English 2 · Pahomov · E Band Public Feed
Defined by a Shade - Christina Santana
"You're lying"
A big part of my life is my heritage, since being Polish is an everyday type of thing. I mean we eat Polish food all of the time at my house and celebrate Polish holidays. I don’t just stop being Polish sometimes, which is why it is weird when people don’t believe me when I tell them I can speak Polish. Here’s a typical scene:
“You’re Polish?” “Yea, both my parents are Polish and I was born in Poland,” “Well do you speak Polish then?” “Yea, I speak Polish fluently,” “You’re lying! I don’t believe you.” “Um, ok? Why not?” “Prove it then, say something Polish right now,” they demand. “Ja mam na imie Marcin Czapla, I ja umiem rozmawiac po Polsku (My name is Marcin Czapla and I know how to speak Polish),” I would say with almost annoyance in my voice. “Wow you really do know how to speak Polish!” they would exclaim almost surprised as if I hadn’t told them already. “Yea..,” I would reply.
I understand people could be from a different country, like for example Spain, and not speak that country’s language. If I tell you I’m Polish though, and you ask me if I speak it, and I reply with “yes”, then how can you tell me I’m lying about that? Why would I lie about being able to speak the language of the country I am from, there almost no benefits to it if any, especially if it’s just a friendly conversation where I am trying to get to know you? Maybe if it was to go on a application to somewhere, like a job for instance, that needed a Polish speaking employee, then I would understand the speculations. For me though, it usually happens during one of those friendly types of conversations where you are just meeting someone for the first time and are trying to get to know them better, or when you just see someone that you don’t talk to as much and you start some small talk.
This has been happening to me my whole life which is why I’m basically used to it by now, but in the beginning it used to always annoy me. I mean I was born in Poland, but my parents came to this country with me when I was only a few months old. Even though I’ve spent almost my whole life here, at my house we all still speak primarily Polish to each other. My parents are both Polish too and were born there obviously, but unlike me this doesn’t happen to them. It might be because since their adults and they are immigrants, it’s almost expected of them to be able to speak the language of the country that they came here from. I also understand that for someone my age to speak another language fluently could be seen as impressive or not very common, but telling me I’m lying when I tell you I speak Polish or telling that to someone no matter what the language is disrespectful. What that shows, or how I perceive it at least, is that you are doubting the fact that I know another language, or you think I’m lying to you. I know that some people use the phrase “You’re lying” as just a way of expressing that they are surprised, but in most cases that I’ve been in the people that said this were being serious. I think that people do this because a new language is something so new and well foreign to them, which is why they aren’t used to it and act like they act. It’s basically the same situation for me every time too, but I could understand why, I mean if I were to meet someone who spoke another language I wouldn’t say the same thing as them, but I would be just as surprised.
I would be walking somewhere, usually down a hallway at school, when I run into someone from one of my classes that I really don’t talk to that much. We would start conversing and create some small talk and eventually the subject would somehow get to me being Polish.
In conclusion, being Polish is a big part of my life That’s why when someone tells me they don’t believe that I can speak Polish it’s pretty offensive to me. I do understand that people might do it without even knowing it could be offensive or they don’t mean it to be, but it does sound a little rude most of the time and it hits me on a personal level if said in the wrong way.
"Just Check a Box"
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1y1EWeRlPMnay4VC2XDVxvHCtqSKsLPCrSQYqJUqzbAo/edit
"I'm Burmese"
“I thought you were Hispanic.”
I actually find it funny when people say this to me. I don’t know how or why they get this idea, but it’s just a repeated concept that I’ve noticed throughout my life. I find it funny because I’m actually not Hispanic at all.
“Oh no, I’m Burmese.”
“What’s that? Like where is it?”
And from there I explain what my culture is and where it comes from.
Most of the time, a lot of the people I would talk to would then google Burma and try to make out an idea of what or where Burma is. Burmese people aren’t as common as the people of other Asian cultures. It’s one of those cultures that are just as unique but not very well known. The first thing people would normally do is click on images because who would actually want to read articles about what Burma . When this happens, the first thing that shows up in images are those golden high top point temples.They don’t know what-what they are so they would ask if that’s what the houses there look like.
“Um, no. They’re temples.”
From there, most people would think that Burma focuses around temples and that’s what it’s known for. Most people find it fascinating because of how cool those high point tower looking like things look. It grabs their attention. In real life, for a person that’s been to Burma multiple times for vacation, I don’t find it fascinating. I don’t find it fascinating because I don’t see what the big deal is compared to the random tourists who would see them for the first time.
“So like what’s it for, why are there so many of them?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. They’re just there, they’re everywhere.”
