happening. That reminds them that the world isn’t perfect and that somehow, someway, if we band together in the justice and equality, then maybe, just maybe, my life, our world will be a brighter one for the years to come.
    (scratches his neck, feels something against his chest)
    (removes the object and smiles)
My glasses.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Act I, Scene 6

Character:
James, a reporter who has not seen the affects of war.

Prologue: A man stares at himself in the mirror, his partner in the other room.

JAMES
Come on. Let’s go.
Josh, we haven’t have all day.
    (waves hands, frantically)
Shots are being fired as we speak and we, as reporters, must well, report this. We have to get down before anyone else does.
    (turns around)
We haven’t much time until word gets out.

Bloody hell, Josh.
    (sighs)
Just leave it, then. I have a smaller camera. It’s not as advanced, but it’ll do.
    (fixed cuffs)
Well, hurry on then.
    (exits the room)

[James and his partner, Josh drive through rubble on what used to be a road.]

There’s blood. So much blood. I’ve been doing this for years, and yet... It still gets me every time. I can’t- My God. That building was just standing there three seconds ago. And, it’s now been torn to pieces.

That was a federal building?

People are probably still inside there. Dead and wishing they were dead. I would. If I were them. Being stuck underneath the rubble, rasping for another breath of air. I couldn’t do it. I don’t have the strength nor the soul to be able to survive a catastrophe such as this.

There were children?

To think that it is located next to a school for children. What were they thinking? They are innocent, naive and have no right to be put into a warped condition such as this one. They count for more than of population and it’s as though this whole conflict is being shoved into the hands of mere children. They have no right. To be stuck. To be under.

The building is silver?

Then, why is it so red?

Those people are terrorists?

Then, why are kids dying?

This isn’t a war?

Then what is it?

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Act I, Scene 7

Character:
Haniah, a woman who speaks on the behalf of Palestinians.

Prologue: A young women sits alone at a coffee shop.

HANIAH

This war; it's stupid really.
    (stirs)
The fact that no one takes action against this conflict is disgusting, cruel and furthermore, inhumane. It's as if these people lives don't matter.
    (opens and pours cream)
Look I'm not saying we shouldn't, however we cannot ignore that fact that this is a lost cause. No matter how hard we try and despite how much most of us want it to end, it won't, Both the Israelis and the Palestinians are too consumed in removing each other that they are blinded from the right of way.
    (stirs; plays with spoon)
I'm am only here to give my thoughts as a women, reporter and civilian of the strip of Gaza. Whether my voice reaches your ears is up to you, but as long as I know I have had my voice heard... At least then I can sleep at night.
    (lets go of spoon, hand gestures)
Ma'am, I understand that, and forgive for sounding reeducate, but this war, this conflict, their lives will not change just because we want it to be. The U.N. is powerful, but this is issue has been going on for more years than we have been alive. You nor I can fully comprehend the depth of it and surely we never will. However, going in and making it better with our hands won't solve anything.
    (picks up spoon and continues to stir)
If anything it will make worse. How would you feel if a person, let's say, working at Starbucks decides to prance in here, telling us that everything we are doing is wrong, and that we need to be saved. I wouldn't accept that and neither would anyone else in this conflict.
    (pauses)
The Israelis, the Palestinians, the surrounding countries, even the outsiders know. We all know that in this conflict, there are the evil doers and there are the victims, just like always. But, the question is who are the heros, who will swoop in and save the day. It certainly isn't the U.N., the U.S. or any other super power that feels the need shape the world to fit their imagination. We are in over heads; this is far bigger than the both of us.
    (stirs)
The moral of the story of the story is that there is nothing that we can do. It needs to play out on its own, without any interference as to how to fix it. It doesn't to be fixed, only time. Just give it some time.
    (sips)

Reality, As Is

A selection dedicated to the ever-going Israeli-Palestinian Conflict that has plagued those nations for all too long. In a battle of territory, it somehow refrains from ever growing old; this is a daily issue. From people on the inside and out, these pieces are here to inform of the depth and reality that goes down behind these borders.


Act I, Scene 1

Character:
Lael, a Jewish female reporter who questions the essence of the problem.

Prologue: A woman with shoulder-length brown hair and confused eyes sits on love seat watching television, wondering where did it all go wrong.

