Meeting Mohammed and Alia (ESL Blog 6)

Imagine a beautiful spring day. Some might say that they want to go play at the park. Some might want to read a classic book. But for me, my favorite thing to do is to sit outside with some friends and just talk about life. It may seem slightly cheesy, but I think the combination of the warmth from the sunlight and seeing the beauty that nature brings allows for the best of life conversations. I confirmed my theory on this beautiful Thursday afternoon as Mohammed, Alia, and I found a spot of soft grass in the commons and began one of the best conversations we had throughout the semester. 

            We began with our usual conversation, talking about school, our upcoming weekends, and our families. After a short while of this small talk, we drifted into talking about how Mohammed loved that they had the opportunity to go to his friend’s ‘American’ wedding. “It was a fun event, but here it is not as big of a party like at home!” I laughed a little and asked what he meant, because to me, weddings here are huge parties! He explained that at home the weddings begin with the official ceremony at the wife’s home, in which the couple is actually married. But then, the real party starts. Then, they normally shift the event to another relative’s house, where they eat and socialize. He said they do this for a couple of hours, then get up the next morning and party some more, and repeat this cycle for the next few days! Man, and I thought our wedding receptions were crazy. He further clarified that in his country of Saudi the man pays for the entire wedding, in addition to giving the wife’s family a ‘bride price’ and giving the bride a ton of jewelry, all adding up to around $80,000! Well, now I would definitely want a part in THAT kind of a wedding.

Still reveling in imagining this type of crazy party, Alia started telling me that this weekend was one of the times where she realized that her favorite part of being in America is the freedom that she has while being here. “While we’re at home, I have more freedoms than you would think, but when we are here, I just can’t explain how much more, well, free I feel.” She began to explain how she couldn’t really explain what she meant; but she knows that everyone here is very welcoming and pretty much do what they want to do, which she loves. Like for example, she could go to the wedding and sit wherever she wanted instead of having to sit with her side of the family. She said that this showed her that instead of following the status quo, like when she’s at home, people here seem to do what they feel is best. I guess I had never thought about it in this way, and it really did make me grateful for being able to be in such a free country.

After we exhausted many more topics that I had never thought we would get to, like camping and even 9/11, we all sat for a few more minutes in the still bright sunshine. I felt a twinge of sadness at this being our last meeting, but I knew that this was a great note to end on. Not only have I learned about their culture from what they have told me, I have learned about mine from their reflection on it. I have also learned that while words are important in being able to communicate, the most important thing is to share life with other people, whether your sister, mom, dad, or the couple that was assigned to you for an ESL assignment. 

Changing the Norm (1960s Blog)

The 60s decade has always been one that intrigued me. I think I picture it as this bright time period where everyone lived happily in brightly colored hippie clothes and went to music festivals. Obviously this is a gross generalization, but I think this mental construct set the stage for my research in the magazine records section of the library.

As I found a silent corner in the back rows, I started thumbing through the September 1963 issue of “Seventeen.” In contrast to the cartoon-type ads I saw in the 1930s edition, this issue exploded with brightly colored pictures. My favorite picture was that of a few colorful rotary phones that you could buy; it made me wish that I could use that instead of my iPhone! A particular aspect that interested me was the clothing. An article called “Dressing like a Tween” showed girls how to dress ‘hip’ for their age, which consisted of furry jackets and penny loafers. I found myself wishing I could have seen everyone dressed up in those outfits back then with all the bright colors and patterns.

An interesting aspect was that the magazine included an article written by Eleanor Roosevelt. In one quote she stated that “Many of our young people are still going to school in their mid-twenties, a period when their creative process is at its peak, and they could be putting their energies to use in a job or profession instead.” Immediately following this article was one entitled “I’m Going to Get a Job”, which I found extremely well placed.

At the top, there was a picture of a young woman who had a baby on her hip. The article began by describing this woman’s situation: she told her husband that she was completely bored of the day to day tasks of a housewife, so she had decided to get a low-paying job as a typewriter. Her husband was appalled, and she described how emotionally and physically difficult she found it to be to take care of her family and have a job at the same time. The article then closed by describing how other women could go about getting a job if they feel that they ‘must’, but only after talking to a psychologist and deciding if the small pay would be worth the loss of freedom.

