Find the shape and tell it!
All Students: Be sure to read the entries for this group --October writers). Everyone is required to comment on at least THREE different pieces of writing. You must submit comments
on Canvas (for each one, include the name of the author and the title
of their piece, and then your positive, specific comment ) by Friday, November 8 on Canvas.
It's a funny saying. We hear as kids from adults or from our parents but we never grasp the true meaning of it. I was raised by my grandmother from the age of 6-16. She’s my second mom. She took me to school, provided all the needs I had as a kid, and played the best music. She would always tell me to enjoy the little moments. That being either hanging out with my parents who were only around for a little while or getting to see my family that lived abroad. She always would tell me when I complained that I didn't have enough time with that person or place to enjoy the little moments that I had and not to focus on the negative. I never really liked when she told me that honestly, I felt like it was just a grandmotherly saying but then life happened and I truly understood the meaning of that saying when my grandmother got cancer. I was 14 when we first discovered that she had some type of cancer in her uterus. I remember feeling so sad and so broken because this was my second mom that I felt like I was losing. I told myself to keep calm for my grandma but it destroyed me. Cancer is no joke and it can make you feel so hopeless because there's honestly no cure and no way to get rid of it completely and when you see it affecting a loved one it breaks you apart. But every single time that I would be with my grandmother she would always tell me to enjoy the little moments we have. She saw that I was so negative and that I would lose sight of the little moments that we had where she didn't have any pain that day, or felt stronger. I believe that sometimes we can see a situation and only point out the bad. Sometimes we lose sight of the good that we experience even if its just for a moment. When things feel so hard or when you feel hopeless we tend to solely focus on that instead of enjoying the little moments along the way. To go through her chemotherapy runs and sitting in the doctor's office waiting for the news on her pet scan result, feeling the anxiety of what's to come. My grandma would make funny jokes, bring up past embarrassing memories of me as a kid, or playing loud music that we used to listen to at every family party. She told me that every single time she did this she wanted me to enjoy this moment of happiness together. She would remind me that these are the little moments we want to hang on to in hard times. I believe throughout my grandmother's situation with cancer I learned that enjoying the little moments is more important than focusing on the negative. Now I can look back and remember all of our little moments we had together from sitting in the doctor's office listening to loud music and praying to God that we would recieve a good report, dancing before going into the chemo runs, singing on the top of our lungs to chilean music while the tears fell from our eyes. Those are the little moments that I cherish with my grandmother and can never forget. I believe once I learned to focus on the little moments I realized that through all her situations we made the best of it. I realized that by enjoying the good moments helps me but also my grandmother. Thankfully she fought cancer like a champ and now she still is a stage four cancer patient but is in remission! Recently she told me that if we didn't have those little moments of laughing, singing , dancing, living in the moment that maybe she wouldn't have had so much drive to push through the. but because we had those moments together it gave her a little bit of fight which taught me that enjoying those little moments can go a long way. I believe this helped in a lot of ways. In life we face hardships and challenges that we paint as negative and we focus on only the bad things when what should focus on is the good things along the way. So when you have a a hard situation remember to focus on the good and enjoy those special moments. This helped me in a hard time in my life and now I go through life enjoying the little things which helps me better mentally
Aizlynn Vasquez (2007)
Another day.
Gouache on canvas
The book that inspired this art piece was “House of Leaves” by Mark Z. Danielewski. The book inspired me to paint 3 different panel scenes in varying tones reflecting the contents of the book. The three panels show the different elements of the story such as the endless hallways showing the liminal horror of the story. The family shoes because the story is about the Navidson family who are your typical suburban family who made the mistake of moving into the house unaware of the horrors they were going to experience. Finally, the leaves represent the small intercuts between the intense book pages that explain different trivias and facts that are relevant to the story. This is all to represent what makes up “House of leaves.” I used gouache paint and color pencil for the painting. I blocked out the coloring with paint before going back to blending it all in. The painting has many layers to it which represent the layers that unpeel the further the story goes as the house becomes more obscure. The color pencils to highlight any detail the way Will Navidson highlighted the oddities of the house. The message of the painting was to convey the non-linear writing style that the story has, rather than just make one painting, I made three different ones in one canvas to show the absurdity of the story and make them vary in tone showing the sharp shifts and contrast that happens frequently within the book.
Valerie Gutierrez (b. 2006)
The Calm Blue Whispers, 2024
Cardboard Diorama
My artwork was inspired by one of my favorite books, Under The Whispering Door, written by TJ Klune. The entire storyline revolves around the subjects of life and death, including the different feelings that come with it. The message of the book had a great impact on me, which is why I picked it. The message was that life is messy and you can’t control everything, all you can do is accept it and hold on to what you can control while you can. My artwork depicts the door in the tea shop, where the book mostly takes place, which leads to the afterlife.
