Saturday, December 31, 2011

Travel Journal- Last Friday

Yesterday was the last Friday of 2011...so why not spend it with ...I don't know...Angelica? It turns out we are both in Colombia and my aunt lives two minutes away from Angelica's sister. My parents drove me over to her house at about 3:00pm. (I'm really sorry if this story is boring..but considering how boring my vacations have been so far, this is extreme). We played who wants to be a millionaire and our dear friend Google helped us win. Except we messed up in the last question. - _ - 


Anyways, then we watched Extreme Cribs on MTV and it made us realize how we are extremely poor. Then, we watched the NBA game, Miami Heat vs. Minnesota Timberwolves and it made us realize how much we suck at basketballWe had various seizures, especially on the last four seconds. We yelled a lot when Miami Heat won. We drank Nevado de Chocolate from Juan Valdez and then I went home.

Sunday, December 25, 2011

Travel Journal- Christmas Time

After leaving camp, I came to Colombia (where all my family lives and where I was born). I was extremely excited because the last time I saw my family was one year ago and I was eager to see everyone! Yesterday, all my family went to my aunt's house and had an amazing time! Things are going great except I'm not used to the cold weather in Bogota. God, I can't even wash my hands without freezing....I also love coming here because it means I get to shop a lot. Like A LOT. Hope you all had an amazing Christmas! 
Love,
Nati
Me & my sister

Thursday, December 22, 2011

Travel Journal- Day 1

This week I went to a basketball camp called Hoops United USA. Some coaches from the US came to Panama and created this camp, so that teenagers could learn more skills and become better players. It was four days, from 9am to 5pm. We had stations, drills, 5 on 5, and other activities to help us become better basketball players. I went with Angelica and we met lots of people. 90% of the campers were boys...and some of them were very very very cute <3
I had lots lots lots of fun!!!!!

Thursday, December 15, 2011

Wordly Wise Wednesday: That Summer


I could start this story by telling you about who I am, what my name is and where I am from. But that would take too long, and I’m in no mood for any inkling. Especially not from someone I don’t know. You kids, read stories about audacious knights, about a prudent prince saving the beautiful princess that waits at the top of the tower. You kids, rebuke stories that do not include action, love and hate. Sorry if I’m coming on too strong but this is no serene story, this has no happy ending, no conscientious plot. Only chaos, sorrow and a not so happy ending.
This story starts with the hot summer air on her face, the sun, strong on her body, assuring an after-the-summer tan and blonde hair that would later make her green eyes stand out. She was only wearing her favorite Billabong bikini and had a smoothie on her hand. Depicting the scene would be impossible because everything around her looked so bright, sunny and right where it was supposed to be. Unlike what was coming next. Her tanned fingers reached for her white Blackberry, and realizing how late she was, she picked up her belongings and headed towards the deck.
She embarked the remaining boat and left the island, the only place where summer really felt like summer. As she approached her summer house, she saw there was no car in the driveway, no lights were on and her lackadaisical brother (he was a senior) was nowhere to be seen. They must be in the club, she thought.
 The guard that stood at the entrance of the club confiscated her smoothie, claiming that no drinks were allowed (unless you bought them inside the club). She rolled her eyes (something she did all the time) and strutted towards the tennis courts.
She knew everyone was watching her because she was only wearing a bikini and to be honest, she knew she was quite hot. From the distance, she could see her mother, her brother and something that was just lying on the ground. Now that she looks back, she realizes how stupid and careless she was. Not knowing what awaited at the end of what seemed like a fashion show, a thought that to this day, haunts her and rankles her. She kept strutting, making sure all eyes were on her, making sure every guy was staring at her. Until she saw her mother. Her dad. He was lying on the tennis court.
She never knew, how fast she could run. How worried she could be. How scared she could feel. Until then. Her dad had his eyes shut, his left hand touching his right shoulder. He was wearing a Nike shirt, but all she could see was him. Everything seemed so unreal, like if she was just dreaming, she was too stunned and surprised to even realize. It seemed like only minutes went by, and she was sitting on the hospital's chairs. The smell of alcohol and sickness stuck all over her favorite bikini.
This is where I come in. This is where you guys know who I am, what my name is, where I come from and all that. I am Tim, the person in charge of the most excruciating ceremony one might ever be in. I have to make sure nothing looks slovenly although to me, it makes no sense. I organize funerals. I get to see families struggle through the worst obstacle life can throw on your face. I see children cry, mothers cry, wives cry. I see everyone cry and I know everyone's story.  I know this story, and I wanted to share it with you.
This girl, her real name is Isabella. She was too worried about her looks and her summer to enjoy her father’s last days. He died of a heart attack, March 10th, 2010. He died at age of 41, leaving a family of three to mourn and remember what a great husband, father and friend he was.
Now all there is left is a bunch of family pictures, hidden somewhere in their basement, somewhere where the Cárdenas’ family won’t see it. Please don’t judge, please don’t fight or get annoyed over simple things. Life is way too short and my job only makes it more clear for me to see. Stop blaming society, stop wasting time thinking about who to love, when you have plenty of things to do in the meantime. Tell someone how much you love them, enjoy every second of your life. Because unlike bikinis, smoothies and looks, your family won’t be here forever.

