Cry Me a River, Or Don’t

I don’t cry often, or at least not as much as people assume I do.

Before I turned nine, my tears had no depth. I would cry because I couldn’t get the Barbie I wanted, or because I wasn’t allowed to eat the chocolate bar I craved. It was like I was standing on the shore, only to get my chubby feet wet. They would be salty tears of defiance, and yet, they were noticed more. No one ignores a little, pig-tailed girl with puffy, wet eyes and a solemn face. People would rush to my side to be my hero and save me from my sadness.

In the summer before my fourth grade year, I truly cried for the first time. I was curled in bed and the breeze made the leaves on the tree in my backyard hit against the window with a soft thump. A mountain of blankets weighed down on my crackling shell of a body. My mom was angry at me, and I was convinced that she undeniably hated me. Even though that wasn’t the case, my cheeks seemed tattooed with the streaks left behind from my crying fit, and they stayed like that until the morning.

Only after that night, did I realize that I can only sincerely cry alone and wrapped in many blankets. It’s an odd revelation, but one that I will testify to for the rest of my life.

When I sat in the first row at my mother’s funeral, I was the most anxious I had ever felt in my entire life. I felt like her closest family and friends were watching me like beady-eyed hawks. My legs were neatly crossed and my black, lace dress itched in ten different places. I tried to focus on my aunts and uncles speaking about their beloved sister, but could only think about the choir show I was missing. My attention only perked up when my sister went to speak.

She stood with her right foot tilted ever so slightly inward. You couldn’t see it because of the podium in front of her, but throughout my entire life she had done it whenever she was nervous. She greeted everyone with a half-smile and red eyes, and you could tell that she was trying to make my mother proud. My grandma was holding onto my skinny wrist like it was a treasured jewel. I looked down at her black shoes and fixated on the curvature at the front. Then I heard my name. My sister had water welling up in her eyes and looked to me to turn the attention away from her. I wiggled out of my grandmother’s grasp and walked reluctantly to the stand.

“Um, I miss my mom. Not a day goes by where I don’t miss her and I loved- uh, I mean love her always and for-” my voice cracked.

All of a sudden, tears gushed out of my eyes as if someone turned on a hose. I ran away from the microphone and sunk into my seat, and wished I could evaporate. Those tears weren’t of evident sadness, but rather were a scapegoat to leave the gaze of all those gloomy visages. After that moment, I wasn’t sad but embarrassed. It is such a normal thing to cry at a funeral, especially the funeral of a parent, but it was one of the most fake and shallow outbursts of emotion I have ever experienced.

Photo Credit:  www.pinterest.com

After that, I couldn’t cry for months. My body was no longer capable of that type of emotional release. Whenever I do cry, it is of exasperation. A way to rid myself of pent-up frustration.

Some say that teenage girls cry about everything. When we break a nail or have a split end, it is as if the world is falling apart. Even when the world is crumbling around me, I pretend that I’m standing in a field of daisies, a defense mechanism I’ve created for dealing with my emotions in public.

And with all that said, people still think I cry all the time. But I guess that’s just what a girl’s gotta do.

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Good Blogs

Recently I found some really good blogs online.
Some are formal, some are more about daily life.
One of my favorite is called “Jaron Report.”

Jaron Report” is a journalism blog that is run by Jaron Gilinsky, a video journalist, documentary filmmaker and web entrepreneur from Canada. The blog is mostly the reporter’s personal journalistic experience and his opinions on the trends of modern journalism and the challenges the journalists are facing. He analyzes critically about some issues such as the credibility of Wikipedia. He also gives some advice of how to become a good journalist.

The layout of the page is simple and easy to see the titles of each articles. Most of the articles are long and some of them have pictures. On the left side, there are links to other journalism blogs, the news on current TV, some feature documentaries, CNN world report and the blog archive which leads readers to his earlier posts.

The blog focuses on Jaron’s writing works and it’s really helpful to read his own experience and learn something from them.

Blogs are ways for people to express their ideas and record their life through words and pictures. Different types of blogs have different focuses therefore people can search for their preference. It’s just amazing how blogs have become more and more popular these days and how they connect people together as a whole world.

Curtain Call

As this year is drawing to an end, this is my last mandatory blog.

I wanted to take a second and thank all you have read my blog through my year in this class, but this isn’t the last of me.

I plan to be blogging this summer through whatever adventures I may encounter, but I will be back regularly in a few months.

Many of you have enjoyed my poetry or sports stories this year so I will leave you with one last poem.

Thank you for bringing traffic to our site, and please spread the word.

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As it draws to an end so does this journey.

Another year, going nowhere, sitting in the same spot we were in, when the first day started.

The same spot we were in the first time my eyes met yours.

As I prepare to take my final walk out on stage, I would like to think I’d see you in the audience.

The applause resonate through the building, and I stand behind closed curtains.

Shaking, nervous as could be, hoping you’ll be there, but when they open and I take my final bows, where the applause once were, lay and emptiness.

My heart drops, and once again I feel alone.

Just as I did when this show began.

This is the kind of show I never want to see the end of, but you hold my head towards the screen.

I would like to live in the illusion I have created of how our show ends, but instead you put me in front of everyone, only to find myself standing alone, and you aren’t even there.

I take my bow to an empty room, but it does not stop.

The show must go on.

Endings

So it is essentially the end of the school year at this point and a lot has changed over the last year. I have lived a year of new experiences.

At the beginning I was excited, but fear always gripped the back of my throat. Over time that feeling faded after acquiring new friends and finding a real home at OVS.

Writing these blogs and journalism in general has helped me more than I would have liked to admit. I am entering a lot of projects this summer pertaining to writing and I fell like a much more confident writer.

I have learned incredible things this year and I want to use this opportunity to thank everyone that helped me this year.

The shapes of words


Lets start with a letter.

A letter would be the theoretical point of the word world

points can be arranged in many ways, as can letters.

letters form words as points connect to form lines.

Lines are manipulated to become shapes and curves.

Words are manipulated to become sentences.

Lots of sentences create paragraphs, essays, books, and meaning bursts from the pages.

Lines form into shapes and shading, they form the paintings and images.

meaning is formed from the seemingly insignificant parts of our universe.

The Blog is Snowing!!

Hello folks, I haven’t talked to you in a bit.

I hopped on WordPress to see what was going on and to see what people have been saying on here only to find that the blog was snowing.

There are little white dots sprinkling down on the homepage banner and down through the blogs and pictures.

If it is just mine I will be a little bit worried, but I swear the blog is snowing.

Merry Christmas!

HO! HO! HO!