I painted the door with soft blue colors to symbolize the peace and acceptance after crossing the door. In the book the door is supposed to feel magnetic as it calls to spirits to move on to the afterlife and finally become at peace, so I thought that blue is the best color to represent this.
I used paint and an old gift bag since I couldn’t find any cardboard, then I used pastel colors to add shadows and nice blends of the blues.
It was 7th grade Jr. High, and my second year of being in an entirely new city, school, and distance from family. I was finally getting adjusted to our new life in this area, as we had come from the dusty mountains of Victorville. One day before bed, I went downstairs looking for a snack, but instead found my mom packing up clothes. Curiously I asked her where she was going, when she regretfully told me “grandpa had a heart attack, he’s in the hospital”. A little heart that day sank, in fear and worry for the health of my grandfather, not knowing at the time he had struggled with heart problems. She was packing up to drive over to him at the hospital in Las Vegas, which was now a three hour drive from home, the rest of the family followed that same night. Not knowing how long they would be gone, she said I had to stay home. Due to the fact that I used to be a chronic absentee, which had resulted in me only being able to miss a limited amount of unexcused absences. The consequences of violating the maximum amount was the chance of legal action being pursued by the school against my parents. A family member in the hospital, who had suffered a life threatening attack was not a valid excuse to miss school according to the district.
So I stayed home, watching them drive off feeling a mix of hopefulness and fear. My only other thought being how unfair it was for my sister to be able to go, but not me. The first grandchild, his first grandchild couldn’t be there. That feeling would soon be overwhelmed with something stronger, which was the feeling of regret.
Three days later, my mom still hasn’t come back. I went to school the same as any other day, my dad getting me ready, and dropping me off with an “I love you! Bye!”. My mind, now distracted with various school activities, friends, and homework, set off to my first period. The school day passed by fast, as the next thing I remember is getting in the car with my dad. We were driving down the curved street of S Heritage, waiting to turn right on Baseline, with the AC running, and the hum of radio in the background. Then my dad looked at me with glossy eyes, and a somber tone “Your grandpa passed away today”. It felt as if the world had stopped for a brief moment, the air now quiet and still. My face reacting faster than my brain could process what he had just said to me, as I just started balling. His hand, already on my back, trying to comfort a shattered heart. All I could think of was how I wasn’t there, angry at the school, angry at my mom for not letting me go, and so upset that everyone was there, except me. This anger later turned into a deep sense of regret, his very first grandchild, he was there for, could not be there for him in his final days. What was supposed to be a normal day at school, was replaced with a moment I still can’t forget.
After this news, now a couple days into October my parents sat me down for an important talk. How my grandfather's funeral would be on October 20th, my then 12th birthday. Naturally, I was distraught, a day that was supposed to be a celebration of life, turned into a day of remembrance and death. The same day I was born, was the same day we would lay my grandfather to his final rest.
Although, this experience has taught me something I doubt I could’ve learned anywhere else. Which was the true value of his life, as I now grow older with these memories, my mind has matured. From something that was now gloomy, has bloomed into a beautiful sense of love and remembrance. Now almost exactly five years later I’ve realized that his funeral was not just about him passing on, but a celebration and tribute to his life. While he has moved on, I now see that day as a torch, from him, now being passed to me. To take what he has taught our family about love, respect, and connection then pass it onto my youngest cousins/siblings by being the role model they look up to. Now that I am turning 17 soon, on October 20th, I still hold this now blazing torch high, being the guide I need to be for the next generation of my family.
Alyssa Wyatt (b. 2007)
More, 2024
Acrylic on canvas
This piece is inspired by the scene in Arthur Miller’s the Crucible where Giles Corey was being crushed for not admitting he partook in witchcraft. The reason this inspired me was because I think it is so powerful that he stuck to his values and beliefs even if it meant he would die. To me, my artwork represents standing your ground. I think that having strong values is extremely important and makes a person who they are. What good are belief systems if they crumble just because you are the only one that believes in it? Why live a life you know you are faking when you could die with your core opinions. The people torturing Corey asked him to confess to witchcraft, and knowing he never did it all he said was, “More weight.” He was eventually crushed to death, but he died with his morals intact and was honored amongst the people in the town who were about to die for sticking to their beliefs as well. The materials I used were a 14x11 inch canvas and Folk Art Matte acrylic paint. To make the guts and blood more realistic, I used streamers and covered them in paint. I also used a black pen on the cinderblocks to outline them and make them pop more. The emotion I was trying to convey in this painting was something gross because it is October, but I also wanted to convey sticking up for what you believe in. You shouldn’t let anyone tell you how to think and what to believe. Living a life with morals you don’t trust is as bad, if not worse, as dying for the morals you do believe in.