After reading this, I guess I should have been angry that the women in the 60s had to deal with this prejudice. But after looking through the rest of the magazine, I realized that that time period was one of massive change. Women were realizing that they could have a life outside of the home, and that they didn’t necessarily have to grow up, get married, and have children right away. Coming-of-age for them would have been so much more difficult because they would have had to choose if they wanted to go the traditional route and make everyone happy, or go against their culture and either go to college or get a job instead.

I’m not a feminist by any means, but it is cool to see that the young women in that time period were working to change the status quo. It’s especially good to know that my choice to go to school doesn’t have to be one that many people would question at all. I think that is all in thanks to those women who began to change the norm for everyone.

Meeting Mohammed and Alia (ESL Blog #5)

If you’ve ever been to Disney World, you would probably agree that it fulfills their motto of being “the happiest place on earth.” From the amazing rides, to the colorful shows, right down to the Mickey Mouse ears you can wear to emulate the famous mouse. Now think about how true that would be if you had never heard of or seen a place like this, and happened to visit on a whim. Well, that is how my ESL couple landed at the happiest place on earth for their spring break vacation, and their retelling of the experience made me feel happy even though I didn’t get to go myself.

As I walked into our normal meeting place in 1873, Mohammed and Alia both lit up and hurriedly waved me over to their table. “Taylor! We just had the best vacation of our lives! Please let us tell you about it.” They began describing their trip by saying that their family friends told them to go visit Orlando for the beaches that they had never seen. But upon driving around the city, they discovered this fancy park that looked fun, so they took their 2 kids and went up to the gate. “We had arrived at this magical place called ‘Disney World’, have you heard of it?” I chuckled a little bit as I told them that this was a very popular tourist attraction where many families decide to vacation with their children. They then began to describe how their children squealed in delight at each new site that they saw, and how they couldn’t imagine a better trip.

While listening to them recount their trip in great detail, I realized that they were not having as much trouble finding English words as they usually do. I eagerly sat up and was again riveted by the fast-paced learning they had accomplished since moving to the United States in January. When they began to wind down their story, I asked them how their learning program was coming along. Alia smirked as she said that both of them had moved up to the highest level verbally! This made me so proud since they came in at the lowest level. She then began to explain her other problem: writing.

She described that they could easily catch on to English, but they had terrible struggles when it came to learning to write it. “See, in Arabic, the letters make sense to me. When you put them together, I can see a whole word. But when I get to English, I cannot understand the symbols and they look like a mash of lines and dots.” I guess I had never thought of that before, but it makes sense. In order to learn to speak another language, you mostly have to listen and repeat back what you hear. But in order to write it, you have to adopt a new way of seeing symbols, and having them make full words and sentences. This isn’t even including the weird grammar and spelling rules that may confuse someone more. I guess I never thought about how complicated learning English really was!

As we said good-bye for that meeting, I realized I am very impressed by that couple. They have made such progress in their learning, and the effort they are putting in is incredible. While I may not be able to learn another language like they can (I swear that part of my brain has been turned off), I can try my best to appreciate the efforts they are putting into learning our language. It’s the best way I can make them feel like where they have come is the happiest place on earth. 

Home? (The House on Mango Street Blog)

I’ve always loved reading. Losing myself in a good book is something I can do for hours on end without even noticing the time passing. So, sitting on a bench across from my house on a beautiful spring day (since I was home for Easter), I begin to read The House on Mango Street expecting to get lost in its pages. But, I’ll admit it; I was more interested by the floating butterflies than on the book that I’m about to read. Despite my surrounding distractions, I slowly make my way through the first few pages of the book. Being only 110 pages, it should have only taken me a few hours to complete. But with my distracted mood, it took me the whole day. Even so, I think that made the experience of reading the story even better for me.

I think the reason I liked this story was for how I found a strange connection to Esperanza. On the surface, we seem to be polar opposites. But through reading the vignettes, I realize we are both so affected by our various homes and how we interacted with them. Esperanza has to deal with the fact that she does not consider her house to be her home, and similarly I have found it terribly difficult to find a home for myself. Esperanza moved from Paulina to Keeler to Loomis to the house on Mango. I myself moved from Hove to Leon to Firestone to Preston to Pistoia to Weymouth to my semi-home at TCU. I guess I never considered how significant it was that I moved so many times, and how I had never felt myself to be in a home. But that is the case.

