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The TV show we watched in class is Growing Up Online.

This show was about teens being obsessed and overly using their phones, going online, and what they did online. It was also about how teens were being attacked online and those who attacked them.

The most memorable thing to me about this show was the fact that teens did everything you wouldn’t ever expect for them to do online. It was like they were living two lives. One in the real world and another online.

It is important to watch shows like this so you can get a visual image of what society was like before and what it will be like now if we continue our live’s always on online and on our phones/laptops/computers. It is also important to watch shows like this so you know what to avoid and what to do.

I will keep my future family safe online by allowing them to go online and posts things as long as they don’t have any inappropriate pictures of themselves or any negative things being said or put out there.

It is important to talk with your family about internet safety because you want to protect your family from what bad things happening online and so they don’t end up with situations online with others and/or themselves.

The TV show we watched in class was Digital Nation from WHYY.

1. This show was about teens and their life online and the comments/opinions that the adults had about it.

2. The most memorable thing to me about this show is how much effect the internet has on people especially teens.

3. It is important to watch shows like these because it allows you to see what’s not obvious to some people in detail. It is not important to watch shows like these because even though we see these things happening because of the internet, we still do the same thing. We don’t stop.

4. I will keep my future family safe online with the ability of trust and help from each other when in need.

5. It is important to talk to your family about internet safety because it can lead to a lot of bad things that’ll bring you yourself into the whole situation.

           6.   I would give them advice about one little post can lead a huge situation/problem so they should                        

                 think before they post.

Bechdel Test:

1. At least two women in it

2. Who talk to each other

3. About something besides a man

Mako Mori Test:

1. At least one female character

2. Who gets her own narrative arc

3. That is not about supporting a man’s story

My Test:

1. At least one non-white woman

2. Who talks to another woman

3. About something other than a man

Juno is an independent movie from 2007 starring Ellen Page. At the age of 16 she became pregnant after having sex with her best friend. She decides to give the child up for adoption. But this movie is about more than that. It is about the hardships of being seen as an outsider, the pain of loving someone who does not loves you back, and so much more that we all fell as people passing through this world. This movie has witty dialog, strong characters, and insightful commentary.  But how does this movie, which is written by a woman, Diablo Cody, represent women?

This movie is named after the lead character for a reason. At it’s core the move is about no one other than Juno. This movie easily passes the Bechdel test. It has multiple female characters; the main character Juno, her friend, mother, and the woman who is adopting the baby. These are the most important, but there are a few more. There are multiple situations in which the women talk to one another. There are a good amount of conversations between female characters, and even though lots of them are about male characters, enough of them are about other things that Juno passes the Bechdel test much better than plenty of other moves.

The Mako Mori Test is no match for Juno this movie never has a scene without the lead female. The narrative arc is only really about her, how she changes, what she experiences, and the good and bad decisions she makes. Even though this movie is in a lot of ways a romance too, Juno in no way depends on a man, and the parts of the story that do not include male characters are just as strong as any others. Juno’s story arc does not support a man at all, if anything the male christers are there to support her story arc.

When It came to making my own test, I wanted to focus on gender and race. I created a test that was heavily based off of the Bechdel test, but focused on the race of the female characters. Juno just barely passed this test. There is only one female character that is not white, in fact she is the only character in the whole movie who is not white. Su-Chin is an asian classmate of Juno’s who she sees outside of an abortion clinic. In this conversation Su-Chin tries to convince Juno not to abort her unborn child. This short, but important scene gives the movie a passing grade on my test, but by a slim margin.

The first piece that I created was a collage. When making my collage I went for a sort of surrealist feel. I experimented with shifting the focus, I wanted the woman to be the first thing that your eye was drawn to so I painted over almost everything else in the collage with pink acrylic paint so that it was a little less clear and didn’t pop out as much as the woman did.

The next piece that I drew was of the top of my bed from my perspective where I was sitting at the bottom of the bed. I was focusing mainly on the blankets on the bed and how the fabric laid and wrinkled and casted shadows.

