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Black Language

Posted by Alhaji Koita in English 2 - Pahomov on Wednesday, January 16, 2013 at 6:22 pm

Hmm ... Where do I begin my language has changed for many years I am a dot on the face of the earth, compared to the change in my language throughout the past decades. To the wisdom of our father's father’s to the “ghetto” poetry of being poets and rappers. I am Black Language. Black Language now what is that really is that the evolution of my ancestors who put this country on their back and made it what it is today. The real idea is the disappearance of a beautiful language and all its speakers. My rhythm is an extension of me. I am the legacy that my brothers left. “The way I speak“ain’t”yo damn business.” Because I am the language.

Proper manners and speech are a  certain type of racial bystander to make others think of you better they are just another way society has put us in this deep hole of racism. My slang has changed I don't know anybody that talks like me. I know of many languages such as, Krio, Modern English, Mandingo, Spanish. All originate from their father Latin. Is that so terrible or is it just change that made us, Us.

We are pawns to the beautiful language known as Black Language. Underrated some would say. I thank god. This is life. We make mistakes, hated that's the way of life. This is my language that turns us to the pressure that we under. This is race, and I am a Alien in this line. Ready,set, Go! I'm off light years away on top of my game. I am Black Language.

In my life there have been moments that power is my language and how I can use that to my advantage. In this particular example the individual was a older white man that in my opinion was very racist. In the climax of the scene my language was my sword.

“ You old racist man you really think you can shut me and my people down, I gonna be me you arguing over a damn parking spot? This ain’t gotta be this serious!” This is probably the maddest I have ever been on something so simple like a parking spot. It was like someone was controlling my every word.
In my own right there some moments in life I don’t regret but this is not one of them. Another that was important me was when I was just with my friends talking about the All Star Weekend, and we used different words like “Flames” and Bangin’” These are simple words that mean something was good and we can see that our teachers were looking at us. They probably thought we were talking about sex or some inappropriate activity.But that's the stereotype that is automatically assigned to me because of the way I speak.
I try to ignore but it always seems to get to me. I asked my mom and dad why does the world still have to be Black and White? They replied the normal, “ Haji that’s how life is. You can’t let things get to you.” Then I told them about what happened in school that week.And their answer to this was baffling, But one thing that made me really mad, was when they said maybe you should change how you speak Haji. I thought about that at first I said, But then I thought why should I change myself for the benefit of someone else's selfish reasons. That don't make no damn sense! Who are they to judge me. "Imma be me!" I said.

  Black language is what unites people it's what gave my ancestors hope to be free the white man! We are people. What is the white man you say? White man is Pork. They are the oppressors. They rigamortis by the death we will still shine cause, we are the people. A dying language.

Racism will never die it will only multiply and this the hard truth. My name is Alhaji Sheku Taylor Koita. I got it from my grandfather. He was born in Mali but grew up in the city of Freetown in Sierra Leone. He was a famous taylor there that's how he obtained the middle name taylor. My name is very hard to say. Every new class, every new year. Never can my name be said correctly. The 1st year of the 3rd grade my teacher was taking role, she pronounced my name" lhahgi coyote" as 8 years old you could imagine my anger towards this teacher but I needed to realize that we are all different people and that we have different accents. And these accents make us who we are, for the rest of our lives.

I guess you could say that these accents are another muscle and you can be weak or strong. There are many examples of how Black Language truly exists and its full of unique and beautiful people. But know like this quote I picked from no other than, James Baldwin. He is a famous author, for his many inspiring lines and essays of dialogue. But it was a line in the essay he wrote called, “If black English Isn’t a language then tell me what is”. This actually got me started to writing this essay. But in the text he says, “Now, I do not know what white Americans would sound like if there had never been any black people in the United States, but they would not sound the way they sound.”. I thought this was confusing at first, how would they sound different you may ask? Well because like I was saying accents are like muscles and muscles can be many different shapes and sizes and can be strong or weak. But it also goes back to how you use it in your advantage.

