HA! Just kidding Ms. Diana.
As we bring these blogs, and this school year to a close I'd first like to address you all and say that every single one of you have made AP Literature a wonderful, and enlightening experience for me. Even you, John. With that being said, I believe literate me still has a long way to go.
Although it seems that after the rigor and pain of this class, there is nothing else we could possibly learn about reading, writing, analyzing, and study guides; there is. Because that's what I thought after English 10. HAHAHA. Aw, previous literate me. How cute. So for the last ho-rah, I present this list of promises from future literate me.
Future literate me promises never to use the term "reader."
Future literate me promises to always put the period inside the quotations, but always after a set of parentheses (see above).
Future literate me promises to never use "uses." Whoops.
Future literate me promises to always correct the grammar of others.
Future literate me promises to never be repetitive...
Future literate me promises to refer to future literate me in the third person at all times.
Irony.
Future literate me promises to loose 10 pounds because of the lack of brownies she will be consuming.
Future literate me promises to always stick up for Madison when Brianna accuses her of cheating.
Future literate me promises to get back at Gabe for all the times he has stolen my phone, while she was simply trying to be literate.
Future literate me promises to hand in all of the books she owes.
Future literate me cannot promise to never complain again. Sorry.
Future literate me promises to keep reading good books.
Future literate me promises to shed enlightenment all about the most overrated poet of all time: Robert Frost.
Future literate me promises to use semi-colons correctly.
Future literate me promises to keep her sassy voice.
Future literate me promises to always express herself through writing.
Future literate me promises to question everything and think for herself.
Future literate me promises to always remember AP Literature 4B with Ms. Diana as some of the best people and memories of future literate me's high school experience.
Love you.
Thank you, and good night.
Sunday, June 2, 2013
Friday, May 31, 2013
Failure to Launch
Don't worry my good readers; although it could be inferred by the title, this blog has nothing to do Matthew McConaughey. No, today I would like to reflect on my failures.
I don't see anything I do as a failure, because I am strong believer in never regretting anything you have done, because if you're doing it right, you'll grow and learn from it. I personally measure failures as more of ongoing flaws. We all have them. God knows I have MANY. But there is a certain flaw that lies just beneath the surface of my consciousness, that is scratching and clawing to be revealed to you all, and even to myself.
I am terrified of change.
Now although I pride myself on fearing almost nothing but lice, and the wrath of the ever-scowling lunch monitor that always asks where I am going, I've realized that I tend to shy away from this fear when it comes creeping ins.
This clutching fear has been present as long as I can remember. I didn't stop drinking out of a bottle until my four year old birthday. It took me until I was nine to fully be able to spend the whole night in my own bed, and I still sleep with my tattered baby doll, creatively named, "Baby."
Throughout my high school career the thought of going off to college has been terrifying. My explorative and curious nature that would normally encourage me to see the world, and fly from my warm cocoon, is squandered by my stubborn refusal to let the great unknown decide my fate.
When relaxing at casual family gatherings, and my uncles and aunts ask me, "Hey, you're almost a senior, what do you want to do with your life after high school?" I suddenly become defensive and almost choked up. I usually reply, "I DON'T KNOW, OKAY!?" in a startling and probably inappropriate tone. For Christ's sake, I become choked up at guidance appointments when they tell me to create a Naviance account.
It is not just the fear of changing locations and adopting a new, unfamiliar lifestyle. But the nightmare of the changing relationships with the ones I truly love and care about.
Usually I snicker at petty teen angst, but juniors and seniors are truly put in a difficult position. We have to patiently wait to part ways with our tearful parents, life long friends, and heartbroken lovers. I find myself wondering if I even want to get closer to my new friends, thinking, "I'll just have to leave them soon."
I have developed one particular relationship with a person who, for their sake, will not be named. Now some people might think, "Teenagers don't know what love is." Which, at times, is true. But ocasionally a true, once in a lifetime love comes along at the ripe age of 14. Unfortunately, yet somehow fortunately, I know for a fact that I have experienced this. I still do even at this second experience it. Leaving this person, even though things would still be terribly complicated if I stayed anyways, is one of my biggest fears. Our relationship will change. It will. And there is no getting around it. That aspect is the most real, and scary thing that I have ever faced in my 17 years of living.