Pieces three and four are photos playing with depth of field. I focused my camera on the trees that are taking up most of the pictures so that everything that was not the tree was unfocused. I put filters on the photos, so that one is black and white and kinda has a parchment paper feel. The filter I put on the second photo intensifies all of the colors so that the darks seem to cast a shadow over the photo, while the lights almost bleach it out.

Writing a personal essay may be easy for some of you. This topic, in particular, is very hit or miss. It would be simple for someone to, say, write about the relative they have that served in the military. Or perhaps a tale of their move across the country would do. An easy opportunity even exists for me. My paternal great-grandparents and their children were refugees of Hungary’s 1956 revolution, one of many of such events for the oft-ruled Hungarian people.

Of course, that’s what I thought before I checked the official wording of the assignment. Much to my chagrin, the personal essay had to be entirely personal. That is, about the writer. It’s my work. I am the writer. It is me. My silver bullet had been repossessed by the state and smelted into a limited-edition coin, to be purchased by an oblivious grandmother who swears it’ll be worth the mint it came from some day. She gives her grandson the coin, and he pretends to admire it. He knows better than to reveal his knowledge gained from the multitude of gold coins, silver coins, and fifty-state quarter collections. They will be worth no more than what she paid, if a little less. She just wanted to help. But that doesn’t matter. Those people aren’t real. What does matter is that I have nothing to write about.

Eventually, I will need to address the book I read most recently. This book is called The Yellow Birds. It is by Kevin Powers. It takes place during the Iraq War. In it, there is a character called Murph, who dies. The protagonist and a search party find his body mutilated in a bush. The protagonist, Pvt. Bartle, had promised to Murph’s mother that Murph would return. There are many things I could say to connect my life to the story at this point. I could talk about how I have broken numerous promises. Who hasn’t? However, none of my promises have resulted in anyone’s death. I could write about helping people. At least, I could write about that if I were writing a bad college admissions essay. I’m not writing a bad college admissions essay. I’m not even writing a good college admissions essay.

I could also write about my dog. Before I was born, my parents had acquired a Rottweiler named Jake. Jake was a pretty good dog. After I was born, he was very protective of me. Despite being one of the more fearsome dog breeds, he was very gentle. This was in my hometown of Concord, New Hampshire, so he had plenty of land to run around on and other, similar things that dogs like. Next to my old house, there was a frog pond. I used to really enjoy catching frogs and putting them in a five-gallon bucket filled with the water for the day. I realize now that this was not the most ethical way to have fun with frogs. We also had a sinkhole in our front yard. I used to be really scared to walk near it, for fear I would fall in. Before we packed up and headed home, I ended up falling in twice, once with my friend. Both times I fell in, I feared what may have lived beneath. Both times, there was nothing. I got out of the sinkhole, took a shower, and changed. That was it.

Now, we return to my dog. Jake lived to be about twelve, which is a reasonable for a dog. One night, around the time we moved, I was watching TV while Jake relaxed by the fireplace (his favorite thing to do in the evening) when he started howling. He did this periodically, but this was a different sort of howling from the usual. He seemed to be in distress. He fought at the forest-green carpeting with what looked like supreme fear in his eyes. The howling grew and became yelping, barking, and shouting. He flailed around with so little control that we feared he would jump into the crackling fire. His sounds became more pained. That’s when my parents told me to go upstairs as fast as I could. Being little and confused as to what was going on, I ran into my parents’ bedroom. Eventually, I fell asleep there. Jake had been having a seizure and passed away that night. I was sad for a little while. My mom was much more sad. She had trained him. Now, I don’t think of him unless someone tells me to think of something pertaining to death.

There was also a death in my family over the course of my lifetime. I don’t consider pets a part of the family, and I think it’s bizarre that some people do. You are not any more related to your pet than you are to any other animal of that species. Loving your pets is kind of weird to me too, but that’s a personal thing. Don’t call them your family. It doesn’t make sense. My family is very small, so a death is kind of an event. To provide some perspective, I am one of two people under eighteen to attend our family gatherings. The other person is about a year old. Anyway, my great-grandfather and noted singer Don Rondeau, stage name Don Rondo, died. He had cancer. We weren’t surprised.