I remember when I was a little kid, in preschool, which was around 2010-2011, and I would rush to be first in line to lead the class to recess. Oh how I miss those days. Do I really miss those days though, or do I just miss the feeling of having no responsibilities, no stress, where everything was simpler, whether you were liked based on if you could run the fastest or if you were “chill”? Now here I am, a senior in highschool, going to college next year. Oh how the years have flown. I now have duties and responsibilities. Life is just not as simple as it used to be. I also have to make many important choices and decisions. One wrong choice or decision could ruin my life.
When I was a kid, my mother frequently sang me a song in my native language, arabic. In english it goes like this, “Today you are a boy, tomorrow you will be a man. Oh my sweet little boy will grow as fast as the flowers do during spring.” I remember I always asked my mom, “mama what do you mean I’m going to be a boy today and a man tomorrow”. That’s impossible, I thought. My thinking was limited back then. I wasn’t able to understand figurative language. Now that I look back at it, she meant that I was going to grow up very very fast which is true. That is exactly what happened. I could still remember yesterday and how I was coloring and connecting cubes in my second grade class. How I used to hate multiplying and dividing. Nowadays I’m doing math that involves symbols such as sin, cos, tan, theta, phi, and so much more things that my younger self would have probably not been able to comprehend.
I was a little late to realize it, but now, I am trying to make the most out of my childhood/teenage years. I want to enjoy every time period of my life. I enjoyed my kid years, 1-13, I am enjoying my teenage years, 1-18, I want to enjoy my adult years, 18-50, as well as my elder/senior years, from 50 till death. Each time period in our lives is different from the others. Each time period has its own pros and cons. For example, as a kid I had way less responsibilities, less stress, and a lot of fun, but I had absolutely no freedom to do what I want. Now as a teenager, I have some duties (not really responsibilities but more things I have to get done, such as volunteering or homework), and I have some fun, as well as some freedom, which is an awesome thing. I can go on walks by myself, or be trusted to drive, most of the time, wherever I want, or go to the waterpark with my friends without my parents fearing that I drown. I just want to enjoy every second there is to life. In the end, we all live once. It is something that will never happen again. It is something that takes place once in eternity.
Many people fear the concept of death, and I don’t blame them. But I like to think about it in a different way. We are the ones that get to die. I’d rather have a temporary life than to just be nonexistent. Sure life has its ups and downs, but it has to be that way or else humanity will never improve. In order to improve anything, we first need to learn it, and that’s the hard part. It’s only natural. There is one quote that I really like and it goes like this, “death is what gives life meaning”. It is because we know that we all have an end, that we try to make the best of our time here. If people are to approach this way of thinking when it comes to life and death, then people would be more grateful and approach life in a more positive way.
Our life is formed by the choices and decisions that we make and these choices are affected by the way we see the world around us, our perception of everything. I learned to make the most of the time that I have and I am sure that in the future I would be proud of this decision. Remember, time passes by very quickly. Much more quickly than you might feel or believe. Make the most of it, because soon, very soon, all of our times will be up. That is the reality of life. Make it a life having worth lived.
Aileen Flores (b.2007)
Hidden Compartment (2024)
The literary work that inspired my piece was the book East Side Dreams by Art Rodriguez. The book East side dreams is essentially a bibliography written by Rodriguez himself and his life journey. I chose this book because even though I can’t relate to it for me when I read it, it provides a sense of comfort. I feel this way because the challenges he talks about throughout are real and I know some people can relate to them. In this piece the dove in the middle of the canvas represents the sense of peace and freedom that Art Rodriguez had reached in his life after the difficulties he faced trying to get away from the struggles of being around gang life. The words dream and endure on the canvas to me represent the true purpose of Rodriguez sharing his story. The swirls of red and green as the background on the canvas just represent what I thought was very big from the story, Rodriguez being Mexican. Growing up in San Jose and the influence that had on him growing up there. I felt that it was crucial to include that because heritage is essentially what makes us all different and unique. The materials used to create this were various colors of acrylic paint. As well caulking to create the words with the help of a toothpick to help shape the letters. The message I would like to convey to someone who hasn't read the book and sees the canvas is that you can always find peace and a sense of freedom in life. Like I mentioned before in Rodriguez’s story he talks about his hardships in life and what he did to work to overcome them. So with the help of the theme throughout his story is to dream because if you work towards it they can come true. What I also hope to convey with the word endure is that even though you may think you can’t come out of a tough situation, everything will work out. You just need to have patience and practice staying hopeful.