LAEL
Colors, sounds, texture; none have reached my eyes because it doesn’t matter. It never mattered. The television in front of me couldn’t even keep my attention. What was the use? Sitting here, doing absolutely nothing. Waiting for the next day to come, to wake up, go to work, come home, make dinner, and fall asleep on this love seat only to wake the next day and repeat the process. But, what was the use? It all amounts to nothing in the end. It’s not like I’m helping anyone but myself. I’m being selfish without having the intention to be.

I’m lucky. I’m on the other side of the border. The safer side, the richer side, the better side, the safer side. I’m married, I have kids, I have a job, I have a house - what more could any sane person ask for? But, people on the other side don’t have that. The luxury of sitting with nothing on their plate; without a care in the world. They don’t have that option. Instead, they wake up every morning and leave home - not knowing if the place they headed to is still there or their family will be there when they get back.

Palestinians are only miles from this house. What makes me better than them? Are their lives any less valuable than mine? I don’t understand. How can anyone, anyone allow others to live like that? To everyone else in the world, it doesn’t matter. The strikings, the destruction; we need change. I want it to change. People are blind, ignorant and just don’t care - it doesn’t affect them. Whether a child lives or dies in Gaza, won’t make a difference. Her death will just only spark more controversy, more tension and more death to those who don’t mean any harm. That little girl will just be another death, another causality, another number to add to the total death count.

It’s stupid, this whole ordeal. Officials argue or “have peace talks,” and accuse each other of wrongly accusing each other and so on and so forth. Militant groups return to violence as a way that appears to make a statement towards the government or in the Name of God, which I fall to recognize. The only thing they succeed in doing is killing innocent bystanders and getting blood on their hands because somehow, in their minds that gets there point across. And, we can’t forget the border crossing that is practically sealed shut to anyone getting in or out. Honestly, I find it funny. No one notices that it’s lives there playing with. The officials, the government, the U.N., the suicide bombers, the smugglers, and even the reporters, like me.

As easily as I flip through these channels and switch between shows, it reminds me of how lives are being treated. That world seems to be giving up on those who are faultless, turning off on their lives as easily as I turn off the T.V. I’ve seen things, but maybe, I haven’t seen enough. To make the right decisions, to actually look at all the facts, to take to take the time to choose a side.

But what can I do? I’m just lone person in a endless battlefield.  Maybe, if I see enough blood, I won’t be as disturbed. Maybe, if I watched someone being killed, it won’t have as much as of an affect. And, maybe if leave my job, I’ll be free. But, not blind. I’m trying to tighten my grip on reality, but I can’t let go of what is in front of me here. I have to keep reporting. I can’t stop now. I’m not going to be just another reporter. Maybe, I’ll save a life. Or, maybe, I’ll be just another death, but I’m okay with that. Because at least then, I’ll make a difference. Because I’m not gonna tune them out - the tears, the screams, the blood. To me, life is worth more and I’m not going to turn off the T.V.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Act I, Scene 2

Character:
Noor, a child who does not understand the depth of the problem.

Prologue: A young child sits in her room - lights off, silence eerie. She plays a trinket.

NOOR
    (tracing the object)
Hey. I’m doing great. Mommy and Irfan are good, too. It’s kind of nice here. The shooting and the shells don’t come as often, which means everything must be getting better. I hope no more people will die because of them. I don’t want them to lose their biggest brother like I did.

I’m helping around the house now. Mom is kind of busy with work, so I have be a big girl and take charge and do what big girls do. Me and Irfan clean and dust and sweep and wash and dry and do all those things Mommy does. I feel like I’m helping a lot, so that way when she comes home, she won’t have much to do.

We go to school again now, me and Irfan. A different school. It’s a little farther because Mommy said we can’t go there anymore. I think it’s because it blew up but Irfan just shushed me. He said it didn’t matter, that it was ‘in the past,’ whatever that means. But, it’s nicer. I know some of the kids from our old school but a lot of them are new and I’ve never seen them before. But, I have some new friends now and that’s nice. I like them; they make me smile and I make them smile. There was this one girl. Her name was Raina. She was sitting alone. But, I went up to her and said hi. We became friends. Yesterday, she wasn’t there. The teacher said she would not be coming anymore. I asked why, but she didn’t say anything.