In class we watched a show by Frontline called Digital Nation and Growing Up Online. The show was about how the Internet is becoming more of a part of our lives and how it influences us, our jobs, and our military. The most memorable thing about this show is the story about Ryan and how he committed suicide because of the things that people said about him online. It was very interesting and scary to see how something so useful like the internet can be used in so many bad ways. It is important to watch shows like this so that we do not have to repeat the things that happened and so we can prevent things like this from happening. As of now, I do not know how I am going to protect my future family for a simple reason. Since technology is progressing SO fast, I do not know what to expect from the internet and technology in general twenty years from now. But I do know that I will be monitoring all internet usage. The internet is a very dangerous thing. Even though the internet can be very helpful in more than one circumstance, it can be used for many bad purposes. Some advice I would give to parents is to make sure their kids are not involved in anything suspicious. Also I would advise them to make sure their children know about all of the dangers of the internet.

I am a rower. It is the very definition of who I am, at my core, where my body and my mind meet to create my character. Standing here at 6’2” in height, I weigh just a little bit more than I would want to share, but I know that those extra pounds are all those toned and honed muscles in my neck, back, arms and legs that have been painstakingly strengthened through years of sweat-drenching work-outs that sometimes still leave me falling asleep face-first into my dinner plate. And yet, even at my most exhausted, when raising my eyelids feels harder than it might to lift the Titanic off the floor of the Atlantic ocean floor, I row. So when anyone asks who I am, I have just one answer for them: I am a rower.

I do not see myself first as a daughter or a sister or even a typical teenager, always at the ready with the perfectly practiced eye-roll, hair-toss combination. I am not just another girl with long blondish waves, dead at the ends because of an unbreakable bond with a curling iron’s 400 degree heat setting, who loves a just a little-too bloody rare hamburger smothered in ketchup and the tangy taste of a midnight Pink Berry - plain vanilla, chocolate dipped, no nuts, please. I can spend all day under a duvet with kittens criss-crossing the headboard while I wave a laser pointer around the room trying to get the little bundles of soft fur to pounce on it’s dancing beam. I can text for hours with my friends, holding together bits and pieces of a hundred different conversation threads or snapchat seconds of silly stunts that send me into fits of laughter for days. But in the end, when the day is done, from its dawn to its goodnight moon and setting sun, I am a rower. The outside of me is flesh and bone and thoughts and deeds, good hair days and bad skin days, while inside of me will always beat the heart at the pace of a race.  

I think it’s because I’m a rower that I chose to read the Yellow Birds rather than The Things They Carried. The title of the book comes from a military marching cadence and as a rower, I know just how important cadence is in helping to drive a boat forward in the water, from catch to extraction. It is the rhythmic beat of every rower’s oar working in unison, every body synchronized to that one particular cadence, that helps us maintain a consistent stroke - oars in, oars out, feathering at a tempo that would make a symphony conductor proud, or, a drill sergeant, in this case, his troops, left-righting in harmony as a single unit from one end of a battlefield to the other.  

Without the violence and bloodshed and death that defines war, when all of the horror of it is taking out of the equation, war, at its core, like rowing, is a matter of wanting to win and hating to lose. What actually separates a soldier from a rower? We’re both the grunts on the ground and in the boats while our generals and our coaches watch, comment and command from the sidelines. A war, like a race, tries to kill us, if not literally, then definitely figuratively. It pushes us as hard as it physically can,“through the tall grass on faith, kneading paths into the windswept growth like pioneers,” as Kevin Power’s so eloquently described, towards a finish line, towards the promise and hope of a win, even if getting there leaves us too weak to even climb up the podium to collect our prize, And if we don’t win, we are given a moment’s rest, a short reprieve, before the call to re-arm and re-oar is made and we are back in the depths again, sweeping our way around the next bend, praying with every stroke that we don’t capsize or cramp out or simply “die” of exhaustion.

Like soldiers, we do not question, we do not talk back, we accept our orders from our superiors and we follow them. We do it because there is a thrill in a victory, a need to succeed, and especially a desire for praise.  We want to be heroes. We all want to be heroes, soldiers and rowers alike.

