Final Exam

I personally find this final exam challenging and  I am almost a hundred percent sure that Mr. McCool knows it. That's the reason for us to write this journal entry anyway, to pour out confessions and readjust stufy habits. Fine by me. Even though this is not the main part of this journal entry, but for those who kew me well enough, I like to go off topic. Anyway, the study of the final exam is sort of last minute. I spent last week preparing for my french and math final exams, weekends for Science, and have only one day to prepare for the English final. Next time, perhaps I should squeeze in a little titer. Now getting back on track, no  I wasn't excactly ready for the final exam. 1) Poetry is challenging, and I have no energy to care. 2) The materials should be spent more time on. Instead of spending only one class discussing about Paul Reveere, perhaps we can spend two. Ironc to say, the parts that I am most confidient about this test are the quesitions about Paul Reveere. The one that I find most challenging is the final essay question that nearly blew my head off. If the teadher had said as he was passing out exams " Don't worry,  it's verry easy", I would probably feel indifferent. Cause that's what he says everytime. It's like a greeting, only an unwanted greeting for a test yet to come.

Heroism Today

Not until the last breath of human kind, heroism will never be dead. Reason? Simple and easy. We desire. We desire for a number of things: money, gold, beauty, popularity, intelligence, freedom, love...etc. Yet the one bad thing about desiring is that you don't have what you desired, ( stating the obvious...haha) that is how the word came about in the first place. So we little ones who carely has no clue to acheive our desires would look up to those experienced people who had already accomplished their goals. For example, If Jane desired money, her hero would probably be BIll Gates who makes a ton of money. If Hraddk desired beauty, her hero would probably some super model across town. Anyway, you get my idea. As long as there are humans with brains that still function, there will be desire, and there will be heros. Heros in today's society don't neccesarily have to be brave or all too mighty, and they no longer represents the nations' interest as a whole. Instead( as I've stated previously), it represents the interest of each individuallity. That, in some way can be a good thing since people it sets each individual different( Sorry for this line, I really am running our of idea to put on the blog).

True or False?

I think sometimes in certain circumstances, altering the truth is actually necessary in order to create a better work of art. A sand truth about a work of art is that is not how it was drawn or the value of it that counts, but how others criticize them. A good art work can simply be something that the public favored in general, and what was considered bad art work can simply be things that may be something that exceeds the public intelligence and profoundness. Now before you start throwing your fists in the air and prove me wrong, I'll tell you that does not go for all artworks, the literary ones especially. One hard thing about literary texts is the identification of which matters more? THe truth? Or the popularity? Do I want this novel to be truthful yet tedious, or interesting yet fake? This is a very hard decision, but the writers often go for the second choice. Since well, without sells, no writing. And again, this does not go for all cases. A famous example for altering the truth is an infamous chinese novel which English name I struggle to recall , but I think it's " The three empire war"??? Which is supposedly based on a chinese time period of chaos when three heroic figures rose from the bottoms of the endless pits China was in to unify their country. This novel, though very interesting, is not entirely based on fact but rather the reader's interests. Which is why this book is still a very debatable issue today. True or False? You make the decision.

Independent Reading Project Reflection

In this Independent reading project, I learned quite a bit about the arts and the effective way a writer's usage of personification. I also learned some common sense  such as 1) spray paint stinks, 2) Elevation always looks good on a model, and 3) Never leave your work till the last minute. If I were to characterize my effort, I would say that I worked hard but can still do better. Parts of my essay and visual art is lousy and funny looking due to the fact that I didn't spend more time on it. I also feel that my project can be more well designed and artistic( though I'm a terrible artist, but I've still got to try.) To be quite honest, I did not exactly like this project due to the fact that I'm a terrible artist. And forcing a terrible artist to do a huge art work is just plain cruel, perhaps next time we can do a different project. With computers, maybe. Right now, I felt that the exercise should be worthwhile but I won't be giving my final answer until my grade comes out. I think this project can go deeper by allowing more elements of the plot. I think we can make a better project by continuing where the story had left off. Like the second volume of the book. I think that would be more fun than a simple plain book report and a project. I think we can right the second book in a with a nice cover and everything. That, will definitely be a thrilling project artisan or not.

Sands of time

Who leaves foot prints behind? My answer to this in depth question is that all of us do. It is impossible to not leave foot prints on the sands you have once walked, it's how long it'll last that counts. Some foot prints are deeper than the others, and can bare through the tide waves's merciless pounds. The others are shallow and barely visible, those are the footprints that will erode by the faintest peck of the sea breeze. Yet as all may have known, one day, these foot prints will all get erased, deep or shallow. One day every single one of us will be forgotten, famous or not. This is not what this journal entry is supposedly about, I simply tried to express a little more. I do apologize for that. Anyway, some historical figures that reminded me that people can accomplish great things are: Newton...etc. You get my idea. THese people had accomplished great things, and left very deep footprints in the sand of humanity. I am unsure of the literary device Longfellow used with " leave behind footprints", but I'm guessing that it is a...? As I have previously stated, I and everyone will leave foot prints through time. Though some may think it's simply a clever play of words, it is my true belief. As in for how deep? I don't know. I really truly have no idea. You the people  are  going to have to measure it, I suppose.

My Most and Least Favorite

Of all the novel s we have read throughout the year, my favorite is one of the best sellers of all times- The Outsiders. The Outsiders written S. E. Hinton( S. S. Hinten?) is about a boys who grew up at the wrong side of the tracks who is a lot more than the other around him. Instead of living up to the imitation society set for him, Ponyboy seemed to be exactly the opposite. Instead of being aggressive and tough, he is dreamy and thoughtful. Instead of fighting through his whole life, His intellectual learning earned him a put up from his original grade. Most of all, his sense of wisdom for the people around him made me like his character. He could look through the barriers and really " see" a person, not just how they look and act.
Ok, now for my least favored novel. My least favored novel is titled " Hatchet", and this title definitely does not appeal to girls like me. Yet of course, that is not my only reason. To me and me only( maybe), " Hatchet" is a tedious monologue of a twelve( thirteen?) year old boy of himself and nature. That's it. No other conflicts or what so ever.  This doesn't mean I dislike nature or anything, the point that I'm trying to get across is that this book may be filled with action, but lack internal conflict. Brain rarely ever thought about home, desire, his friends. His behavior does not contradict his faith...etc. If you think that I simply want to see a fragile little boy become more miserable than he already is, than that it be the case.

