Wake Up Call!!

When I was little, my Mom would usually have to wake me up to get to school.  Once I got into eighth grade, I began to wake myself up.  Although my Mom still had to wake me up herself every once in a while, she loved that I was able to get up in the morning by my self.  (she wished that my other siblings would do the same.)  By tenth grade, I was waking up by myself, without Mom's help.  It has been the longest time since she went and woke me up. 

I go to Kamehameha now.  We live quite a ways from the school.  As a result, I dorm at the school (the school is big enough for dorms!  Many of the kids who dorm here are from other islands!)  Although I could just take the bus everyday to school, I don't want to end up like my Big Sister during her first month of School at Kamehameha.  Big Sister would wake up super early to catch the bus, and arrive home in time for dinner.  She still had homework to do.  She was a zombie in no time.  When she was asked if she wanted to dorm, Big Sister didn't hesitate.

Yesterday, I woke up to my alarm.  However, I didn't get a good night's sleep and so I hit the snooze button several times.  I eventually turned my alarm off altogether.  I didn't have to go to breakfast until 6:30 am.  It was 6:00 am.  I began to dream.  In my dream, I don't remember what I was doing, but I eventually found myself in a bedroom.  Soon, my Mom comes in and starts yelling at me.  I don't remember what she was yelling at me for, but I remember her last words.  The words that shook me from my dream.

"NOW WAKE UP!!"

I wake up and look at my clock.  It's 6:25 am.  I got ready as fast as I could.  I was assigned a dorm job and I had to do that quickly.  That made me even later.  Luckily, I made it to breakfast by 6:50 am.  Breakfast is from 6:30 am to 7:00 am.  After 7:00 am, you can't get in to breakfast.

It's really amazing.  My Mom is waking me up even though I no longer reside in the same house as her.

:)  I love you Mommy!

My Tutu's Fire

Tutu is Hawaiian for Grandmother.

My Tutu's voice has a certain fire to it. It always sounds energized. For 16 years, I could not remember a time when she didn't talk with that fire in her voice. Even when she moved in with us at Hawaii, she kept that fire in her voice.

We live beachside in Hawaii, on the island Oahu. Because we live by the ocean, we experience the salty air that comes with the beautiful ocean in our backyard. As a result, we cannot have certain things out. Metal rusts quickly, colors fade, and the tile floors become a little slick when we leave the doors open. But never the less, we love it here. We make sure to keep metal covered, the colors to a minimum, and keep our floors dry. However, one day, the floor wasn't as dry as we thought it was.

My Tutu was walking with a large box. It wasn't that heavy. She was walking to our front door. I was outside, in our driveway, playing basketball with my younger brother and two sisters. We heard a loud thud and we all turned to the house. Our driveway isn't that far from the house. We saw Tutu lying on the ground. Holding the back of her head.

We all rushed back inside and my Dad was holding Tutu's head and asking her questions. Like what happened and what was hurting. When she replied, she replied without the fire in her voice. I was frightened! What was going on!? She never talks without that fire in her voice! My Mom called the paramedics, and they took her to the hospital. I didn't see her for the rest of the day. But when she came back, she had that same fire in her voice. Like nothing happened at all.

I just came back from a Cancer Walk that Kamehameha was holding. We had lots of fun. It was just Me, my Big Sister, and my Tutu. Tutu was part of this walk because she had breast cancer and she is a survivor! Tutu walked a little, talked with her friends, had dinner, and did some bidding on the silent auction they had there. My Big Sister and I walked around, eating snacks and joking with each other. Soon the bidding for the silent auction was coming to a close, and Tutu wanted to make sure no one over bid her things. I went with Tutu, by some unknown impulse, to the silent auction. I'm ever so glad I did.