(Based on a true story. Dedicated to my friend Santi and his family. Rest in peace Andrés Cárdenas)


Tuesday, December 13, 2011

Confession Tuesday: Please Sit Still

People always have their own confessions. Some of them confess who their true love is. Others rant about what they hate. Call it obsessive compulsive or hyperactive, but I always have to do something with my hands. Like I’m always moving them. It is one of the reasons why I type so fast in the computer, without even watching. It’s the reason why I play guitar. My father used to play guitar, using a pick, and so did my uncle. I can’t. I need to strum fast, flick my wrist and use my fingers all the time. Ever wonder why I use so many bracelets? Because during class, I need to be doing something, I can’t just sit down and pay attention.
This isn’t a recent problem. I’ve had it since I was about four or five. And if you are ever patient enough to see, you’ll notice how I always (and when I say always I mean ALWAYS) do something with my hands. My close friends always make fun of me because whenever I talk to them over facebook chat or something, instead of using exclamation marks, I say something like this: alfjowejfoiwoifhowjfojwofjwofj.
I realized this when I was about eight, because every time I stood still for too long, I would start to stress out. I would touch my hair; I would twist and turn my bracelets with my fingers. When I thought nothing would make it better, I started playing basketball. Sports made it easier for me to run, to move and to avoid the fact that I just couldn’t stay still for more than 10 minutes
My parents are both doctors and all they keep telling me is that nothing is wrong (deep inside however, they know it is stress or it simply corroborates the fact that I’m going crazy). Maybe it is a family thing. My sister, she is always touching her ears. My dad is always touching his glasses. My mom… (Oh no, never mind...She’s the only normal person in our family).  So long story short, I have a hyperactivity problem or something going on. Yeah, so that is my confession.

Monday, December 12, 2011

The Players Might Change but the Game Remains the Same

Reading Catcher in the Rye by J.D Salinger made me think about the time when it was published.  People back then were completely conservative and would be scared to find out their children were reading about Holden’s crazy and obscene adventures. We all know this topic has been discussed many times and we all know that this book may instill the wrong ideas into kids’ minds. Therefore, I was finally asked if this book was still relevant to our time and if it should be taught and read to young adults all over the world. My answer before and after reading this book has always been the same.
Whenever people say books are inappropriate, I get extremely angry. Before I read Catcher in the Rye, about three or four people told me I shouldn’t be reading that.  And I kind of understand what they’re trying to say. Holden is not the best protagonist or the best example that teenagers can learn from but one thing he does right, he’s realistic. For those of you that haven’t read this amazing coming of age novel, Holden is usually criticizing the outside world. The typical American family. Where kids go to prep school, grow up to be wealthy and have a perfect family where everyone seems to be happy. What most people don’t notice is that for decades, the world has showed its population what a family looks like. Either in movies, books, news, etc. Mom and dad living in a big blue house, next to a tall tree, where dad built a tree house for his children to play. Family coming home for the holidays, eating turkey in a big round table. That is what I grew up watching and learning from what a real family was. What Holden does, is only stating what no one has been brave enough to state. The life a so called happy family lives is not what it seems to be. It may be what 20% of America is, or what 40% of European families represent, but it is not what 80% of families look like. Not even half of what families out there have to go through in order to at least, have food, education and health.  Holden Caulfield gives teenagers and parents an insight of what the world really is. We live in a world where teenagers are criticized, where 1.3 billion people live on less than a dollar a day. Where two billion people have no sanitation or electricity and where 40 million girls and women are prostitutes. That is the real world. That is what Holden refers to throughout the book. Maybe not the soft, easy way most people would want a book to teach but in a way where the reader finally understands and realizes what is out there.
I remember when I read the part where Holden is hanging Sunny’s dress. Sunny is a prostitute and it made me so sad to read what Holden said. Not because it was obscene, or inappropriate, but because it was true (125).
“I was only too glad to get up and do something. I took her dress over to the closet and hung it up for her. It was funny. It made me feel sort of sad when I hung it up. I thought of her going in a store and buying it, and nobody in the store knowing she was a prostitute and all. The salesman probably just thought she was a regular girl when she bought it. It made me feel sad as hell-I don’t know why exactly”.