365 days, it’s officially been a year since John’s passing. I wish it happened sooner. John, well my father, was never there for me, I never felt his love, I will always resent him. The only thing I can credit him for is his consistency, his father was John, he was John, and he named me John. In his passing he left me one thing, his journal. It has sat on my mantle everyday for the past 9 months. He was always such a curiosity to me, I’ve begun to wonder what's in it. For the past 3 months the curiosity has torn at me, I'm going to read it after I put my son and daughter down for bed tonight. I walk upstairs and call out to my children that it’s time for bed. I tuck my 12 year old son in and go to my daughter’s room, after tucking my daughter into bed I tell her I love her and I read her a quick story of a cat and a hat. I head downstairs, grab a glass of wine, grab the journal, and I begin. “There are five senses: touch, sight, hearing, smell, taste. I've touched and I've been touched, I've seen and I've been seen, I've experienced the sensation of smell, I've experienced the sensation of taste, but the one thing I can say is I've never experienced being heard. All five human senses and yet I feel that I lack one. I've had conversations, I've talked to friends, I have family, I can speak and I can write, but yet I lack the feeling of being heard. I speak my mind and I have people that listen but yet I still haven't been heard. I am a common man. I am no different than anyone else, I have my own thoughts, my own opinions, and my own voice but yet I still feel as if no one understands me. I am a common man. My story is no different from another. I've had a stereotypical life. I have a mother, a father, and a sister. I had pets growing up. I've lived the stereotypical suburban life. I am a common man. Although I say I am common, and it may seem I am basic, there is a lot to know about me, but no one does. I express myself in ways that many others do, but I still don't feel heard. It's funny because as a child I felt as if I was the most important person in the world, but as I've grown I've realized I am no different than another. I've spoken my mind and said my peace, but yet my life hasn't changed. I've asked my father if he thinks the same as me, although he didn't give me a direct answer, it seemed as though he agreed. I am a common man.” Before I could continue reading through his story, my son ran downstairs screaming about his nightmare, why is he being a baby? It's just a nightmare. I tell him my exact thoughts and tell him to go back upstairs and act like a man. He quietly turns around and slowly walks up the stairs and all I can think about is how he’s acting like a little child. I would understand if it was my daughter but not him. I check the time and realize I’ve been reading for nearly an hour, I think I should take a break. Walking upstairs I use the restroom and then check to make sure my daughter is still asleep. I go back downstairs and make myself a snack, while I look back into the living room I see the journal still sitting there open. I sit back down and continue on the next page. “When I was seven, my sister was born, I was so happy, my family grew. But with a growing family, the love dwindles. All attention on me went to my baby sister, any love that I had felt was stuck in the past. Although I feel love, I don't feel loved. On my 8th birthday I was running around in the backyard when I fell, I cried and cried, no one came. I ran to my father with teary eyes, I told him what happened, he told me that men don't cry. When I was 12 I asked my mother if she still loved me, she said “Of course dear why wouldn't I” I told her of the lack of attention and love I receive, and in response she downplayed what I said and told me to man up. I am a common man. As society grows, the one thing that hasn’t is the idea of a man.” Looking at his words in writing makes me feel empty, this is the same man that never showed me love, gave me backhanded compliments. Couldn’t even smile at my graduation, didn’t even give me a call on my wedding day. This man doesn’t have emotions, he’s never shown me any but he can sit here and write as though he does. With my anger brewing I skip ahead three pages to more lies. “I feel emotion yet I can not express it, I can feel pain but I must act as though it is not existent. My emotions are bound to me like a glove on a hand, but when I unbound the glove, I am judged and ridiculed. I am a common man. I spoke to my sister and wondered if she has ever felt unheard. Although she said yes, when I asked her of her experience, the experience of what she had is all I ever wanted. I am a common man. People ask me for my opinions and ask me to share my thoughts, but yet when I share my story I feel the judgment seep through. I am seen but not heard, they can hear me but yet they don't understand when i speak my true self no one is around. My name is John, I am 24 years old and I am THE common man. Recently I met a wonderful woman. Although she can't relate to feeling unheard, she can hear me. I've felt her touch when we hug, I can see her beauty, I've heard her majestic voice, I've smelt her flower scented perfume, and I've tasted her cherry flavored lipstick. This is the girl I want to marry. I’m 30 now, I've been married to my beautiful wife Jane for exactly 24 hours now, I’ve been so happy with us that I can’t wait to continue my life with her. We are starting to become older so we need to start on growing our family. I’m scared of course, my mind is wondering and I have no clue how to raise my children. I want to give my daughter the world and toughen up my son. The more he grows the more expectations I have. I want him to be a better man than I have ever been. I am a common man. I'm 31 years old and my son was just born. I'm 37 years old and my daughter was just born. I'm 43, my son is 12 and my beautiful daughter is now 6 and my father has just passed away. I'm unbothered by his death, to be honest, I wish he died sooner, I never felt his love, I will always resent him. He is the same man that never showed me love, gave me backhanded compliments, and couldn’t even smile at my graduation, he didn’t even give me a call on my wedding day. However, I've been bothered by my son becoming distant with me. I’ve asked my wife if she knows what’s wrong and she tells me he is becoming a man. I accept her answer and decide to move on. I am 55 years old and I haven't talked to my son in 2 and a half years. He’s 24 and I've heard he found a wonderful girl. The more I grow in age, I realize I've raised him the same way my father has raised me. I’m scared to call, I know he resents me, I just wish I can redo it all. I love my son more than anything in the world, more than myself, my mother, his mother, more than everything, and he will never know. I’m 74 years old now, my son hasn’t come around to visit me in 14 years. I haven’t gotten to meet his children, I wasn’t invited to his wedding. I regret everything. I’m lying on my deathbed, my daughter has visited me, my wife still loves me, but my son doesn’t even have a second thought about me. I was the common man.” Looking at my father’s words makes me sick to my stomach, he’s lived the exact life I have. I’ve been no better. The thoughts of my father feel tainted now, I regret everything.