All in all, this is a language that has been matured from since it was an infant. Back when my ancestors were being enslaved. Trust me there is no enemy here. In fact without this most ridiculous times in American History I wouldn't be who I am. Hell I wouldn’t be able to write this essay. This is just a twinkle in the fire soon it will be raging flame thrower breaks the street of America. And then we can say,“Who will survive in America?”




Here is A link to my mid-portion to up right battle. This is my Black Language.

Black Language from Haji Koita on Vimeo.

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A Struggle With Privilege

Posted by Alex Marothy in English 2 - Pahomov on Wednesday, January 16, 2013 at 5:54 pm

“Hello, sir, it’s a pleasure to see you once again.” 

“Oh, the pleasure’s all mine, dear boy. How are your studies?”
“They’re just fantastic, thank you. All A’s, you know.”

“As expected! You read a lot, don’t you?”

“Every day, sir.”



I’ve had this conversation countless times. I was raised, surrounded, and accompanied by the decrepit, aged, and uptight white men and women whose minds were locked in the 1940s. The pure insincerity in the dialogue above was the way I lived my life for many years. With a facade, I followed my parents to neighborhood parties. Parties. A word that concealed the reality of one hundred large, white men stuffing their faces with the delicious pastries their wives slaved over for the majority of the day. I squeezed my way through the victorian-age houses, another term I heard very often, and pretended to know the meaning of. I tried so hard not to be seen, developing techniques of in-and-out pastry missions, but they never worked. 


It was a bitter winter night, and I was sheltered in another victorian age cesspool of boring conversation. I felt a cold, pudgy hand on my shoulder. It squeezed roughly, turning me around to face the bland, dark blue tie of a scratchy grey suit. The suit held an apparently impressive man. He boldly told me he was the “Assistant Coordinating Manager to The General Assignment Contributor of The FFSA (Firefly Financial Service Advisors)” and had the nerve to ask me what I thought about that.


Luckily for me, I had mastered the art of pretending to be interested in someone else’s transparent successes. “That sounds like a big job, sir! You must have a lot on your plate, not to say you can’t handle a load.” Today, I was beyond uninterested. “I’d better let you get back to those pastries.” I walked away as quickly as possible, weaving in between these pure, civilized, undoubtedly drawl citizens. 


A greying housewife stopped me before I could pull open the unnecessarily heavy, maple wood door. “Oh, thank goodness. Won’t you be a dear and fetch me a few more bottles of 1978 Montrachet from the cellar?” 


“No.” I walked out, finally taking a breath of fresh air.


I was just fifteen, and already feeling the heavy effects and the rebellious attitude that came with the year. By this time, I was aware of the warmth in this world, no longer comfortable in the ice chest of privilege. I wanted to experience the relaxed atmospheres of the world made possible by casual language and rhythmic speech. I wanted to hold a conversation rich with expression, as opposed to the boring speech patterns that filled my life with a redundant story of white entitlement.



In James Baldwin’s short essay “If Black English Isn’t A Language, Then Tell Me, What Is?” he said that “...language is also a political instrument, means, and proof of power.” In privileged white speech patterns lies power of society, automatic success, and unearned wealth. Unfortunately, there is no single person in influential political power who speaks in “Black English,” for the history of the language is tarnished in an “equal” world. Yet I was intrigued by the language, by the dialect. As I grew and began to associate my own language with a stifling future I saw before me, a pathway already paved, others fascinated me. I observed true freedom only in dialects different from my own, while my language oppressed itself, suffocating its people in a self-invented stereotype.


“Son, why are you sitting out here all alone?”

“I can’t stand it in there.”

“These are our neighbors, our friends. Be respectful.”

“They’re your neighbors, not mine.”

“You should consider yourself lucky to be born into this culture.”


As I walked home, I thought about what my dad said, and what my language said about me. This world relinquished control to pale skin and expensive suits a long time ago, giving power to a community who would quickly grow accustomed to it, stepping on the feet of those climbing the ladder below them. A culture associated with power gained by trampling the potential of those different from them, never impressed me. No, what impressed me were the countless cultures who rose from nothing, stepping up each rung slowly, yet diligently, striving to be heard in society. The minorities of this earth have accomplished more than the “successful” ever did. There’s a certain pride that follows these successes. Something you can not experience if you enjoy what you have not earned. I wanted to be proud. 


