Monday, December 3, 2012
Sunday, November 25, 2012
I've learned it's best to be silent. To not say a word, because people will just yell and scream at you.
But I HATE THAT!!! I hate that I have to say, "it's best to be silent." Because IT'S NOT!
I just feel that way. I've been MADE to feel that way.
There is so much loud, annoying music in this world. So much demand. So much "do this, do that! Let's GO!" Whatever happened to appreciating what you have?
When you comfort and congratulate, THEN people will want to accomplish more.
But when you beat, order, and demand, who would want to just silently obey? AH! It's ridiculous.
It's like they stuff you with all this nonsense, trying to abduct you and make you into one of them.
Stay strong. Don't let them kill you, take over you. AHHHHH!!! What else is there to say?
This is the chaos theory:
Sunday, November 18, 2012
It feels awesome!
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
But a few days ago, I was all into it. It felt tremendously wonderful. I whizzed through the song, swinging my body on the piano stool, my fingers trapezing, rapidly moving across the keyboard.
When it happens, I know I'm about to say a dumb, common, cliche word, but it is really magical.
And even listening to music, gives me pumps of happy energy- the world might still have a chance.
Friday, October 26, 2012
I believe the piano is a tool to express yourself, whether the emotions come out in a glorious or melancholy way.
Through the piano I have learned that sometimes, you have to accept criticism. People are only trying to help you when they comment on what could be better. I have resisted playing piano many times, and in the future I probably still will, but I have learned that the piano is a wonderful instrument and is worth playing.
And it's not just that. I believe that the piano is an excellent model of the real world. While I'm using typical words here, the piano IS happy, delighted, angry, and sad all at the same time. That is the beauty of it.
In the world there will always be people who are strong, and want to push society forward with new thinking and new ideas: those are the sharps. There are always the people who will be calm, laid back; the flats.
And then, there will be the notes in between.
All of us together, us who make up the keyboard, make the music. Some may be stronger, some may be weaker, but in unison we are powerful.
Sunday, September 30, 2012
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Monday, August 6, 2012
I love the Olympics. It's dramatic, thrilling, and fun to watch.
Yesterday, we were watching track and field. It goes by very fast, and the people running beat each other by just a tenth of second! It's so close.
But sometimes I feel for the contestants. They look so pressured, and I wouldn't want to feel that way.
It might be fun to be in the Olympics, but it's probably much harder than it seems. So I guess I'll just keep watching them instead!
Usain Bolt won the mens' 100m run, and Ryan Baily, from AMERICA :), won second! Also, after China, the USA has the second most gold medals in all of the Olympic sports. That's pretty good!
Here is a picture:
Thursday, August 2, 2012
Saturday, July 28, 2012
Monday, July 23, 2012
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
It is a h, e, l, l, and an o.
It is a composition of various letters composing a word.
It is a gesture that says "welcome".
It is a greeting.
It is a way to approach someone.
It is the opposite of goodbye.
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Monday, May 7, 2012
Friday, April 27, 2012
Monday, April 23, 2012
Monday, April 16, 2012
Monday, April 9, 2012
Saturday, April 7, 2012
I am about to leave and am writing through an iPad that is not mine. Okay; I have to go because I do. Goodbye.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Ca va bien, merci.
Je suis AAAAAHHHHHHH.
Bonjour. Quell est la date aujordui?
Eh? Qui, c'est mardi, le vingt-sept mars. Il fait beau.
Je suis, eh, je ne sais pas. J'ai sommeil.
La la la. Est-ce que tu parle? Je parle beaucoup.
Je ne sais pas.
Je ne sais pas.
Am I saying any of this right?
Does it really matter?
Maybe it does.
Maybe our reader wants the story to have some action.
GOSH! What does maybe mean?
Sunday, March 18, 2012
In social studies, we are learning about the ancient Greeks. We read a bunch of Greek myths, and now we have to write our own. This is what I wrote:
Long ago, there lived underground two very jovial gods, who ruled the kingdom of the underground. Soiler, the royal king, always made certain that all plants had enough soil and nutrients to grow. Roota, queen of the roots, inspected the roots of every natural plant to make sure they were healthy.