Hip-Hop Language

Student of PAS

( Ring!!!) Oh my oh my gosh,
Don't you feel like rush,
Wake up in the morning just to your alarm clock.
I still wanna snooze,
I still wanna ooze,
But I wake up in the morning just to my alarm clock.
 with a painful step,
I slowly rose,
out my dream of heaven into just to my alarm clock

( stomp!!!) then oh my oh my gosh,
Don't you feel like a rush,
I stood up in the bathroom with a toothbrush in my mouth,
than from right to left,
and from right to left,
I stood up in the bathroom with a toothbrush in my mouth,
And From up to down,
And From down to up,
I stood up in the bathroom with a toothbrush in my mouth

( Ugh!!!)then  OH my oh my gosh,
Don't you feel like a rush,
I'm Slumped down in a chair with my hair tied up,
The teacher's voice,
like a timeless roar, 
So I slumped down in a chair with my hair tied up,
Too bad there's no alarm,
for a class that's armed,
so I slumped down in a chair with my hair tied up.

( Ring!!!) then Oh my oh my gosh,
Don't you feel like a rush,
Running home  from school with a smile broad,
The teacher's voice,
is like a tip of moist,
And I'm running home from school with a smile broad, 
Leave the kitty cats,
Leave  the homework as,
I'm running home from school with a smile broad.

( Ring!!!) then The end,
It's the end.
Oh my day just ended like a wink they say,
Well too bad,
too bad,
tomorrow I'll wake up in the morning just to my alarm clock.

Epic Language

There they stood with their sorrowful grim, 

" Return to us!  Oh please!" 

And There I stood with my determined wimed, 

" I shall do this, I heed." 

With one last look  at the mile-less shore, 

One last look at the joys and roars, 

From there I  plunged into the endless core,

Oh fire, oh please. 

Courage, I summoned above , 

and slowly my frozen hands raised. 

" Be proud of me, brothers and sisters

as you sit on the swings and play, 

forgive me, 

to not join your game 

for it is hard to lay, 

I shall do this, 

brothers and sisters, 

and here my corpse shall lay." 

A fire burned as I typed, 

The brain is swiveling wiped, 

I couldn't breath, 

I couldn't reach, 

the memories are fading

along with my raging. 

Like a madman I typed, 

swearing and cursing and ripped. 

MY body is wounded

and my heart is empty, 

But the demon kept demanding for more. 

At last, 

it all ended 

and there was down as I laid, 

at where my corpse will stay. 

I finished it, my blogging assignment, 

and I will hope to a brand new day! 

Ps. I really don't think this is "epic" enough. I am still unclear about how elegant the language should be, and to be quite honest I have a small vocabulary. 

The Epic Hero

An epic poem is something that illustrates the importance of a heroic figure. Although often exaggerated( let's say all of them are) an epic poem also reflects the values within one culture. Taking the infamous medieval epic poem- The Song of Roland for one, Richard the Lionheart demonstrated great bravery and wisdom. This epic poem is not only one of the most important literary works of the Medieval times, but it also reflects the culture of that time being. It shows that warriors like Richard the Lionheart is highly praised for their immense bravery. This shows that the english people at that time valued bravery over everything else. As in for our sports hero in the present day world, they are stars. Yet the exaggeration used on them is relatively smaller since people now have written history. As in for the comparison between Beowulf and Casy at the Bat, one is a real epic poem while the other is a mock epic. Both uses elegant language to express the feeling of heroism, yet " Casy at the bat" is sort of mocking the epic poem's style. I thought it was pretty funny, though the writer himself did not like it. Don't ever estimate the power of exaggeration, cause it can change a story by great measures indeed. What it had done to the story- " Casy at the bat" was truly " epic" and I loved it!!!

Experiances

I held up my arms,
projected my voice,
Tremble arms wiped away sweat,
Head whirling,
My legs shook,
My shoulders tremble,
My finger held on to the paper tightly,
I took a deep breath,
my throat exhaled,
Hairs stood up on one end,
Another bead of sweat ticked off my neck,
I heard the thundering of the crowd,
I opened my mouth,
than from no where a tune struck out of my throat,
and the crowd applauded with their hands.

Adjectives

Calm,
Sunlight,
eaceful,
Smooth,
dark,
red ,
relaxed

Plain,
milk
shake,
soda.

Fun,
loving,
manageable,
exciting.

Wistful,
joyful,
happy,
hopeful,
newness,.

Triolet

The end of summer is a gloomy grey sky, 

The Leaves are shedding, 

The birds don't sing as they fly. 

The end of summer is a gloomy grey sky, 

The bitter grass  sighed, 

The icy cold is raging. 

The End of of summer is a gloomy grey sky, 

The leaves are shedding. 

Limerick

There was once a girl name Nile
Who smiles dumbly like some child,
Then reality sets,
And worries met,
Now her tears just flows like the Nile.

List Poem

My Only Wish

Death approaches, 

knocking on my window. 

It's ghostly shadows reached me, 

but I fear no more. 

The moment is coming, 

as I anticipated, 

since the moment the doctor shook his head, 

and laid my beeping machine to rest. 

Oh, mother don't cry. 

Remember, mother?

The roller coaster in Disneyland? 

I said that was my only wish. 

The speed, 

the screams. 

Remember, mother?

When I retreated from the sight of Spanish and French?

I said that was my only wish. 

The anxious, 

the freedom. 

Remember, mother?

When I dreamed to be a writer?

I said that was my only wish. 

the beauty of English,

The Hope. 

Remember, mother?

When I wished the books will be out of stock?

I said that was my only wish, 

The escape, 

The neglect. 

Remember, mother?

When I pointed at your belly, 

where my brother laid, 

and wanted him gone?

I said that was my only wish, 

My mother, 

my possession. 

And remember, mother? 

When I pointed at the spanish vocabulary, 

the scattered holes, 

homework, 

computer, 

mosquitoes, 

and demanded ? 

I said those were my only wish, 

Too. 

To tell you the truth, mother. 

None of the wishes are true. 

My only wish, 

is to be with you. 

A mother, 

and daughter. 