I am a very dedicated reader, and I’m really strict when I read a book. There are two things that I look for. Two things that make me want to read, enjoy, and recommend the book. One, it has to be realistic. Unless it’s Harry Potter, or something that I know is clearly impossible, I expect a book to be real. To have its “feet on the ground” and to stop creating a world where the girl meets the boy, where the family is happy, where the whole environment is cliché. The second thing I look for, and that is not always there, I really love it when you read a sentence, a chapter and all you can say is “I know how that feels” or “That always happens to me”. Connection. It helps the reader understand the characters; it helps the reader learn a lesson that could someday be necessary in their own lives. Something I can tell you as a fact: Thousands of teenagers go through what Holden went through, and I know that despite the inappropriate vocabulary, the obscene environment and the crazy thoughts that go through Holden’s mind, it may be the inspiration and the help one can need.  So why would you want to ban, hide, and prevent teenagers in help, to actually know what people out there go through? To actually open their eyes and see that life goes beyond eating turkey in a round table, playing outside the blue house and having a family where everyone seems to be happy?
In 1961, a teacher was fired because she assigned Catcher in the Rye to her students. Since the book was published it has been on the list of censored books, and has received critics such as being a “filthy book”, an “obscene book”, “inappropriate” and many others that to me seem irrelevant to what the real point of this book is. People that read and criticize this book might be too busy looking for its mistakes and obscenity scenes to actually realize that all Holden was trying to do was to eliminate and get rid of the mean people, the phony people, and the fake people in this world. He was a catcher in the rye. He wanted to catch the innocence, the kids, before they fell into what adulthood was all about (262). 
“I went down by a different staircase, and I saw another "Fuck you" on the wall. I tried to rub it off with my hand again, but this one was scratched on, with a knife or something. It wouldn't come off. It's hopeless, anyway. If you had a million years to do it in, you couldn't rub out even half the "Fuck you" signs in the world. It's impossible”.
When I read this part, I thought about what the “Fuck You” really meant. It means haters. It means imperfection; it means people that are just messed up. What he tries to tell the reader is that not even with the innocence and patience one could have, would they be able to erase all the Fuck You’s out there.
There is a journey when you read a book. There is a path were different feelings might be found, but at the end there is one question to answer. Did you like the book?  Every time we discussed a chapter or a part from Catcher in the Rye, half of us said “Well, it’s all because Holden’s crazy” or “Ah! He’s so bipolar!”  I’m not saying I take it back because Holden is kind of crazy. His decisions are sometimes strange and his sense of humor and criticism might show hate and rudeness instead and thinking about this amazing novel being banned seems completely ignorant and unfair. If you were looking for a yes or no answer, my answer is no. I don’t think they should ban this book. It is a great example of real life, coming of age issues such as drinking, smoking and sex. Do I think it should be taught nowadays? Yes, yes and yes. Teenagers don’t need anymore white lies, endless tirades, and cliché examples of what life is like. What we need is a real, honest, and clear as water example of what life is like. What we are going to have to deal with when we’re adults. What people are up to, what some teenagers are going through, what we can do to help and what we should see now, instead of 30 years later when it’ll be too late to change. That is what Catcher in the Rye is. Life in 1951 may have had different teenagers, with different backgrounds and different ideas of life. But time is no reason for someone to stop showing kids and teenagers what life is all about. Once, someone said: “The players might change but the game remains the same”. And to me, that is what this novel represents. No matter how much time goes by, we’ll find haters, we’ll find influences and wrong ideas in the wrong places. No matter how good it looks, and how right it seems, we need to know what our consequences will be. Hiding the truth from us, is not preparing us for what we will eventually have to see.
To ban a great literary work like this is to keep teenagers sheltered from the truth of the "real world."
-Kristina Jones (what she thinks about banning Catcher in the Rye)