            When I lived on Leon, I made all of my friends, like Angela. Just so, Esperanza made her friends like Lucy and Rachel. When I lived on Firestone, I mostly think of fighting and some sad family times, which is similar to how Esperanza had to cope with her Aunt Lupe’s death. But this place of sadness is a place of great growth for me personally, because that is when I learned what I wanted in life. Esperanza learned through watching others that she did not want the suburban boring life that many women have there. And these affects are just a few examples.

            This may seem like a lot to think about while reading this small book, but after each small story I found myself looking up at my surroundings, thinking of how the small things that happen in her life parallel things that have happened in mine. Maybe not in an exact way, but to the point where it made me continuously stop and contemplate.

            As the sun began to set around me, I realized I had been outside for a much longer time than I had expected. But, I ended up contemplating things that I didn’t realize I would ever think about. Just like Esperanza, I realized that even though I have moved onto a new home in Fort Worth, my home will always be with the people that have been with me throughout my life. 

A Bonfire of Epic Proportions (Sketch #6)

My bleary eyes peeled open as I tried to focus them on the wooden ceiling above me. This was certainly not enough sleep for anyone to function, especially not when in this kind of situation. I attempted to move my stiff limbs from the bed, which was much more work than I would have thought. My feet shuffled across the floor as I felt something under my foot. I looked down nonchalantly, only to see a giant grasshopper. “Holy *^%&$@!” Without thought, a very not-nice word flew out in a scream from my mouth as I hopped around the room in a frantic dance that must have looked like I was on fire. Thus began the second day of the best week of my life.

            This whole process began when my school asked for applications for leaders for a 6^th grade trip to our local camp, called Sky Ranch. Having been to camp every summer since I was 8, I knew I could easily handle the outdoors aspect of the trip. I am also the oldest in my entire family, so I have gotten very used to taking care of younger kids. After a couple of months, I found out that I had been chosen! I was ecstatic.

            After packing up my shorts, t-shirts, and old tennis shoes, I was ready. Loading the bus with the 5 6^th graders, I had no idea what kind of week I was in for. The heat on the bus was nearly suffocating, but singing a bunch of songs helped us pass the time until we reached Van, Texas. In our matching green shirts, we all stepped into the camp with a confidence that only comes with the naïve nature of young children.

            The first day I bubbled with joy at this opportunity to influence these girls, but this slowly dwindled throughout the week, especially with plenty of episodes like the one where I inadvertently exposed my campers to a word most of them had never heard. I had even put non-SPF lotion on one of my girls, causing her to get massive sunburn on her back. After all of these events, I knew there was no way to redeem the week, especially by this point it was the last night. As my mind swirled with disappointment, we made our way to the final event, the bonfire.

            The heat of the day still seemed to stick to my skin as we walked closer to the glowing ebb that was the bonfire. We sat on a blanket, but that didn’t stop the wet grass from soaking through my shorts. The smell of the smoke filled my nostrils as a sense of change washed over me. The entire group of 6^th grades was eerily silent, and I knew this night would be different. It was silent for nearly 10 minutes, and I thought this would be a bust of a night. But, a brave little girl stood up and began to talk about the amazing week she had, and how she had learned that she could be a successful person just like her counselor. Another boy stood up and said that he had learned that he should be confident in himself despite his learning differences. The stories continued for a couple hours, until one of my girls stood up. She began talking about how she had learned to love her body instead of trying to hurt herself because I had shown her that she was beautiful.

            Tears began flowing down my face as I realized that she was actually talking about me. I had taught a little girl something that huge?? There was just no way. I could not comprehend something of that depth. It was so incredible to me that I could influence anyone to that extent; especially with the mistakes I had made all week. As she sat down, I could do nothing but hug all of those girls and thank them. Despite me being the ‘teacher’ that week, they had taught me so much more: that I can be a light to someone without even knowing it.

            Now I left that trip not without some major bug bites and bruises from the slides, but I know now that yes, we all make mistakes, but if we are doing everything whole-heartedly with the best of intentions, it can turn out for the best.

Courage (To Kill a Mockingbird Blog)

            Sitting in my cozy chair by my window, I watched as the predicted storm blew in from the west. It was going to be a doozey they said, so I figured this would be the perfect day of my spring break to dive into To Kill a Mockingbird for a second time. I had read this novel before (like I’m sure many of you had), but I was really excited to get a new perspective on it as a 19-year old college student as opposed to a 13-year old middle schooler.  