Free Write

My father is a night owl, a man with his senses acute when the rest of us are drifting off to dreamland. I could not remember a single second in my fourteen years of life when he isn't out watching the stars on our balcony, or once when he isn't embracing the cool night's breeze when the midnight bells rang. " Night is my best companion, a person who would sit and listen to your stories and show you hers without hesitance. Day light shows too much, " he said. " And hides too much." A wisp of shadow is good enough, a plain old world: constant, loyal, simple, no lies. Of course, people tend to argue about darkness signifying a no lie zone being irrational, and to that, my father has his own set of explanation, " Darkness can signifying filthy little creatures lurking in the dark, or it could be a simple blank of space with beautiful things. Speaking of which, did you know that the stars were extra bright last night?" To this point I always laugh, and so do the others. We don't know why we find it funny, but we do .  " Dad, are you born a night owl or have you trained yourself to become one?" I remembered myself asking him one night on the balcony when no stars shone. " A little bit of both...Hey! You see that shining red dot over there? Must be an airplane! Go get your brother, man, this doesn't look like a regular one, it looked like..." To me, it looked like my father, embracing and loving the shadows on a dark dark night.

My List Poem

Cardboard boxes,
paint,
pointy edges,
A hope to stay,
Paper,
A purpose weak point,
bare foot,
water,
water balloons,
wet.

Poet's Choice

Friendship
laughing, dancing,
challenges are faced,
together, bright, hesitance,
hatred, darkness, is the third wheel
Betrayal

The brightest of all,
shining warmly on the Earth,
Sun is the answer.

The running waters,
Sliding downhill with much glee,
Oh! It's path was stopped.

Haiku

A dwindling flame,
A struggle of maintainence,
A loosing battle.

A metric tuler,
A scale of one to eighten,
As if full of lead.

The cool night's breeze,
Leaves danced and twriled in the sky,
Beautiful and free.

Tanka Poem

Algebra 1 Class
Tables's long grey edges
a pen and paper
Dancing numbers with movement
Ms. Sue's timeliness voice rang.

May twenty seventh
Sound of ringing bells yeilding,
Blankets unfolded,
A simple desk and textbooks,
Desperate student half asleep.

Star of cloudy night.
The night sky was blanketed,
With clouds and more clouds.
The cool soft breeze swiftly blew,
Unveiling a trace of gold.

Cinquain Poem

Ice cream
creamy, cool
eating, laughing, riding
A Child's secret deep passion
I'm ice.

Skeleton,
white, lifeless,
lying, resting, watching
Resting and still in science lab
Human anatomy.

Television,
fun, entertaining
sitting, staring, drooling,
A human being's best best friend,
TV.

Dynamite Poems

  Day
light, shine
brightened, delighted, pleased.
Smiles, sunshine, darkness, shadows
fear, tremble, conceal,
dubious, lost,
Night

Sunshine
, immense, free,
laugh, burned, reached,
Hope, optimism, moon, shade.
fear, shiver, hide,
fever, maze,
Shadow

Spring,
new, beautiful,
leap, bounce, vault,
Hope, sun, shading, cold.
veil, shadows,
Winter.


Ps. I know I did a couple wrong, sorry.

Acrostic

I have a confession to make. For those who haven't noticed, I have not been doing my blog on time recently. Terrible habit. I'm very sorry, and I can guarantee you that I will try to not allow it to happen again. Anyway, back to the main point: 

Alive on this Earth 

Living in Hsinchu 

Yo! People! 

Saturday is the most relaxing day ! 

Sunday simply drives me nuts. 

Allied with close friends. 

Hates it when things don't go as planned. 

Sloppy and careless at times 

U and I can be great friends! 

Nausea in the crowd

Irregular with temper 

Can be lost in dreams. 

Of course there will be 

Losts and incompletes 

Even the slightest can make you retreat. 

Stand and fight, 

Astronaut will be! 

Icy cold on out

Normous burns right in 

Turned out she could be. 

Anything she wants to be. 

Elements of poetry.

So here is another unit about poetry that I have to think about. There are many elements of poetry such as rythm , but it shared many common similarities to fiction. Some elements are simply neccesary for every form of writting or literature, or else the work itself is going to be a sing lullaby that luuls readers to the deep depth of dreamland( or lala land if you're not an easy sleepr. I'm not. I would probably be distracted, which I hate. Yet, if poetries simply contain rythm, I think I eventually will. It could be an excellent Good Bye Lullaby that eveyone is oohing about this following month. Oh, and sorry for being so off-topiced again). Some elements that fiction and poetries both share is suspense, settng, conflict, character, irony, similie( big one) and metaphors( obviously, another big one), figures of speech, symbols( one of the main things about poetries...etc. And now I will go through them one by one. Poetries can have suspense in horror poems, thought not that often. Setting to describe what you are describing about, " It was a dark and stormy night", conflict to make the story interesting, character to actually lead the story going, irony to make the story interesting, similies and metaphors to compare two unalike things, and symbols to represent somthing more than itself. Ex. " The trees shed their leaves" = Winter/Fall.

What does poetry do?

Hmmm, that is a very interesting question that I had never thought about. Poetry just always seemed to be a distant rhyming song that enlightened my early childhood, and no one had ever dared to question it's very own purpose for existence. Before I give you my detailed explanation, let's start with a bit of compare and contrast from poetry to other forms of writting. Taking literary fiction, for an instance, it has long sentences that often don't rhyme. And of course, it is often much longer than poetries, and there is no room for sentence fragments. For poetry, it's exactly the opposite. It is composed of short sentences that will be better if they do rhyme. And of course, often much shorter paragraphs and far shorter than literary fiction like the one I am holding right now which has two hundred pages. If you think that's a lot, try Jenny. Her book ( source of entertainment) has at least five hundred pages. How did poetry came about in the first place? Well, poetry came from song. In fact, it is suppose to be a song that people can easily sing along with meanginful but easily memorable lyrics. Since, people back a couple years ago could not read nor write, and people who can perform these functions can get themselves a job. Anyway, poetry was suppose to be a efficient of storytelling.

Spring Break

During spring break, the happy graduating students flew to the beautiful Bali for a wonderful vacation. It was kind of fun and excactly what I had excpected. We arrived at Bali Club Med at around five o clock pm. Our dizziness and tiredness from the flight was instantly washed away by the boiling excitement we received and contained once we stepped into the club. After arranging our rooms and settled down our lugages, we took a walk along the beach, oohed and ahhed over the luxeroius structures...etc. Throughout the rest of our vacation, we cannoed, snorkled, shopped, rafted, watched television( for a fairly long time, it's actually one of my favorite part of this vacation. Who would have thoguht such an ordinary activity would actually top my list?), played basketball( For me, I watched people play basketball), played battminton( Or however way you want to spell it), watched late night performances( Turned out to be a great surprise when we see the performers working as staffs of different stops in Club Med. Their schedule is pretty complicated. In the morning: staff work. Night: dance and sing for one hour. Midnight: Dance and sing some more at the bar to entertain their foreign guests.) Anyway, we kind of had a blast.