Everyday of life went on fairly well for the couple of gods and their nymphs and apprentices. Everyday would be a repetition of the day before; warm, sunny skies, and full of, well, standard happiness. And because of their immortal souls, they never grew any older. And that was the way they liked it.
Until one day, one very usual, regular day, it wasn’t so regular. That was the day on which Hades, god of the underworld, captured Persephone, daughter of Demeter, goddess of crops and growth. That was the day on which every thing grew black, shrivled up, and grew angry. Crops and plants did not grow.
Water did not fall to the ground, and so the crops did not grow, and so Soiler and Roota grew very worried. How were their precious plants to grow if they did not grow? How would they live?
You see, the whole Family of the Underground depended on their plants to grow. Or else, they would die of unhappiness.
Soiler and Roota, being the very un-inovative gods that they were, quickly grew very glum. There was no work to be done, no roots and soil to be nurtured, no plants to grow!
All the while, Demeter weeped. Her daughter, her precious, beloved daughter, was trapped in the Underworld. She mourned, until one day, Persephone slowly rose from under the ground.
As you all know, from the myth of Persephone, there came the seasons. When she was trapped in the underworld, her mother refused to have growth, and that became winter. But when Persephone arose and came back to her mother, it would be spring, and in it the flowers blooming with joy.
Actually, Demeter had no say in when or why or how flowers grew. That was Blooma, goddess of bloom.
Blooma was Persephone’s long lost sister, whom neither Persephone nor Demeter knew about. But Blooma knew all right.
After being thrown away in secrecy by her father, Blooma left to live with Soiler and Roota, her aunt and uncle. The two patiently listened to her tale and took Blooma in. But Blooma had only one problem. She had, not yet, a power.
And so that day, that very day on which Persephone was captured, Blooma mourned with her aunt and uncle. Her sister, her true sister, was to be, well, she didn’t know. It just sounded so scary.
But Blooma knew there was nothing to be done.
So days went on and on with unhappiness.
One day, one very solemn day, Flowr, a young, thoughtful god, walked in through the door to the underground. As soon as Blooma and Flowr met eyes, it was love. At first sight.
Blooma, knowing that her aunt and uncle would not be pleased with her sudden outburst of strong emotions, kept Flowr a secret.
Life, at least for Blooma, became well again. She was happy: she had found her true love.
One day, Blooma had to admit something to Flowr.
“Flowr,” she said in a gentle voice. “Flowr, I have to admit something. I cherish you more than anything, but, well, there is something I need. I need a power! I need a skill, like my aunt and uncle, and all the other gods of Mount Olympus!”
“My darling,” Flowr replied. “I wish the same thing as you.”
With this need on their fingertips, the two searched for something special that they could create. They looked and looked, constantly contemplated, until one day, they found it.
And so together, Blooma and Flowr, created springtime: the Blooming of Flowers.
Friday, January 27, 2012
One is me, and me alone. Some people say one is the loneliest number: take the song “One is the Loneliest Number”-by Three Dog Night. But I disagree.
Being alone is just a small space to think: to go beyond normal thinking, and to have space and silence for yourself. And as you get older, around the age of eleven, you start to become much more independent: you have a lot more time alone.
Only last year did I start walking around by my self, going to school alone, and picking up my brother. Only then did I get keys: a sense of independency. Only then did I realize that other people were not always going to “be there for me”.
That, in a way, can be frightening: but it also makes you stronger. I know that I will always have the support of my family and friends, but I, me myself, have to be able to be there for myself. I can never give up.
I think that two represents a true friendship. I am lucky to have a very steady friendship with my best friend, Hannah Lola. I met her when I was six, and we have been really, really good friends since.
Because no two people are the same, to have a relationship, you have to be able to accept other opinions and preferences. That can be very hard, especially if you have your mind set on what you think.
Just the other day, as we were walking home together, Hannah Lola and I were just talking about school and various other things. I made a statement about something, but she thought I was blaming her. I wasn’t at all, so I told her so.
And then, even though I didn’t show it, I started to get frustrated that she didn’t understand what I was saying.
But, as usual, it resolved.
I guess that sometimes, you can’t take things so seriously. There have been multiple times when we have gotten into arguments, but it always turns out okay.
