Category: journalism

Stuff having to do with the world of journalism.

A Valuable Education

faithfulomnivoreLeave a comment

According to the Oxford English Dictionary, the first definition of the word education is “The process of receiving or giving systematic instruction, especially at a school or university.” If you asked high school students what the point of going to school is, I have a hunch that the majority of answers would be “to get good grades.” Why is our immediate response that school is not about learning, but about grades?

The purpose of children and young adults going to school is to receive an education that betters our knowledge and helps us become well-rounded individuals. As time has passed and classes have become more rigorous and competitive, the value behind school/education has been lost. The purpose of attending class is no longer to learn new information, but to memorize facts and then spit them back out on a test.

Education has become a competition. With advanced placement and honors courses, students are so focused on earning good grades and getting into universities that they often feel like the purpose of it all is not to learn about world history, calculus, chemistry, etc, but to pass world history, calculus, chemistry, etc.

The grading system was put in place as a way to force students to learn and understand material. I realize the significance of this, but I feel like there is a better way to convey information that will still make a lasting impression and will create a less stressful, more beneficial environment for learning – one that makes students want to learn instead of feeling like they are being forced to learn.

Although the first definition of education mentions “systematic instruction,” the second definition, in my opinion, is far better. Simply put, education is “an enlightening experience.” Now, this might just be my teenage angst speaking, but usually when I come home from school I hardly feel enlightened.

Image via IllustrationSource.com

Personally, I feel like there comes a time when we learn as much as is necessary and beneficial in terms of academics (unless someone’s passion involves a subject that they would then go on to pursue, like a career in science or something of the sort) and the only intelligence that can be further gained is through life experience.

I believe that there is great value in traveling the world and seeing other cultures. I hope to travel all over the world within my life, but not just to the most most desirable places. I want to go to Mumbai, India, where millions of people live in an extremely compact area, or to rural Africa or South America where people live without electricity or running water. Seeing how people live all around the planet, experiencing their cultures and understanding how different peoples’ lives compare to one another: these are the things that help shape a person’s intelligence, skills, morals, and opinions.

I am extremely thankful and privileged to receive the education that I have and I would never want to compromise that. I’m not saying that I’m extremely intelligent (I’m not) and I’ve already learned everything I need to know (I haven’t), but I’ve come to a point where I feel like the best way for me to grow as an individual is to experience all that the world has to offer. But seeing as I am only just beginning my second year of high school, I guess I’ll have to keep up with the classes and grades for a little while longer.

 

Grief After Tragedy

mariethearistocatLeave a comment

On Sunday night, a lone gunman killed 58 people and injured 515 more, during the Route 91 Harvest Music Festival. I woke up Monday morning, checked my Snapchat stories, and saw the news of this story on every major website. In English class, we talked about the shooting, as it related to our weekend reading of Shirley Jackson’s The Lottery.

A husband and wife were enjoying the country music festival, when they heard gunshots from up above. The husband got shot in the back while protecting his wife, as they ran out of the concert. His life’s work as a nurse culminates, as he saves one more life: his wife’s.

That story isn’t made up, a fabrication put in this post to add even more tragedy to the United States’ deadliest shooting to date. That is the story of Sonny Melton, a West Tennessean. His wife, Doctor Heather Melton, has spoken out about her husband’s final moments in a heartbreaking testimony.

“He saved my life,” she told WSMV, a CNN affiliate. “I want everyone to know what a kindhearted, loving man he was, but at this point, I can barely breathe.”

This breathlessness can be felt in every victim’s family as they find out about the massacre from articles, workplace conversations, or a lack of a call back. Just like how one finds out about their dad’s car crash from the police knocking at their door at 3 am. Just like I found out about my mother’s death when I woke up on Labor Day six years ago from my uncle, who had to brave a face of me, even though he just found out his sister died.

Whenever a massacre happens, I feel that initial stab in the heart for the 58 families who won’t get to celebrate another birthday, will never get another phone call, or will never see their loved one again. I feel for the 58 funerals filled with tearful eulogies and scratchy black dresses.

I feel for the daughter who has to finish her math homework with dry eyes, as she’s told to “move on with her life.” I feel for the wife who has to go to work, while she budgets for how her husband can have an open casket with a bullet hole through his left eye. I feel for the weeks of articles pinning this shooting on ISIS or a bad father, when all the families want is to bury their loved ones in peace.