Irfan is changing now. He doesn’t talk to me as much but he’s just always there. He always in the room I’m in and if he’s somewhere else, he gets all sneaky-like and watches when he thinks I’m not watching, but I can see him because I’m sneaky-like, too. But, he’s always, always watching. It makes me feel like I have to be watched - that I can’t be trusted. me. He’s acting like he has to watch me, instead of liking to watch me, like he used to. I think he thinks that watching me is a chore and I don’t want to be chore. I want to be Irfan’s little sister, just that, only that.

(smiles) You know something, Sami. I still didn’t give it to Irfan. I wanted to, the day you died, but I couldn’t. I wanted it, I wanted something - anything - to remember you by. He had your clothes, your chores, the rest of your room, your everything but all I had was memories. Nothing real, memorable. I needed it. I needed to remember you. But, I am losing you. (voice breaks) Your voice, your face. I can’t remember you. This (clutches the object) is all have and I’m not going to give it. I won’t. I just won’t.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Act I, Scene 3

Character:
Irfan, a twelve year old who is a both an older and younger sibling.

Prologue: Two young boys sit in an alleyway, side by side. The shadow rests upon them, making their figures indescribable. They are both silent, waiting for the other to start. In the distance, the bustling of a market can be heard.

IRFAN
Yup.
Mom’s good.
Rana’s fine.
School’s...
    (pauses)
School. You?
Doing all of your homework?
That’s good.
So, Avi... It’s been a while, hasn’t it?
What happened? You just kinda disappeared for a few weeks there.
Your dad? Again?
I know. Your house isn’t that far from here and it’s not like we  o anything but sit here and talk... Except for that one time.
    (laughs)
What? You don’t remember?
But it was so funny.
How did you even manage to shoot the soccer ball that high? The third floor, how was that possible. Honestly, the managers of that building should have praised you instead of chasing us down.
Yeah, because I didn’t do it.
Fours years. But, your face when your dad stopped us from running all of town. (pauses) Priceless.
    (grins and laughs. the boy sheds a fake tear, then pauses)
Life is life. Me and Noor are going back to school, so that doesn’t take up most of the time, then helping around the house will.
Oh, yeah. You don’t know. Mom got a job.
I know. I never thought she get one too, but she landed the job a few weeks ago. So, money isn’t that big of an issue now. It’s just that she’s not around as much, so I have to watch Noor. But, I don’t mind because she’s happy. And, she hasn’t been this happy since dad died. And, since she happy, I’m happy.
Yeah. But, some people don’t like her having a job.
Like the neighbors. The women used come around the house and talk about her. They say she needs to get married. That “a woman like her shouldn’t be trying to get a job.” That “she could get that she could get married easily.” But, Mom said she isn’t interested in getting married. She has a job now, so she doesn’t need anybody except us.
People keep saying that she should get married because she needs a man in her life.
I don’t know. But, they say she will have a hard time without a husband.
She doesn’t mind.
She said that she can deal with anything people throw at her. She believes in herself. And, I have to believe in her, too. You know, for support. Anyway, how’s your family?
Wow. Really?
I never pictured your mom as a reporter. But, I never picture my mom as a reporter either, so...
My mom is a reporter, now.
Yeah, maybe they’ll work together. And, search for stories together. And, report crime together. That would be cool.
    (sigh)
    (awkward silence)
Yup, today’s the day.
It’s okay. It’s been two years now, if I’m not over it by now, I never will be.
Yeah, it seems like just yesterday, he was teaching me how to play soccer. (sighs)
I told you it’s not your fault. It’s not your fault he died.
I know, okay. It’s just that I don’t like talking about him.
Because he’s dead.
Because he’s not.
Because he was killed.
Because he’s was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
    (looking down)
Because the bag he was carrying looked suspicious and when they called him, he didn’t stop walking. Because he didn’t here them call his name. Because it was busy and the soldiers calling his name probably got mixed in the rest of the noises. Because it was late. Because he was a young teenage boy. Because he was a young Palestinian teenage boy. Because he wanted to get home to the rest of us. Because we were hungry and Mom had stay us and Sami was the only one who could get it. Because, we were young. Because Dad was working that night. Because, he went to the store across town to the best pick. Because he wanted the best for him and his family. Because the bag looked to be stuffed to the rim as the soldiers say. Because milk, bread and chick peas that were covered his blood could have been “carrying explosives” as the police put it.
Because it was my birthday. Because we were suppose to celebrate. Because it was suppose to be safe and fun and safe. Because nothing bad was should have happened.
(jumps to his feet, eyes moist with unshed tears) Because I know. Because I’m his brother. Because I still remember my father yelling and my mother crying and my confusion when I saw Sami, my big brother, my role model, my savior, my Sami laying on the living room, deathly still, bloody to bits, so pale I thought he was a ghost.
Because, Avi. Just because.
    (walks off)

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Act I, Scene 4

Character:
Imad, a teenager who sells newspaper in the cit of Cairo, Egypt.

