Friday, January 27, 2012

My comic for French (it doesn't have the accents yet):

This is a philosophical, non-fiction-ish, personal, short piece of writing dedicated to the parts of being eleven years old:

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.

Five is the natural number following 4 and preceding 6. And so is middle school; following elementary and preceding high school.

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:

Picture 4.png

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.

On the lines below, please write (it can be as random as you like) whatever you want:

Express your thoughts!














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:








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.

Saturday, January 14, 2012

Here is a part of the Crack. I am almost done, but this part is almost a story in itself...

As I bit in to my prosciutto and swiss cheese sandwich, I started to imagine Lee Cot and how he was a mystic cowboy, and how he really could leave his body and move onto different dimensions of time. Lee Cot was really my desire to exceed the body, to go beyond it and through it: he was my space-time continuum. While I thought about this, my mouth was full of pure deliciousness and yuminess as I took the most mouth-watering bight of my classic sandwich. It is a simple fact of life that while extravagant is always preferred, simple things can be just as rich and contentful, just like my meat and cheese sandwich.

I was tasting that very bight in my mouth, that only my toung could taste, and yet my mind, which is in this very body, was contemplating about my character, and yet my mouth was urging to take another bight. And what struck me was that all of this was happening at once. Am I in two places right now because this is happening all at once? Or is it all one? Can I actually affect a faraway space with my thought? Or can only Lee cot, my very own telekinetic cowboy, do that?

And there, during that bight, between the black bread in my mouth and the thoughts in my mind, in this reflection of Lee Cot, it was; all the arguments about art, science, technology, math, of progress: all the dialectics of life in the character of Lee Cot. And so I thought; black and white, big and small, soft and hard, high and low, rationality and intuition were all false dichotomies. There was no body separate from spirit. It was just body-spirit. All the things that had been separated out for us to understand things, all this separating was false. It is what you make of it, not of what the average everyday person thinks, because there is no average everyday person, because every average everyday person is there own self, and no two self’s are the same. And Lee Cot would be my fictional construction that allowed me to go beyond rational thinking, to be both in the body and in the waves of time itself.

And the treasure that he would discover would be the understanding of this.