            With the storm now in full-force with thunder blaring, I came to a part that truly made an impact on me at that moment. Atticus says to Jem, “I wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand. It’s when you know you’re licked before you begin but you begin anyway and you see it through no matter what. You rarely win, but sometimes you do.” In this quote, Atticus refers to Mrs. Dubose’s insistence to beat her morphine addiction before she died, just so she could die a free woman.

            After reading that part of the book, I couldn’t help but pause and think about what that really means. This old lady had a choice between dying pain-free but attached to a drug or wracked with pain but attached to nothing at all. She chose the hardest route possible. Just the same, Atticus chose the absolute hardest route in defending Tom. Yes, he was required to do so, but the extent to which he tried to win the case was the bravest part of all. He endured ridicule and even the ridicule of his children and did it with a wholeheartedly.

            In the beginning of the book, Scout doesn’t understand why they can’t just lie to their friends about why their dad is defending Tom. She has no concept of courage and doing the right thing just for the sake of doing the right thing. But by the end of the novel, I think Scout truly understands that courage is something that she must have in order to become a ‘grown-up’. I think when she led Boo back to the Radley house, she showed that she had earned her ‘badge of courage’ per say.

            I know this blog isn’t necessarily supposed to analyze the characters, but I just found the growing of Scout’s courage to be something so interesting that I couldn’t help but talk about it. The whole time I was reading the novel I couldn’t help but grow so fond of Scout’s benevolence toward things that no one else cared for, and how she could come to defend them. By the time I finished the book, I seriously wished that there were a sequel that could show how she turned out in her later years from having Atticus as a father through all of her childhood experiences.

            I guess I had never thought of courage as something we all have to learn during our growing up. We have to have it in order to not be afraid of the monsters under the bed, and so that we can do what’s right even if we don’t want to. Although she may just be a little girl, I think the story she ‘tells’ can inspire others to have just a tiny bit of courage too. 

Fear is Overcome (Sketch #5)

As I sat in anticipation, I could feel the cold sweat beading up on the back of my neck. The sweet-smelling hairspray I had used this morning now gave me a nauseous feeling in my stomach. I was suddenly aware of an intense twitching in my right foot, and my mouth seemed to be as dry as the Sahara. “You can do this” was the mantra I had been continually telling myself for the past couple of weeks, but now it seemed to be a futile cliché. As if in a faraway place, I caught the ending of the announcer saying “… and now I present to you, our Valedictorian of 2011, Taylor Holstrom!”

            As I slowly walked up the stairs for what seemed like ages, I couldn’t help but recall how much I feared public speaking. It was just one of those things that I told myself I would never do in my lifetime. I’m just not the best person for it. Even when I get called on in class my face turns a bright red out of fear of saying something wrong. So when my vice principal told me that I would be speaking at graduation because I was the valedictorian, I was more horrified than honored. I pictured me tripping up the stairs, not remembering anything I was going to say, then just running off of the stage in tears. The speech that was now on sweaty note cards had been gone over hundreds of times, but it still didn’t seem to calm the nerves that I was feeling. At this point of my mental turmoil, I had made it to the podium.

            I began to get situated as my heart rate climbed. Seeing those couple thousand people certainly didn’t help. The lights were bright, but I was able to focus on one person in the crowd: my mom. I could see her bright smile and proud glow from a mile away. After a few deep breaths, I began to speak. “If I have learned anything from my past 13 years at Trinity…” I shakily began. But, with each passing sentence, I grew more confident. I was doing it! I was giving a speech to all of these people and not failing miserably.

            As I began to near the end of my speech, I think I had one of those outer body experiences. Well, maybe not to that extent, but I began to really notice the implications of what I was trying to impart to my fellow graduates. “…and I hope you will not let your fear of failure keep you from attempting to achieve something greater than you could imagine.” At that moment, I realized I had done just that. I had seriously thought that my speech would be a huge disaster and that I would ruin graduation for everyone. But because I was somehow able to overcome that fear (I’m pretty sure it was mostly because my mom encouraged me through my multiple panic attacks), I achieved something I never thought I would be able to do.