In an essay by Richard Rodriguez, “Hunger of Memory” he spoke of his comfort with the Spanish speech patterns. “Conveyed through those sounds was the pleasing, soothing, consoling reminder of being at home.” I can say with certainty that as I grew, and my ear developed, the words I heard at home became sharper, rougher, another reminder of my humility. Instead of the linguistic comfort described by the minorities I admired, was the tasteless reality I was raised to carry on.


Fifteen was the year I broke the cycle. Growing up in privilege stifled my expression, and conformed me to a majority I would soon distaste. I knew the history of my culture, and I spoke the language associated with it. I hated to think what the sound of my voice triggered in the minds of my peers. It impacted my pride, my sense of belonging, and my view of the reality I knew. It changed me, made me want things out of my reach, and created a distance in my family. I still speak the language, but with reserve, an attempt at the absence of pompous inflection. In a simple alteration of linguistics, a change in attitude, a new culture is spawned within me. I was born privileged in all aspects, and died, born again, humbled. I struggled with privilege, but then rose above, victorious.

Q2 English - BM Movie from Alex Marothy on Vimeo.

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I Don't Know

Posted by Marteena Johnson in English 2 - Pahomov on Tuesday, December 11, 2012 at 9:39 am

I don’t know. That’s all I’ve been saying lately. It seems like I don’t even know myself. I don’t know how I feel. I mean I do, but I don’t at the same time. I don’t understand how you can know but not know how you feel. It’s confusing to me and I’d rather not even try to explain it. I don’t know what words to use to describe how I feel. I’m not even sure I could string together enough sense to make sense of what this feeling is. You just feel it, there’s no name for it not even a vast vocabulary could describe this. My only explanation is through metaphors and similes. It’s like light shining after a long darkness. Not an eye stinging early morning light, but peaceful. Like the warm sun shining over your face while the light flickers off of your irises and makes them look clear and bright. Its like that nervous butterfly feeling you get mixed with a little despise. It’s a weird plot twist that can but cannot be explained. There are emotions that conflict but don’t seem to come anywhere near each other.

 

Her long hair always seems to tangle and intertwine between my fingers. I love the way her fingers stroke the back of my neck, while I burry my face in her neck resting my chin on her collar bone. When she sees me her grey irises grow wide and her smile becomes soft. Looking up at my bedroom ceiling I think of the way her brown cheeks look. How there’s a faint red in those cheeks, and they feel like rose petals beneath my fingers. I know she’s not mine, and she may never be mine. But how long is never really? Never could end tomorrow, there’s a light in this woman’s soul. That just might put an end to the dark road I’ve been traveling on.


 Do I make sense? Or is this just too confusing. Its just one of those things you have to know personally to understand, but does that really matter? Because I know the feeling and even I don’t understand. I keep second-guessing myself on what this feeling means. I think from now on I’ll just call it “that feeling” ‘cause it’s really just that feeling. That feeling you get when something beyond what you were expecting happens, and in that moment the flutter of a heart beat against eardrums and constricting arms become home. I swear I could sleep in her arms forever.

 

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An Outsider

Posted by Ziheng Liu in English 2 - Pahomov on Monday, December 10, 2012 at 8:21 am

Frank, how’s it going? Are you happy in China now? Actually, there is something making me nervous.

You know, my mother was invited by a university as a visiting scholar. I follow my mother and have been in the United States for three months, and I entered a fantastic high school. But I still feel nervous, because I’m a foreigner for others, and it is hard to be understood. I am living in an environment which is foreign to me and my culture. 

We are having a science class, and our group did an experiment just now. I had a good idea for the experiment, but others in our group didn’t know what I was talking about. So they just did the experiment in their own way, and I couldn’t join the process of the experiment at all. I’m an outsider! Then, there were two members of our group asking me whether the teacher in China hit me if I did something wrong. Of course not, the teachers in China respect and love their students, just like the teachers in the United States. They don’t know much about China. They might just know a little bit about ancient China, but not modern China. It is my duty to introduce these to my classmates.