Exageration

This is kind of a harder subject for me to have real deep connection to, and now especially, is not a good time. After five days of vacation, I felt as if I left my heart in Bali( simile) ( haha) . Ok, not really. Anyway, I had been completely off-topic, but for the old timers this should be completely normal. Anyway, exaggeration. First, to define it's meaning: It is the matter of making things greater, grander than they really are. There can be lots of motives for the matter of exaggeration, and in literature, writers uses it to make their plain stories a bit more interesting to read. For example, my homework pile is as high as Mount Everest.( Kind of true, in a way). She smiled so wide her face is going to spilt open( Exaggeration, often used on prejudiced and arrogant characters in which the main character dislikes.) He walked by a dog that is as big as an elephant( No explanation needed, right?) She took one step and the earth shattered beneath her. ( Definitely not true, least not on a normal basis. That's hope it will never happen. Anyway, this is an example of exaggeration) Her words sliced through him. ( I'm not sure wether if this is an example of exaggeration. In fact, I'm kind of confused now. Which defeats the purpose. Oops. ) Her razor sharp glare left a hole on his chest( Exaggeration. Or is it?)

Personal Reflection

I will divide my evaluation into four categories: Class participation, active interest, working at the best of my ability and studying habits. Now, I will go through each of them one by one. Let's start withe class participation. I think I scored an F at that course( and if not an F, a D) considering the fact that I rarely raises my hand in class or ask any questions. Not saying that I don't have questions, I do. It's just that as a person who appeared to be just a little shyer, I prefer to leave the questions till the end. Yes, I know this may be impossible for most people to understand. In fact, I'm not quite sure why I prefer that way. Maybe it's because of the fact that I prefer to think before talking or asking a question, and leaving it till the end gives me more time to do so? Anyway, let's move on. For the active interest category, I think I did ok. Ok as in mediocre. I can be engaged in activities that I like for quite a long period of time, and I try to keep that excited feeling for as long as it would go. I also did ok( as in mediocre, just in case you forgot) in the working at the best of my abilities. I do try, but can try harder. Yet, I still tried. So... Now to the last category, from an evaluation of A~F, I think my studying habits would score a C ( which is mediocre, again) since for most of the time I prefer to do the english homework due on Tuesday on Sunday. Yet for somedays that are starting to become more regular, I leave it till the last minute.

Style

The elements of style Cade Bambara used were allusion and dialect. In the story- " Raymond's run", Squeaky had made many allusions based on how people looked. For example, she had falsely assumed the Gretchen cannot beat her at the race due to the fact that she 1) had short legs 2) have freckles( this is soooo laughable)...etc. She also assumed that( I'm not sure whither this is true or not, but she did made an allusion here) her classmate who is smart( thought Squeaky refused to admit that) is a fake who pretends that everything comes easy for her. Who knows? Maybe she is one of those lucky girls who has everything planned out smoothly before her, unlike the rest of us who has to work at least twice as hard to get what she can easily get for free. I think Squeaky is jealous of that. Another element of literature Cade Bambara used in the story was the the element of dialect. Squeaky and her friends used many dialect from their habitat( I'm not really sure if this word " habitat" is appropriate in here, but due to the time being, I'll just leave it like that). " play the dozens" is an excellent example of a dialect which Squeaky used to refer to mean trading insults. Writers also used elements such as symbols, figures of speech...etc. The different styles of writing is what makes each unique.

Brainstorming a poem

Important person of my life: My brother
Adjectives: sneaky, pretentious, loving, funny, annoying, bombastic, caring, fast, big eyes, expansive sneakers.
What he looks like: A scrawny commentator with an angel smile.
Sounds like: comments and harsh laughter
Smell: bubble tea
taste: bubble tea
touch: hard and fistlike.

Poem:
Haha, gotcha
he jumped at me and said
sneaky and filthy
I couldn't help but love him

Hehe, you stupid
he looked at me and said
pretentous and bombastic
I couldn't help but love him

Hoho, I'll tell
He smiled at me and said
annoying and spoiled rotten
I couldn't help but love him

hmmhmm, gave up
I glanced at him and sighed
sneaky anf filthy,
pretentous and bombastic,
annoying and spoiled rotten,
I couldn't help but love him.

End Game

Our group had contributed a lot of time and effort into this project. We met up three times in my house in one month and spent two hours after school just yesterday to piece the final product together. Despite all the hard work that we had done, I wasn't very satisfied with our final outcome since it had varied much from out original sketch. When I first thought about this board game, the floors were to be arranged in checkers manner and the walls( yeah, I even thought of putting walls. Ridiculous, now thinking) and decorate it with famous paintings that acts as a clue towards the game. The whole things is to to be carefully and well constructed looking similar to one of those castle game rooms from the olden days. I originally also thought that we can arrange the game box in a way similar to the rubric's cube, only simpler. Instead of having all the pieces, our game only needs to have four which can be switched around. Therefore, the players can have a different settlement every time. As in for the first floor/or the basement as most Taiwanese call it are suppose to have well constructed water areas with lands and prisons. ( I forgot to mention that in certain points of the prison, you can find a way to actually get down to the basement). Anyway, our originally design is a lot more complex and difficult. Yet, since our group's realist hadn't been doing a really good job keeping us real and everything. The project turned out to be a minor disappointment to us.

