Busy bee

Sometimes with such a busy schedule, I can't help but imagine a bee's daily schedule. Bees are constantly working and helping their queen with her usual tasks. What would happen if the bees rebelled? How is it that a bee is programmed not to think? I mean have you ever heard of a bee who refused to produce honey. It is their function and the only meaning of life and survival. A beautiful creature with a goal full of ambitions and determination. The only living thing that does not refuse responsibilities. Always helping the queen no matter how harsh her rules are and how strict she really is. What is it about her that makes bees obey her so? I wish I was bee for one day experiencing the busy life and the chaotic build up of honey in their combs. They spend all day making honey and satisfying a human's needs. Reading Animal Farm, I began to ponder the idea of animals being able to rebel against a human. If they had the ability to do so, would they really carry out such an act? Some animals like dogs, horses, or cows respect their masters in every single way. No matter what happens, these animals behave as if the human owns them, owns their only means of survival. However, couldn't they just take over the world if they are so powerful? Can they really think and if so, why don't they take over already? I wonder...

Hair

After school today, my mother picked me up from school just like any other day. We sat in the car listening to the distant music played by my mother's old car radio. As I listened to yet another song playing by 94.5 KBAY, I noticed a smirk on my mother's face. "I have a surprise for you," she says. Well, you know at this point I was neither excited or nervous because usually when my mother says "surprise" you know there's an awry situation. My mother is not the kind of mother who is excited by any superb news. News, good or bad, is just news. Moving along, the smirk grew into more of a sinister laugh. Before I knew it, my mother was parked in front of a beauty parlor. Well, there's nothing wrong with a beauty parlor but what was awaiting on the inside seemed beyond bewilderment. My mother was planning on cutting my hair and I was unaware of the exact date this was to take place. So, as I stepped in the parlor all the tears were flooding out of me and I couldn't control it. Every cut was like a knife through my heart and in the end my heart seemed to be a crippled organ. My hair was cut short and the length was minimized to an appalling level. As my mother lit up with excitement, my heart began to race again and I took one look in the mirror. "Hmph, it's not so bad," I said. Looking down at the pieces of hair on the ground, I could actually hear each strand whispering my name making be feel guilty as ever. I really miss my hair.

Here we go

So, this is the poem I wrote in the fifth grade. Enjoy.

(Sorry, this was a first draft. I was just beginning to write free verse. Don't mind the hackneyed expressions.)

I will always be there

O little Baby,

A child is born. She looks nice and is cute.

She looks like she wants to cry.

Maybe I can try holding her.

She is calming down

O little Baby,

She is beginning to walk.

The days, months are fleeting and

I think the little baby has to go to school.

It's time for her to leave, to grow, to mature.

O little Baby,

She has finished her education and now she is ready:

to get a job

to find a love

to find a joy

My wish is to see her happiness.

She is ready to get married. Look at her beautiful face

and dress.

O little Baby,

It's time for me to go. I know I love you and wish your

babies would be just like you.

I love you and don't forget me until you have your own  

babies.

: )

A child's dream

English was never the hardest subject for me even though it was my second language. In fact, growing up, I never developed an accent. Everybody in my family has an accent and their jealousy erupts every time I speak. However, reading and writing poems was one of the most despised subjects for me. I remember listening to my fifth-grade teacher as she began to read poetry for the first time. I could barely speak English and know my teacher was teaching us a totally different language. What is the meaning of this? How could poetry be so confusing? I had the most difficult time trying to understand or even write poetry. One day, I was sitting in class listening to my teacher read one of her favorite poems (Shall I compare thee to a summer's day) when she closed the book and smiled. She turned towards the board and began to write our assignment. We were to write a poem describing our mother's love in any way we wanted. You could have imagined my face at the time. Shock! Students began to murmur while tears began to pour out of my eyes. I could not write anything let alone a poem. My teacher told me to "give a try" and "just be carefree." So, I took her advice and began to write random sentences. To my amazement, they began to flow and I could not recognize this ability in my heart. I wrote and I wrote and somehow it just kept making sense. Hesitant, I read my poem in front of the class and watched the expression on my teacher's face. The next words that came out of her mouth changed my view of poetry forever. "You have talent, my child," she said. From then on, poetry is the only means of survival for me guaranteed. 