After we made sure we had the highest bids, I noticed that Tutu was rubbing her eyes. I asked her if she was okay. She answered. Without the fire in her voice. In a flash, I was back at my house, looking down at Tutu as she lay, clutching the back of her head, with my Dad by her side. I didn't want that to happen tonight! I quickly grabbed her arm and took her hand in my hand. She gripped my hand as if I was her lifeline. I continued to ask if she was okay. She said she was fine, but I couldn't bring myself to believe her. If she was fine, why was she gripping my hand so tightly? I could feel my stomach tighten a little. I was so worried! I guided her over to a small wall where several people were sitting and sat Tutu down.

Tutu wanted to know where Big Sister was, and so I called her and she eventually came. Big Sister got some water for Tutu and we sat with her. After drinking the water, the fire came back to her voice. After a while, she wanted to go back to the silent auction to check her bids. I went with her. I didn't know what was going to happen! I stuck close to her and made sure that I didn't leave. We got all the bids Tutu bid for. We got papers that we needed to give to the money collectors so that we could leave with our items. We got all our items, and decided it was time to leave. I didn't want Tutu to drive, but she insisted on driving. Big Sister told me not to worry. I'm still a little worried...

Starting Anew

After neglecting this blog for over a year, I am going to be using it again.

I will be using this blog to write what I can't fit on Facebook. The posts for Facebook are so small. I can't get my feelings across enough there.

When I do post here, I will be sending a notice on my Facebook letting people know that I have something long to say.

Anne Bradstreet's Poem

Anne Bradstreet was a Puritist from Northampton, England who emigrated to America in the 1630's. She was very educated in history, several languages, and literature, but, it didn't help her in the boat ride to America. She managed to survive, but caught smallpox, and a paralysis in her joints. She had eight children, and her husband, Simon Bradstreet, was involved in politics and there for was away for extended periods of tim. Anne spent her time reading her father's collection of books, as well as educating her children. Reading helped Anne cope with her new life.

Tragedy befell the Bradstreet family when their homes went up in flames, leaving the family homeless. They eventually got back to their feet, thanks to their hard work and Simon's standing in the community.

Anne wrote poetry, and was quite fond of it. However, back at that time, women weren't allowed to pursue intellectual enlightenment. Not ever create their own opinions. She didn't intend on publishing her works,but her brother in law, John Woodbridge, secretly copied her work and brought it to England to have the poems published without Anne's permission. John Admitted to copying her works in the preface the the first collection, which was published in 1650. It was the last poetry published in her lifetime. All of her other poems were published after her death.

One of her poems, "The Author to Her Book," is written like she's talking to a baby in the beginning. It's hard to interpret what she's saying, but at one point, Anne seems to be talking about her paralysis. "I strecht thy joints to make thee even feet, Yet still thou run'st more hobbling than is meet."(line 15 & 16) At another, it seems that she's talking to the poem. "My rambling brat (in print) should mother call." (line 8) It's confusing, yet I can understand it in a strange way. That shows how I perceive art. I perceive it in a way that I can't seem to put into words.

Here's her poem.

The Author To Her Book

Thou ill-formed offspring of my feeble brain, Who after birth did'st by my side remain, Till snatcht from thence by friends, less wise than true, Who thee abroad exposed to public view, Made thee in rags, halting to th' press to trudge, Where errors were not lessened (all may judge). At thy return my blushing was not small, My rambling brat (in print) should mother call. I cast thee by as one unfit for light, The visage was so irksome in my sight, Yet being mine own, at length affection would Thy blemishes amend, if so I could. I washed thy face, but more defects I saw, And rubbing off a spot, still made a flaw. I stretcht thy joints to make thee even feet, Yet still thou run'st more hobbling than is meet. In better dress to trim thee was my mind, But nought save home-spun cloth, i' th' house I find. In this array, 'mongst vulgars may'st thou roam. In critic's hands, beware thou dost not come, And take thy way where yet thou art not known. If for thy father askt, say, thou hadst none; And for thy mother, she alas is poor, Which caused her thus to send thee out of door.