Slang

Before I start, I would like to state that I had quite a um....how do you say it? Busy week? Homeworks and tests had been knocking on my door and forcing me to open, which is why I am doing this journal late. Anyway, some slangs I could think of at the top of my head right now are " lol", " Lmfao", "lamo", ":D" " Xoxo", "xd", " BFF", " bad"( hahaha, this one never fail to entertain me), " meatball"( Roars of laughter. This one is even better!), "peg",  " cool", " sick"...etc. A few slangs that me and my friends outside of campus( if our school counts as one) are " Red wood", "", Morobike...etc. To be perfectly honest, I don't use a lot of slangs. Which is why completing this assignment is so difficult for me. To tell the truth, I doubt that anyone except those two who came from US and Canada would really know any real english slangs. We live in the peaceful Pacific American restricted neighborhood( hahaha) and we don't see much of the outside world. The school kept all the bad things out, and some good things too. Regardless of how it seems. Yes, I know you probably cannot understand a word right now of what I was typing due to the grammatical and spelling errors that I had made. And that's perfectly fine and normal, since by this point IH had reached the minimum of 200 words and am pleased to mark the end of this journal entry.

analogy

Doing my homework right now is as if walking on sheer glass, the pain cannot be avoided. Making the Westing game board game is as if riding on a roller coaster that only goes up one hill. Once you got over the excitement, it pretty much goes downhill from there. Doing your math homework is like riding on a roller coaster, there are rises and falls. Being a student is like pulling teeth since both are very hard to do. The Westing Game is as if going through a haunted house in Disney Land when exciting things unfolds one by one( for those who are about...eh.....um....ten? seven? four? three? Or perhaps eleven? I've heard of people who are still very much scared of the disneyland haunted house. Yet I guess I'm not the one to talk since I have never been into one. Now I realized that I had gone completely off topic, and I do apologize for that. 12:05 really isn't the best time to do your blogging assignment. Oh, and I Had just gone off topic again. Oops. Sorry.). Doing this blogging assignment right now is as if numbering the stars in the sky that are just endless. 

Deception

The reason that the author uses the element of misconception is to add the element of suspense into the story. And where there is suspense, there is excitement, and where there is excitement, there are excited readers. The author's use of misconception really conjured me to read the book as well, my curiosity just seemed to have gotten the better of me. Since to be perfectly honest, I am never too excited about a class novel but this one is different. And now, I confess that I had officially ran out of things to write for this journal entry. Which is the main reason that I am blabbering jiberish right now with such poor grammar and spelling. Seriously, this doesn't happen often. Infact, this is kind of the only journal entry that I am really stuck at. I wonder how others had wrote about in this journal entry. Anyway, back to the topic today, there is another author whose books I adored who also happened to be a master of misconception. The novel is about the black forrest in Germany. A girl and boy was lost in the woods

Fighting Words

Words are capable of leaving wounded scars that will never heal, which is why people fought over them. For me, I suppose the matter of when it is worth it fight for depends on the situation itself. For some people who was simply temporarily frustrated, especially little kids, yells criticisms all the time. Yet sad to say, most of them are aimless and can be directed to about everyone. For those words, I would choose to ignore just so I don't fall into the same category as them.  THere is another kind of criticisms however, that required people with more standard intelligence to say. Those words are sharp, right to the point, and aiming directly at you that will hit a nerve. It's as if feeling the pain of being punched in the gut, and know that the pain will follow you for the rest of your life... Actually to this point, I realized that no words are worth fight for. Aimless or not. Since you have no control what the others will say about you, so fighting will simply expose your immaturity and fear towards certain objects. Of course, it is easy for me to say here but actually quite hard to accomplish in real life. Which is what makes it so valuable. I am constantly engaged in verbal arguments with my ten/eleven year old brother, but now, I started to learn how to control myself and ignore those comments instead. And it worked out fine.

OOPS

In this entry, I am again going to write about Michelle Corizone and the life lessons she had taught me. She had really made a great impact on my life and taught me many valuable lessons many had never came to know. Michelle Corizone was born in August 16, in a sunny town named Morrocow. Her mentally challenged state wasn't reconized until her late childhood, when reality crushed her parent's neglects and hope. Yet it was too late for any medication to take place, and Michelle is now doomed for a difficult journey as a child forever. Many made fun of her, and some even told her parents to give up on her but they didn't. They see Michelle as a blessing from God and will always treasure as their dear little girl, no matter how bad the situaion can be. I first met Michelle in a elementry school back in the States, where she was sitting at the corner of the classroom( her parents wouldn't let her go to a special school for fear that their daughter would not be able to adapt to society. I think it is partly due to their own experience, and they understood firsthandedly that it is really rather sad to have a dream that will never come true). Anyway, that's just add to her apparence didn't do much good either. Yet after meeting with her for a few times, I realized taht she is actually the most innocent and pure child I have ever met. And that taught me a valuable lesson.

Below the Surface

If there is something that Michelle had taught me,it is to never judge a book by it's cover. There is always more to a person than they appear to be. Tanned skin, nose distraughted, and small slitty eyed Michelle Sorten often conject the image of disney witch coming to life. And when she smiled, her wrinkles would bloom like flowers in the spring( weird description, I know) and that's just say that her yellow crooked teeth wasn't a a huge help either. I would like to say that I took her into my arms and murmured words of encouragement during our first encounterence, but that would be lying. To tell you the truth, I was disgraced and genuinely disgusted. It was as if the a dark peice of cloud had covered the sun( Exageration, ha. Obviously, I couldn't have been that shallow.) and I did, though shameful to admit, made many attemps to neglect her embrace. Yet she made it kind of impossible, as she followed me around to everywhere. I was annoyed at first, but didn't want to make a huge scene of it in front of the whole class. And as time pasts, I realized that Michelle is the single most docile person there ever has been on Earth. This proves that there is more to a person than their surface. I suppose.

Quiz or Circle

Personally, I prefer neither. Hand written quizzes for one, is plainly an obsolete that dates all the way back from the begining of the year. In other words, written quizes are what we students called " out of date" since last September. As in for the reading circle, please excuse me to say that it is a waste of time. Eight Grade students do not yet have the elements of concentration, or full responsiblity to handle a study group on their own. No one really has the leadership qualities to make the reading circle a success. So despite the roles that Mr. McCool had organized for us that are seemingly efficent, the cicle was rolling slower than the hour hand of a clock. Now before you jump to point out my bad qualitied work, keep in mind that what I had just presented can be heavily biased. And that you don't have to agree with every single thing( or anything) that I have just said. Anyway, I prefer the online quiz we first had at the behinning of the year. I mean, who wouldn't like to " sit in front of something called computer that they said will be popular in the future" as Mr. McCool puts it, and finish their homework? Sometimes doing so even makes the whole process a lot more enjoyable.

