journal #7

My Grandpa has influenced my life, he has taught me many
things, here are some for example how to shoot a gun, how to play cards, how to
drive, and how to take care of a farm. My grandpa was a strong man; however, he
had a caring side to him, he took care of people who needed help, he donated
some of his money to the poor, and he took care of me when I needed him.
My Grandpa is a small city north of New York City and never
lived on a farm and never knew how to do any of the things that he taught me to
do, this means that he had to go out and learn how to do himself. Once he
decided to do something there was no turning back until he accomplished his
goal.
I look up to him and try to be like him and if I only have
some of his wonderful qualities, I will still be a really good person.

Joe

Relative

Out of all of my relatives in my family, I really would want to know more about my great grandmother on my dad's side. Her name was Ruby, and she died three years ago at the age of 99, and I never met her, or was told much about her. I really would want to know more about her, because everyone I've talked to about her has told me how nice, and extraordinarily healthy she was, even at her elder age. I would really like to know about her life, and how she was, and her life was when she was growing up. I also would want to find out how she remained so healthy throughout her entire life, and if she had an ideal childhood or not.


Spencer

Outcasting is a lie.

If you have ever wondered what it would be like to be an outcast, you are a hypocrite. Everyone, young and old has been an outcast at one point in their life. The true definition for outcast is a person who is not wanted or not accepted, but my definition is the one everyone uses. My definition is anyone who is "out of place". Outcast is a word shoved in your face. It labels people into categories. It is a flyaway hair or a whole strand left out of the "cool" hair tie. You can always be an outcast depending on who runs the cool hair tie also know as "the boss". There are ten things that everyone uses to describe an outcast. Number 1 is your appearance. Number 2 is your race. Number 3 is what you do. Number 4 is your social abilities. Number 5 is your hobbies or favorite sports. Number 6 is your opinion. Number 7 is your history. Number 8 is your placement. Number 9 is your dating status. And finally number 10 is your technology usage. The ten dreadful things are used to place people and that is just not right. The true outcast does not exist because everyone has at least one place that they are wanted even if it is not apparent. If you ever feel lonely come visit me.

The outcast

The Outcast

I don’t feel like I belong. I’m different than everybody else. That is an outcast. I have always been an outcast. I have been always been an outcast, especially in my elementary years. I was in the special education program and I couldn’t speak. Now not speaking sounds ridiculous, but it was true. When I was a little girl, I was deprived of communication. My babysitter left me in a crib during the day; since I didn’t talk to anybody, I slept. When I came home at night, I stood awake alone with only. So I couldn’t talk to people, and no one wanted to talk to me.

-Janis

Journal 1

As I walk by the park in my neighborhood in San Diego, I see a little boy playing on the playground. His mom and dad sit next to him. The boy is wearing shorts and a baseball shirt. A look of pure happiness is on his face. Suddenly, the mom gets up and takes out a camera. I hear her saying, “Daniel, Daniel, look this way!” She quickly snaps a picture as the little boy looks over and smiles. I then continue on down the road on my way home from school.

Daniel Wilcox

Let's Blog

I want to see if this will work. So I'm blogging in a legit fashion on this website.
-Jay

Journals

My house. A place I goto everyday. It represents me as a kind, average, doesn’t stand out in thecrowd, but still fits in kinda house. It’s like any other house you would see.And deeper into my house, my room, is where I can call it my own and decorateit and make it… me. My room is quite meager, with an extravagant bed that fillsmost of the space. A dusty, delicate desk that stands tall by the wall, and mystyle of clothing, sluggishly thrown in my dresser. And if all of this wasburning to the cold ground, I would take my most precious items. My peppy pets,(of course), they deserve to live too, my pretty purse that holds my money andcute wallet, my phone, floppy dog slippers, and my baby box. All these memoriesI wouldn’t want to die with my house.

An outcast is someonewho doesn’t belong somewhere; they are a rouge to the people or the place. Atime when I felt like an outcast was when I went to high school. It’s fairlynew event that happened. I went to Erie middle school not Sunset, so I didn’t knowanyone except my friend who came with me but soon left to go back to Erie thefirst week into school. Anyway, that made me feel like a very forlorn person. Igradually began to make friends, but in the beginning, I felt like a bigoutcast in Niwot. Society must have outcasts, because without them, we wouldn’thave safety rules about horrible things that have happened in the past fromoutcasts, like when 9/11 happened, without that event we wouldn’t have adaptedto making safety precautions we do today to make society a better place. Eventhough some outcasts have caused horrible things, it forms society to be whatit is today.