I want to talk about the present situation of China with my classmates, because China is not what they believe it to be. For example, China has become the second largest economy in the world, China has become the biggest developing country, and China has the third strongest military in the world. Most of Chinese are satisfied with their lives.

I want to talk about the Chinese culture with my classmates, because Chinese history is as long as five thousand years. Ancient Chinese people made great contribution to world civilization. For example,  Confucius, the greatest ideologist in ancient China proposed the idea of peace and harmony which are still meaningful nowadays. Chinese culture is colorful. For example, The Spring Festival is a time  Chinese spend time with families and eat dumplings. And as a language, Chinese is beautiful in form and pleasing in sound. I’d like to teach my classmates some easy greetings in Chinese.

I want to join the discussion of the experiment and the team work, and I want to be an active member in the discussion of the group or the whole class instead of being an outsider. I have a lot of good ideas for the experiments or discussion, and I hope I can make others understand what I mean. I wish I can make others stop saying something like “I don’t know what you are talking about”.

But as you know, I just come to the United States and my English is not good. So, it is hard for me to tell these to my classmates. Nobody wants to chat with a person who speaks slowly, so I can’t introduce the present situation and the culture of China. My English is not good, so I don’t know how to express my idea. I feel nervous. I need to improve my English as soon as possible. I need to read more articles in English and listen to VOA Special English every day. I need to memorize the new words that I meet and try my best to pronounce them so that I can communicate with others more quickly. I feel tired about these, but I can’t give up improving English in order to communicate with my classmates adroitly.

Oh, I’m under heavy pressure now, and I have to continue to have science class. Those are all the things that I want to talk to you. Frank, can you understand me? Hope you can!

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Coach John

Posted by Allen Harmon in English 2 - Pahomov on Monday, December 10, 2012 at 8:09 am

Coach John

 

Hey everybody( Stumbles to the microphone, with a 40 in his hand) . How is everybody (we’re good said the crowd).  Let me tell yall about one of my favorite kids to coach basketball, Zamir. He was smart, very good in basketball. He was D1 bound, that mean he had offers to D1 colleges like Duke, North Carolina, and Kentucky. He did not grow up in the best of neighborhoods. He grew up in North Philly. Where he wakes up gunshots in the middle of the night. He was not the leader type. He just went with drift. What ever his friends do he do. That’s why he did not have the best role models. I would say “Boy you know you be at practice. You won’t make in life by selling drugs or being around them niggas that sell drugs.” His responds was “ I need to bring money home for my mom, this basketball thing ain’t going to but bacon on my table.” Well it went something like that  I would tell him everyday to come to practices. Ill text him he’ll say “ Yeah coach” Or “ I got you”. He would be out there with them drug dealers, he didn’t think I would know that but I did. One day, I texted him saying you better be at practice. He told me “k”. So I took his word. 3:50 hits, that’s the time of practice. So I was worried. Then I get A call saying he been shot at a drug house. I couldn’t deal I felt like it was my fault. So I started to drink, pop pills. I did not know what to. Then One day somebody told me that “Don’t waste God time”. He wasted God time. So that’s why we are sitting here today. That’s why I am speaking at his funeral. If he went to practice this wouldn’t happen. He is so selfish. He would not listen to me now yall cannot live the life yall want, and now is death is on my shoulder. Fuck him. He messed up my life. He messed ya’lls to. ( Drops the microphone, wobbles.)

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Red Shoes

Posted by Nikki Adeli in English 2 - Pahomov on Thursday, December 6, 2012 at 10:00 pm

(The Call to Prayer sounds the city. It's 1982 during the Iran v. Iraq war. Setting: Abadan, Iran)

