Monday, February 27, 2012

Chapter 41: Some French Cuisine!

Here is just an example of the lame little essays I've been writing in French class. Yes, the grammar is APPALLING! But not a lot of Americans are going to know that. ^_^ I've only been speaking French for a semester, but there are huge leaps in these papers. And let's not forget that I'm only a B- student in this class. The first paper is written only in present tense as it was all I knew a few months ago. The past imperfect and the past tense in French are difficult but I'm really getting it. Better than anyone else in the class actually. I thinking a writer helped with that a lot. I can just tell when to use which. It's cool. So here is the first one!

Chaque Jour
Ma vie sur mardi et jeudi est très occupé. Dans le matin je réveille á six heures. Je s’habiller rapidement afin je peux manger. Suivant, je vais á l’école. Mais premier, j’ai besoin de prendre le bus entre mon maison et le bus stop. Puis je prends deux bus á l’école et j’arrive á l’école á huit heures. Maintenant j’ai dois marcher á classe. C’est un promenade très loin.
Á huit heures et demi je arriver mon premier classe! Je prends psychologie de première et essayer ne dormir pas! Mon professeur est très ennuyeux…mais j’ai une bonne note! Pas un cent pourcent mais bon assez. Le class est terminée á dix heures. 
Ensuit je fais ma classe prochaine á dix heures. Cette classe est science politiques. Je n’ai pas une bonne note en cette classe. Pas mal, mais pas bon. Cette classe est terminée á onze heures et demi. Ma troisième classe est á géologie á onze heures et demi. J’aime la géologie! Je aime á apprendre de le terre. Cette est ma deuxième classe de géologie. Á une heure dans le midi, je mange mon déjeuner dans le même temps je course á ma classe dernière : français!
Finalement, classes sont terminée et c’est temps de monter dans les bus encore. Mais! Ma journée n’est pas fini. J’ai travaillé et devoirs. Normalement, je suis á ma maison et dormir á onze heures et demi du soir. Puis je réveille á six heures du matin fois!             

And the second one from today!

Une Petite Princesse
Quand j’étais petite, mes frères a dit que j’étais une princesse parce que j’étais la seule fille pour un temps. J’ai aimé jouée avec les poupées beaucoup. J’ai acheté chaque poupées j’ai vu. Les poupées je préférais étais American Girl Dolls, mais j’avais autre poupées trop. Quand j’étais jouée avec mes poupées, mes frères moquaient moi et de les prends ! Mes frères les cachaient et je les besoin á trouvais. Puis, ma mère a dit, « Donnez votre sœur des poupées ! » et mes frères leur a donné á moi. Mais, j’aime mes frères.
Mes frères pensaient j’étais une princesse parce que j’avais ma propre chambre quand j’étais né. Le chambre été peinte violet et nouveau tapis été installé. Quand j’étais trois ans, je dis à ma mère, « J’envie des rideaux blancs, » et, voilà, j’ai eu des nouveaux rideaux !
Soudain, la prochain chose je sais, je ne suis pas la princesse! Une autre petite fille était dans ma chambre et elle est la princesse. Oh, non! Après cet,  je dois acheter quelque chose j’envie. J’ai appris á économiser mon argent á une jeune âge.
Apres cet, j’ai appris á faire des corvées et a pris soin de mon plus jeune sœurs et frères. Parfois, j’ai dit, « Je ne suis pas votre serviteur! » parce que j’étais un petite enfant et je ne savais pas á être une bon fille. Maintenant, je sais mieux. J’envie être une bon exemple pour ma jeunes plus sœurs et frères.          


Friday, February 17, 2012

Chapter 40: Don't Be Insecure, Girl!