And yet we all know that not every one of us will walk away with a medal or a trophy. So we lie to ourselves. We lie to each other. We lie to everyone around us. It’s the lies we tell that propel us to back to battle. We assure ourselves that it’ll be ‘next time, next race. We weren’t ready. We didn’t know this river. The other boats were newer, better, their rowers stronger, faster. The weather, it’s always the weather against us.” The key to the excuses: the we’s and the us’s. Even in a loss, it is still us against them, a sisterhood of teammates who fight together to the finish line.

I’ve always heard of soldiers being referred to as a “band of brothers,” bonded by bloodshed if not by blood. It’s a camaraderie of combatants who keep each other alive while bullets try to pick them apart and bring them down. But in Bartle, I saw a soldier who was as much intent on his own personal survival as he was in his “brother,” Murph’s. As the war saw soldier after soldier die, violent, senseless deaths, readers saw Bartle realize the hopelessness of the promise he made to Murph’s mother to “bring her son home.” Then Bartle saw it himself.  And so the brotherhood disbanded in favor of Bartle being able to take one more breath. War makes one thing very clear, it doesn’t matter how many others come home, as long as you do. And Bartle turned his and Murph’s “us” into his own, personal “you.” The guilt of Murph’s death would torture Bartle forever after that, but the fact remained that he lived to feel that guilt every day.

No matter the circumstances, be it war or race, it seems that it comes down to the survival of self. The self that survives, survives not only to tell the tale, but tell their version of it, with no dispute from the silent, still form no longer capable of speech. They can easily create of themselves, victim, villain or hero, without opposition.

We rowing sisterhood are no different. Teammates until the end when, back on shore, behind backs and in silent whispers, we point a finger at someone’s wrongdoing. The “us” of our lies in a loss become the “hers” and “shes” of self-preservation. “Her’ stroke was off. “She” fell behind. Not my fault, “hers.” Catty and bitchy, too much like actual blood-sisters, we fight individually for our seats on that boat. There may be a next time, a next race, but it needs to be with me at the helm. The challenge is always to return. And who am I if I am not challenged by a challenge? I am, after all, a rower.                  

Every year at the end of the summer there was always a family member that would invite us to their block party. Generally they would would get permission from whoever and block off the street for a couple of hours. It was almost customary for everyone on the block to bring their grills in the middle of the street and everyone would have their doors open and blast their own music, and there was also that rare occasion where someone would pay for a dj. But every summer it was always the same thing.

I only enjoyed these sorts of events for two main reasons; it was the only time of the year where I could walk in the street, and you could literally go to anyone’s house on the block and eat their food without it being weird. I was either 4 about to turn 5 or 5 about to turn 6 and it was a big deal. Being as though I am my father’s only child, each new stage in my life is also new for him as a parent. After days of my mother trying to convince my dad that I was finally old to play with the other kids without so much supervision, my dad decided to give in and let and have very serious talk with me. He sat me down before the cookout and made me promise that I would a.) stay in front of the house b.) try not to talk to strangers and c.) stay out of trouble. At first this seemed like a very simple and very fair agreement. I figuratively signed my name in blood when I nodded my head yes in agreement with the terms and conditions that my father set forth.

Term number one: Tianna McNair is not allowed to move from in front of the house owned by Angela and Darrel Sykes. Any violation will result in extreme lecturing and confinement in Angela and Darrel Sykes home until further notice. Did Tianna live up to the terms of this agreement: Nope. As we were pulling up the my aunt’s house any normal person would be able to see a block party but all that I could see was my own new found freedom. I made my rounds of hellos and quick pecks on the cheek and I finally made it out the house with my sanity. I tried playing with my cousins but they were all boys and had no interest in babysitting a little girl. I then took it upon my own hands to find some people who I could relate to, people who were young and adventurous like me. So I walked up the street and found a group of kids playing tag. This back and forth and back and forth became way too repetitive in a short amount of time. Suddenly someone brought out their brand new razor scooter with the blue accent pieces. We all stood there in awe of this beautiful scooter as the shiny rails glisten in the sun. At the time having a razor scooter made you cool so this was a big deal. Everyone one was in a trance and our young instincts made us violent. Everyone began fighting over the scooter. After we came to the general consensus we all got in line and waited our turn to use it. It was finally my turn.  As I took my first couple of steps towards to  scooter I hadn’t realized that the fat kid behind me had his own agenda. He pushed me out of the way and as I tried to get up the scooter hit me in the head causing my head to crush into the ground. When I stood up everyone was staring at me weirdly then I looked down and saw blood on the ground that was coming from my busted lip.