Whenever we talk about death, we ignore grief and sadness. As a society, we focus on moving on and waiting for the next tragedy. I hope that those in Las Vegas take the time to mourn and that this time it sparks conversation about gun control or mental health. I hope that no more people have to die to learn how to fix our mistakes, but until then, I hope whoever reads this knows that it is okay to feel bad, to mourn.

OVS Confessionals #1

mariethearistocatLeave a comment

Before I begin, let me say how much I love this school. OVS has provided me with a home away from home and friends that I will cherish for the rest of my life.

That being said, this school isn’t without its flaws. So, that’s what I’m here to talk about today.

Every Monday, the dormers have to dress to the nines and sit at the usual cafeteria plastic tables, but set with tablecloths and flowers in vases. Boys dress in their nice shoes and suits, while the girls step into their heels and flowy dresses. The dining hall’s aura is changed into that of a nice restaurant, instead of its usual casual conversations and colorful plates.

But, before any girl can make it across the hill, she has to go through dress check. Basically, she is required to check her outfit with a dorm parent. While this isn’t my main point, I must say that this process is, in its root, sexist. We have to make sure that our bra straps are concealed, our dresses aren’t “too short,” and that we look like “nice, young ladies.” Girls have to follow a strict set of rules and to what avail?

We all know that we can’t show our underwear and shouldn’t be wearing jeans and a t-shirt. I apologize severely if throughout my meal my bra strap distracts a boy or teacher from finishing their mashed potatoes. I’m sorry if the skirt of my dress shows my upper thigh when I first sit down or stand up.

Photo Credit: momomod.com

I’m not saying that I want to wear a cocktail dress to dinner. I just don’t get why a low back is so offensive if we are sitting down for the entirety of the meal?

Back to my main grievance for the day, a new rule has been put in place. During dress check, if our dress doesn’t meet any certain guideline, we will be given a dress to wear. Not just any dress, though. No. We’ll have a choice from one of the many new thrift shop garments hanging up in the lounge.

The dresses aren’t simply to meet the guidelines of the meal, but to embarrass those who don’t make it through dress check the first time around. Shouldn’t the whole purpose of dress check be to make sure our dresses are appropriate? If we are showing too much skin or our bra, we are expected to change. This system is in place to make sure that doesn’t happen. Why are we now being penalized for following the rules?

We are checking to make sure we can wear our outfits to dinner. That’s the whole point of that exercise. However, this check will become a test. If our dress doesn’t fit the needs of the school, we’ll have to put on an oversized piece of obnoxious floral cloth or an outdated two piece set.

Well, I guess I’ll have to make sure not to corrupt the young minds of the boys around me! And, hey, thrifted clothes are so in!

Snowflakes

localdreamerwithapenLeave a comment
Photo Credit: shuttershock.com

I’m not a very good writer. I don’t have a lot of fancy words to use, I don’t have perfect grammar, not even my handwriting is very nice. Yet, I can put my heart into my writing. I can spend hours and hours with a pen and some paper, writing about memories and fears and moments of joy and sadness and nightmares and daydreams. Whether on long flights, dull car rides, lonesome nights spent sitting against my wall in a room that is barely illuminated with string lights and desk lamps (for the aesthetic, I guess), I will fill pages with ink and soul. Again, that doesn’t mean that it is good writing. Usually, I get carried away, in a manner that reminds me of snowflakes jumping around in the wind, eventually finding their way to the ground after a dance one could almost find to appear indecisive and childish.

My point is, I don’t really have a point. I usually never do, to be honest. I can’t put pretty words in a pretty book to make a pretty story. I wish I could. I can only write to give my emotions a shape, as clumpy and ugly as it may be. Oh well, this is good enough. This is going to be posts of clumpy and ugly memories and nightmares and daydreams.