Prologue: An Egyptian teenager sells newspaper though he doesn’t see a need to buy one.

IMAD
    (hands a paper away, smiling)
Thank you.
    
        (turns, facing a crowd)
Paper! Paper! Get your paper! Only three pounds! The best news! The newest news! The only news! Only three pounds! Get your paper!  
    (crowd surrounds him, asking for the paper)

    (the crowd slowly walks away, satisfied)
The news gets old quick. It’s the same thing everyday. Someone dies everyday. It’s a part of life - you’re born, you grow and you die. It’s simple. You can’t expect death. It’s a daily occurrence.

Something that I wonder why people even bother to read about.

“A suicidal bomber killed a man, and two children - one six, the other four. Hamas has taken responsibility for the bombing and the police begin to investigate. The U.N. says that it will not stand for such...” Or something of the like. The cover of the newspaper is always something depressing about how someone died. It’s obvious. If you already know that death, mayhem and destruction conclude what’s inside of those pages, why buy the paper in the first place?
Sure, I feel sorry for those individuals trapped in Gaza, but death happens. I know that they are stuck inside with the borders surrounding their country and I feel sorry for them. But, there is nothing I can do. I’ve excepted it and the people need to to Gaza need to as well.

But, what about us? The people of Egypt. Sure, the Palestinians have dealing with that issue for so long. But here we are, being portrayed as the bad guys? Because somehow, Israeli taking Gaza soil is my problem. Because apparently, those who are dying, there blood has written my name. And, there’s a way, just a way, that ties in all the world’s problems back to me.

The thing is, though, I never asked for any of this. Truth be told, I’d rather have the Palestinians have a way out. I’d rather not have their blood spilled for the cause of “all of” Egypt’s apparent stupidity. He doesn’t speak this government does not speak for me. Heck, this country doesn’t even speak for me anymore. The people don’t have a say. We’re stuck, too. We want change that will never come. Just like Palestinians, however, we’re seen as the bad guys. The people of Egypt are stuck in the in between. Our voice has no voice. So, why should theirs, the Palestinians, matter?

    (turns)
Paper! Paper! Come get your paper!

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Act I, Scene 5

Character:
Harrison, a activist in his later years.

Prologue: A middle-aged man is paces his office, in search of his glasses.

HARRISON
    (lifts a book)
Where did I put those blasted glasses?
When did Mitchell said?
    (rubs temple)
At least, no later than 10.
    (glances at clock, groans)
    (sits down)
I need to finish this and soon. Eliza expects home before then.
(looks at computer in front of him, squints)
What is this? Ancient Greek? And, these pictures? Just how many pixels is this?
    (sighs)
I work with amateurs.
(types, squints, and resumes typing)
I feel sorry for these people, the people of Gaza. They live with everything they need, but never can access their wants or desires. The want to get out of that hellish excuse for a country. For Pete’s sake, half the population is under the age of nineteen. It’s like this conflict is being waged with kids. Young, unlucky kids who are stuck inside those walls for some apparent reason that is bigger than the whole lot of us.
    (hunches)
Sure, those people have water and food and medicine, but what about the things that matter even more. How about a stable home, a safe environment, an ideal education? What about those things are so deadly that people should deprived of?
    (growls)
And, where are those damned glasses? I need them. I need to see to clearly. I need to see the shapes and figures, the symbols and the words. I need to see the poster before it begins to cover the lampposts and bulletins of the city. So, it informs and shows these people, the outsiders, those who don’t belong, what is really happening. That reminds them that the world isn’t perfect and that somehow, someway, if we band together in the justice and equality, then maybe, just maybe, my life, our world will be a brighter one for the years to come.
    (scratches his neck, feels something against his chest)
    (removes the object and smiles)
My glasses.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Act I, Scene 6

Character:
James, a reporter who has not seen the affects of war.