This post is going to be more like word vomit than a neat post (as if I've done any of those, who am I kidding?) so be forgiving.
Last night, my mother decided it was high time to give me an hour an a half long lecture. You  see, my mum has always done this: never corrects the situation when it's in the moment, she waits for things to pile up inside of her and then lets  you have it when she can't hold any more and you get her emotional guts spewed all over you.
I was blown away by things she said and I have done nothing but think over what she said. I have honestly pondered the things she said and evaluated myself with out bias. The thoughts I am going to write out are just that, thoughts. Not answers. Not my replies. So, let's look at the allegations brought against me, but first, how it happened.
Yesterday started out fine. Good even. But the poem I turned in for class is still very wanting...In the morning as I was packing up for school, I felt The Twinge. The one I get when God's trying to tell me something. Something little that I need to do for the day. It was this: take what's left of your dance tip. Take the cash. But I say, "No, I'll just end up spending it on junk food." Thinking I am doing good, I leave the wad of ones in my room and head to school.
As I got up to leave my poetry class, my UH I.D. and Metro Q-Card fell out of my back pocket. I have them there cause I use the I.D. to get into the Language Lab, which I study in after poetry class every day, and my Metro card because I take so many buses to and from school. I've always had these cards in my back pocket. I get to the bathroom and realize it's missing, run back to the class only to have someone tell me that someone from my class picked it up. I text my mum knowing she may have to come and pick me up then head to the Lab to use the computer and send out an SOS over emails and facebook stalk my class mates to try to get it back. Halfway through French class and no replies. Mum has to pick me up.
This infuriates  her to no end. She sends me a text telling me to think of others lives and how I interrupt them when I screw up. I understand and I'm sorry.
The ride home is silent and just before I leave to teach, mum tells me she's going to have a talk with me and "you're not going to like it." I leave teaching early to have the talk that night rather than wait until today.
Now, to address what was said.
Apparently, I lost my cards because I'm not "conforming" and using a wallet. I don't carry a wallet cause I have 2 (3 now because of the Metro card) cards. They would fall out of a wallet because they wouldn't be snug with a million other cards. Also, the wallets these days are HUGE. At least 7" lone and 4" wide. That's insane. To please my mother, I will look into a wallet. A cheap one that I can afford. If it bothered her, why didn't she say so earlier or just get me one? A cheap one from somewhere so she doesn't have to suffer for it. No, she'd rather wait to burst as I mentioned.
So..."conforming" is the problem, I see. From here, the tirade is launched. I'm a rebel. I try too hard to stand out and now I'm out of control.
Really...? We're gunna talk about my clothes now? Yes. Apparently I wear black because...wait for it....I'm insecure. I know this may be true for some people. People say guys with loud motorcycles are compensating. Insecurity. But me? No. I thought over this long and hard last night. I wear black because (God forbid!) I like it. Why do people wear the clothes they wear? Maybe they like them? No, that can't be the reason!
Next, I'm insecure and think I'm fat, stupid, and ugly. I quite like my hot body, thanks. I WORK HARD to stay in shape, eat healthy and be active. And I like how my body looks now. Yes, I am a bit more poofy than what is considered desirable today, but I do not have a problem with that. I have a nice stomach, firm legs and great assets. To put it nicely.
Do I think I'm ugly. Maybe when I was 16 and didn't know how to handle my long, frizzy hair. Now, I quite like my dark eyes, long, elegant hair, and tan skin. I'm rather exotic looking. I know how to make myself up to enhance that too.
Do I think I'm stupid? No, I just think I struggle with Science, Math , and French, which is evident in my Cs and Bs in the subjects. And I do beat myself up about it. I won't deny that. I only do that though because dad only wants A-student kids. And I let him down. Even though I do extra homework, go in for tutoring and work hard, I'm still just  a C and B. In reality, I'm happy with that. I wish I could do better, but I need to devote time to the things I'm good at too. I hate getting Cs and Bs mostly. I'm not stupid. I'm rather clever actually. I'm a kick-booty writer when I have a goal (this blog is not a showcase, get over it), I'm super creative, I have a massive imagination...I'm pretty smart. I really am.
But no. Mum insists that I'm insecure and hate myself and that's why I dress in black. No....that doesn't even make sense. I like Edgar Allen Poe, Tim Burton, Shakespeare, and other things considered dark, strange, and unusual. That's just the way I am. Why do you like designer/name-brand clothes, have 50 purses, 60 pairs of shoes? I don't think I'm the one who's insecure.
I won't hide everything and say I am without sin. I know I get over emotional sometimes, I know I have a hard time learning and get too upset about it (would you be pleased if I just shrugged it off? You wouldn't think me lazy?) but I have made great strides recently. I used to not have this self-respect you deny me having and what was said last night really brought it down.
I saw that you hate me. You don't like me. You don't like who I am. You don't appreciate the work I have put in to growing up. Because you don't see it. You won't get to know me and see me. I was kind of given up on when I was 16. That's when mum stopped raising me and expected me to be perfect all on my own. Trust me, I'm going to try.
So here's my plan. Mum gave me a choice: (basically)stop wearing black, drop belly dance (I'm not even going to go there in this post), and then I can be back in her good graces. Mum, do you know that I'm a good, Godly girl? You can only say things "you're insecure" because you don't know me. You don't know that I try (and, yes, fail but we all do) and work hard and keep trying. My room and car and ferret get cleaned out on a regular basis (I am sad to say that this took me a long time to manage because my schedules have been ever changing and crazy), I keep my body clean, neat and exercised, I study, do homework and am bringing up my grades. I pray, go to church, read my bible, study with other Christian-written books, don't swear, don't drink, don't smoke, don't do drugs, don't stay out late (past midnight usually) every other day...I mean, honestly (and I am open to suggestions!) what more do you want? I drive kids around on my gas money, run errands for you, do house chores when I'm here and one of the other kids are gone.
So, what's my plan? Do more. Show you respect (ESPECIALLY when your on my last nerve). Be cleaner. Study harder. I have to be as close to perfect as I possibly can. Why? Because I love the dance and I won't drop it. I make good money with it. Second, because there is nothing wrong with me wearing black just like there is nothing wrong with you wearing pink and brown (though, in all humor, that is bordering on a sin!). Mum is attacking the wrong things in me. I'm not insecure, I'm just growing up on my own because she won't be part of my life until she gets scared of me.
I want her to be part of my life. Nothing sucks more than a mother who is afraid of you. I think she'd like me if she knew me. A bit any way.