Am I alive Baba*? I’m too scared to open my eyes. Can you hold my hand? Why are your hands so cold? Were you trying to fix the refrigerator again? Baba, the Iraqi soldiers broke that down. You can’t fix something that was broken by army batons. They’re stronger than you and me put together. Okay, okay I’m getting up, I just have to run through my checklist. Okay, the windows aren’t shattered. Check. The door isn't broken down or have bullet holes. Check. My red school shoes? Wait, where are my school shoes, baba?! Baba they were right here! Right here! Oh. Haha. I see them. I don't really know what I would do without   those red shoes. I'm not materialistic or anything. It's just that, I feel safe in those red shoes. You know? Before mommy joon was captured by the soldiers and taken away, she bought me those shoes. She told me as long as the bright red leather was still shining, everything was going to be fine. Wait, you pitched in too?  You’re usually so frugal with your money. I’m kidding, baba! I love you. Is the breakfast ready? Oh yeah, I forgot. Um, it's fine we don't have to get anything. No, no! I'm not hungry, don't worry baba. I would have been late for school anyways. We both know how Principal Zahari gets when I’m late. Let’s just leave now. 

Can we take the shortcut today since I don’t have that much energy? No? Why not? Why don’t the Iraqis go back to their own country!? This is Iran! Not Iraq. I HATE THEM. Don’t try to cover my mouth baba! Baba take your hands off my mouth! Get off! (pause) So what if they hear me? They’ve already taken and killed a fourth of the kids in my class. They can take me too. I don’t even care if they kill me.  At least I would be with Mommy. Then what do you think they did to her?! Took her to a prison and let her starve. STOP DENYING IT BABA. THEY KILLED HER. THEY TOOK HER FROM US AND KILLED HER. THE SAME WAY THEY DID TO AGHA* HOSSEINI NEXT DOOR AND KHANOOM* PIROOZI 4 DOORS DOWN FROM US. *Sound of her father’s slap* Go baba. I said go! I don’t need you to walk to me to school. Just go home. 

(Leila screams from a few blocks away)

YOU’RE JUST IN DENIAL OF HOW MUCH YOU MISS MOM. YOU NEVER WANT TO ACCEPT THE REALITY OF THE FACT THAT SHE’S-

(Sound of a air raid/strike warning siren)

No...no. This can’t be happening. Baba where are you! I’m sorry please walk me to school. Baba! I don’t know what to do baba! I can’t find a ditch to lay in. How do I, ugh, baba I don’t know! Baba please tell me you hear me. I can’t run any faster BABA!

(Air raid hits and air becomes dusty)

Baba there’s blood everywhere! What do I do? I can’t raise my head there’s something on me. Baba where are you? Baba help me! 

(Leila realizes the thing over her is her father)

Baba? No baba please! Please wake up! I didn’t mean anything I said. C’mon baba joon I need to get to school. Principal Zahari is going to get mad at me, wake up! *restless tone* Baba joon lotfan beedar sho*. Please baba joon wake up. 

(Leila looks down at her feet)

Baba my shoes aren’t shining anymore. *starts to cry* Baba what happened to it’s shine?


*Farsi Language Key: 

Baba- dad

Khanoom- Mrs.

Agha- Mister

Lotfan Beedar Sho- Please wake up

Joon- Honey; dear


 


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Struggles in Life

Posted by Sabian Rosales in English 2 - Pahomov on Wednesday, December 5, 2012 at 3:28 pm

Life, yes life, everyone at some point or even everyday goes through some obstacle that blocks their path. I had to go through several everyday.

You ask for my name? It's Hector, always Hector. Not some fancy name like Hector D. Johnson, it's just Hector. I constantly remind myself of who I am, my name, my birthday, and why I continue to not give up.

I have been through so many places and probably another is going to add itself to that list. I have been through 7 hospitals, 3 RTFs, Residential Treatment Faculties for those who do not know, 4 foster homes and it just keeps growing. I have only myself to rely on and nobody else. It's really been hard for me to trust anyone because either I never see that person again or they betray me. I just can't TRUST anyone. When I went to a new RTF, I immediately got into a fight and the “staff” who were “supposed” to break it up, did not. They just stood there and laughed and smiled like it was a comedy show. How could I trust adults, when I'm just entertainment for them?

They just put all these boys together and what did they expect? That it was going to be a Happy ever after? Hell no, it was just Chaos, there was fighting wherever you looked. I said that there are only boys and I never saw a girl in a RTF. I wonder where they kept them? I hope it was better than THIS.