Looking Back

As I enter the pumpkin farm, I see a little girl about 7 or 8 years of age. She's trumphantly sitting on a pumpkin almost half her height, thinking she's on top of the world right now. Her backpack slung on both shoulders, a shoe that's amost tied properly and her black wispy hair tied into a pontail shows her will and her deetermination to do anything as well as her adventerous personality. To any ordinary young girl, this might seem like just a farm, a fun farm at that, but to her it's much more. It's where she can explore and let her creativity flow. She can be a scientist or an artist. She squints and tell herself, "I'm here, on my one-day vacation!"

Geya Kairamkonda

Melinda Sordino's This I believe

My belief is that silence is the golden key. My name is Melinda Sordino. My story is in the book Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson and it is here again. I walked into 9th grade as an outcast. "I have entered high school with the wrong hair, wrong clothes, the wrong attitude. And I don't have anyone to sit with." (page 4) I know many kids enter high school like this but I might end high school like this. I can't even occasionally wave at an old friend because I did something terrible. I called the cops at a party. "I was drunk and too young to know what was happening." (page 198) There is more to my story that nobody knows, well except for Andy Evans. I prefer to call him IT. IT raped me. This was a secret that remained for a long time. Silence was my golden key. This silence kept the sorrow feelings and terrible memories hidden in my mind. No one could judge me for drinking or not wanting to talk about my problems. No one could remind me constantly or call me a wimp. No one could know. I did not want to be the weird, hated outcast but I was. I did not want any of it. No one would. I believed that I had nothing to say so I did not say it. "IT happened. There is no avoiding it, no forgetting. No running away, or flying, or burying, or hiding. Andy Evans raped me in August when i was drunk and too young to know what was happening. It wasn't my fault. He hurt me. It wasn't my fault. And I'm not going to let it kill me. I can grow." My silence was the golden key, but I grew stronger. If i hadn't i would be holding this secret. I loved my life before and I am ready to love my life again.

Elizabeth McClure

A Piece of My Identity

Journal 5#:

My name is a name that is already beginning to define my personality. My name is the Greek Goddess’ name, Gaya, spelled with an e, Geya. The Greeks used to believe Gaya, would bring good fortune and fertility into the home. My name however, is Indian, and derivates from the word gayam- which means poem. I love to express my thoughts in poems, to use my voice to inform and make a difference. I don’t ever want to change my name because my name is a part of me.

Geya Kairamkonda

My Name

#5- My name is Adara. All I know is it's greek. My parents found this name in a book, but pronounced it differently. Orignally it was pronounced A-dar-a, but now it is A-der-a. The meaning of my name is beauty. I have no clue as to why they chose this name, other then they like how it sounded. Sometimes I would like to change my name only because most people
can't pronouce in correctly. Or they can't even spell it right. Is it Adura? maybe Adera? or Adora? Maybe even Adira? But then I think about my mom's name. Her name is Zhanna. No one could ever pronounce her name either, and still can't.

My house

While my house itself does not represent me, my room does. In it, are all my legos, my computer, and all my books. My phone, my handheld devices, and all of my other electronics are in there as well. If my house was burning down, I would take all my electronics, and my xbox as well as a couple of books, and a blanket. That is how objects represent me.