            By the time the audience’s applause hit my ears, I knew that this would be a moment that I would forever keep in my memory bank. Not because I graduated, or because I had the privilege to speak as the valedictorian, but because I was able to do something I never thought possible. And as cliché as you may think it sounds, I know that it is a moment that has made me the much more confident person I am today. 

Meeting Mohammed and Alia (ESL Blog #4)

I don’t know anything about baseball. I know plenty about football, basketball, and even soccer. But definitely not baseball. So when on our fourth meeting Mohammed asked me to explain baseball to him, I was definitely in a rough spot. I mean, every American understands baseball right? As we sat in 1873, the TCU baseball game was playing in the background. I quickly pulled out my iPhone and looked up any basic rules I could possibly find. Luckily, I’m a fast learner and was able to get a vague grasp on the sport in a few minutes.

            I’m positive the words that came out of my mouth were something like “Well, the guy with the bat tries to hit it, and if he doesn’t, he gets a thingy, and then there’s the people in the, uh, outside…” Pretty awkward right? Well after about 5 minutes of fumbling, I sighed and admitted my ‘failure’ as an American. Luckily, Mohammed and Alia just laughed and admitted that they don’t know anything about soccer, which is what everyone in the Eastern world understands.

            Luckily, we moved past this funny moment, and then began to talk about their weekend during which they went to Fossil Rim. They explained that this place is a drive-through zoo where they have zebras, giraffes, and even ostriches! The crazy animals were the most interesting part for me, but the couple was most interested in the fact that they could see farmland. “Living in the desert like we did in Saudi, you only get to see dry ground and maybe some small weeds in the city, but here we saw wheat growing and bright green trees everywhere! What a blessing.”

            I guess I had always considered seeing greenery, like trees and flowers, to be a common feature of everyone’s life. But like many things in my life, like thinking I am familiar with American pastimes, I guess I took it for granted. One thing I know I take for granted is that I grew up learning English. It is amazing to me how many people want to come to America just so they can learn our language. I know that it is one of the most popular languages in the world, but many people speak Chinese, Arabic, or Spanish to name a few. Yet, many Americans would never attempt to learn another language because they don’t feel that it is necessary. It’s hard to tell if this is a symptom of our language or one of our culture. This ESL experience has helped to open my eyes to another culture, and to the fact that I have never once attempted to seriously learn another language. I hope that throughout my next 3 years of college I can attempt to do just that. 

Learning Humility (Sketch #4)

When you think of a mission trip, what comes to mind? Maybe you picture a group of missionaries who dedicated their lives to build wells in desolate parts of Africa. Or maybe you think of a group of good Samaritans who head to Haiti for a month to rebuild the entire island. I know for a fact these are the types of things my 15-year old mind pictured when I decided to go on my church’s New Orleans mission trip for the first time. I think I secretly envisioned myself as this big hero who came in just at the right time to help some desperate people. You might be thinking that I had an abnormally large ego for going on a trip to help others, but trust me that is something I realized very quickly as we entered New Orleans after our 12-hour drive.

When we arrived into the city, I began to notice how devastated it truly was. Even in 2007 (2 years after Hurricane Katrina), there was still so much re-building that needed to be done. I couldn’t wait to start painting, tiling, and sheet rocking in order to leave my mark on the city forever. Despite these high hopes, I was crushed when I realized that I was assigned to the non-construction team that would just be serving food to the homeless shelter all day. And all day meant from 4 a.m. until 9 p.m. My high hopes began to sink as my bad attitude began to rise.

The first morning, my bleary eyes tried to stay open as I continuously stirred the giant pot. I looked at my watch: 4:30 a.m., and I had already been awake for 45 minutes. In my head, I kept thinking that this was all-too miserable of a job to be assigned, especially when I could be out there building and making a direct impact. I couldn’t help but keep a giant scowl on my face to match my crummy attitude. When I look to my right side however, I see Loretta. Her smiling face glows as she serves meal after meal onto the trays, talking to everyone in a cheery voice with the pep of the Energizer Bunny. Witnessing her vigor for such a seemingly menial job made me very curious. I decided I would find out her story so maybe I could share in some of her joy.