I’m really glad to have a friend that I can confide in and talk to anytime I want, and that we support each other for our own thoughts and opinions. Even though we misunderstand sometimes, it doesn’t stop us from being friends. I’ve learned that it is not, in any way, worth it to give up a friend, any friend, over a small disagreement.
Three is the first odd prime number. Music is odd too. When I think of music, I think of taste: one’s musical taste. Every person has their own taste of music: each and every person has their own “three” of music.
This means that everyone has his or her own likes and dislikes of music. Of course, there are some songs that everybody knows; like music that is usually popular at a certain time period, or is often played on the radio or in restaurants. Everyone knows the song “Billionaire”, for example. “Don’t Stop Believing” as well. And there are some musicians and singers that most people have heard of; Lady Gaga, the Beatles, and the Black Eyed Peas for starters.
And then there are so many other great bands out there too.
I listen to music, sometimes, to escape. I take in the music, and just listen. I listen to the beats, to the lyrics, and just forget about everything else. It is a very relaxing feeling.
I also play the piano. That’s music too, and it’s special music because I am the one who is making the sound. I really enjoy it. When I am done practicing, I sometimes create my own music, and just let my fingers do whatever they want.
Just like painting and drawing, music is an art in itself.
Four always reminds me of the four essential elements: air, water, fire, and earth, and how they work together to create everything on our planet. And this statement is also true with siblings. We work together everyday in ways that we don’t realize: I mean, we live together. Occasionally, we have to give certain things up for each other, even if we do it grudgingly.
Sometimes, having a sibling can be frustrating and (I hate to admit it) very irritating, but other times (I like to say it) they can be the greatest thing in the world.
I have a six-year-old brother named Roman. From what I’ve heard from my friends and their siblings, I’ve concluded that we have a pretty good relationship. We’ve both got a pretty equal share on things; attention, toys, and just plain stuff.
But brothers and sisters, if you have any, are like permanent friends: they have to be! You’re cooped up with them until you go off to live by yourself. And sometimes, we each, especially me, need time alone. In the last couple of years, as my brother really started “forming” and being aware of his actions (basically how he has grown up), I have realized that he admires me a lot. He’s five whole years younger than me, and I am, in many ways, his major role model.
But often, I just start to get annoyed. I feel like he is copying me, even though (as my mom tries to tell me), he really just likes my ideas. And even though I’ve been explained this quite a few times, it’s hard to accept.
I don’t mean to say that they are always that way, because if I did I would be contradicting my own self. Being an older sibling, it’s all about the way you react. I just have to understand that that Roman is younger than me, and his thought’s and his ideas are on his level, which are different than mine. So for me, by just saying yes to him, I can easily get what I want too.
* Because he is younger than me, I just wanted to state that sometimes, I think my brother is so cute! Just the things that go on in his little first-grade mind are just, well, adorable!
And when I am frustrated, it’s hard to believe that I ever thought that. Emotions are confusing.
Last year, the last year of elementary school, was a bit unnerving because of the fact of Middle School: we had to chose where we would be going.
I toured so many schools with my parents, was conflicted on where to go, and even had to change my application. For some of my friends, it was easier to choose because they had older siblings in middle school, so they already knew what they liked.
I have to say, though, it was kind of fun visiting all these other schools.
And now I am here, sitting at M.S. 51, writing my Independent Writing Project. I like it. I think that I chose a very good school, and because it is a lot like my old school, I got comfortable here pretty quickly.
Here is my class schedule:
As far as school goes, I’m happy.
Some say six is the most loving number of all. I have to agree; it’s beautifully shaped, all round and curvy, and is easily divisible by two and three. The number six is easygoing.
And easygoing is what parents have to be to have an eleven-year-old child.
My parents are literally the best people I have ever known. They take care of me; they gave me my life!
But as you get older and start to feel more confident in yourself, there begin to be more and more things that you disagree with your parents about. And not just about disagreeing: there are something’s that you, personally may want, but your parents don’t think you need it.
That is part of the normal relationship of parents and a child.
But I feel that my parents are really always there for me; for support, mainly. And that is just what a parent does. If something goes wrong, or if I am upset about a project, or anything like that, I know that my parents will never, truly, get mad at me, and they will always look to the positive side. I don’t know how, but they always have good things to say; even about the worst things.
Which makes life a lot easier. It’s comforting to know that there is always someone who will appreciate anything I do.