Term number two: Tianna McNair is not permitted to talk strangers. Any violation will result in more extreme lecturing if she is not already in danger from the interaction with the stranger. I however forgot about this part of the agreement as people rushed over to help me. I don’t remember crying but I do remember being confused. One teenager boy came over to me and asked,”Do you live around here?” I was trying to process the question that was being presented to me. I mean technically no I did not live around there but my aunt lived on this block. Also I could even remember which house belonged to my family because they all looked the same and I didn’t know how far away I drifted. The boy tried again by asking,” Where is your house?” Again this wasn’t as simple as he thought I was just visiting so was interested in taking me to my actual house or is he wanted to bring me to my aunt’s house. All of my confusion stopped me from forming sentences and before I knew it my tiny finger pointed in the direction in which you had to take in order to get to my actual house which was in southwest Philly while we were all the way in north Philly. I guess the confusion got to him to so he just took me across the street, completely ignoring my directions. When we got there, all of the ladies that were sitting out ran over to me throwing a bunch of questions. I can’t even remember what I said or if I even said anything at all but all I knew was that what was about to happen was even worse than talking to strangers.

Term number three: Tianna McNair is supposed to stay out of trouble by any means necessary. Any violation will result in more trouble and harm. All I could do was think about all the trouble I was going to be in as the group of people from that one house attempted to help me find my family. We all marched around in a large group circling the entire neighborhood but little did they know they were doing more harm than good. We were actually getting farther and farther away from the house. But what I didn’t know was that in that moment my father's intuition kicked in and he organized his own search party to find me. As we were walking up the street my family was walking towards us. I was so happy I couldn't help but run to my mom. One of the ladies that I was with explained the situation to my father.

There are days that I feel that I’m not really here. Like I'm looking through a still pond out the eyes of someone else. Or I feel that i'm just not brave enough to deal with my own problems, so I lock my emotion away, that way it hurts less when things happen. I put my headphones in and just focus on the words, trying to play over my thoughts and problems like they aren’t there. "I will not be forgotten.This is my time to shine. I've got the scars to prove it. Only the strong survive. I'm not afraid of dying. Everyone has their time. Life never favored weakness. Welcome to the pride". “Yeah, why you believing the propaganda?

Why everybody sound like they wanna be from Atlanta? Are you the voice or the echo? Are you the nail or the hammer? I be talking while chewing my beats, I don't mind my manners. Choruses that fit the opera, that's why I need phantoms. I got my doubt at gunpoint, that's why I need ransoms. I find it much easier to zone out then to have to be there, to say it in other words just a machine that has a job to do and it gets it done.

There are time that I try to fix my mind on one thing saying that this is way I don’t need to show or have my emotions get in the way of my work. Sometimes it’s get to hard to be in that zone and I just feel like I just there for no reason only for the one that I put in my head, join the army have no fear and no emotion just get the job done and don't asks too many question and I'll be good.

At times that is the only thing that goes through my head day after day or something more on the line of I'm an athlete so I can keep on working and working and I'll be fine. I work hard I’ll be placed at the top so I don’t care about the pain or what I have to give up. I just did to remember don't give up on. Even if I pass my goal I still give it my all.

every day I go to the gym or find a way to get my body ready to join the army one of the things on my mind that’s a target. So when I walk up it’s early I get out of bed that a deep breather and get right into the work, Max lunges, squats, calf raise, push-ups,crunches, burpees, mountain climbers, flutter kick, cherry pickers, and others that I want to do that day, Times I want to make up a challenge for myself so I do, so like the “1000”, You start with “500” the day before you pick 5 workouts you want to do and do a 100 for all five. Then the next day you pick 10 and do a 100 of each. while doing a workout I can really say that I'm pushing myself to get something done. Also when I work out it get me to think about the physical pain not mental, so when I get tired it’s easy to forget about it.