Memoir Monday- All that Christmas Stuff

               People always say, “Christmas is in the air.” Maybe it’s me or something, but the air is just like it always is. The air feels like it feels when it’s March, or September; or any day. Despite what I just said, I don’t feel like its Christmas time, the second Mrs. Meadows said memoir, I knew I was going to write about me being anti-Christmas. I know I always say this, and if you’ve read more than one of my memoirs, you’ll realize how I always say moving changed my life. It sounds cheesy, cliché, and all that, but I kind of feel it’s true.
                I remember how we used to spend Christmas when we lived in Colombia. We would go to my aunt’s house, sit around the Christmas tree and have dinner. If you were young, young as in six or seven-years-old, you’d get a bunch of presents. If you were old, old as in 12 or 13, you’d get one or two presents. Christmas for my friends is decorating the Christmas tree; it’s writing a letter to Santa Claus, it’s waiting to see what the stockings have on Christmas morning. They all ask for Ipads and computers while I just get gift cards from Zara and ajiaco.
                I also remember my Christmas spent in Costa Rica. We had just arrived and everything was still perfectly placed in boxes, stacked all over the living room. There was a Christmas tree system in San Jose; where you rented a real pine tree, used it, and then a big red truck would pick it up. We decorated the tree, and sat around it, opening only a couple of presents. Only four people to celebrate. No Caroling, no turkey and no egg nog, nothing festive.
                I’m only 14 years old, which means that I have spent more than half of my life in other countries that in my actual homeland. To me, Christmas is not an Ipad, or a pair of earrings. Christmas for me, is a single gift card, a plate with ajiaco, four people gathering around a rented pine tree.
                So long story short, when people say Christmas is in the air? I don’t feel it. When they ask me what I got for Christmas, my answer will probably be a gift card or soup. Even if Santa Claus is at every corner, even if every old guy is wearing the tackiest Christmas sweater I’ve ever seen, I don’t feel the, what do you call it? Christmas spirit? Yeah, I don’t feel the Christmas Spirit.

Saturday, December 10, 2011

Book Review: Learning to Swim

 
 