Growing up in a two story house, a pool in the backyard, with both of my parents and my older brother. I am running around the house everyday, watching movies, playing with my toys, and drawing. I am a happy, worry free little girl who has no idea of what reality was; has no idea what is going on around me. All I know is that my family is happy, together, worry free and my dad is my best friend and we are inseparable. I run into his arms everyday when he gets home, I take a bunch of pictures with him, I miss him when he would be at work until later that day. I wait for him in the living room, staring at the door at the usual time he gets home. I draw pictures for him to put up at his work desk all of the time. I found my comfort with him, after all I was his ‘mini me’ so we were close and most like each other.
Unfortunately, at a certain point in time, I started to barely be able to see my dad, because of how busy he was, and how far he worked, I would only see him a little bit every day and only would see him entirely on the weekends. He would come home late, I would hear the fights he and my mom had in the middle of the night, but I would ignore it and didn't pay much attention to it. He would wake up really early, and repeat the work cycle again and again. I did understand my dad had to work everyday to be able to give us what we needed and wanted, I just never understood why he had to come home so late. I would stay up for so long, waiting to hear him walk through the door and know he is safe. I hated being away from my best friend for so long. I hated not being able to know how far he was from getting home and if he was safe or not. I was always afraid of his safety, any little thing worried me.
I miss my best friend.
I am now seven years old. We moved into a new house, much different from our last one. The energy from my parents didn’t feel the same and it feels like ever since then, things started to change. My best friend is changing, little by little, but is still so noticeable— well for me. I brushed it off because he still calls me his princess, which makes me feel reassured that nothing is changing, we still have our bond and I am so sure nothing will ever break it. I felt this was a new chapter to make new memories in this house, yet with the same best friend. We watch movies together, I make him little treats out of play-doh and he takes them and plays along, I tell him all about my day at school, well the good things of course, never the bad things, and we mess around for hours until it is bedtime. I sleep with a t-shirt of his because I hate being away from him. I feel the most safe with him by my side. He tells me “goodnight” and that he will see me tomorrow. I would always fall asleep best imagining what tomorrow would be like, maybe he would pick me up from school, or color with me or take me to the park– so many possibilities on what we could do. Then the next morning came, he had already left to work early that morning, so I went to school sad but also got excited as school was about to end. Excitement that my best friend was going to pick me up from school and he would take me to go eat. I walked out the gate, squinting my eyes from the brightness of the sun, looked around, no sign of him. My mom walked up to me with her hand out, I was let down. I don’t blame him, it wasn’t fully his fault, I was the one who thought maybe he would have been able to, but mom explained to me how difficult his job treats him and how hard it is for him to be able to pick me up or anything like that. I had to understand but I couldn’t help but feel hurt by the fact all these other little girls were getting picked up and taken to school by their dad but mine never was able to. Only on special occassions like award ceremonies, which I am grateful he got to go to come, but after a while he stopped going so much. I stopped seeing him in the crowd of parents, and it hurt me,
I am now ten years old, things start getting rocky. My best friend and I are starting to have periods of time of being upset at each other and it drags on for days. Obviously at this age, kids go through change, especially girls with their moods and attitude, which I admit mine were constant and pretty bad which my parents would never let me be oblivious to, they would put me in check and would be upsetw with me. I understood and did correct my behavior because I hated the feeling of them being mad at me, especially my dad, I couldnt stand the feeling of him being upset at me or disappointed. However, there is no excuse for being pushed away by your best friend in the whole world, your protector. Now, this is more than just the attitudes, the moods, and talking back, there is something being held against and reflected toward me. I don't know what I could have done to cause this. I can't put my finger on it, but I felt it, something was different, something wasn't right. This isn't like my best friend. He isnt this kind of person.