Your Game

My idea of the game is a combination of monopoly and clues. I would make a board of box and have players of 2~6. Inside a box will be a series of underlined stairs and ladders and so on, you need to draw clues and understand them in order to achieve the game which is to win. The winner might get a very special prize. The characters will obviously be Turtle, Angela...etc. The characters can team up in order to win a single objective, they can also become separate teams anytime they please. I was thinking of the design to be kind of similar to checkers, black and white. I am also thinking of putting cool paintings, and the whole board game can rotate and stuff, so that each time there will be a different thing and clues that people have to solve. And that will pretty much be it for my brain storming. Since for those who hadn't noticed, it's around eleven seventeen right now as I listened to an anonymous version of " Tic Toc" I randomly found on Youtube and decided that I like this version better, I'm really running out of all creativity. I wonder how the others are doing, but I am pretty sure that any one of them are doing a far better job that I am. Anyway, I'm totally off topic and I do apologize for that. For those who had the patience who continued reading to this sentence, I will end my journal right here. Thank you for reading.

Your Ending

Louder ! Louder! Louder! Louder! My hands flung over my chest, and felt...nothing. No! This cannot be! In ulteral desperation, I ripped open my wool coat and felt again- Nothing! Beneath my now wrinkled apparel and dry skin was the lacking heart beat. The officers stared at me with mocking horror, and their devious smiles seemed to have dug through my flesh and cutted through my bones. " Villens!" With a beastly shreik, I swung my fist and the devils rolled off their chairs and landed on their backs. And the red sea started to pile up until half of the furniture was driped with the devils' blood. And you, my dear gentlemans call ME mad? A madman would have ran away screaming, but not me. No. Instead, I refrained my mental satisfication and began to disamble the policemans lying on the floor. I can tell you one of them has hair as red as fire, another has hair as dark as night. This one has eyes of olives and this one has.-. Fear gripped my heart as I jumped back from the corpse, the corpse with the pale blue eyes. And screamed, and screamed, and screamed. " Wear off me! Why can't you wear off me!"  The night was last filled with my hedious cries.

Summary of Tell-Tale Heart.

An insane man's scandal for murder of an old man because his pale blue eye evoked the fear deep inside him, waiting to break free. But of course, he doesn't know that and what really through the readers off hook is that he saw this whole event as completely normal, and he was simply being a profound murderer who was not "insane" Anyway, I'm completely off topic ( again) so please allow me to summarize the tale of the Tell-tale heart. The story started out with a man claiming he was not insane, simply nervous. And that, he explained his motivation of murdering an old man whom he like, but feared( his pale blue eye scared him.), after a few nights of toss and turns, the crazy lunatic made up his mind to kill him, and this get rid of that eye forever. For many nights, he crept into the old man's room with such caution and dissimulation seemingly( at least according to him) impossible for an insane man to do, and observed the old man in his sleep. He also seemed entirely unaware of his own presence, so finally at the night he stroke for kill. The old man had sensed danger and was trembling in his own bed when he took his last breath. The lunatic than dissembled his body parts and buried them under the floors of his bed room chamber. The police than came for inspection, and he admitted his actions because he thought he heard the old man's hideous heart beating.

Hints and Foreshadowing

The opening paragraph had pretty much gave us a main clue of the narrator being " unrealiable". Reason? He is insane. Some details that gave hints and clues are: 1) The man claimed himself to be sane, and his actions are pure and logical. That tells the reader that something is wrong even before they got deeper into the story where the narraotr explained his motivations of murdur. 2) The narrator explaining the pale vulture eye the old man has that haunted him. " His gold I have no desire..." He had said, the old man had been kind to him and he had no desire for his wealth. THe plain motivation wasn't out of hatred, love, avarice...etc, it was out of plain fear over an eye. 3) The process it took the main character to strike was abnormally long. He literally took an hour to open the old man's door, something that could have been done in minutes. No! Seconds. Or in a second. Whatever. And than he would look at the sleeping old man and smiled thinking that everything will be to his satisfaction. 4) This reasoning is obvious- The narrator killed the old man. No one in their right mind would do that. That is incredibly insane and stupid and unreasonable. WHich pretty much explain that he is a "mad" man instead of the other way around.

Narrator

People's opinions are often heavily biased, since they can only see one facet but not the other. And the reason these self centered antagonists often landed on the center of the stage was for only one purpose- entertainment. People often find those characters funny, but what they don't understand is the characters are simply an exaggerated( and in some cases, not) example of themselves. Most people refused to admit that. In the " Tell-tale Heart"the narrator had proven himself a madman right from the beginning, murdering a harmless old man whom he adores just because his pale blue eyes feared him. Definitely not normal, but he sure thought so.  The unfamous book " Hells and Heavens" also served an excellent example of a biased narration. For those who don't know ( and I'm assuming that none of you do, but that's perfectly fine.) The narrator and main character- Lucinda Karren was tormented with her love to Francis- a demon from hell, his compel for her made her life a living hell. And a literal one, not just a mental one. Meanwhile, her Christian family and society commanded her to side with Edward, an angelic man who later seized her... Anyway, not important. What I was trying to say is that in this story Lucinda had many biased opinions about society" Women are cowardly, they believe what the society wants them to believe" was one of the most famous quotes out of that story.

Scary Stories

There are two components of all horrors( and not just from literture, but in real life as well) and they are the element of suspense and surprise. Horror stories live and breath with those two components.  As in for my personal horror, I would say loosing./to lost something valuable such as reputation, friends, good grades, my project( especially during a group project when you spent hours with your buddies making that single hand-made, most humanly prescious, extrodenary, desirous project. You loose it? You're in big trouble!). The reason for  "loosing" to horrify me was simple, I don't like losting/loosing anything. I suppose many people felt the same way. Specaking of horror stories, I've actually got a personel horror story of my own. It happened when I was in frist grade, I didn't know when, but somehow late at night before bed time, I would hear a spirit's soft knock( Ok, not true. I just wrote this to make it more suspenseful.). I remembered the first time the dreadful sound reached my ears, Quandan! Like the sound of breaking glass. I nearly jumped out of my skin. Without a second thought, I through open the bathroom door and found nothing. Assuring myself that what happened was nothing, I climbed into bed. That was not the last of it, however, cause the shatter of pure glass rang throughout  the whole night and eveutually, through the whole year. In fact, if happened often enough that I am no longer afraid of it. And one day, I don't know when, ir( The sound) faded away until I never once heard it ever again.