Other times in my life I have days where I just don't like being in one place and need to be on the move so I spend time just walking around the city or biking. I do it just to clear my mind if I feel like i've lost my way and need to try to get that light that I held back in my life. When I walk by windows I look at myself but it doesn't feel like I'm looking back at me or it’s not really me on the other side. Most times that I look at my reflection I see something that would only make sense in my dreams. Something that I would see myself doing but on a whole different level, something way passed what I can do so I act like it need had and keep moving on thinking that I don't need my emotion they only get in my way and slow me down.

there’s just days that I can go to school and ya have a good time with people around me but at the end of the day it’s just me in my head and a lot of emptiness. so I just deal with it, true that my family tells me they got my back so I plan it off and put on a smile because it’s the only thing that gets people to stop and just shut up but at the end of the day when I set in my room aint no one there but my other half. I has me feeling that it’s the person I want to be but can never get close enough so I just give up because it;s really the only thing in life I’m good at.

Times I write down what I need to remember a feel just so I can remember the plan the loss or the sadness that I felt. Times I write not just the bad but the good, just in my book that I tell many not to look at or we just done, I don't speak to them I block them from everything I don't care even if they step right in front of me they get run down and when they say something or other say something about it I just say I don't care.

(The book Yellow birds"His life had been entirely contingent, like a body in orbit, only seen on account of the way it wobbles around its star.It says that his life was something that he didn't really have control of he just was there unable to do what he wanted to do. so when he looked inside of himself he saw nothing but a single light.  so there was something that he cared for that held he in place in his own place, and sometimes he would lose sight of it or start to let it go that's way it says on the account of the way it wobbles around. As he tried to make something or try to change his ways that was like a wobble in his life

"They carried the sky. The whole atmosphere, they carried it, the humidity, the monsoons, the stink of fungus and decay, all of it, they carried gravity.” this quote makes it sound like the soldier had not just the weight of their equipment but the weight of everyone that they had ever meet and more. looking inside theyself that might have come to the same thing and that was there drive even as they saw one another death. To hold the sky it to be the ones that protect it and the people under it. they had to stand up against the heat. have to fight something from the ground was like they trying to fight the demon inside of them but they knew they had to do it. the water that they had to cross over. so the demon in they might have had they think about running away but they had nowhere to run but in to a battle that they were submerged in. they had to go through death and the smell of their falling friends and brother and the bodies of their enemy’s. then the last part they carried gravity itself to me that’s like helping other move on and get through anything that was to hard for them himself to go through and that take and sound mind and body to get that job done.This is what people in the army have to go through every day think about not only him/herself and what they themselves are going through but have to put that to the side to get the job done to keep their friends and family safe from whatever it is. Also that it’s not easy to look at what's under a human, somewhere deep down there is a demon inside and to fight it.

I just feel that once my body fails me and I can move forwards then it’s over for me that’s why I put so much in to my sports and workouts. I’ll still keep working on getting to a higher rep that’s why I don't have a set number to get to I go till I can’t them move on to the next  workout.

A girl named Corinthia, with prissy nature in all that she did, an imaginative mind that’d wished for beautiful impossible things, and a sweet heart that’d worry for everyone else‘s but her own, woke up with this feeling of pain. When all seemed wonderful for her, with a mommy and daddy that were back together, two twin sisters to play with and a ducky that she always held and slept with, no longer seemed wonderful anymore because of this sickness.  

“What’s wrong?” her mother asks.  

“My tummy hurts.”, she groaned.

“Ahww. Okay, just rest some more, and I’ll make you some tea.”

“Hmkay” she replied.

This kind of day she woke up on, became into the rest of the days she woke up on making all worry, to send her to medical attention. Powders were poured into her drinks before drinking, pills were swallowed before eating, and only certain foods were eaten, which made the girl very sad.