Everyone Loves Cookies

I peer through the camera lens at the young girl sitting before me. She’s merely three years old and her attention span is getting shorter by the minute. If I want to get a good picture, I’ll have to hurry before her temper explodes and she starts to cry and her face gets red. Her blond hair is shining against the camera light and the lizards on her dress bring out the green in her eyes. I tell her to smile big for the picture and as soon as the camera clicks, her smile fades to nothing and I get a picture of her pouting. “Come on Aislinn! I’ll buy you a cookie!” her mom bribes her and she leaves for a couple seconds and returns with a chocolate chip cookie. Aislinn’s eyes get as big as saucers when she sees the pastry. “Okay, let’s try this again,” I say and put my eye back on the lens. I can see her mom out of the corner of my eye, holding up the giant cookie. Aislinn smiles wide and I snap the perfect picture.

aislinn

starting with the seed

-

Chicago, is where i am from, where i was born

Where my mother grew up, from the ghetto

Moving placa to place, house to house

I come from what used to be a struggling family

having trouble paying off the rent, not even having milk for our cereal

From a strong headed, bright spirited, brave, talented women

an expierenced person in life or death situatuins

-

I arose with picture perfect

where people judge you from the outside

on how you dress, what you do, how you act

where you get treated like a queen if you look like a barbie doll

With the fall of The King of Pop,

music meaning everything, relating to people, it influences us

Brought up with advancement,technology

with the INTERNET, celphones, ipods, mp3s

people who cant live without facebook, twitter

The social network

Journal #7

My grandma, who died at the age of 73 from lung cancer, was an incredible person. I never got to talk to her much, because she lived in Arizona. She was one of those types of people who was strong in their opinions, and would want to be independent. Because she died within 6 weeks of being diagnosed, I never got the chance to ask her about herself. If I could, I would ask about her history.

*Bailey

My house. A place I go to everyday. It represents me as a kind, average, doesn’t stand out in the crowd, but still fits in kinda house. It’s like any other house you would see.And deeper into my house, my room, is where I can call it my own and decorate it and make it… me. My room is quite meager, with an extravagant bed that fillsmost of the space. A dusty, delicate desk that stands tall by the wall, and my style of clothing, sluggishly thrown in my dresser. And if all of this was burning to the cold ground, I would take my most precious items. My peppy pets,(of course), they deserve to live too, my pretty purse that holds my money and cute wallet, my phone, floppy dog slippers, and my baby box. All these memories I wouldn’t want to die with my house

Emily

Journal #9

I believe in giving people a chance. I believe people can't be unraveled by being looked at

Journal #1 - Innocence

Shannon, a little girl of merely 7 years old, scuttled about the hiking trail as she dragged her beloved stuffed animal dog, Cocoa, by his tail. Looking down at her feet, her imagination ran wild as she pictured herself as a giant. In her mind, she could see herself as a “beautiful princess” giant, one whom is almost as tall as the Swiss Alps surrounding her. Due to her wondering mind, Shannon lost concentration of the hiking trail as she trips over a misplaced rock, snapping her back into reality. Cocoa went flying through the air, and landed in a puddle of water on the side of the path. Shaken, Shannon rushed up to her feet and immediately began to gently brush the mucky, cold water off of the stuffed animal.

“It’s alright everybody. Cocoa is okay. We won’t need to go to the hospital.” Shannon assured her family as she squeezed the stuffed animal tightly.

-Shannon Fischer

My Name

Journal #5:

My parents went to a lot of trouble when naming me. They went through several names: Vanessa, Raven, and even Poppy, before deciding that Zoë was a good fit. Zoë is both Greek and Japanese, meaning life and uniqueness, or originality. Even if my parents would let me change my name, I wouldn't want to, because my name fits me. The name Zoë itself is unique, and I like that I'm one of the only people that I know with my name and spelling. My name describes the essence of my being, from my blue hair down to my little toes. I couldn't picture myself with another name- I'll imagine of myself as something like "Emily" or "Ramona," and they seem odd. It was very obvious that I was going to be Zoë from the moment I was born. My father picked me up and whispered, "Hello, my little Zoë," though the name was not set in stone. I can't imagine that my life would be the same if my name were any different, which is why I love having my name and would never change it.

The picture journal thing

One year old Jay sits on the stairs. He is so happy in his Panda suit. As he prepares for Halloween, his parents dress him in his costume. Trick or treaters come by the house, smiling as they see the young child dressed in a panda suit. Later, Jay goes out with his father, and his brother’s friends, so he can get candy. He only goes for a little while, because he gets tired so fast. He is so excited to go out. Once he returns, he eats all of his candy, avoiding anything with peanuts, because he is allergic. Overall, the boy in the panda suit has one of the best nights in his life.