Ode

Not being excactly poet material, I had a hard time writting this journal. After pondering for a while, I came up with the list of ideas that I will describe one by one. The first out of them is, TV. I can describe the way the constant change of color and the flash of light glued my attention better than anything else. And how the way it made everything else seeming so tedious. Ex. A long day after school I sat, with a long night stretched far ahead. What a dull world that I'm in I thought, and nothing seemed to worked out for me...Another idea is the computer. I can describe it's multiple functions and the way it affected my life. Ex. There it was, a screen with flash. A mouse that moves, and a keyboard that I slashes. THere I was...etc. The other idea that I also had in mind was about tests. I can describe the ruthless torture and how us students felt about it. Ex. Tik, tik it's the tik of the clock, the clock had ticked and I am blank and sick...etc. I can also write about friendship and how it had affected my life. Ex. Hand in hand they stood, in the center of a storm. And it was, that moment that they knew, nothing will ever touch them, harm them. Because, they have each other's care...etc( Really lame, I know. INfact all of them are lame). Other than that, I might also write about familiar things such as: school, art, english, math, sports, and perhaps music...

Lunar New Year

After leaving PAS, I embraced the freedom in which I deserved.  Wind gently picked up my sleeves and the world seemed all of a sudden, brighter and merrier...I decided to paint a more vivid picture of this moment right here since my vacation pretty much went downhill from there. Don't get me wrong, I don't mean that my vacation was horrible, it's just that there are moments of extremes that can never be replaced. And the feeling of freedom from the clutches of schoolwork is simply the time of my life. Afterwards, I left for home and finished my school assignments which was really starting to pile. I them convinced myself to neglect my uneasiness towards my uncompleted math assignment and left for a little air with my brother. I slept late that night since I thought I had all the time in the world, so what's the hurry? The next day, I woke up at around ten but remained in bed till eleven. We had an easy take out lunch and my parents decided to take a nap. After what seemed like hours, we finally headed for my grandparent's home for hope of entertainments. The dinner was descent, my aunts and uncles had made sure to have everything just right. Yet since eating wasn't somewhat my main concern, I didn't like it too much since it was kind of boring. It wasn't until later in which my angel naive cousin who grabbed the microphone and started screaming into it when the dinner got really interesting. The innocent little boy had mistaken our polite app louses for genuine appreciation, hahaha. I would like to continue but I already reached the limit. So this will be it.

Prose or Poetry

I would personally prefer prose to poetry due to obvious reasons, and I am pretty sure that many others have similar opioions as mine. A prose is simple and easy to understand, though plain at times, but right to the point. When a poetry contains more emotions but is harder to read and interpret. Everyone will have their oen interpretations, and it's hard for the author to get the message across to the audience. It is  beautiful yes, prescious yes, but hard to get. It's also easy to read out loud, the words simply roll down your tongue. Ok, I know that I'm am being unfocused here and you probably couldn't understand what I was trying to get across, but that's ok. Go read someone else 's blog, he or she will have a clearer mind that I do. Than perhaps you will have no trouble understanding them at all. If, IF , you chose to continue reading, thank you. It means so much to me. Anyway, since prose is more to my preference, I do enjoy reading fictions and facts. Poetries are simply too complex for me, having to go through all those lines and can't seem to grasp the meaning until the very end is sometimes a cruel torture. And I suppose that's all I have to say about prose and poetry.

Outsiders film v. Book

Although we did not finish the  film just yet, we've watched parts of it. And that minimum amount of information was enough for me to decide on which one was to my favor. The book version is more preferable. Although the movie was animated with actions and real blood, the story line seemed somehow twisted, which was disappointing. Certain scenes were skipped or fast forwarded and that's just say that the starring did not live up to my expectations. Now if you allow, I will give you a few examples from the film to support my thesis. Think back to the scene where the whole story became truly engaging- Darry loosing his temper and physical abused Ponyboy. Our talented author had given this moment some extra thought of tension, the feeling of betrayal and anger. The house froze after the violating action, all motions stop and a sense of surprise  was passed between the characters. Than, Ponyboy ran. The film didn't capture this, instead they focused more on the killing part afterwards which was also important, but not as important as this. Since that was how the whole story started. No, the film didn't capture the art of the whole story the author had planted, and no, it was not better than the story due to it's lack of an interesting story line. I hope my criticisms did not offend anyone, but if it did, I do apologize.

Film v Print

Both films and prints have their own advantages and disadvantages. Films are more entertaining, interesting( depending on your point of view actually. BUt that's focus on the public opinion here. What would you have chosen if you were given an assignment to read the text book or watch an educational film if the time for both is the same? It's common sense).  As in for the cons of films, there are: distracting, and unhealthy. Colored films can often be distracting as all the colors blended in together into this large blob of things and it can actually make the scene look more violent. Taking our last journal entry for an instance, it would be a lot easier to simply read a book than to actually "watch" the whole thing where blood and guts spilled everywhere( the details for this sentence are actually unnecessary, but it's funny to think about the expression on certain people's face if they hear about this. Haha) Oh, and another con about prints is that the plot often gets twisted and is hard to live up to reader's expectation. " Books are often better than films itself"said an anonymous quoter and I have to agree. Although films may seem more interesting, the plot often had into what the directors thought would be to the public's appeal. Weird thing that they are often wrong. As in for the prints, it's simply the opposite. Anyone with mediocre intelligence ( at least) can figure it out.

My Stuff

   Being stuck in a certain place can be scary. Since that meant to have no change, no freedom, and worse of all- no choices( which kind of equals to "no freedom", but their meaing differs in some point). Anyhow, if I was to be stuck in a small crammed place with only so many people I will choose to bring the ones listed bellow. 1.A laptop that has internet connection and all the other basic elements a computer should have. 2. A note book. 3. A digital video camera. 4. A sketch book. 5. Something to write and make record with. I suppose the reason for wanting to bring a laptop is pretty obvious, since being born at a time period in which " everyone uses internet", internet has become an important part of not just me, but everyone's life. Besides a computer made lots of things such as reading, and gaming possible with instant clicks.
There eventualy will, however, when staring at the computer became an agonizing torture. When the videos were played and replayed, and the "hottest" tunes of the months were circling in your head. For that time, I will use a sketch book and notebook to entertain myself. Like Anne, if you want the resemblence. And of course, inorder to actually make use of the note and sketch book, I have to have something to write and draw with. So I suppose that explains my fifth object than.