When I was first thrown into a hospital, I thought, “Is this where I spend half my life in this room with bars on windows?” It felt like prison. It WAS prison. You couldn't even have shoe laces, belts or anything that can be used to kill yourself. I wasn't gonna do that.


The foster homes weren't much better. They were prisons too: house rules. The owners said, “You can't do this and You can't do that!”. There were classic rules like, “You need to eat your veggies first.” and “You need to eat everything on your plate before you can have more.”


You're probably wondering why I keep track of where I have been. It's the only way that I can trace my life back to my parent. Yes I left my parent at a very young age. That parent was my mother and I will never see her again because I cannot contact her. My mother has blonde hair and a wonderful smile and I will never see her smile again. My father told me, I'll see you again in three weeks and I never saw him again. I pushed him out of my mind because he betrayed me. All I can do is to continue to live and get through these difficulties and break through. I hope that one day I will see my mother again, healthy and happy. But I know one thing, that I won't see her anytime soon because I am moving again to another place.



*Residential Treatment Faculties

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Christmas Memories

Posted by Emmanuel Kouadio in English 2 - Pahomov on Tuesday, November 27, 2012 at 12:58 pm

Christmas Memories

By. Emmanuel Kouadio


Full of excitement my cousin Ronnie came into my room and woke me up. After he woke up I realized it was the 25th day of December, Christmas. I went down stairs to go see what my family had in store for me. When I got downstairs my cousins and their parents were happy and excited. To me it was just another day, a day that I loss and couldn’t regain. When I came downstairs I saw my uncle Ronnie, his wife Linda, and their two kids Jason and Caroline. I greeted everyone.

I went to go sit down for a traditional family breakfast, waffles and bacon. My cousin Caroline was telling me how she was because her parents got the wrong colored shoes for her. I told her that she should appreciate what her parents brought her. Some kids didn’t receive any gifts today, so therefore we should be grateful for what we have. I got a little deep into explaining to her, since she was a 10 year old spoiled girl that gets anything from her parents. I told her that she should cherish her gift especially is someone went out their way to get gifts and thought about you.  When you don’t appreciate a gift that can hurt someones feelings. She apologized to her mom, even though she didn't mean it.

What is the reason for Christmas anyway? I felt hurt, but I tried to have fun with my family. I never figured the reason of Christmas until one day something major happened. Today marked the three year anniversary of my parents death. They died on Christmas Eve from a head on car collision. Ever since my parents died I have been trying to figure out “Who am I?” and what can I do to honor my parents. That questioned ran through my head ever since they passed. I really miss my parents and sometimes I just feel like crying, but I realized that I have to be happy, live up to my expectations, and become the man my parents expected me to become.

I’m Jason Henson a smart 13 year old orphan who is mixed into society, living with my uncles middle classed family. Since my parents died I have been living in Brooklyn, New York a rough neighborhood where dreams are hard to come true or even exist. My uncle and aunt are pediatrician’s at Lennox Hill Hospital near our home. Me and my cousin Ronnie are the same age and are in 8th grade, while Caroline is in 6th grade. I finished my delicious breakfast and went over to sit with my family. Their were gifts of different shapes and sizes waiting for me. I started to let a tear drop because I was so happy. I thanked them because it showed how much they loved me. 

After my family gave me my presents I asked to take them to my room, so that I can open them by myself. Caroline and Ronnie finally learned to appreciate presents from loved ones. I opened all my gifts and was happy. I had new sneakers, clothes, games, and a lot of money from friends and family. I put all my gifts on one table and I realized I had one gift left. I went to open my gift. It was in an envelope, so I thought it was more money. I opened it to see a moral of my parents. This was the best christmas memory ever.