My House

My big brown house. It’s invisible to everyone else, but the only home that I want to see. With its 110 foot driveway, hidden behind the neighbors’, my house contains some of my most cherished things. If one day it burnt down, I wouldn’t know what to do from all of the shock. If I could though, I would take all of the money I could find, a blanket for those cold nights as a hobo, my ipod, my phone, my toothbrush, my hairbrush, and my big black dog. I would take these things, because they all mean something important. If I need to keep up my personal hygiene, or take a nap, I’ll have the things that I need.

By: Kelsie Brown

Journal #7

Q: Think about a relative, dead or alive, that you would like to know more about or that has influenced the person you have become.

Without a doubt, my grandma, my mom’s mom, has influenced my life in the greatest possible way. I don’t know what I would do without her. She has been with me since my birth and, although we live halfway across the world from eachother, I can still feel her presence near me each and every day. My grandma is one of the sweetest people I know. She is kind, altruistic, and would toss aside anything for me. She always knows how to make me feel better and she gives out the best advice as well. Another plus is that she is also a raconteur, and I can listen to her for hours as she tells me stories about her childhood. I’ve never felt more secure when I’m with her – and she constantly makes me cherish my life and prevents me from complaining about miniscule things and annoying others because of my whining. Overall, she has made me more sympathetic and less bitter. With her hands, she has shaped me to have good qualities. Without her, I would be a completely different person – and not for the better. I adore my grandma and I can’t wait to visit her again next year.

- Kseniya Anishenko

The Journal of James

If I could know more about a single person in my life I would choose my grandfather. Despite being over 90 when he died, I hardly remember him due to being so young. As I knew him he hardly left his threadbare armchair, and had to be constantly connected to an oxygen tank. It was only until after he was gone I found out he had been in the military for a very long time. I also discovered he had many unique habits, such as believing WD-40 as a cure all and heavily peppering every food he ate. It would be amazing to hear the stories he had to tell on his life experiences, which is why I chose him for this prompt.

To be an outcast is to go unnoticed- to be knowingly ignored by society. However, it is also safe to say thinking you are an outcast is just a state of mind felt by an individual. For example, if you are part of a club with a relatively small number of people, yet you think you belong, thus you aren’t an outcast. A time in my life when I felt like an outcast was in 6^th grade. As of switching schools, people who I had known the majority of my young life now acted like I didn’t exist. While I had remained the same, they had now found new friends. Despite being around more people in my entire life, I was more alone than ever. Outcasts exist within society because they defy the norm. They are different from everyone else, thus they are shunned.

James

Journal Stuffs

My name is stupid. Officially named John, but called Jack. Teachers and other government workers have my real name. I have gotten several strange weird looks from airport security because can't spell John backwards on the spot. It is also a pain to tell them what I like to be called. It would be so much better if I had just been named Francisco.

If my house was burning to the ground I would grab my crash pad. I could stuff any other stuff I wanted inside of it and get out. Also, if my house was crumbling around me I could use it to bust out. Strap it to my front and run out. Breaking through inflamed walls and eventually making it to the outside, my stuff and body safe.

Jack McAlpine

How I Was Raised

Journal #2 (Excerpt):

I was raised from chalk dust and paint fumes:

results of Diwali and my mother's creativity

I was raised from Dido and the Violent Femmes-

From "Gone Daddy Gone" to "See the Sun," their lyrics shaped my thoughts

I was raised by mangoes and hearts of rice

and Thai women whose faces broadly grinned
I was raised by Koi fish and superstitions,
black cats and holding my breath near graveyards
I was raised by spices and sauces:
foreign smells and flavors
I was raised from underneath waters
and beside blue flames
I was raised with glitter and tulle;
by fairies and and princesses
I was raised by vanity:
raised by pearls, fur coats, and delicate French braids
I was raised out of peace and quiet
and teatime
I was raised by salamanders and ladybugs,
flying monkeys and talking mice
I was raised by hurricanes and earthquakes;
they taught me to be angry.

This I Believe..........

I believe in hope. No one knows what I really went through. Someday they will. The night, the party, THE BOY. I believe in speaking whats on my mind, my silence says it all. No one knows my silence speaks the truth. Why can't anybody hear? The loudest call for help. Silence. I believe everything will be okay, but only if I speak.