Loretta began to explain that as a native to New Orleans, her home was completely destroyed by Katrina. Having nowhere to go, she stumbled upon the Union Gospel Mission homeless shelter. “I just felt at home with these people, so I couldn’t just leave ‘em here for some meaningless ole’ job and an empty house,” she said with a humble smile on her face. So, she decided to stay at the shelter as the on-staff cook as opposed to moving to a new place to live. On a normal day at the shelter, she begins by cooking breakfast at 4 a.m. and doesn’t end her day until she finishes cleaning up at 9 p.m. For all of this hard work, she gets free living and food, but no pay. She is essentially still homeless and working more than 100 hours per week, Sunday to Sunday.

Upon hearing this, my mouth began to get very dry as tears began to well up in my eyes. How could I even begin to compare my selfish ‘mission’ to Loretta’s service-filled life? My mind was blurry as it was at that early hour, but I still couldn’t begin to comprehend it.

This small moment is just one out of countless moments in that trip and the 3 subsequent ones I have been a part of that has changed my life forever. My appreciation for my life has grown exponentially as my humility has matured as I compare myself to amazing people like Loretta. I have realized how the homeless are many time just normal people, with normal educations like me, but have experienced some extreme hardship, like Katrina. Another amazing blessing from these trips has come from the incredible relationship I have made with one of the most humble guys I know, coincidentally also named Taylor (but that’s a whole other story).

This picture I attached was one of the little girls that was at the shelter that I became quickly attached to upon meeting her. She is just one of the many examples of an innocent little child that had a normal life before the devastating hurricane.

Crushed (Sketch #3)

SLAAAAAM. My whole body lurched forward into the expanding air bag. It seemed as if time was going at a crawl as my red Volkswagen Bug smashed into the beige sedan. Pieces of my car flew across the pavement. I started to feel pain all over, but then everything went black.

When I woke up, I was laying in the back of an ambulance with a medic by my side. “She’s awake!” I heard from what seemed like a mile away. My eyes opened as I tried to remember why I was there in the first place. As my fuzzy mind tried to remind me of the events of the car wreck, I hear my mom’s voice and see her coming up to the stretcher. “Is she okay?” she frantically asked the medic. “Yes, she will be alright. But we will have to take her to the hospital right now.” As if on cue, the ambulance’s siren started wailing as it lurched forward at a lightening rate.

Those next few days were not the most enjoyable in the hospital. First, I had to learn exactly what happened since my memory of those few seconds was very blurry. Here’s the story. My mom and I were coming home from a doctor’s appointment that I had, so she was following me in her car. I was in the far right lane, and the road was jam-packed with cars (as Dallas usually is). My lane was unusually clear, so I started to drive at a normal speed next to the unmoving cars in the other lanes. Unfortunately, a woman had just turned across all of the traffic, thinking that my lane was clear. Well, it wasn’t, so I slammed into her at nearly 50 miles per hour, which could explain the extreme damage in the accident. In fact, both cars were completely totaled. But on the slightly bright side, it wasn’t my fault at all so her insurance had to pay for a new car for me.

Besides these recollections, I had to deal with the fact that I had tubes coming out of me at every angle. I don’t do needles very well, so that was a large issue on my part. Luckily, despite the horrific accident, I only had bruises all over, whiplash, and a slightly cracked rib. But I definitely know that it could have been much worse than that. I was especially luckily that my mom could stop in time in order to avoid me, and that she could come with me to the hospital.

The hardest part about this accident, however, wasn’t the physical damage I had. It was dealing with the fact that I had to get out there and drive again. Even after getting the new car a couple of weeks later, I still couldn’t do it. As an about-to-graduate senior, I seriously had my parents drive me everywhere for about a month or so. Finally, after much prayer and encouragement from my parents (I’m sure they were sick of driving me), I got back on the roads. And I have to say, it was a weird experience.

I wouldn’t have thought it would have been so hard to learn to trust myself again. Even after almost a year, I still have to give myself a pep talk to drive during any form of traffic. But I have truly learned that it is possible to repair trust again. It may be very hard, but it is possible. I just had to get back out there and do it. I’ve had many experiences of different people losing my trust, and I’ve always had trouble giving it back to them. But if I could give myself my trust back, why couldn’t I give it to others as well? The memories may not go away, like my car crash, but I can still learn to trust. Life is definitely way too short to not pour ourselves fully into our relationships by not trusting others.

I may not be perfectly healed from this event (heck if I sneeze I can still pop my rib out!), but it in enough retrospect now that I can see the value I found somewhere in the ashes of my red Volkswagen.