The second I blew out the candles on my thirteenth birthday, I started to have my eyes opened and this is when I started learning my lesson that was being shown to me all along. I was losing my best friend, not physically but emotionally and mentally. The change in my best friend showed me so much, it wrecked me. I fell apart. Argument after argument, budding heads all the time because we have the same stubbornness and each wants to make our argument, it turns into a screaming match that I feel I can never express myself because I am constantly belittled and silenced. A lot of the time, I feel a knot in my throat that won't ever let me spill out my words. That knot tightens as if it is being pinched. I cry from frustration as I can never bring myself to say what I have to say, I cannot say what I fully feel because I cannot hurt his feelings, I cannot make him feel that way, I can't. I always think to myself “just do it, you need to tell him how much this affects you”, but I never get to that point. I will never hurt someone's feelings because of my own hurt, I can't bring myself to do it. I hold back, wipe my tears and go on with my day.
Nothing ever felt the same.
I often would and still do ask myself “Where did I ever go wrong? Why are things this way? How could someone change so fast toward you, someone who was supposed to protect you from things, doing the opposite and hurting you? Why can't he see? Why won't he listen or even try for me?” I could never fathom the answers to these questions. All I knew was, if I never find out these answers, I will stress on this and let this affect me for years until I can find the courage to find the answers to these questions.
Now here I am, seventeen years old, still missing my best friend, the best friend from when I was five years old. Why did he change? Was he always this way like everyone else says? But I just didn't see it? To be told, I am exactly like him by my family. It shows me that he isn't the bad guy, yet, everyone has different experiences with him, that each has connected to the same result. “You’re just like your dad”, “You guys are the same”, suddenly I feel a lump in my throat, my heart in my stomach, beating faster than a bolt of lightning, I shiver, only it's not cold. What is this feeling? Why must I feel this way whenever being talked to about my best friend? Why does it always hurt me to talk about him? That question is simply answered. It hurts me because I would never imagine or even be able to put someone, especially my own family, to feel or be treated the way I have been treated and been feeling. We have our good days, we have our quiet days, and we have our bad days. Bad days consist of not talking to each other, feeling that awkwardness and tension when in the same room as each other, not saying “hi” to each other when we see each other after a long day. I went from running up to him when he came home, to sitting in my room staring at my door, hearing his footsteps coming up the stairs, waiting and waiting for him to walk in and say “hi” to me, asking me how I am. I still crave a hug from him somedays, when I have a bad day I just want a hug but I never get it, if I ever do, it never feels the same as it once did. All my accomplishments, the awards of principal's honor roll, honor roll, report cards of all A+’s, 90-100% on tests and quizzes, all go unacknowledged by him. I haven't heard an “I'm proud of you” in so long from him. It never goes unnoticed how late I stay up to do all this overloaded work, how much effort I put into tests, projects, and assignments, and how hard I work every day to make both of my parents proud. No. I am from now on only doing this for myself, to make myself proud because that is the most important thing. I cannot let myself dwell on the fact he doesn't acknowledge anymore, that he doesn't get involved, that he doesn't bother to ask or know what is going on, I simply have to accept that and move on. It has taken me years to admit this to myself but I have grown to learn and see things that show me the reality of things and the world that I was so delusional about.
Throughout all this constant ups and downs, good times and bad times, all the conflict, I had to learn at a young age that people change, it can be the people you would least expect or least want to change, and it won't always be for the better. I've grown tired of the constant problems we have, the constant periods of not talking to each other, and he doesn't seem to even faze it nor does it affect him in any way, it is always my fault in his eyes. The one day not talking and the next day to be taken to normally like nothing happened, it's such a confusion and a bunch of different emotions, I can never control. People change, it hurts at times but life goes on, at the end of the day you only have yourself and you cannot force people to see things from your point of view if they don't want to see it. If they really wanted to change for the better and see where they may go wrong, they would.
Loss is something we have to go through in order to value, experience and mature with it there is no other way around it. Although I can still see the teary eyes, the drowsy faces becoming drier by the day being able to show less love and affection there faces becoming like stone repeating the same words over and over again thank you, thank you, while in reality all they really wanted to do was go and hide away in there room and stay away from the all the joyness that was downstairs. I could see all of this from the back in the corner, like an owl scoping its surroundings while having to take everything in, not knowing in the moment how impactful it really was and how much it really meant to lose someone you cared dear for.
Around 5 years ago I had to experience the death of my uncle. I remember the night it was late, maybe eleven pm and my mother got a text from her sister saying Elizabeth’s Husband is in the Hospital to go to her now. Regard you that at the moment my mother and sister were not on the best of terms but she understood that those problems were the least of our worries, so we rushed to the hospital but they did not tell me why I just heard the words “we need to go” with a sternness I have never heard before so all I could do is build a bubble of overthinking thoughts about what is going on, as we arrive to the hospital, I was left in the car and the gloomy hours made me knockout only remembering me waking up on my bed as if nothing happened almost as if I had woken up from a nightmare that was about to start. The next morning is the day we receive the news that he has passed onto the next life. The first reaction is crying from my mom and gutting feelings from my dad while my brother is still way too young to even catch a grasp of what is going on. My initial thought is pure and utter empathy towards my aunt but not a single tear dropped or even water rose to my eyelids as I could not feel what I could see everyone feeling and going through. The next day went on and once the day came to visit them and the funeral date was upon us was the day that would never escape my mind. The feeling in the air was unlike any other, the pain on my cousins and aunts faces are almost indescribable, but under all of the commotion they were still able to come through with the funeral and try to keep their composure throughout the day. Nonstop crying from everyone, the faces of regret, absolute dejection throughout the people. The ride home with complete silence, no energy or drive to do anything even hunger was not a thought.