It’s true, these temples, they’re everywhere. There are more than two in every city. There would even be one in every neighborhood, let alone city. They come in different shapes and sizes. But the one thing that is unique about them is that they all have the high point at the top of the building. Basically what it’s for is so people can go inside the temple and pray at a statue of a monk. They light up candle sticks and provide it water and/or fruits, it’s basically like a ritual. Every so often people do this to show respect. It is very much similar to the Chinese culture.
“Are these what the actual houses look like?”
Other than temples, people would also find pictures of houses built on the support of somewhat thin wood sticks IN WATER. Yea, it sounds crazy, but it’s actually a thing. There are many parts in Burma that have houses like those. Some are purposely like that to attract tourists attention, like for example, hotels and tourists sites. Other than that, the really poor looking houses are actually made from people who live near high tide rivers or lakes or water bodies of any sort.
“So they are houses?”
“Yes, but not all are like that.”
“Why won’t they just build it on land then?”
In Burma, and I’m sure many other countries, there is a season called raining season. Here in America we have “April showers”, it’s about the same meaning, but it’s way more effective in Burma. What happens during raining season is that for months (about 3), it would rain just about every day. No bright sunshine, like ever during that season. Some days it would just be light drizzles and that’s fine, but on other days it would rain hardcore and not only for one day but for days continuously. It causes the land to flood, and it’s not just any small flood, these are high floods. Floods that would ruin houses and supplies. Since this season comes around every year and it lasts for about three months, these poor people just decided to build their house on top of the water with support sticks because they don’t have the kind of money to build a new house every year when the flood hits.
“Oh, that’s sad. How many times have you been to Burma?”
“Quite a lot, my first time was when I was only 2.”
My first time in Burma, I was young, really young, I didn’t know anything about the place or people or cultures. As I grew older and visited Burma more, I started to notice my culture more and what it means to me.
Defying Expectations -- Jack Sugrue
In the eighth grade, I was an A/B student at Masterman. Most of my teachers liked me, and I was having a decent year. Now, eighth grade was important in that this was the year where everyone chose their high schools. It was almost an unspoken rule that everyone who got into Masterman would go there, and everyone assumed I was just going to Masterman for high school. Getting in would be easy enough, and there was no reason not to go to the best high school in the city, right?
From the moment my sister started as a freshman at SLA, she fell in love with it. There were countless family friends from my neighborhood who praised the school for how amazing of a place it was. As an outsider, I was enthralled. As early as sixth grade, I saw myself at SLA, and was convinced that it was the place to be.
So, when the time for high school application came around, I put SLA first and Masterman second, with Central and Palumbo on my list in case I didn’t get into the first two. I shadowed everywhere, even the two schools I probably wouldn’t go to. I wrote out an essay for each, and went to my SLA interview. After I had finished all the stress that comes with high school application, I waited.
Later that year, I found out I had gotten into every school I had applied to. It was exciting, yet equally overwhelming. I still had my eyes on SLA, and had started telling others that. The responses I got weren’t as enthusiastic.
The mother of a friend of mine was ecstatic at the thought of being able to carpool every morning. I had to break it to her that I wasn’t going to Masterman for high school, and she replied by letting out a despondent “Oh…” and changing the subject.
My math teacher, who I thought was a joy, had a similar response to my news. My history teacher, who went on to say I was one of the best students he had ever had, was simply crestfallen.We had a class period where we all stated our choices for high school, and others were surprised by my decision, some saying I had made the incorrect choice. This wave of disappointment from others turned into self-doubt on my end.
I remember vividly staying up late one night to finish an English assignment. Every month, we would write a letter to our English teacher, telling her what was going on in life, what we were planning on doing, that sort of thing. It was always the most superficial stuff: I saw this movie last week! I’m getting a dog!, whatever was literally happening in life. She would always respond with nice comments along the way.
I wrote my English teacher an emotional breakdown in a letter. I talked about this disappointment I was feeling, and how I hated it. What I really was looking for was empathy. She always wrote really sweet comments, and I really liked her as a teacher. I was hoping she’d understand and be able to help a little, at least. I turned it in the next day.
A few days later, I got my paper back. There were no comments on any of my emotional ranting. In that moment, I felt the insecurity booming inside my head. Not too long later, I would spend an entire English period sobbing. The disappointment, whether real or fake, had gotten to my head, and my own self-doubt led to me believing I had made the wrong decision.
With all this negative emotion bouncing around, I grasped to the support I was given. My family was entirely behind my decision, and I took a lot of comfort at home in those days. I had a close group of friends reminding me how excited I was for SLA. And, through the disappointment, I persevered.
It’s been a little more than a year since I left Masterman for SLA, and, in retrospect, I feel only a twinge of regret for leaving it all behind. In these situations, it’s often better to go with what you think rather than what others believe, because you know what’s best for you. I knew SLA was right for me, and I turned out well, despite what other people said.