Why can't I just go with the flow? See what happens?
I wish it was that simple.
Although the fear of change is a broad, and encompassing flaw, there is something that gives me solace; a saving grace. Because with every flaw or failure there is always a redeeming factor.
I know I will be okay. I know I am strong enough to handle all change, negative or positive.
And although I fear the universe and it's plan for me, I trust myself.
I don't see anything I do as a failure, because I am strong believer in never regretting anything you have done, because if you're doing it right, you'll grow and learn from it. I personally measure failures as more of ongoing flaws. We all have them. God knows I have MANY. But there is a certain flaw that lies just beneath the surface of my consciousness, that is scratching and clawing to be revealed to you all, and even to myself.
I am terrified of change.
Now although I pride myself on fearing almost nothing but lice, and the wrath of the ever-scowling lunch monitor that always asks where I am going, I've realized that I tend to shy away from this fear when it comes creeping ins.
This clutching fear has been present as long as I can remember. I didn't stop drinking out of a bottle until my four year old birthday. It took me until I was nine to fully be able to spend the whole night in my own bed, and I still sleep with my tattered baby doll, creatively named, "Baby."
Throughout my high school career the thought of going off to college has been terrifying. My explorative and curious nature that would normally encourage me to see the world, and fly from my warm cocoon, is squandered by my stubborn refusal to let the great unknown decide my fate.
When relaxing at casual family gatherings, and my uncles and aunts ask me, "Hey, you're almost a senior, what do you want to do with your life after high school?" I suddenly become defensive and almost choked up. I usually reply, "I DON'T KNOW, OKAY!?" in a startling and probably inappropriate tone. For Christ's sake, I become choked up at guidance appointments when they tell me to create a Naviance account.
It is not just the fear of changing locations and adopting a new, unfamiliar lifestyle. But the nightmare of the changing relationships with the ones I truly love and care about.
Usually I snicker at petty teen angst, but juniors and seniors are truly put in a difficult position. We have to patiently wait to part ways with our tearful parents, life long friends, and heartbroken lovers. I find myself wondering if I even want to get closer to my new friends, thinking, "I'll just have to leave them soon."
I have developed one particular relationship with a person who, for their sake, will not be named. Now some people might think, "Teenagers don't know what love is." Which, at times, is true. But ocasionally a true, once in a lifetime love comes along at the ripe age of 14. Unfortunately, yet somehow fortunately, I know for a fact that I have experienced this. I still do even at this second experience it. Leaving this person, even though things would still be terribly complicated if I stayed anyways, is one of my biggest fears. Our relationship will change. It will. And there is no getting around it. That aspect is the most real, and scary thing that I have ever faced in my 17 years of living.
Why can't I just go with the flow? See what happens?
I wish it was that simple.
Although the fear of change is a broad, and encompassing flaw, there is something that gives me solace; a saving grace. Because with every flaw or failure there is always a redeeming factor.
I know I will be okay. I know I am strong enough to handle all change, negative or positive.
And although I fear the universe and it's plan for me, I trust myself.
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
The Only Sometimes Credible Memoirs of Natasha Newt
Disclaimer: Although it might not appear so at first, this is a TRUE story... seriously. You'll get how that is possible at the end. Enjoy.
CHAPTER 12
She was suddenly in the science wing of her high school. So much commotion everywhere. Why was everyone scrambling to find their friends? Natasha frantically stopped a by-passer and asked, "What is going on?"
"The disease is spreading, and the school is surrounded!" the gangly boy screamed.
"What the hell is this kid talking about?" Natasha wondered.
She found a group of seven other kids who seemed calmer than the rest. They were all intently whispering to one another.