Now as I am older and can actually understand what occurred I now feel what the rest of my family was feeling because I am now seventeen which is the age that one of my cousins was at the time when he lost his father and I cannot fathom what I would do if this incident occurred to me, there is times at night where I am just staring at a ceiling deep in my thoughts and I try to imagine what my cousin was going through as he lost one of the most important if not the most influential person in his life. The moment I realized how big his death really was and took the bigger picture of people dying was the moment I could feel my throat start to swell as I began to feel water rise to my eyelids but the drop of tear was yet to fall. Everyday that goes on I take for granted because I cannot imagine a day without my father but everyday that passes by I realize the closer that day really is and how much more that dream can become reality. Being grateful has been something that has grown on me exponentially, enjoying each moment even if it is not the most enjoyable experience. I sit back staring into my white blank ceiling with glow in the dark stars my father put up when I was younger and I stay taking in everything he has done, isfor his children for us to live the life he didn’t have as a younger kid.
Mr. Woofs-a-lot starts class as usual, with the simple greeting of a polite bark as his students enter the classroom. As the students settle in, it gradually becomes rowdy and messy. Paws, dirt, everywhere. Trancing up to the teacher’s podium, Mr. Woofs-a-lot gets their attention.
“Squirrel!” he says, with a harsh tone, powerful for a giant St. Bernard himself.
Beady eyes, various colors, ears perked, their heads facing to the front. The teacher turns around and picks up a piece of chalkboard with his mouth. As he started writing today’s lesson, the screeching of the chalkboard caused the students in the room to go HAM! Howling, growling, and whimpering to the noise.
“Quiet!” said one of the students, Darcy, the Australian Shepard. She was obedient, the leader of the pack, and the brightest.
Again, the classroom was quiet, facing the front. Mr. Woofs-a-lot dropped the piece of chalk on his podium, stepped to the side, and revealed what he had written on the board: How to Show Gratitude to Your Humans 101. Picking up the Windsor glasses that dangled on his fluffy chest, he began reading the lesson plan from a book he had on the podium.
“We dogs have thrived along with humans for thousands of years, we repay their kindness in many ways, like hunting with them,” he says, his words thoughtful and slow.
The students’ many nods and blinks assured Mr. Woofs-a-lot that they were paying attention—most of them. He continued with a bit more background on how humans and dogs worked together and how the concept of man’s best friend includes loyalty, trust, and commitment. The teacher then paused and looked up from the podium.
“Can anyone give me good examples of how dogs show their gratitude to their owners?”
The first student to answer was Hamburger, an obese little pug eager to participate. His words have no filter, no shame. Many dogs wonder why his name is Hamburger, but many can make inferences.
“Pee on their bed!” he calls out with utmost pride.
Snickers can be heard forming around the room, some agreeing with Hamburger.
“Not quite,” Mr. Woofs-a-lot shook his head, although he found Hamburger’s response amusing.
“Borrowing their socks,” another dog, Bismarck, a Wetterhoun breed, says with a strong accent, giggling with his peers.
Still, Mr. Woofs-a-lot disagrees, scanning around the room for another answer. Sounds of scritching and scratching came from outside the classroom door. Everyone’s heads turned, and expectedly, every student barked, growled, and cried out.
“It’s open,” the teacher yelled to the door, louder than the ruckus the other dogs were making.
Slowly, the door opened, and a small, scrawny, and shaky Chihuahua entered the classroom. Everything fell silent. They watched as she pranced her way to her seat. She looked intimidated, her eyes dodgy from the hard stares from her classmates.
“You’re late.”
“Yes, I know, I am so very sorry, my owner he–” Before going into her excuse, Mr. Woofs-a-lot interrupts.
“Would you be so kind as to share with the class how you would show gratitude to your human?”
She was hesitant, and it took her a while to form words. Luckily, this topic was familiar to her. They waited patiently, intent on hearing the dog’s every word.
“Love them unconditionally. No matter what. Be there for them, even at their lowest,” She continues, “Place your trust in them because they are our home and only home.”
The Chihuahua pauses once more, then continues.
“And, don’t wet the bed.”
The classroom was filled with laughter.
“Wonderful,” Mr. Woofs-a-lot remarked before going further into the lesson.