When I do get irritated, however, I think about how much they have done for me; for me and my life. I think about all the fabulous “things” (gadgets, toys, books, etc.) I have, all the amazing trips we’ve been on, the house I live in, the food I eat. My parents are supporting my brother and I in every possible way.
And that makes me feel very, very good.
Seven is the number that always stands out. Seven is the original creativity that every person has in a different way.
One of my major talents is writing. I just really, really enjoy it. When I write, it’s exactly like being president, in a way. You get to design a whole world through simply a paper and a pen. And the great thing about it is that there is no judging by anyone: you can come up with whatever you want.
Last summer, I started writing my own piece of literature. I made a goal for myself to write a book. It was, actually, extremely hard to come up with a topic that would cover a time span to be “qualified” as a book.
But I did it. At this point in time, I am on my 54th page. That’s right: typed page, and absolutely no double spacing. I measured it in comparison to the Little Prince, and it’s actually longer. It’s a lot. And it’s a lot of goodness.
I really love my story. And I’m not even done.
Sometimes, I just think about how utterly amazing it would be to have a published book; a real, published story.
I’m going to try to achieve that. I plan to enter the Scholastic Young authors’ competition in March.
The hard thing about writing a story, however, is keeping at it. On some occasions, I really don’t feel like writing even though I know I should.
But other times, my whole body pours into it.
Overall, writing is a great thing to do. It really gets your mind going. Sometimes, it takes me half an hour to write just three paragraphs. But those three paragraphs have a lot of effort in them, and they become so extravagantly wonderful!
There are just something’s that some people really love to do.
And for me- “The pen is mightier than the sword.”
Eight is the number that when put backwards our upsidown, it’s appearance stays the same. Eight is consistent.
I am told something’s many, many times. It’s consistent. And it never stops.
-My mom always tells me to sit up straight. I do, but I forget. And somehow, I always forget right when she’s there.
-I am always reminded to play piano. I know I have to, but it’s another thing to do. When I get to the piano, however, I really enjoy it, but it takes a lot of urging (by my parents) to get me there.
- I always have to do my homework; everyday. But I guess I shouldn’t complain about that because I’ve had to do that all my life.
Nine is nine. Nine is the number that is simply itself. Nine has it’s own opinion: nine has the freedom of speech.
As a person grows older, there mind keeps forming, and at about eleven years old, it’s pretty much fully built, and your mind is sophisticated enough to do just about anything. So this part of the book is dedicated to writing whatever you feel like.
Ten is the first two-digit number. Saturday and Sunday (the weekend), are two digit days. I love weekends. I love that feeling of having nothing to do: to be free, all to myself and to my wants. The weekend is the time to relax.
But I hardly get to feel that feeling anymore. Homework just piles up. And it’s that need to do my homework that sometimes bothers me.
Because I know I need to do it. And I know it all through Friday evening, all through Saturday, and through the whole of Sunday. And it nags me the whole weekend.
But I want to do so many other things too!
I’m sure every kid feels this too. But I try never to leave my homework for Sunday night, so I’m not worried about what I have to do. I’m also sure some kids do leave it all for Sunday night.
Sometimes, which I probably shouldn’t be, I get worried that I didn’t do the homework right. On some days, the homework isn’t clear for certain subjects, so I am confused on what to do. So I call my friends, but I get about five different opinions.
Which is exactly why I don’t wait until the last minute to do it.
I know, every weekend, that I’m not going to let the homework be the only thing I do (if you drag it out, it can take a really long time). So I break it down; I do half of it on Friday, some of it on Saturday morning, and the rest in the afternoon. Of course, I take brakes. For me, it works.
And then, I’m free; free to do whatever I want.
Until Monday comes...
Eleven is the repitition of one. Or maybe it’s not: maybe it’s just one two times, or 1x11, or 2+9, or all the other mathematical equations it could possibly be.
Or is eleven just a six-letter word? Or is it a word with three E’s? Or is it the age of me? Or is it the age of all the people in my class? Or is it:
E L E V E N
The thing is, it’s all these things. And life is so many things too. Everyday, someone new is being born, new jobs are being occupied, new buildings are being built, and new stories are being writing. Life is everything everywhere.
And everyone is part of this everything.
Twelve is the future.