Fire walk with me

jimmiedimmick1994Leave a comment
Photo Credit: Wikimedia

During the summer there was only one question on my mind: “who killed Laura Palmer?” The answer to that question can be found in episode 7 of the second season of my favorite TV show of all time, which is the surreal, mesmerizing and fever nightmare “Twin Peaks”. For those unfamiliar with the show -“Twin Peaks” is the brainchild of Mark Frost and David Lynch and it is possibly one of the best mystery drama series on television, and to prove that point, “Twin Peaks” received fourteen nominations at the 42nd Emmy Awards. When it first came out it dared to challenge boundaries of standard television, it had the eeriness of the “Twilight Zone”, the stylishness of “Miami Vice” and “Santa Barbara” relationship drama. The premise of the show is simple: an FBI investigation lead by Agent Dale Cooper is trying to unravel the mystery behind Twin Peaks’ homecoming queen Laura Palmer’s murder. The show isn’t solely one genre, it has elements of crime drama, supernatural elements and is also very campy. Drawing parallels from other works of Lynch, “Twin Peaks” is famous for surreal imagery, offbeat humor, and has a constant feel of violence that swallows you.

I can’t recommend this show enough, so if you have any free time on your hands please do yourself a favor and dive into the minds of Lynch and Frost and the haunting world of Twin Peaks.

Fire walk with me.

Twin Peaks IMDB

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summer loving

mariethearistocatLeave a comment
Photo Credit: tumblr.com

Summer, I’m going to miss you.

More than the ocean misses the shore.

I’m going to miss

Your eternally messed up sandy hair

Falling on your imperfect face.

The way your eyes remind me of waves,

Dark, deep blue and full of life.

The way your tan, calloused hand fits mine,

While we stroll on the beach,

Getting the insides of our feet scratched up

By the sand.

Our long bike rides on the PCH,

Filled with me falling over and getting scratched up.

Our midnight conversations

Of love, loss, and tacos,

Hidden in fluffy pillows and blanket forts.

The eternal battle of cuddling

Or not sweating for the rest of the night.

The polaroid sessions that will soon

Become only pictures on my wall,

Instead of hours of laughter and music.

The hours of reading poetry by your side,

Breathing in the rhymes and feeling.

The car rides to Safeway and Trader Joe’s

To pick up sunscreen and cheap wine.

The bonfires on the beach, in the backyard,

And by the stove.

The books filled with stories

Just like ours,

But they just don’t capture

The way we loved.

The Netflix movies that

Showed a coffee lover falling for tea drinker

Or a bunch of rebellious teenagers

Falling in love for the first time,

Just like us.

The mornings filled with iced coffee,

But don’t forget the creamer, love.

The study sessions featuring

Paper, paper, and more paper

Waiting to be filled with endless scrawls of notes.

But, most of all, summer,

I’m going to miss the way you made me feel,

The way I was your season of fun,

When we loved like

The ocean loves the shore.

A Montage

raining17Leave a comment

I suppose this is the end. My last blog. The last post I write, and the last one I publish. The last piece of writing I do for Ojai Valley School – the place that has taught me how to write.

I came to school my freshman year having written essays before, but only formal, structured pieces for English class. I’ve always been one to write down my thoughts – I carry around a journal and have always documented my raw emotions. But before coming to OVS, I had never shared my writing with others.

Freshman year, I sat down in my first Humanities class, unaware of the flood of writing to come. Reading journals galore, I had little blurbs of writing due once or twice a week. Those reading journals were analytical, but they allowed me to delve into my thoughts and share my own interpretation of the material – something I had never done for school before.

And I think those reading journals, back in freshman year Humanities, bridged the gap between writing for myself and writing for school. And that allowed me to delve into Journalism, which introduced me to writing for others.

Fast forward four years. Here I am, at the end of senior year. Freshman year, I learned the value of my own thoughts in writing. And sophomore year, when I started taking Journalism, I truly learned the wonder of writing. I found my voice, and learned how to tell stories. I learned how to paint pictures of other people’s accomplishments and what goes on around campus. I learned to blog – to write metaphorically, and to eloquently share my deepest, most honest emotions. I truly learned to put my thoughts into words, and to fearlessly share them with the world.

So, again, here I am, writing my last blog post. I have written all sorts of blog posts over the past three years – ones that are funny, sad, sarcastic and honest. And now I have to wrap it up. This is the last thing I will write this year, for any class. The last bit of work I do before I graduate, the last bit of work I do in high school.

That’s pretty crazy.