The Chihuahua smiled shyly, and her shivering stopped, placing her full attention on the class.
Psst.
Hamburger caught her attention, smiling cheerfully at her.
“Nice one, Stupid,” He whispers, wagging his tail.
Stupid looked down to her collar, where her name was displayed on a dirty copper tag.
“Thanks, Hamburger,” She replied, her voice qu
For the October Blog, I chose the extended book review option. The book I chose is called “Hand Of Fate” by the author Lis Wiehl published by Thomas Nelson. This novel is based on suspense elements, follows a murderous plot and intrigues readers on the mystery at hand. The main subject of the book is radio talk show host Jim Fate. Jim Fate is a man who tells it straight. He is known for being very blunt and making many of his listeners upset by his controversial topics. In the novel produced by Wiehl, we are also introduced to additional characters. The people that now are working the case, like Officer Nicole Hedges After Jim’s sudden death, other characters Jim kept close to him in his personal life also appear. Characters like Allison Pierce and Victoria Hanawa. Although this novel mainly revolves around murder and a questionable legacy left behind by the main character, questions of a hidden romance and other mysteries began to unfold. Why tensions grew to be so high around the main character and who may be guilty of the crime committed, are the main questions the detectives have trouble solving.
During the entirety of the novel, readers are left on the edge of their seats, waiting for the police to arrive at a conclusion for the case. Wiehl uses descriptive imagery, detailed emotions and changing personalities of characters to shape the novel into the captivating read it becomes. Main themes found in this novel are murder mystery, power and corruption and even revenge. Revenge can be a theme of this novel most especially because as a well known figure in his community, our main character was very much hated for the things he said on air, making him an easy target for murder. Being hated both in the public realms of his life and in the personal realm of his life, only makes for a broader spectrum in trying to find the person- or people- guilty for Fate’s death.
In this novel readers are constantly turned around. Things are constantly changing whether it be a central idea the chapter focuses on, testimonies given by characters or emotions both the characters and readers come across. This novel is a mysterious ride that will leave you with even more mysterious questions that may be left unanswered. Anger, fear, confusion and everything in between will become present when the case begins to unfold. Overall for someone like me, who enjoys a murder-mystery, “Hand Of Fate”, is the way to go. Many things about this novel make it intriguing and a great novel to read; however the ability to really be convinced at what the story is portraying, is what really ties the story together. Many times books we read, whether they be fiction, non-fiction, murder mystery or different genres, they all can become too much of a fantasy for readers. Making it very hard to find interest in. “Hand Of Fate”, is a good read because it gives a real-life situation with deep detail that makes you want to follow along. The main conflict pulls you in further and further until you invest yourself so deeply into it, you too like the characters- are dying for the end of the book, when the Juror gives their ruling on the case.
The story had multiple themes, characters and twist-turns in its plot, however, the last point of focus to mention is the settings. Briefly talked about in the lines above, “Hand Of Fate” takes place in the city of Portland, in its downtown district. Jim’s apartment and studio are the main sights for detectives to gather evidence for the murder. However, other homes such as Victoria’s house are also occupied as the author builds a connection to her being the possible guilty party. In the settings we go from house to house, from apartment to apartment, all the way down to the inner city. The setting panel is very large, complementing the large ideas of Jim Fate’s case. One main setting can be Jim’s apartment where he once lived and his studio. These would be the main settings since they are the ones that are most heavily being investigated. However, it is wise to note that other characters' residence, other places Jim liked to go in his city and the people he met within the city, are also big parts in the equation of solving this case.
The main plot in this book, if not obvious yet, is the detectives' case on the murder of Jim Fate. Unfortunately, this case is not a simple one to solve because as detectives soon find out, Jim was a target for many people and listeners on air. The main plot also brings big questions to the story like Who, When, Where, and Why would someone have enough hate for Jim, to kill him? Could it have been someone he never knew? Could it have been someone close to him? All these questions tie into the main plot of the novel. Last but not least, the message of the book, the topic tying the piece together, is the impotence of uncovering the truth and the complexity life can sometimes give us. In the novel the complexity of life is explored by the many different stories. Examples of the complexities include: the many different stories we hear about Jim Fate versus who he really was, the different testimonies given in court versus the true testimony that is found in the end, last of all complexity of life is portrayed in the novel through Jim himself and his character. What about Jim made him want to be so hateful, could he have been a “villain” of his own story? Many complexities create the message of this novel, therefore, this novel could be said to simply be “complexed”. A particular word that may not always attract readers, but always one that holds readers interest.
“Hand of Fate” is a novel I personally love, thus why I did my overview on it. If you are interested in novels, mainly ones that take you to the edge of your seat and have you on your toes constantly, Wiehl’s “Hand Of Fate”, is the way to go. I hope this was an enjoyable overview, possibly sparking your interest in reading the real novel, thank you for your feedback.