What Do You Want To Be?

Although most people( people in a couple of classes that I know of) heavily criticized the diary of Anne Frank as a sexist, overly dramatic, and tedious work of art, I find it satisfying somehow. Yet, I don't think it's exactly my to say since I had never really read the book. My knowledge of Anne Frank was entirely dependent upon a brief summary from the text book and Mr. McCool 's lecture during class. Anyhow, I was completely off topic and I do apologize for any inconsistency I may have somehow costed you. Anyway, I decided that the character that I would like to be is Margot- Anne's sister, just incase you don't know. Margot was generally a quiet, calm, peaceful, sensitive, amicable, shy, and lovable person. Meaning that she wouldn't have much of a dialogue or acting to do( I'm gifted with acting disabilities). I don't think any of the other characters would suit me in any way, since I had absolute zero connection to all of them. I am not as active as Anne, as chattery as her mother( Or is it another woman? I can't remember. Told you I didn't read the book. If you are interested, check out Holt Reader or English Text Book), or as picky as...um...someone....I forgot her name. So I suppose Margot is really the character that I most resemble to throughout the whole play. And that will be the end of my journal writing for today, thank you for your time.

Trapped!

According to the studies, small and condensed areas are often the ones that leadas to Melancholia, Schizophrenia and all kinds of other mental disorders. In other words, a small crammed space is meant to drive people insane. Yet there are times when fate simply decided to act cruel and your life did a drastic turn backwards. Than Boom! All of a sudden you will find yourself crammed into a small room highly populated yet contained a small amount of population indeed. Reason: Undersize living space, just as simple as that. I'm not trying to say that anyone who chose to live in that kind of place are destinied for a painful death, bur rather that they have a higher possiblity of doing so. Anyway, there are some good things about living with your famlies and close relatives. One, lots of time alone. Two, Lots of free time. Three, Quiet. As in for the downhill side, people may get lonely, bored, mentally disable and all sorts of things can happen. Putting myseld into this kind of situation, I would probably read and write all the time. Or perhaps try to do something that I would normally set aside for later just to occupy my more than enough time. such as: Studying?

Why?

Before I start this journal, I just want to let all of you( especially Mr. McCool) understand that due to the time being, my assignment this time will be short and to the point. Parts of the content my be offensive, so if you felt offended, no offense. Anyway, I think the reason the Nazis felt that there is need to eliminate all Jews was because of them feeling threatened by their level of inteligence and their high positions. Reason? It's fairly simply to me actually. In my own opinion, which may or may not be correct, I say that the Nazis are lacking of confidence and pride. I'm not saying that their hatred for Jews were unreasonable ( ok, maybe they are. But that's not the point) but what they should have done was to beat JEws in all kinds of ways, instead of going behind their backs and murder(sort of)them. Yet due to the time being, when Germany was blanketed under poverty, moralities and faiths can be waver and fade away as people fought for their own survival. Another quality in which I thought feared the Nazis were the JEw's strong interepretions and faiths towards their own religon. THeir faith unites them together as a whole, making them something close to unbeatable. And besides, at that time the Jewish were claiming the hgihest positions on the society food chains whihc made them sound even more dangerous.

Luck?

Although his intelligence and courage also take partial credit, I think Brain's survival is mainly dependent on his good luck. What are the chances of a twelve year old who has no survival training survviving in the a canadian wilderness? Not to high, I suppose. Many of the key events of his story such as making fire, finding a suitable shelter had all been a total coinsidence. And I fubd it a little bizare that he had never been truly attacked by a wild carivorous animal,  it's all about luck I suppose. For those who held deep admiration for Brian, I did not mean to offend you. Those above are simply my personel opinion. Anyway, although Brain was indeed very dependent on his luck, some of his past experiences and knowledge did assist him in diverse ways. Such as the process of making a ladder, the art of making a fire ( Not excactly the correct/succesful way, more of a basic understanding), and the importance of optimism during times of hardships( Great teacher he got there). Those knowledge also played a significant role in his survival. Now building upon his old knowledge, Brain developed some new knowledge such as how to really make a fire which helped him survive. As in for me, I wouldn't excactly say that I had one of those big getaways some other people like Brain do. Yet there are times in which luck had fallen upon me, and allowed me to win like perhap a pencil in the Christmas lotery this year.

What Makes Fire?

While Brian fumbled through the forrest, trying his best to survive on his own. He had made sevreal attempts on making a fire, a warm red glow that can light up both the fearsome  dark nights and his future as a loner in an environment that seemed to be against him. "Making a fire" isn't something you will expect to learn in a science class or be tested on in any standerlized test, so Brain has no real knowledge of fire making which can be extremely dangerous. Yet due to the fact that he had been absorbing imformation his teachrs, television and so on, he was able to actually have a a basic concept of fire making. That, is misleading, however since " rubbing two sticks together", something that was always demonstrated on television is actually quite diffucult to accomplish. Brian's failing is actually quite common, in fact, it would be will be rather suprising if he actually succeeded making a fire using two sticks. The night after Brian's attemp to rub two sticks together and make a fire he was attacked by a porcupine, he was wounded but
I chose to view this matter as a lucky thing. If it wasn't for the porcupine, Brian would never throw his hatchet, and without doing that he will never be able to make a fire. Anyway, you can interpret it whatever you like. As in for the conditions necessary to make a fire, Brian needed twigs to burn on, his hatchet to actually start the fire...

My Winter Holiday

To be perfectly honest, this winter holiday had been tedious. I was stuck home for most of the time, and as time pasts, even the thought of chatting/gaming/Tv watching... things that would normally appeal to me sickened me. The only time I get to do something different was during the Mondays and Wednesdays when I was suppose to go to Amber's house. And "that" wasn't exactly my idea of fun. Not trying to say hanging out with Amber wasn't fun, it was that the stuff we had been doing were all history -related, and one can only have so many, right? The center cause for my winter holiday being a lot less exciting than it could have been was my brother, who was still stuck in school until the end of January. And since the "unity" and "togetherness" meant everything to my mother, none of us can simply take off to some faraway with the absence of my brother. And you know what's ironic? By the end of January, my brother would be released from school and start his month long vacation when I am cooped up in school. In my opinion, this unbalancing schedule seemed rather ridiculous, and had disconnected us from the outside world. And at the end, I think I must mention that I wasn't complaining about the break itself, but rather what had been going on during then instead.