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the journee of Na

Posted by Kenayah Cerdan in English 2 - Pahomov on Tuesday, November 27, 2012 at 12:08 pm

As we enter the room I saw how my baby is plugged up to all these wires and all I wanted to do was cry and his mother saw my pain in my face, but she left my head up and told me not to cry.Soon as we come in the room there a female holding a baby and I was thinking in my head who the fuck is this but by me begin so up set I didn't pay it no mind. and I saw how Ms Kim had made the same face as me and was think the same thing I was . So his mother ask her was her name is she said khaijah and they she ask who are you, she stated Im josh baby mom and I looked and cry his mother was like that not true and why didn’t he tell me about you or the baby. I had this shit running through my mind, I didn’t know how to feel because I was the wife and I just found that my husband was living another life. I mean we been together for 5 years now and he didn’t even act like he had a baby on me. So I started to question her like how do you know him because Im don’t even think that this is he baby, Even if it was why didn’t he tell his mom or sister because only tell them the truth about everything,How do we even know that this is really his baby. As time so on we going back and forth. Ms Kim told us to stop because we where here for him and didn’t want us to act like kids. But me begin up set I left the room and went in the waiting room with the rest of the family and friends and his sister saw the pain in my eyes and how the tears was coming down my face. Na what the matter what happen in the room. Well their was a girl in there with a baby 

talking about how she is josh baby mom and she been with him for about 2 years and her son is 2 years of age. Dacia looked shock because she wanted to know to know who the fuck is khaijah.
  I want to see her I can’t wait until she come out the room so I can see what she and the baby look like, thats all Dacia kept saying but some many things was coming to mind because i was in my second year of college at truth university. Its was so hard because I was wondering did he do it when I was in school, I don’t know mean but this shit was crazy. Then the doctor come out and tell us that he heart rate drop and that they was able to stop the blood and pick up the heart beat. But he will have to remind here for a couple of nights and we would like to know who staying  with him. khaijah say I will, before I could get the words out my mouth his mother and sister say no honey but my daughter in law Na is staying here with him we don’t even know you all like that you just so happen to pop up. As Ms Kim and the girl was speaking Dacia pulled me over to the side and she was like I know here she used to live on 27st. I heard that all she does is sleep around with people men and then say that they are her son father. After this point I didn’t know how to fell or what to do.So later that night I stayed in the hospital with him just waiting to see if he was going to get up.Then on top of that I had a paper that had to be turned in for school that morning.

       So later that morning I heard some one called my name but I think Im dreaming but as soon as I open, I saw that my husband was up. I was happy then again I was say because some girl just told me yesterday when we was here that he might be the father. Man i had so much on my plate with was crazy. So I ask him who she was and why did you cheat on me while I was n school. Josh looked at me as if i was high of some type of drugs. All he kept say was who are you talking about and I don’t have no kids. In the back of my mind I had the weird feeling like he was telling me the truth but then again I had to think with my head and not with my heart because thinking with my heart could of got me in to a lot of mess that I really didn’t need at this moment. Three weeks go by and Josh had came home and when we got home that had a party for him at his mother house and as soon as we walk in the door I saw that girl khaijah that said she was his baby mom but I didn’t want to start anything because his family and friends was around, but the way she was just looking at me gave me the impression that she was mad that Im his wife and been here for 5 years strong and still  not going no where. So as time went on josh didn’t see her because didn’t no one wanted him to get mad about thing that was going on. While everyone is outside she was getting smart, and me I have a loud mouth so I know people was going to heard me, and next thing I know i hit her and everyone heard us and stop what they was doing and ran into the house Josh didn’t understand what was going on but when he saw her his face had drop and all he did was pull me and away and started smacking me asking me house could i be so dumb and go back and forth with her. This time i knew i was right that might of had something going on with her. So I ask him a again what was going on with them two and yes he told me the truth but he also had told me that they only met and by that time she was prego and he didn’t know until one day she called his phone right after she had her son. One thing I can say about him is that he is not dumb when it comes to that and I know we then had that moment so many times.