Prologue: A man stares at himself in the mirror, his partner in the other room.

JAMES
Come on. Let’s go.
Josh, we haven’t have all day.
    (waves hands, frantically)
Shots are being fired as we speak and we, as reporters, must well, report this. We have to get down before anyone else does.
    (turns around)
We haven’t much time until word gets out.

Bloody hell, Josh.
    (sighs)
Just leave it, then. I have a smaller camera. It’s not as advanced, but it’ll do.
    (fixed cuffs)
Well, hurry on then.
    (exits the room)

[James and his partner, Josh drive through rubble on what used to be a road.]

There’s blood. So much blood. I’ve been doing this for years, and yet... It still gets me every time. I can’t- My God. That building was just standing there three seconds ago. And, it’s now been torn to pieces.

That was a federal building?

People are probably still inside there. Dead and wishing they were dead. I would. If I were them. Being stuck underneath the rubble, rasping for another breath of air. I couldn’t do it. I don’t have the strength nor the soul to be able to survive a catastrophe such as this.

There were children?

To think that it is located next to a school for children. What were they thinking? They are innocent, naive and have no right to be put into a warped condition such as this one. They count for more than of population and it’s as though this whole conflict is being shoved into the hands of mere children. They have no right. To be stuck. To be under.

The building is silver?

Then, why is it so red?

Those people are terrorists?

Then, why are kids dying?

This isn’t a war?

Then what is it?

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Act I, Scene 7

Character:
Haniah, a woman who speaks on the behalf of Palestinians.

Prologue: A young women sits alone at a coffee shop.

HANIAH

This war; it's stupid really.
    (stirs)
The fact that no one takes action against this conflict is disgusting, cruel and furthermore, inhumane. It's as if these people lives don't matter.
    (opens and pours cream)
Look I'm not saying we shouldn't, however we cannot ignore that fact that this is a lost cause. No matter how hard we try and despite how much most of us want it to end, it won't, Both the Israelis and the Palestinians are too consumed in removing each other that they are blinded from the right of way.
    (stirs; plays with spoon)
I'm am only here to give my thoughts as a women, reporter and civilian of the strip of Gaza. Whether my voice reaches your ears is up to you, but as long as I know I have had my voice heard... At least then I can sleep at night.
    (lets go of spoon, hand gestures)
Ma'am, I understand that, and forgive for sounding reeducate, but this war, this conflict, their lives will not change just because we want it to be. The U.N. is powerful, but this is issue has been going on for more years than we have been alive. You nor I can fully comprehend the depth of it and surely we never will. However, going in and making it better with our hands won't solve anything.
    (picks up spoon and continues to stir)
If anything it will make worse. How would you feel if a person, let's say, working at Starbucks decides to prance in here, telling us that everything we are doing is wrong, and that we need to be saved. I wouldn't accept that and neither would anyone else in this conflict.
    (pauses)
The Israelis, the Palestinians, the surrounding countries, even the outsiders know. We all know that in this conflict, there are the evil doers and there are the victims, just like always. But, the question is who are the heros, who will swoop in and save the day. It certainly isn't the U.N., the U.S. or any other super power that feels the need shape the world to fit their imagination. We are in over heads; this is far bigger than the both of us.
    (stirs)
The moral of the story of the story is that there is nothing that we can do. It needs to play out on its own, without any interference as to how to fix it. It doesn't to be fixed, only time. Just give it some time.
    (sips)

So I am staying in the honors dorm at Bennett and I'm so excited. My trip was amazing and I'm ready to come home. My train leaves a 4:00 in the morning so I'm dreading it. I really liked the campus and the people.

I think this pictures tells its story on it's own. Sorry if it's unclear, but basically, the trash men decided to ride in the back of the truck today.

Flats aren't supposed to hurt your feet. I feel mislead. 

Mom: ​"Is that what you're wearing?"

Me: "Yeah, why?"

Mom: "I don't know, just button your shirt up."

Me: "No. I don't want to."

Mom: "But it looks bad."

Me: "Good! Then that means I like the way I look." 

The manager at Yogurino remembered me when I came in to check on my application today.  I think I'm getting that job!