Today is Wednesday, May 31st. On Friday, June 2nd, I graduate. I’m beyond excited, but also terrified. It doesn’t feel real. I always knew I’d get to this point, but now that I’m here it’s hard to grasp. It’s hard to believe that it’s me. I’m about to graduate high school. I’m about to be in college.

I can’t believe I made it. I know that’s a cliché thing to say, but I really mean it. These past four years have been pretty hectic. But here I am. T minus two days and I’ll be walking across the stage.

And I can’t wait.

I’m sad to be leaving – OVS has done so much for me and I’m going to miss it. All my friends, all my teachers, they’re going to be hard to leave. But OVS has prepared me well for college, and now I’m ready to move forward.

So goodbye and thank you to OVS, to Journalism, and all the writing I’ve done here. It’s the end of an era, and a great one too.

T minus two days.

Photo Credit: i.huffpost.com

homeless

mariethearistocatLeave a comment

i don’t get how everything i’ve built could be so fragile. just when you think your foundation’s set, an earthquake comes and shakes it. next a huge rainstorm. then a forest fire. or a tsunami. each disaster shakes the very thing you thought was solid. now my house is starting to crumble on contact. the walls a little less sturdy. the ground with a few cracks. but that’s why they call them natural disasters, because they have to happen. except they shouldn’t have to. you were a fire that didn’t naturally arise. you sparked something in me. i thought you were the soft ember in the fire-place, warming the whole house in a crisp, cold night. but you crept and crawled out, until the polished hardwood floor became singed beyond belief.

Photo Credit: chriscrespo.com

you burned everything. engulfed the second floor, filled with broken-down cribs and pictures lining the walls.  you exploded in the kitchen, where everything was black and it wasn’t bad cooking. you burnt the living room, even all the memories made there, the many late nights, turned to dust. you left the backyard, full of brand-new spring blooms, dead. except it wasn’t all you. my house wasn’t fireproof. my foundation wasn’t concrete, it was loose pebbles. my walls were made of rotting wood. you barely made a scratch on my already damaged surface. so, while you sleep in your warm sheets in your warm bed, I’ll be shivering under my army blanket in a foreign homeless shelter, because you destroyed my only home.

The Manchester Attack

paris22Leave a comment
Photo Credit: NPR

On Monday the 22nd, a bomb went off immediately after the Ariana Grande concert in Manchester, England. 22 people were killed, and many more injured. Many have speculated this attack was targeted toward women and young girls, as many of Ariana’s fans are female and young. ISIS has since taken responsibility for the attack, and the threat level in the UK has been deemed “critical”.

Since the devastating attack, many have responded to the attack, and while many responded with grief over the lives lost, others used the attack to support their twisted ideas. Daily Mail blamed Ariana for THE DEATH OF 22 PEOPLE because of her CLOTHING.

Image Credit: bishopikediblog

Now, we all know the Daily Mail is a sexist piece of sh*t newspaper that doesn’t possess an ounce of writing talent or substance, but COME ON! Blaming a woman for the death of children and adults because of her clothing? That’s disgusting. The reason 22 people died was because of a terrorist, not Ariana.

Many are also using this attack to fuel the notion that all Muslims are terrorists. An article from the Huffington Post states, “94% of terrorist attacks carried out in the United States from 1980 to 2005 have been by non-Muslims.”

So, let’s be a little smarter, white America.

It’s here! Graduation!

KairodnesLeave a comment


(Photo Credit: http://www.dec.org)

It’s here!… Wait… What? Our class is graduating from high school? That’s not possible, I thought the year just started?

Yes guys, graduation is finally here and this is the last blog I am going to write for the Ojai Valley School Journalism team. For those of you who read my blog one month ago which talked about how graduation is right around the corner, well here we are, just a couple of days away from a huge turning point in our lives.

All those grueling, yet memorable years and the lessons we have learned from our peers and faculty have been, and will forever be, engrained into our hearts. I still remember three months ago, talking to one of my friends about whether or not I’d be able to remember what we had talked about that night. Believe me, I do remember what we talked about, and that moment also taught me that time passes like sand slipping through your hands.

Okay, that’s enough blabbering from me… But I want to wish everybody good luck! It’s been a joy writing blogs for the OVS Journalism team. Here we go!!! It is graduation!!!