Help

"To ease another's heartache is to forget one's own."

Abraham Lincoln

Someone once said, "helping is contagious." In fact, help forms in a variety of ways and is appreciated all over the world. Being able to lend a hand and take the time to make a difference in the world is beyond kindness. Growing up in a time of desperation and need, I experienced this need at a very young age. Hunger swept like a hurricane into our lives and destroyed every refuge in our lives. I was only 5-years-old and could not comprehend the fact that food was scarce. There was nothing to do and nowhere to turn. One day we heard a knock on our door. My mother opened the door and began to laugh hysterically. The strangers introduced themselves as the volunteers of the United Nations and wanted to help us. They provided us with food and took care of us. I will never forget their help, kindness, and time because without them my family would never survive. Now, there are countless families who are struggling to make ends meet and are in desperate need of food. Certain organization like the Second Harvest Food Bank is lending a hand to all these families. It doesn't matter what your income, orientation, or race is. This organization helps everybody and does not discriminate against anybody. There are over 175,000 families who are relying on Second Harvest Food Bank to feed their family and protect their loves ones from this economic crisis. An epidemic that destroys every life, every family, and every house it touches.

I wanted to share a very life-touching story with you all today:

"A sudden illness left Stan unable to walk, out of work, and struggling to provide for his family. Even though he recieves an unemployment check and his wife is working, the total is not enough to make ends meet for themselves and their three children. While Stan trains for a new career as a bus driver, he relies on food from Second Harvest to help his family get through this difficult time."

A touching story and an amazing recovery. Life is full of difficulties but time and care can mend every pain in one's heart.

One more

Okay, so I think that this is my last blog for this week. I am kind of thinking about a topic to discuss so bear with me for a while as I babble on about nothing. You know, I enjoy writing blogs each week because it not only helps me express my feelings but also loosen up. I love reading my fellow classmates' blogs because I want to understand their struggle. Being a teenager is difficult especially in the 21st century and I want to be of guidance. I mean my life is not perfect but wouldn't it be great to talk to other people about their struggle? This way maybe I can relate to their problems and we could both try to resolve the difficulties. In my opinion, no blog is worth not reading. If that makes sense.

I just bought a dress for my uncle's wedding in a few weeks and it's pretty. Seriously, I hate shopping for dresses because 1) it's boring and 2) I have no clue what to buy. So, my mother drags me along with her and turns me into a mannequin. She brings me the dresses she thinks are cute and then makes me wear them. I am so glad my mother is not very old-fashioned because I would be dressed in styles of the '80s maybe. When it comes to clothing, I will always receive an F for effort and style. My mother is very ashamed of me because she says that when she was little, her mother did not pick out anything for her. Her clothes were always in-style and she left her friends jealous. I can never be like her. OH, well.

I don't understand

Love is beautiful! I know that! I see that! I have been there! However, sometimes I feel like love makes you want to puke. Today, at the children's section in the library was quite repellent. The reason why is because two teenagers were "making out" (lack of better terms) in the library in front of children. I mean the children don't really understand what's taking place but it intrigues their interest. They are just kids and very very very curious. Countless parents began to complain and came to me for guidance. I did not know what to say and just ended up reporting it to another librarian. She, immediately, escorted the teenagers out of the library. However not before they engaged in an interesting conversation. The teenagers were saying that and I quote, "we are in love." The librarian and I quote said, "not in front of the children." So, this went of for a couple of minutes and the children sought their parents' thought. "Mom, why are they fighting?"

"Is it bad to kiss?" This turned into a controversial argument and I couldn't help but think about their actions; both the librarian and the teenagers. I mean the teenagers were "in love" and wanted to show this devotion to each other. In fact, I was stacking books on the shelves when they began to talk and just kiss each other on the cheek. They were playing with their fingers and giggling at each remark. There was nothing going on! However, I can also understand the parents' concern. The parents did not want their children to see any kind of interaction between men and women after a couple of years. I don't know who was at fault here but I will leave this argument up to the readers. Who do you think was at fault here?