 
Learning to Swim By: Ann Turner
              I think that the real magic of memoir and what captivates the reader is the innocence and truth behind it. Memoir is like a diary where every feeling and emotion the author writes about immediately bonds you with him/her. Telling you about the story of Ann Turner will leave you speechless, sad and extremely thankful for what you have. I read this book like 5 times, because every time I read it I dug deeper into her life, I felt more and more connected to her and I could understand the real pain behind every word she wrote.
         This book starts out with Ann and her family going to the beach for the summer, packing everything up and finally getting to their summer house. All of Ann’s family is there; her parents, her brothers (Nick and Peter), and her grandparents. This story revolves around Dresser Pond and Ann’s eagerness to learn to swim. Ann is nothing but a little girl and to her having fun, running, and swimming is what summer is all about. However, when their neighbors Kevin, Lonny and Angie start playing with Annie, Nick and Peter, things start to go wrong. (23)
                 “…Kevin is running past, looking for me with hands that grab, and Lonny is looking, too, with his fat wavery lips like worms that want to squish on my cheeks, and they say it’s a game but I am shivery in the garage…”
            Things start with just a kiss here and a hand there but it gets worse when Kevin comes to Ann’s house. He tells everyone it’s just read aloud but to Ann it is clearly not. She hurts, she cries and despite all of her pain, she keeps quiet as the summer goes by; as her yellow room becomes her nightmare and as Kevin’s shadow seems to follow her everywhere she goes.
            Ann decides to break up her book of poems into different sections, depending on what her emotions are at the time. The first section is called listen and this is where she gives you and insight on what happened during the summer. The next section is called sinking and this is where Ann is just trying to survive the pain and the truth she must keep from everyone. She buries herself in lies and only waits for it all to end. She’s small, naïve and innocent and has no clue that telling is the answer. (37)
           “But my dolls know, Jenny, Amanda and Fuchsia. At night I tell them what you did and they are sad for me with their wide-open eyes and surprised mouths”
          Ann does everything she can think of to get rid of the thoughts that are haunting her in her daily life. She draws Kevin, with burning flames around him; she wishes she was the smoke his father inhaled, just so that someone would know. Someone would ask her about the things she had been keeping to herself all this time. One day, her mother asks her what book Kevin was reading to her in room and just like any kid; her reaction was the clear, white, and simple truth. (79)
          “My eyes blinked, my tongue stuck to the top of my mouth on the words I’d been waiting to say each one hurt like a splinter, yanked out and before I was done she grabbed me up and we cried and cried…”
          The last section in this book, titled Swimming is the resolution. Ann finally realizes that telling her mother was the right thing to do. Kevin never comes back and she learns to swim.  She slowly learns that after all her dark moments during the summer, she can smile, she can feel happy and she knows that Kevin can no longer hurt her. After the summer is over, Ann and her father go back to the summerhouse during winter, to make sure the pipes are clean and there are no damages. This is where Ann somehow finds closure and realizes that her yellow room is no longer her nightmare, and that the boy in shorts is no longer there.
          The tile of a book is supposed to sum up all of the content inside, and coming up with a title that sums up all of Ann’s tragedies must have been hard. When I finished reading this I understood the meaning and what Ann was trying to show us when she titled her memoir Learning To Swim. Like I said before, Ann links her summer to swimming and all that happens in between to sailing, sinking and finally, swimming. Learning to swim is what she does. Not only literally but mentally as well. She learns that telling is what matters and that sometimes, even in the darkest of moments, you might find light and you may find the answer. Grow above all your sorrow and mistakes and learn to swim. Keeping your head above the water.
          After reading this memoir I could see all that Ann went through and what she learned. Before I go into detail I would like to say what I thought of this book. It would sound selfish of me if I told you I knew what Ann went through. What she suffered and what happened to her, just like death and sickness is something only that person can experience. A pain only that person can feel. The depth and feeling Ann puts into this memoir made me cry more than once, made me admire her bravery and made me understand the power of words.
           First of all, the summer she writes about definitely changed her for many reasons. She was only a little girl when Kevin molested her and the things she saw and felt will forever remain in her mind. Not only was she physically abused but she was mentally changed. At the end of the book, there is a message (still in poet form) that somehow refers to all the ones that are going through the same things and small things Ann learned over the years.
          When someone dies, you analyze it right after it happens. When your parents get divorced, you learn from it as the days go by. But when something like what happened to Ann happens to you, you’re completely caught off guard and will struggle through doubts and feelings for a long time. Ann Turner learned that what’s important is to tell, silence is never enough and it will never make all the pain and sorrow go away. What seems wrong at the moment might be everything that you need in order to feel happy again. I could tell you everything Ann taught me but I would like to share with you my favorite part. This was written at the end of her book and it somehow sums up what she learned. I really enjoyed reading this because after all the tragic things she went through; it was nice to know that she had finally recovered from it. This excerpt comes from section Telling is What Matters. (111)
          “..but pulling the words up and out, spilling them across the floor, the table, dropping them into someone’s surprised face: that is what matters and after this time and the next, one day you will feel so light and airy your stomach will uncoil, your face, unclench and you will feel like yourself again”.   
          What I liked the most about this book is that it was written in poems. When you read poems, 20% percent is given to you by the author, and 80% is somewhere there for you to find. You must read between the lines, get yourself involved and try to understand and capture everything the author is telling you. Words in poems have 60% more power than all the commas, periods and paragraphs a normal book can have. In this case, Ann compared her summer to the act of learning how to swim, her feelings with Kevin to sinking and her recovery, to swimming, floating and learning to sail above all the drowned leaves.