An Entire Roll of Red Tape - Majd Bostani
Edited due to format issues!
Short Shorts
I am what I am
“Hey, how is it in China?”
“I never been there before.”
“What, really? you’re lying, right?”
“No, there isn’t a sign on me that says “Made in China.”
“Well, tell me about it.” I never been there, nothing to tell….
That line “There isn’t a sign on me that says Made in China” has always been a motto for me since I was a kid. But the person who first said this to me was a 7th grader who likes to pick on second graders. He was like three times my size. I never really got his name,so I’ll call him Bob. Bob clearly didn’t like Asians at the time, all he wants is for all Asians to go back to China. My response to that would be not all Asians are from China. Only my mother was from China, otherwise everyone else in my family was born in the U.S. So Bob shouldn’t be
It all happened on the first day of school, this was my first day back at school again. I wasn’t really excited but I was excited to see my friends. But during my first day at school, I had to find my teacher first. And I would do so by looking for my class number which the teacher would be holding with a giant sign our number. When I was a kid, teachers would usually be my worst nightmare, those scary mean teachers. And plus at the time the staffs/teachers weren’t that great at the time, but some few. There was literally this one dean who would pick you up with her collar and choke you if you did something bad. They were scary.
During lunch time I would play fight with all my friends. We were all kids, what can you expect? We would see who’s stronger, who has better moves, the awesome sound effects, and who wins in general. But I usually play fight hardcore with this dark skin guy for fun, and the outcome would be me dropping him on the floor. He wasn’t hurt or anything it was just like a playful drop, none of us was hurt by it. That was when Bob spotted me out, he didn’t like the fact that an Asian wins over a dark skin guy. As we make our way back into the lunchroom, Bob decided to beam a football at my head.
Now, this didn’t happen to 10th grade Jason, where if I fall or get hit by something I would just shake it off. This was second grade small, Fragile, easy to knock over, Jason. When I saw a flying football in the corner of my eye coming right toward me, I knew I was gonna go flying, and that’s what exactly what I did as the football impacted my face. The force dragged me off my feet and I fell over. I burst out crying because of the pain surging through my skull, It hurt a lot. A teacher came over, one of the teacher I used to have, and she just rubbed my head and told me “it’s okay.”
I wasn’t too happy about that since the guy didn’t even get in trouble, but ever since that day, he always picked on me. While in the lunch lines his friend and him would just bust in front of me shoving me out the line, and if they were to get caught. All they would do is start saying Racist joke.
“Get your Ching Chong outta here bitch,” said one of his friend.
“Chill, he’ll get Jackie Chan on your ass!” said another one of his friend.
“Hey, how is it in China?” Said Bob
“I never been there before,” I said
“What, really you’re lying?” Said bob
“No, there isn’t a sign on me that says Made in China!” I said upset
“Well, tell me about it,” said Bob (Laughing)
“You stupid” I said (Because he clearly doesn’t understand I never been there.
“Well, tell me about it when I send your ass flying toward China and the great wall of China!” Said Bob, wanting to hit me but a staff was right there.
I just stood there quiet because I was scared of them. I never really understood why they dislike Asians so much. In my mind, all they were, was jerks who didn’t have a life and had nothing to do. I honestly despise those type of people. Every time someone ask me something related to my race without consideration that can offend me, I would just want to let out my anger on them. I’m glad I never have to see them again. And If I were they would be in a pickle this time.
Normally not normal. - Andrew Rodebaugh
I usually don’t like talking about my Heart Disease. Even at an early age, you know that some people may define you by it. People defined me as fragile because, of my heart disease. I understand the concern fully, but when you think that you know everything after being told, or you make up, based off of what you think you know, about a kid with a heart defect, that is not always the best answer.
Okay sorry, you may be confused. Let me give you some background as to what I am trying to say.
My parents were worried about me going to first grade, even though I was put in a different class than my older brother, was going where he was bullied by the teacher because of his Autism. In the first grade, no one really knew that I had a heart defect. I could do about anything I wanted to do, and was treated like a regular first grader. They knew that I went to the doctors a lot, but they never really questioned why I did.
Going to Second grade was great, until I found out that year that I had to get a Cardiac Catheterization. It sounds like a big scary procedure, but it actually is not that. They put something in your heart, and do tests with that device in it to make sure no future problems will arise. If so, they could stop it before it happens. Well, my class was told that I had to have a surgery and that they should pray for me. Which is great, minus the fact that it’s not technically a surgery. The teacher had to explain what my heart defect is.
Of course, because they were second graders, they think they know everything. The teachers had the same mindset. They apparently still had a second grade mind that thought the same thing. I am not trying to say they where bad teachers, I mean, I still talk to them at church, but they did what every person would think that. They wanted to protect me, because it is their job. They ended up being overprotective.