Then a week goes by and Josh had did a DNA to find out if he was the father or not and that only was a two day wait. I was so scare to had to deal with all these problem and then as I was noticing that I only had 3 weeks left until I went back to school and I felt like if i left he was going to be up to his ways while Im gone even though he comes up to my school and stay with me for about a week time and time threw out the school years so I felt like I had to trust him somewhat people at least he call and checked in with me but he didn’t even know that I had eyes on him everywhere this man was at and trust and believe they always came back and told me things about him even if I didn’t want to heard it most of the time. In my heart i know god cant give us to much that we cant handle. So the test papers can back and me and him was to scare to open it so we drove all the up northeast to give it to him mom so that she can open it. so about 5 min later we pull up to her house. I had all these butterflies in my stomach i didn’t want to eat or sleep, but all I was thinking is what if this is his baby so we both get out and walk up to the door. I guess his she saw us and she knew why we had came there and soon as she open the door i took the papers from him and told her to open it cause i was to scare to even look at it. We sit down in the living room and everyone was there beside the baby mom.( There was a long pause after she read the paper)

   In the case of 2 year old khayni derrick josh pray you are not and the “I yell the father” and she look at me as if i knew he wasn’t the father  and in my heart i knew he was because him or his family didn’t know that later on the took a test and found out that me and him was having a baby. Then that time came I it was time for me to come back to school. I was happy because it seem as if everything was right and I was happy about coming back because I had all my work done but i miss going out wit my room mate siani and plus i know her since i was a buck in south philly. So it was time for me to leave and all I could do was cry because I was leaving him. I know i was coming back and I knew he was coming to see me so I didn’t have no worries.But the last time i told him is congratz where having a baby. He was so happy but i don’t think I was so we got in the car and he took me to the airport where he was holding me so tight and kiss. Then we went our different ways .

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Christmas Village Dream with Katrina

Posted by My Truong in English 2 - Pahomov on Tuesday, November 27, 2012 at 9:28 am

Christmas Village Dream with Katrina

By: My Truong


Sitting in my room with my hot chocolate. The smell of it reminds me of the Christmas Village. Katrina, you told me that you were there a couple days ago and it was beautiful. You’re so lucky! I had always wanted to go to that place at night, seeing the sparkle of light, look at the high tall Christmas tree that I will never get to go. My family alway want to keep me in the house sitting and doing my homework. Come on now, does it look like I'm three? (ugrrrrr). I'm sixteen, maybe not old enough to do wild things but I’m old enough to go  see the village with my friends, right?

A sixteen years old girl don't sit home and look at the television, watching Korean drama in bed, whining, and smelling the Christmas season. Look at how beautiful it is outside! Can you see the light sparkling, the smell of snow, the cold air that you breath in? Why do I have to sit here and drink chocolate ? ( silence for a second.) I don't get it. We live in America now. Even if we live in Vietnam at this age, I can do whatever but I guess not. They think it’s dangerous to go out at night. I hate that. It’s like a life in jail.

Wow what you said is not a bad idea Katrina, look at how big that window is. I could still totally fit through that window. Using a long rope, then climbing out to escape, but I don't know how to climb the rope. I could walk slowly downstairs and sneak out the house like you said, but are you sure that my mom wont find out? I don't think that’s safe. Maybe I should just ask them to bring me, but I want to to go with you guys. I’m stuck here with my family. But even when I asked them to bring me they will be like “I don't know the way” or “I’m busy.”  See, this is what I hate whenever I asked them. They say they are busy but whenever they ask or should I say whenever they told me to go they can't even wait for five minute so I can finish changing.

Ugrrrrrrr Katrina help me I don't want to stay home anymore (crying). I don't even understand why I have to do this. I can't stand it anymore. Can they ever understand strict parents creates sneaky kids?  Yes, maybe I can't go to the village at night or escape the house to sleep over your house but they don't know what I do in school. They told me I shouldn’t have a boyfriend but it looks like that rule doesn't apply to me. I could always find a way to hang out with him. I could always understand they want the best out of me but also making me become like one of those sneaky little girls is not the best out of me.  The escape plan is on, but I have a better idea and a safer one too. I will try to ask my mom to let me go to your house for a sleepover and if she agrees, we go from there.  (Someone knocks on the door so they stop the talking.)

That scare the crap out of me. I didn't know what to say when she ask me what we were doing in here. Then I saw a bunch of markers on the ground so the plan was that we were doing our project. That came to my mind. Good thing I said that.


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2012-13

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  • Larissa Pahomov
Science Leadership Academy @ Center City · Location: 1482 Green St · Shipping: 550 N. Broad St Suite 202 · Philadelphia, PA 19130 · (215) 400-7830 (phone)
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