Naturally, Natasha leaned in to listen. It was an escape route. They were planning to escape the confines of the school grounds. But why? She was still mulling over why she was so confused. And why was she playing along as if this strange scenario could actually play out in real life. "Are you in Natasha? Can you close the door behind you?"
She snapped out of it. "Sure, I guess." she replied to the group staring down at her.
"Alright, it's a go then. Come on guys." said the same boy who had spoken directly to Natasha before.
"I guess he's the leader then," Natasha pondered shortly.
They rushed down to the bottom of the stairs when they heard a load groan, followed by shrieks and cries coming from up the stairs.
This was real. How could it be? Natasha decided that she would stop wondering why, and simply act. She followed the group through the doors that lead to the baseball field through the gym.
She was shocked at what she saw. Zombies everywhere. "Okay, that's enough." Natasha mumbled to herself in disbelief.
"Come on!!" exclaimed the assertive, nameless leader.
She followed him through a narrow tunnel, and suddenly appeared in New York City. What appeared to be holographic thermometer rested in the sky with rapidly dwindling percentages accompanying the large, strange image.
Everyone was in a frenzy. The city had an unnaturally orange hue. Something was terrible wrong. There were twenty times the amount of Zombies as before. "What is that?" Natasha asked, pointing up to the mysterious shape atop the buildings.
"That's the amount of oxygen left on the planet, Natasha. We have to find Mike... Wait! There he is! He has the portal. Quick everyone, before it's too late!" said the leader with a purposeful stride.
They ran to the mysterious man named Mike standing on a dock. "GET IN!" He exclaimed, pointing to a swirling portal right out of the movies.
Without thinking, Natasha followed her companions into the portal and in a split second, reappeared in a dense, blue forrest with sparkling dew and gleaming moonlight surrounding her. She looked down at herself. She had transformed into Mini Mouse. The others had become other cartoon characters. "What is this world?!" Natasha exclaimed.
All of the sudden she was jolted awake by the familiar sound of Marimba. Her iphone alarm. She sat up, and croaked, "What the hell. That was the coolest dream I've ever had. I need to tell someone."
The Marshmallow Fields
I'm sure reading the title, you all thought this place would be a marijuana induced reality. Well, you're wrong. "The Marshmallow Fields, Natasha?" you ask, "What the hell is that, Natasha?" you inquire. Well, this place is real, and hidden in our very own New Paltz! I will of course not divulge the exact location of this mysterious haven because if all of you decide to show up, then it wouldn't be that special, now would it?
Lean back in your seats everyone, I would tell you to close your eyes and visualize what I tell you, but unfortunately you need to read the description because I am not there to read it to you.
Imagine this:
A tremendous half mile radius of green field with tall, crisp grass surrounding you. Beyond the field, and in the distance; modestly whispering, flourishing trees with the mountains to the west, and a small, barely visible path to your east. Right on the edge of the tree line there are five foot tall hay barrels cased in white wrapping, all in a pretty little row, in stacks of two. These giant marshmallows half baking in the setting sun, and half protected under the shade of the arching branches. You climb your way up and suddenly you are ten feet taller, gloriously gazing at the mystified pink and golden sky. A slight breeze kisses your shoulder and you breathe in the smell of sweet hay and freshly cut grass.
Purely, blissfully content.
I was first introduced to this place by a fleeting love interest, thinking it would swoon me. Although this didn't work out too well for him, soon my friends and I were venturing there on summer evenings to relax and escape the confines of shoes and bras for a short while.
What soon became known as the marshmallow field, also became a place for my townies and I to laugh, eat, play, and just be ourselves. This place became a beautiful solace of serenity that allowed us all to escape our every day problems of the outside world.
I am excitedly anticipating the soon to come ventures back to this mysterious heaven, as the weather warms and blossoms.
Lean back in your seats everyone, I would tell you to close your eyes and visualize what I tell you, but unfortunately you need to read the description because I am not there to read it to you.