Monday, February 6, 2012

Chapter 39: Allegory for Life

When I'm rollerblading, I can feel every slight incline of the road, every crack and niche. Sometimes I ignore them and just keep going. There are so many I don't need to count every last one of them. They're only small. Not like they're tripping me or snagging my wheels so I fall and skin myself.
I love the four miles I speed around my neighborhood. I used to do it every day but time ran out and soon I didn't do it at all. Today, I decided to bite the bullet and take the time to race my shadow around the four miles as fast as I could and ignore the seething in my legs and lungs as the icy wind sliced through me. As a smile broke my face I remembered the allegories to life I always drew while blading.
I only went rollerblading when I wanted to. The day would be pleasant, I'd have the time and the energy to have fun. The route started out fine with gentle, long strides, and nice wind. About a mile into the gliding, I'd start to breath heavier. The small hills approached and some larger cracks appear. Ignoring them as I always do, a large one ducks under my blades and I trip, my feet and arms flailing to regain my balance. Watch where you're going, my nerves shout at me. It was just a small crack, but just tall enough to nearly knock me off my feet.
Then the bigger hills come. I trudge up one and glide down the other side only to trudge up the next one. Floating down the hills is relaxing and nice but the work to get there is hard. Then I realize something. If going down the hill is so easy, why not kick harder down the hill so the momentum will carry me up more easily? So I try it and the result is brilliant. When it seems easy, work harder and when it is difficult things will be easier.
Simple revelations go a long way in life. I'm working hard to overcome some rather large faults I have that are dragging me down. I have to have the eyes of a hawk to find happiness in daily life, but finding it is the only way I can live through each day. Little thoughts like his keep me going. Taking pleasure in the simple things is how I get by. My hope is that I can fix myself and then help others do the same for themselves. But first, I must light a candle in my own bleak eyes.