My Bucket List

The Bucket List is a movie starring Morgan Freeman and Jack Nicholson.  Freeman plays a quiet mechanic named Carter Chambers, while Nicholson plays as a corprate billionare named Edward Cole.  Both men have cancer and share the same hospital room.  Edward finds a bucket list that Carter wrote and adds what Edward would do before he dies.  Then the two men escape from the hospital to complete their bucket list.

I never saw The Bucket List, but I'm going to write down t

en things I'd like to do before I die.  I'll be putting pictures in too.

Ten things I want to do before I "kick the bucket."

1.  Graduate from High School.

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2.  Get into College and get a Bachelor and Master's Degree.

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3.  To get married to "The One" :)

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4.  Speak several foreign languages.

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5.  Get a good job.

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6.  Make a book.

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7.  Have children.

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8.  Overcome my Depression.

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9.  To buy my own house.

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10.  To travel outside of the United States of America.

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I take no credit for any of these pictures.

My Waiting Place

My teacher read Dr Seuss's "Oh, the Places You'll Go" to my class today.  Yeah, that children's story.  It's not so childish if you think past the words.  What does Dr. Seuss mean in his words, his pictures?  The part I'm going to type about is the Waiting Place.  My Waiting Place.

The Waiting Place is a place where everyone waits.  Nothing happens because they are waiting for something to happen.  No one acts, so nothing happens.  What do I wait about?  What is it that I need to sit and stay still.  I guess that I'm always waiting.  My mom said that I'm very patient and never complained no matter where we went.  I guess that I was just waiting because I knew that it would be over and I will be back home.  Safe and sound.  

I never thought much about how much I wait.  I am usually doing something while I'm waiting, but I'm waiting by my self.  I can sit in one place for a long time and not do anything.  Is it because I'm patient, or that I'm just waiting?  I never thought about waiting, because it made time run slower.  

I occupy my self with other things,  I think to my self, I play made up movies in my mind.  I make up stories involving characters from my favorite video games, movies, books, or anything else.  Until now, I haven't tried to put those stories on paper (or a computer) I'd like to keep the stories silent, for a reason I'm not sure.  I'm waiting for when I can put my stories somewhere where people can come and look at them.  I don't even share my stories with my family.  That's because if I try, they sound jumbled and confusing.  Mostly because they aren't into the same things as me.

Thinking. Just thinking.

I don't know what to type about, yet, here I am.  Typing away.  I really don't know what to type about.  I hate it when you have to type something and you don't know what to type about.  Yeah. I need to type this blog.  I need to get at least three hundred words into this blog.  I have to do it for school.  Now, most of you might be like, "Oh WOW!  You have to type this blog!  You are so Lucky!" Yeah.  But, what do you type when YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT TO TYPE!

...Music.  I'll type about music... Yeah!  Okay!  My favorite song artist is Buckethead.  He's a guitarist and that's the name of his band.  He wore a KFC bucket on his head, hence the name Buckethead, but got sued by KFC.  Now he wears a white bucket.  He also wears a white face mask. He isn't like the popular artists who rap and sing.  Oh no.  Just for the record, I'm not dissing any of your favorite artists.  Buckethead really stands out.  For me anyway.  

First off, a large majority of his songs have absolutely no words in them.  Yes. Pure instrumental.  My favorite is Soothsayer.  It's nine minutes long and brilliant.  It's my favorite because I had a dream where I was running from these guys that were after my three sisters, my younger brother, and I.  Several times in my dream, I got separated.  There was this cat that played part of Soothsayer on his guitar.  It was the intro of the song.  When I found my siblings, the song stopped and the cat disappeared.  It was like the song was giving me hope whenever I got separated from my siblings.  The song remained in my head even after I woke up.  I was lying in bed with the tune singing in my head when I literally sat up in my bed  and said, 

"Buckethead!"

Since then, I bought two of his CDs and my brother bought several of his songs off of iTunes.  Since Buckethead isn't very well know in the music world, from my perspective, it's hard to find his CDs.  It was pure chance that I stumbled across his CDs.