--Jonna Lende

Journals #1 and #4

Journal #1
The
mountains claw around Pierce, leaving a valley for the lake and its guests. His
sunglasses dangle from his white shirt neck, telling tales of past brightness.
Emerald Lake ripples in the background, justifying its name with a beautiful
green tint. A couple of summers ago, he hiked up here with his family, though
they are out of frame. The elevation increased sharply along the hike, bringing
the wonders of remaining snow to the July day. Briefly, powder even drifted
down upon the entranced wanderers. A break for lunch and enjoying the warm day
was soon over before they made their way back down.


Journal #4
Through my
life, I have grown and flourished due to the constant support of my family. I
have never grown up by family outside my parents, brother, and sister, so I
gave grown even closer with them. Spending time with family is not only an
important time to connect, but also an emotional relief. Going on a run with my
mom is always a joy, even if I don’t want to at first (due to laziness). It is
such a good stress relief to spend time with family, and also a delight. Every
time I ask one of my parents to pass a baseball, seven out of eight times the
answer is no. But on that eighth time, I’m so happy because I get to spend time
with them doing something I love. I remember, when I was younger and we lived
in the old house that I had to share a room with my brother in, there was a
large, bowl field across the street. My siblings and I gave so many memories of
sledding and flying kites, but one memory of mine is with the whole family.
There was a big, blue ball the shade of the ocean when you look really far out
near the horizon. The rubber surface was thick, smooth, and somewhat grainy. It
was a nice summer day, probably a Saturday because my dad works weekdays and we
didn’t have church that morning. We all went over to the giant bowl of grass
and ran around like cereal that didn’t want to be eaten. The big, grainy, ocean
ball was flying around, being passed from person to person. Sometimes it would
miss my open arms and smack my face that was slightly turned from not having
enough time to dodge. My dose would ache and my cheek would sting, but I would
ignore it because I didn’t want to end the fun. Spending time with family has always
been important for me. It relieves stress and creates memories. Time together
holds families together, and without family, we are islands with no bridge.

Pierce Finley

Journal #7

#7- My grandfather, from my moms side is the person who has shaped me. Although my grandma is a big part of my life, my grandpa is the person I can most relate to. When he was in highschool, he played golf and basketball. I also do in highshcool. He is 6.5, and I am also taller for my age. Occasionally my family will go out to breakfast with him. This is the time he tells me all the information I need to know. He'll walk me through the plays of basketball or get my mind focused on golf. Most of the time, I just laugh. I can't thank hime enough, but especially for both my grandma and him for starting our golf course business. I wouldn't be where I am now, if it wasn't for him.

Journal 8

To be an outcast means to be left out, our not accepted by others. One time, my sister broke her leg and my parents had to spend the night in the hospital with her. They didn't know what to do with me so they dropped me off at my friends house. My school was on spring break, but my friend’s school’s break didn't start for another week. So I went to his school the next day. At his school, I did not know anyone and all of them seemed like they didn’t like me. In this situation I felt like an outcast.

Meaning of an Outcast

To be an outcast does not mean you have chosen the wrong actions, or wrong beliefs. It does not mean you are a wrong person, or weird, or don’t fit. An outcast is someone that doesn’t fit in with the norm of people. They are strong-willed people who are able to use their own beliefs to live their life, and not let others dictate what they should do in their own life. One specific time when I felt like an outcast was when everyone around me started to get Facebook’s while we were in middle school, and I refused to get one. The longer I refused, the more people and friends of mine would tell me to get one, because I was missing so much. Although I eventually got a Facebook, and this example isn’t a huge problem, I still felt like an outcast. Last, society has to have outcasts, because without them, it would make the whole world extremely dull, bland, and boring, because everyone would be doing the same thing. Also, it would defy the act of freedom that is present in so many places around the world, because without outcasts, no one would rebel as an act of freedom, and express their own opinions, even if they are right. Clearly, to be an outcast doesn’t mean you are wrong, but very strong, and dogmatic, and the world needs pariah’s to be unpredictable, exciting, and free.