Imagine this:
A tremendous half mile radius of green field with tall, crisp grass surrounding you. Beyond the field, and in the distance; modestly whispering, flourishing trees with the mountains to the west, and a small, barely visible path to your east. Right on the edge of the tree line there are five foot tall hay barrels cased in white wrapping, all in a pretty little row, in stacks of two. These giant marshmallows half baking in the setting sun, and half protected under the shade of the arching branches. You climb your way up and suddenly you are ten feet taller, gloriously gazing at the mystified pink and golden sky. A slight breeze kisses your shoulder and you breathe in the smell of sweet hay and freshly cut grass.
Purely, blissfully content.
I was first introduced to this place by a fleeting love interest, thinking it would swoon me. Although this didn't work out too well for him, soon my friends and I were venturing there on summer evenings to relax and escape the confines of shoes and bras for a short while.
What soon became known as the marshmallow field, also became a place for my townies and I to laugh, eat, play, and just be ourselves. This place became a beautiful solace of serenity that allowed us all to escape our every day problems of the outside world.
I am excitedly anticipating the soon to come ventures back to this mysterious heaven, as the weather warms and blossoms.
In the fresh open air, and yet the privacy of the cradling wall of trees we are safe.
We are free.
Saturday, May 18, 2013
Where art thou Baby Natasha?
Where is Baby Natasha?
Well, I'm right here! Although that's not the Natasha that I was introduced to in one of the first books my mother read to me, entitled, you guessed it... Where is Baby Natasha? That baby Natasha was the lovable, pink Sesame Street rascal.
Of course, being a baby Natasha myself, I could truly identify with the plights of the protagonist of this beautifully crafted, complex story filled with the motifs of blocks, and baby doll. Or in other words, I thought it was really cool that they named a book after me, and that I was apparently a pink puppet with a bonnet, a green nose, and no fingers or ears. My mom clearly also got a kick out of it, laughing every time I'd respond, "I'm right here mommy!"
Eventually as I got a couple of years older I was introduced to Baby Natasha in "Say Cheese!" After getting over how honored I was to be staring in a encore performance, I read the book with my mom, only to find out that I will not say "Cheese!" willingly, unless I am given a block of cheese to eat in return. Ironically, looking back, it seems like something that I would probably do. Which means yes, I've always been this sassy. God bless the poor souls of my parents.
These first memories of reading do not only stick out in my mind because the titles included my name, however. Reading every night before bed with my mom was my first memory of establishing a true bond with her. (Lucky her, my dad got bath time.) Reading was our time. I was truly introduced to literacy in a way that made me feel safe, and ever since then reading has given me a sense of security, and a way to not only get lost in the work, but relate personally to the story.
After all, aren't all main characters, flawed but noble, just a bunch of baby Natashas?
Well, I'm right here! Although that's not the Natasha that I was introduced to in one of the first books my mother read to me, entitled, you guessed it... Where is Baby Natasha? That baby Natasha was the lovable, pink Sesame Street rascal.
Of course, being a baby Natasha myself, I could truly identify with the plights of the protagonist of this beautifully crafted, complex story filled with the motifs of blocks, and baby doll. Or in other words, I thought it was really cool that they named a book after me, and that I was apparently a pink puppet with a bonnet, a green nose, and no fingers or ears. My mom clearly also got a kick out of it, laughing every time I'd respond, "I'm right here mommy!"
Eventually as I got a couple of years older I was introduced to Baby Natasha in "Say Cheese!" After getting over how honored I was to be staring in a encore performance, I read the book with my mom, only to find out that I will not say "Cheese!" willingly, unless I am given a block of cheese to eat in return. Ironically, looking back, it seems like something that I would probably do. Which means yes, I've always been this sassy. God bless the poor souls of my parents.
These first memories of reading do not only stick out in my mind because the titles included my name, however. Reading every night before bed with my mom was my first memory of establishing a true bond with her. (Lucky her, my dad got bath time.) Reading was our time. I was truly introduced to literacy in a way that made me feel safe, and ever since then reading has given me a sense of security, and a way to not only get lost in the work, but relate personally to the story.
After all, aren't all main characters, flawed but noble, just a bunch of baby Natashas?
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