"But on paper, things can live forever. On paper, a butterfly never dies." ~ Jacqueline Woodson This book has truly been inspiring thus far taking my lens further than it ever did before with each read. One of my favorite quotes from this book was what Jacqueline had said about butterflies and how on paper, "things can live forever". As a writer myself, I really resonated with that because we never truly think about the impact the inks in our hand can have later down the road. I feel like that should be obvious, but is it really? Do we really think about how our words can impact the future as we write, or do we write within the moment? I think students are the same. Students don't realize that their words can live forever and that THAT matters. They don't always realize how their words can lift someone up in their darkest moment or start a fire in someone who randomly bumps into their words. THAT IS POWER AND THEY HAVE THAT ABILITY. Which is why I realize after reading that quote how powerful and important it is to not only encourage students to write, but to tell them that their words can live FOREVER, and if that isn't empowering enough I don't know what is! I wanted to take a moment and honor that quote and the meaning it gave to me as I pass it on to you. Image from Google. Small Moment to Personal NarrativeMy small moment from my past previous blog posts have now been extended in forming it into a personal narrative. Here is what I have written so far: Snip! Snip! Snip! ...Thump Thump Thump!...Breathe, Breathe, and Breathe... The silence of the bathroom held lifelessly back as the future of my face was slowly taking into shape with each Snip! Little did I know that I would regret this moment for the rest of my life. My sister, Houa, was the oldest girl in the family. She had long, silky hair with light eye brows and a pair of small brown-black eyes. She'd always take things so serious at times and always complained how I do things around the house like washing the dishes or cooking rice. I mean, she was good at everything. However, there'd be times where she'd sit down with me to dress up my dolls or fix my hair. In other words, she's my second mom, my sister, my enemy, and my very best friend. Whenever I needed something done, she'd be the first person I run to for help and she never disappoint...or so I thought. It wasn't until after I asked her to cut my hair that I realized my sister wasn't as perfect and talented as i thought she'd was. As I stood there in silence and watched my long hair become shortened by the scissors in her hands, no words could urge its way up my throat, through my tonsils, and out in about with my tongue. My thought rushed from "what have you done?" to "what happened to "psh. It's not hard at all"?" and finally back at my sister's crooked smile saying "Opps. I messed up." All I could think about were the laughter and whispers kids at school will say about my messed up hair. The fear of being embarrassed grew bigger and bigger inside me as my heart thumped and thumped and thumped continuously. Everything froze and it was as if my soul was screaming out of my eyes and into my noiseless, opened mouth. After what seemed like hours, words finally came out hopping and jumping about anxiously for my sister to fix my hair. ...And she did. TAKR Inspired writing...One part of this book that really got me thinking was on page 170 in the Midterm Essay section of the book. Amy wrote this: "Tell me: How many more times do I get to cut an apple? How many more times will I put on my shoes? Kiss my mother? Use an ATM? How many more times do I get to toss the salad and ask How much longer 'till the chicken's ready? as Jason pokes at it on the grill? How many more times do I get to lift my head from the pillow to see what time it is? Run inside after getting drenched in the rain? Look for the ping-pong ball? Check my email? Text <3 to the kids? Catch a whiff of jasmine? Use a straw?" As I was sitting down at Wendys in Boone, I stopped and looked up at the busy traffic and the water slowly gliding down on the glass window and wondered, too, How many more times will I get to see Boone traffic or to enjoy the Boone scenery? How many more times will I get to bring homework as a graduate student to work in a public place? The "How many more times" got my mind going on and on that I couldn't stop thinking about it. It made me realize that we don't always appreciate and enjoy the little moments that we have in life. It's those little moments that we feel as if they're always going to be there that we don't realize that they, too, will eventually disappear. ...I will never get to be an undergrad student ever again. Those experiences of late night up, walking all over campus in sweats, crying because of exams, and living in small dorms with a complete stranger. Those are the last time I'm ever going to experience something like that, and the funny thing is I hated some of those moments. Yet here I am...reminiscing about them and wishing I had enjoyed it better. So it made me wonder, how many more times will I get to write inspiring words that come from my heart? How many more times will I get to write in WHATEVER way I want to about WHATEVER I want it to be? ...How many more times will you get to read my posts? How many...How many...Oh how many more times... I don't know, but I know now that I want to TRY and enjoy every little moments of these little things in life. Do you have any "How many more times" thoughts? If you had to describe yourself, your life, or something in SIX words, what would it be? Current Status: Trump, WE still Matter.No explanation needed. I am just going to leave it at that. Other six word memoir that I came up with: Smile. People are always watching you. Cua. Silent but Powerful. Always listening. Lost and Not Found: Self, Confidence. Identity. It does not define US. Poem inspired amidst the sorrows of my people...Draft of a lesson plan that can magnify students' writing using mentor texts
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AuthorI enjoy to write a lot during my free time. Writing is a stress reliever for me. Archives
May 2021
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