Spencer

Men and Women

I believe that men and women are equal in many ways, but some men and some women may excel in different things. Lots of people say that men are stronger and bigger than women, which for the most part is true, but some women may be stronger than men and can be bigger. So it isn't correct or fair to say that women are weaker than men. It also isn't fair to say that women are generally smarter and more creative because men can be just as smart and jsut as creative as women. So it doesn't matter if you are a man or a women you may excel at some things like being smart or being strong, but if you do excel at one thing then it's not your position to judge the opposite sex.

Joe

Journal #7 - My "Caribou's" Impact

My grandma died last year from cancer. As her granddaughter, my cousin's and I called her Bou because her favorite pin was a Christmas caribou. Bou was the mother of three sons (my dad and my two uncles), a mother-in-law, a wife, a grandmother, and most importantly, a great friend. She battled multiple types of cancer before the lung cancer took her, and when she died, it was as if time had stopped for my entire family. Everything seemed bleek, and nothing seemed to matter. Some of her last actions were donating a large portion of her money to various charities, a purely selfless action, and then wishing instead of a funeral, we would celebrate her life at a party. After the death of my grandma, I, like every other eleven year old child, took life and what I had for granted. Bou used to always buy me lots of presents every Christmas, give me many hugs and kisses when she visited, and called us every week. I never understood how special it was to have someone so special to care for me like her until she was gone. After we found out that the cancer had taken my grandma's life, I finally realized that the essential value in life is that it is a gift rather than a given. To have the life I do is an honor, and I should cherish it. Many people out there are suffering, and I’m considered a lucky one. I used to think that getting braces or having a cold was bad, but now I realize that there are so many other things in the world that are so much worse than those two things. Having a sister was something I viewed as natural. I thought everyone had a sister, and so there was nothing special about it. Now, after Bou's death, I treasure my sister because anything unexpected could happen to her or any other family members at any moment. I’m lucky to have her, as many children in the world don’t even have parents anymore. I miss my grandma more than words can express, but her death taught me that my life is a gift to be treasured and cherished, not to be taken advantage of. I think about my grandma everyday, because she made me who I am today, and I am forever thankful for her and the simple life lessons that she taught me.

- Shannon Fischer

Journal Entries

Journal #2

I am from a world filled with noise,

Being whistled at,

Being yelled at,

Being talked to.

I am from a world of action,

From speeding cars,

To the running horses.

I am from a world of work,

From feeding the chickens,

To the chores of the house.

Journal #1

The girl in the photo just stares, wide-eyed, hair on end. She is two years old. She sits on her favorite chair with her favorite blanket. She lives in an old house with crumbling walls and bending floors. She can barely talk, unable to speak her undeveloped thoughts. She just blankly stares.

By Hannah Triem

The Beautiful Poem of Kelsie Brown

I Made Me

From learning my momma’s fine words,

I made me.

By eating my grandma’s noodles,

I made me.

When I hiked and fished with my dad,

I made me.

After living with my brother’s mean comments,

Saying I’m annoying and pulling my hair,

I made me.

I choose my books, my movies, my songs.

My friends and family were there all along.

But I made me.

By: Kelsie Brown

Outcast Journal

Journal #8
To be an outcast is to be an outsider, someone who doesn’t fit in. I felt this way in sixth grade when I was put into an English class with all eighth graders. I knew absolutely no one (except my brother, who was no help), sat in the back by myself and kept quiet, I wanted to be invisible. This particular moment made me feel like an outcast because I was just so out of place. I believe that being an outcast is something that everyone can relate to, because we’ve all (at some point) been in a situation where we feel like belong. -Nicole Harrison

Name Journal

Journal #5
Nicole. That’s my name, given to me by my parents within the first hours of my life. So, how did they come up with this, this one word that would forever be a huge portion of my life? I have asked my parents this question simply to receive the answer that it was higher in the rankings of names considered along with Gabriella (which they figured Gabby would be too ironic a nickname if I ended up getting the talkative gene), or Daniel or Christopher if I was a boy. But according to my parents, Nicole jut seemed to suit me the most when they first saw me. My middle name, however, has some history. I had a great-grandma name and great-aunt with this name, Marie. Anyway, regardless of background to where it came from and nicknames given to me, I will always be Nicole Marie Harrison. -Nicole Harrison

This I believe

“Patience is a virtue.” There is much meaning in that phrase. Perhaps this is because if a person takes enough time to accomplish a task, he can do it. With it, a person can make even the most daunting tasks possible. In this sense, I believe in patience. It is something that is difficult to find in today’s world. It is a rare among all the haste of the average person. However, with patience and perseverance, someone who is completely inept can become a champion. Patience is what I believe in. It gives us the power to soar and allows us to climb into greatness. So do no not make haste. Have patience and you will create new possibilities for your life.