What I mean by that is I could not participate in numerous activities. hey made me do beginners math, and gave me Fs on it. I had a stroke, so my memory is bad. The work requires you to memorize times tables. My mom once asked me to have open book, but of course I could not because it would not be fair to the other students.
t was not fair for me to be in those situations! It was not fair for me to have a stroke! It was not fair for me to have a heart defect! Going back to my first paragraph, education is made to teach and what it should be able to do is make people be able to work how they learned. If I did not become home schooled later on, it could have ruined my life because I was not fairly educated. That school seemed to work for everyone but me, and that broke me down and made me feel like I could not do anything. That I was just a mistake.
It felt like everyone was against me. I was never picked for games because I was too slow.They were legitimately worried about me! Even though I knew at that time when I was pushing myself too much and when I needed a break.
I mean I should feel lucky I even got to go to school. My heart condition is the most dangerous that you can be born with. Most people do not make it past age 5! I’m tall, which is rare for any person with any heart defect. I do not have to live in a hospital. And heck, a hospital that is one of the best hospitals in the world is 30 minutes from my house! But the stories I hear that have happen to people with defects. Every day,people don’t have the opportunity to be homeschooled, because of how they are treated. They have to take a lot of medications, when I only have to take a couple, and do not have to bring them to school.
What I am saying is that you should never stop a person from enjoying life. It doesn’t matter who that person is, and what their story is. Also, you should treat them like everyone else, but understand that they may have difficulties. You should also give them help so they can learn which is what schooling should be about.
Changing an image presented by media
We, in America, often have this negative view on poverty, this image that in impoverished communities around the world there are skinny unhappy kids living in small broken homes. Media, literature, and people in general tell a single story about poverty, to make the viewer upset about the issue and view it as a bad part of the world.
I’m not dismissing all of these stories, but I know they aren’t universally true. I know this from my trip to Nicaragua.
It was the third day of our one week trip and the impoverished area we visited really made an impression on me. We were around the capital, Managua. The first 2 days were spent shadowing at an elite school and exploring the history of Managua. For the next three days we were going to be driving an hour out of the city to a rural area where people who had been living in the city dumps had been pushed to. There, we would be working with the Chacocente school, a small Christian school that took over the one room public school previously there. They were working with organizations around the world with the mission of providing their students with a well rounded education that could compete with the rest of the world.
Our drive to the school started at 6 in the morning. After an hour on highways, we pulled off onto dirt paths leading through farms and empty fields of dust. On the side of the road there were tall horses, so skinny you could count each rib. Next to them were little dogs, their legs so flimsy they were struggling to walk. Looking past the animals were small houses built from reused tin roofs and big cement blocks. No running water or full electricity was obvious. This image of poor communities was one I recognized, probably from the way the media represented disparity. I was prepared for what was to come, the sad kids who were losing their will that I had seen in commercials asking to donate for ending world poverty.
We finally pulled up to the school buildings and hopped out of the van. I could immediately feel the dust and heat affecting me. The head of school came over to us, “Hola nuestros visitantes, should we start your tour?” He began to walk us through the close school buildings, each a small classroom. The computer lab was our last stop, a small room full of 2005 Dell laptops. “All of our computers are donated from schools and people from around the US who have no use for them anymore, we are very fortunate to be the only school in the area with computers,” the head of school explained. It really hit me then that the things we throw down as worth nothing really changed their opportunities for education and to communicate with people in the world.
Next, we were going to spend the rest of the day with the students of the school at their field day. We began by playing tug of war over a mud pit. We pulled to our side, they pulled to theirs, and we all couldn’t stop smiling. I looked around and everyone was happy, even the ones I least expected.
The kids of the school were put in a horrible situation by our standards. But looking around this community, they weren’t pushed down by it. I came to the realization that they knew no different, this was how they lived and they hadn’t experienced anything else. I had been very narrow minded before this experience, expecting them to look the same as all those commercials make impoverished people out to be. I’m sure if any of us had been put in this situation from birth we wouldn’t sit and cry about what we didn’t have, because we didn’t have experience of what we we were missing, it was just a form of living. The heat all day led to more complaining than I saw any of the kids of the community complain about. We got more upset by the little unnecessary things we were missing for a few hours, than happy about all the great things we had that they wouldn’t be able to imagine of. When we gave the students little presents, we made them all bracelets, they were full of joy, smiles, and thankfulness, even though these gifts wouldn’t change their living at all. This made me think about how I can be more appreciative of everything in my life and be ecstatic about the little things people do for me that might not mean too much as far of survival, but a lot as far as caring.
ENG2-022
- Term
- 2016-17