Saturday, November 15, 2014

"Brushing It Off"

by Angelina Josèlee Gonzalo

Negative comments can be an incentive - you can acquire strength . For example , he said she was crazy while the soft soothing jazz band played . All said . It all started on a spring afternoon , both friends shallow Tom and  optimist Jan met up at the musical cafe ,The Walters , a place where a jazz band plays daily. This wasn't an ordinary day ,the manager at Walters ,decided that the  audience can reflect out loud on the music that was playing by the current band ,of course ,it was upon the customers discretion .  Everyone in the room was quite reluctant of the option ,but not Jan .Suddenly , a lyric from the musicians , impacts  the soul of Jan ,she volunteerarly gets up and eagerly expresses how those notes made her feel . She became upfront about her emotions . Everyone was in shock that someone actually took the intiative to just describe their feelings , in which it can be a time when someone is the most vulnerable . And surprisingly , the person that was suppose to support her did not ,he actually judged and made a repulsive comment . Pretentious Tom ,called Jan "crazy " while she took the mike . It didn't stop her from completing her thoughts on stage ,but two minutes later ,it stayed with her . Jan storms out. Tom walked right out ,just to not be seen alone . He approaches her as if nothing was said ; he states it again " you were crazy to have gone up" . Jan looks at him with an offended face and just walks away. It's no surprise that Tom is wondering why. The characterization of "crazy" might have seemed harmless , but it actually carried a certain implication that disproportionly impacted Jan .Implying that statement was quite alarming and strenuous - now walking home all she could think about was that lingering word . Her phone rings and  that's all she could hear was another person define her as the mortifying trait. How could she possibly deviate herself from that heartless word ? One alternative came to mind .She decides to take a different route home that hasn't been taken in a while . Jan turns the corner and there it is ,the lavender garden that she once or twice used to pass by mid-afternoon during high school . This was the the only determinant that would calm the comments Tom just blurted out . Although ,he would have thought it was an irrelevant approach to take ,she did it anyway . His harsh innuendo was hurtful but the music that she just heard conbinded with the lavender senses were the most exhilarating emotion anyone can feel ; especially if one was just attacked with comments with malicious intentions .However , passing by that garden again was a wonderful feeling : she said . She felt as if she was flying - as if she was the only one on earth . Maybe she enjoyed the garden because it made her feel like she was the only one capable to hear her own emotion . Maybe she was just challenging her cognition. Maybe it was both. Perhaps  for the best . Most importantly , his words didn't change how she perceived things . 

After all was said : in using the delineation of "crazy " she was immediately cast as overly -emotional , irrational , and wrong . Apparently ,Her only true fault , was that she didn't agree with Tom and wasn't a condor of his actions and his beliefs .His word to manipulate perception and confuse Jan into thinking that her behavior is so off base and unwarranted ,was just a front to hide his own insecurities .  His perception was severly manipulated but not permantely impacted ! 

Why is it that so many people use the idea to call someone "crazy"  those who are different or those who don't have the same concepts as them . It's the worst thing to call someone "crazy ". It's dismissive . And since Tom didnt understand where she was coming from he called her crazy . That's BS . Jans actions did not define the term . She's a strong person. Defining someone as crazy sometimes translates as misleading -as to  this scenario .

The Book Lady


By Julia Di Lorenzo

            I call her book lady. Walking down the streets of New York City, I noticed her. Her hair green kelp and her eyes like green snakes waiting to prance on her next prey. Behind her, she carried a bag of books, all old and broken. She didn’t have any good book either. Her expansive collection did not include a copy of The Catcher in the Rye or even To Kill a Mockingbird. I couldn’t see all her books, but the one lying on top of the pile had the face of z doll on it whose eyes glared back at mine. Book Lady had stopped on the street to rearrange her collection of books. As I passed, she seemed irritated by my presence. Almost as irritated as my dad, that time my brother threw his wedding ring down the toilet.  After fixing her most prized possessions, she continued to walk on, walking and walking. It is impossible to say where she was dragging her books to, but it’s nice to think of where she brings them. Detached from the world, she takes her friends around the world and shows it to them. In return, they share with her their beautiful words that fill the pages cover to cover; this relationship is as mechanical as clockwork. In the grand-scheme of the universe, she’s invisible; most people deeming her unworthy of a passing glance. But she has a story too: A story of tears, a story of joy, the story of her life. Maybe that’s why she carries around all those books all the time, because no one will stop and listen to her story. But her bag of books will always be there, sharing their stories with her.