Aaron Liu

Finally, a sister.

My photo was taken 6 months ago, in this photo- Maura is overwhelmed with happiness because it is her first sister after having 4 brothers. Ana is perfect. Maura is thinking about all their future memories together. She is wondering how she ever lived with Ana. Maura is telling Ana all about herself and the last 14 years. She wants to hold Ana forever and never let her go. Eventually, Maura hands Ana back to her mom and goes home. She is unable to get Ana out of her mind and cannot wait to see her again.

A Piece of My Identity

My Identity:

My name is a mane that is already beginning to define my
personality. My name is the Greek Goddess’ name, Gaya, spelled with an e, Geya.
The Greeks used to believe Gaya, would bring good fortune and fertility into
the home. My name however, is Indian, and derivates from the word gayam-which
means poem. I love to express my thoughts in poems, to use my voice to inform
and make a difference. I don’t ever want to change my name because my name is a
part of me.


Geya Kairamkonda

The thoughts of a writer

Journal #5: By Kenna

Originality is my aroma. It surrounds me so thick, it’s a wonder I can still see. It all began when I was named. McKenna. And later I found out that the name McKenna means two things. One, it means “gift from God” in Hawaiian. Second, the name Makena (different spelling, because it’s Hawaiian) is a city in Hawaii. Because I obviously don’t live in Hawaii or am related to it at all, my name is spelled differently. To spell my name M-C-K-E-N-N-A adds originality, but also takes away that whispering Hawaiian presence. Many people also hold my name as their own, and it has shaped them too, I suspect. Deciding to become more original, I began calling myself the name Kenna, derived from my full name. It’s shorter, simpler and in my opinion, it fits me better. When people ask me to spell my name I tell them: “K-E-double N-A.” See shorter right? It works if you have double letters. My family and some people from my old school call me by my full name. I’m okay with either one. I would never change my name, first off, it’s original, and second, it’s shaped me. And I am totally fine with it. So why would I change it?

Journal #2:

Slave:

Yeah, I had parents,

But they didn’t teach me,

Teach me how to live off books,

Off of words,

And channels of print.

How to breathe in ideas,

And smell the smell of brilliance.

It was mostly my aunt.

She got “pioneer woman” written all over her.

She acts like it too.

She really taught me how to read.

“Don’t read those!”

“read this and this and this.”

Classic after classic.

I read them, saw them, tasted them, and breathed them.

I am a prisoner of words,

Master of them,

Shaper of words,

The Art of Warfare,

The Book Thief,

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn,

The Secret life of Bees

Have all carried me through my life.

Like a child is carried by its mother.

My destiny,

Bought by books.

I am not a genius,

But I am a shaper of words.

I am a slave by them.

Internal fire, fed by words.

Clawing to escape,

But I can’t.

My pioneer aunt

Really taught me,

How to read, not how you think.

And I am grateful.

Journal #8

Q: What does it mean to be an outcast? Describe a time when you felt very uncomfortable and out of place. Why must society have outcasts?

If a person is considered an outcast, it means that they have been rejected in some way by society or even just a group. An outcast feels out of place and no one wants to be around them because of their low social status. There was a time I had a feeling similar to this, when I switched schools in elementary school. I was so used to being friends with the same people, and everyone at my new school seemed reluctant to become my friend because they already had established their own groups. I was very shy at that point as well, so it didn’t help the situation. Thankfully, I recovered from being a pariah, but some people have much trouble doing so. I believe that society has to have outcasts because no one can be exactly the same, and people have the tendency to single out a one person to feel superior. If it’s a big group who rejects this person, then everyone follows along with the ‘boss’ and does the same thing as well. There are many forms of being an outcast and everyone’s definition of it varies, but the main definition of the term is that a person is rejected from society.