It began when I was eleven. It was during the 5th grade when I was sick. I’d had this sickness that made me have trouble eating and digesting my food. I always had this feeling that eating was wrong, which made me not eat normally when I was supposed to. I then became thinner and a bit below the average weight for my age then. I was 72 pounds in the 5th grade, and eating wasn’t my favorite thing.

“Krin you have to go to school. You can’t stay home all day”, my mother says.  

“I don’t know, but maybe I’ll try.”

“Okay, get dressed.”

“Okay.”

I was missing lots of school because of this, or when I did go, I’d always have the school nurse call to be picked up early. Soon I had to be hospitalized. I was diagnosed with a serious intestine issue that made me not be able to eat normally or go to the the bathroom normally, and always feel terrible pain. The pain I felt was this feeling of something choking the lower part of my tummy.

“The ultrasound monitor shows a lot of unwanted stool that’s worsening the  problem, so we’ll have to keep her for at least three days for treatment.”

“What kind of treatment?”, my mother says.

“Well, it's not easy, but when the doctor returns, we’ll show you.”

“It’s simple, but difficult if she can’t handle it. All we’ll do is fill you up with a laxative but it requires this tube down your nostril, so you’ll need to be really still”, says the doctor.   

The feeling of this thick string winding down inside of me happened. I then sat there looking at the ceiling while hearing the flow of liquid come within me. The time I was in the hospital made me scared not only because the reasons of why I was there, but from how I saw other children just like me who were also sick, making me wonder if I were to get better and become well or if I were not to get better. I also wondered about when I could return to school, and I then began to remember some of my friends from school that were worried about me, which made me question “why couldn’t I be healthy like them? Why am I this way?” I just simply questioned reasons for not being normal, realizing I wasn’t like everyone else, and that I was me, sick. Laying with me on my hospital bed was my stuffed duck, named Ducky. I had him ever since my 7th birthday, and seeing him gave me comfort that I would return home and that there wouldn’t be another birthday party but some other kind of celebration for just me.

When I left the hospital, my sisters greeted me home, happy to see I was feeling better, and I started to feel happy too because I was feeling better. At home I was also given gifts of more stuffed animals, cozy pajamas, and get well cards from family. When I returned to school, the same thing happened. Everyone in my class wrote me a huge “happy you’re back” card and my teacher even gave me this huge green and pink stuffed caterpillar. But after feeling temporarily happy, I still wasn’t happy because I still had to recover and become healthy like I once was before. I then felt as if I’d always be this “food freak” person and not eat the things that were my favorite before. These were my first stages of depression.

From this something that makes a clear connection unto the book, The Yellow Birds, is how I was similarly connected to the main character, Burtle. He carried his guilt home from the war and I carried my sadness from my sickness. I soon then grew into a fear of becoming sick again, so I started to avoid people because I started to feel anxious near them. To me they seemed like cluttering crowds of beings filled with germs that could soon trigger a stomach ache later for me. So whenever I’d ride a bus with my Nama or was in public, I was scared. This was similar to Bartle. He tried avoiding other people, simply to rid of his grief and the memory of his actions. I as well, tried to rid of my memory of being sick by avoiding other breathing humans.

As time passed, with my depression I soon noticed that my imagination of beautiful impossible things began to strengthen. I began having these visions of worlds I’ve never seen before. Whenever I’d closed my eyes, I’d find these fading colors, swirling shades of darkness and these mystical beings I couldn’t ever truly explain. So I soon decide to express these things with the use of poetry and artwork. Which helped me release things on my heart, making my spirit feel better. Soon I then slowly began to recover and I could finally love food and the things again as before. Today I’m fully recovered from this Intestine issue but not the scars it left on me. I still have to have a speacial certain kinds of foods to be eaten and I still experience depression and fear of people. I now no longer believe in this “perfect healthy person” that I’d always wished to be but this person “continuously in growth” that’ll one day be all that she’s meant to be, I do believe in.