Unsafe Halloween


By: Sidra Akhtar

Another year, another Halloween. Little children dressed in costumes, not realizing the dangers of the real world. It’s strange to look at a five year old dressed as a mass murderer. In this day and age, anything is possible. You know that person who killed that teenage girl last week? He’s a mass murderer. But, other costumes amuse me. A doctor, police man, and even a gorilla. I wonder how kids think. Why did that boy dress up as a doctor instead of Batman? Or why is that girl dressed like a vampire instead of a princess? It’s strange. For Jack, Halloween is a day of freedom. That’s the one day he’s allowed to go out without his parents. They’re always worrying about Jack and that he’ll get lost one day. When Jack get’s excited, he doesn’t pay attention to his surroundings. He’s a kid, it’s a common trait that all kids share. Ignorance. But, on Halloween he is allowed to go out and trick or treat with his friends. Of course he has a curfew. 8:30 sharp. The current time is 6:15. Jack is out the door, with his bright orange jumpsuit on. No, no, no. He’s not  a pumpkin. He’s a prisoner. An escaped prisoner, to be exact. Jack’s neighborhood is bustling with kids, teenagers, and adults. His friends were all dressed differently, but had the same goal. To fill up their bags by the end of the night. As they walked out of Jack’s driveway, they looked around. They didn’t even know where to start. “Over there!”, shouted one of his friends. It was MaryBeth’s house. She was the sweetest lady in the neighborhood and always gave out the best candy. As Jack and his friends made their way up the steps, they were in awe. Marybeth had covered her entire porch with pumpkins, and there were lights everywhere they turned. “TRICK OR TREAT!” the children all sang, harmonizing in unison. But, as the children were reaching into the bowl, Jack saw something at the end of the street. A man with a HUGE bag of candy. And he was wearing an orange jumpsuit, just like him. Fascinated by the thought of matching with an adult, he walked up to him. “Hey Mr., we have the same costume!”, Jack screamed. Startled, the man turned around.  “Yes, yes we do.” The man seemed traumatized and tense, but Jack was too excited to care. “Hey kid why don’t you come with me. I know this house that gives away ring pops!” Intrigued, Jack followed the man. But, before they could even reach the house, the man shoved Jack into an open garage. Jack, frightened, went and crouched behind the shiny silver car. The man was pacing, and Jack was trying to figure a way out. Before Jack could even lift himself from the ground, the psychotic man grabbed him and threw him into the rusty cabinet. “HELP ME!!!?” “SOMEBODY HELP!?” Jack screamed. Unable to comprehend what was going on , he slammed his head against the metal green door. And like the fire in a jack-o-lantern on Halloween day, he was out, and never to be lit again.

Wednesday, November 12, 2014

Welcome to our blog.



This blog will feature the writing of the wonderful high school students who took part in a 5-week course entitled Improving Your Grammar Through Writing, from October 18 through November 15. Some of the stories were generated by exercises that included words collected from the environment, given prompts and word throws. Word throws, I believe, are unique to New York University's School of Professional Studies. I learned this writing technique when I was a student here. The exercise requires that once the students begin writing, the instructor will "throw" the students a word from a book, magazine, or newspaper to incorporate into their writing. Every 30 seconds the instructor says a different word the students must use.  The results are unique and clever stories where the only commonality is the thrown words incorporated into their pieces.