Bonds that can never be Forgotten

You are standing outside of the large auditorium at the entrance to school looking for your friend. You are waiting and hoping that that person’s bus is just late, and that this won’t be another day when he doesn’t show up. Another day when you wander the halls, hoping to see his face peeking around the corner. Your eyes look over all the students trying to find that one person you could catch with one look. Then the first sound of the clanging morning bell rings and the teachers force you to go in; if you don’t, they will get mad. You linger, sitting at the doorway, hoping, waiting, staring at the door.  

Finally, you make your way into the auditorium. As the assembly ends, you finally see it: the old ratty shoes with holes and that sweatshirt that needs to be cleaned. Giving a small wave the person you been waiting for since the beginning of the day comes in. Your smile grows and although it's a subtle nod, it floods you with a feeling of relief that it’s another day with someone who hates being in school just like you do. A person can’t change everything you are feeling, but this particular person can make all the feelings of dark matter go away, even if only for a few moments. No adult can change the friendship you share. You fight like siblings, but you both care so much about each other.

On a freezing Tuesday at the start of winter, that person you care so much about walks in with a look that can’t be explained, but the eyes full of pain are evident. You step away worried.  You say nothing and that same person flashes a fake smile to some other students, but you can’t help but be scared so that day you choose not to join and sit far away in the auditorium and cafe. During a lunch period a few weeks later, you find out there is some very difficult news you don’t want to hear. However, you listen as you should and this friend tells you that there is some abuse in the home, not anything physical but mental.

You know that this person’s anger stems from this family situation and it comes out with a fiery temper that can be very scary, but if you know why there is anger and where it comes from it changes the perspective of a person. Why is this happening? Why is there so much pain in the eyes of the one person you feel so close to? Why can’t you take the pain away? It’s not right for anyone to hurt your friend and all you can do is stand by their side.

A mouse will always be caught by snake if it chooses not to pay attention. That is what happened one day when I was told that my friend Nathan would be sent off to a camp/school for his anger problems. He would keep getting angry and he would pick fights with students but never got in trouble for his actions until the day a teacher witnessed one of his fights. It upset me that he chose to keep exhibiting the same behavior even after he got caught and it became clear that a punishment was not going to change his attitude. In the following weeks, Nathan would be out at least once a week. He used any excuse he could get out of school, including being sick, having to watch his younger sibling and even faking an injury.  I always knew he was a hard head but I didn’t see how hard it was until that moment. He would later tell me that he was going to be sent to a camp to help him deal with the anger find ways to express himself other than fighting. I asked him how long he would be gone for, but he never gave me a clear answer and we never bring it up again.  I quickly learned that Nathan would be the mouse and his drama was the snake that would catch him every time.

There were some bold statements we tried to make about the culture of the school. I found out later the real ways the school should have been handling certain things but that would be three years after Nathan left my life. I questioned why this person would be taken away from me. He was the rock who, at the time, I believed was holding me together. To me he was the friend who cared and the friend who would listen to the problems I had, which all seemed so small in comparison to what he was going through. I still hold him in high regard as a person and friend who has had an impact on my life.. Nathan was not perfect not even close to an angel, but he had fire that no one at the time could get out. Under that fire was some who wanted just to be heard and I was able to listen.  

Nathan and I had bond that I felt and still feel could never be broken. My relation was like a character from The Things they Carried. The character was named Rat Kiley who told a story about a letter he wrote to a fallen soldier sister to tell how great the soldier was as a friend and person. The difference in this story is that this story is not a letter but the idea of what is written is the same.  At the time I was going through a lot just like he was at home. There was never abuse like the way he had but stress I could feel. I was very unhappy life to me was not going well.  I will never feel different from what he gave me was joy to be a friend. He stood by my side and I stood by his. His actions and reactions did make our stand against time. We would not be physical friends for long but he would stand in my memory for a long time.  

You don’t wake up one day and say that person is going to impact the way your life is. That is impossible. But as humans we do look back a lot more than people believe. There is a sense of specific events that are woven together to make us who we are. When flashing back into the past Nathan is one of the first choices who impacted a life that is not perfect.

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