Meeting Mohammed and Alia (ESL Blog #3)

If you know me at all, you would know how bad my addiction to coffee is. I have more than a few cups a day, and become severely grouchy if I don’t get my fix. So when Mohammed told me he would be bringing me some coffee that he had made, I was obviously more than excited to try it. “It’s not going to be what you are used to!” he kindly warned me. Thinking I could easily handle it, I took a big sip from the steaming cup. As he had told me, I was nearly induced to spit it out. It was the most potent cup of coffee I had ever tried. Mohammed laughed as he said that’s what he was expecting from me, so at least I didn’t feel too bad.

            Sipping back on my (now seemingly) weak latte from Union Grounds, I asked them what they had done that weekend. They said they spent their weekend planning their summer vacation to go to Colorado, so they could see the mountains that they had never seen before. Alia then started to tell me about the many places they used to visit when they lived in Saudi Arabia. Ranging from India to China, they had seen more of the world then I could have imagined. They suggested that if I ever decided to go over to that area, I should try to visit Dubai. “It’s like the Indian version of New York City. You feel as if the whole world is pushed into one city. Yet it still has that small town feeling that you get here in Fort Worth.”

            Honestly, I had never thought I would want to visit that part of the world. But after hearing her long description about how many places there are to visit, restaurants to eat in, and people to see, I was definitely intrigued. I guess, like the coffee, I have some cultural biases that I don’t even realize. I’ve always prided myself on being an open-minded person who loves learning new things and exploring other people’s ideas. But I guess I don’t often think about how influenced by my culture I am. Take the coffee for example. I equated all coffee as equal as opposed to thinking that there could be different kinds of coffee. Obviously this is just one small thing among others, but talking to Mohammed and Alia has helped me begin to at least notice these small things in my life.

            One especially new thing I learned this week was that many English words come from the Arabic language, like alcohol and mascara for example. Also, many words are very similar, like tomato and potato. Using a completely different alphabet makes it seem like the two languages would have much in common, but Mohammed mentioned that some of these connections have helped him throughout his learning process. Judging from their superb progress, I definitely trust that they know what they’re talking about.

La Ville-Lumière (Sketch #2)

It was just one of those moments. One of those moments that only lasted but a few seconds, but in retrospect it seemed to last a lifetime. One of those moments that I will not forget for the rest of my life. It was the moment I reached the top of the Eiffel Tower.

It began with the huffing and puffing of my family as we climbed the many stairs to the top. My dad always thought that elevators were for the handicapped, so we were the ‘fortunate’ people who took the last time slot to climb the 1600 stairs to the platform. When we finally made it, I couldn’t help but run to the side of the railing and try to look down as far as the safety net would let me.

Peering over the side, I could see the sparkling lights all around me. The Eiffel tower seemed to glisten like the beacon of Paris. The city lights below were tiny sparks reminding me of the life way below me. If I squinted my eyes enough, I could see the miniature people down below roaming around town. My eyes were as big as saucers.

Even from way up high, I could hear cars honking to try to get people to move. Around me were tourist of many nationalities, so I could hear conversations in French, Italian, Spanish, and even some I didn’t even recognize. Holding a fresh baguette in my hand, the warmth heated up my freezing hands. The snow was beginning to fall faster now, and the flakes landed upon my jacket covering me in a layer of frost.

All of my senses seemed to be on fire as I tried to write this moment into my memory, worried it could be gone forever.

For most people, seeing something like the Eiffel Tower would be exciting, but for me it was more like a fairytale dream come true. Ever since I was little, my room had been filled with Paris and Eiffel Tower mementos: from lamps and books to snow globes and tiny statues. It created burning desire in me to go there. I begged my mom constantly, and even saved up every dollar I possibly could for years. Then one day, my mom announced we were going because I had saved $500 (obviously not enough to pay for the trip, but she knew how much this would impact me). That alone was enough to make me faint. The pinaccle moment of the trip was once I arrived to the top of the tower because it was as if so many of my dreams were coming to a peak. I couldn’t help but cry. I know it sounds cheesy, but for a middle school girl it was the most exciting event to ever occur to me.

 That day was the beginning of me realizing that I can make my dreams come true. Not in a lame way like some movies make it seem, but in a much deeper way. Since then, I have become a much more passionate person: about life, about others’ lives, and about how I think about everything. I began making thoughtful goals and finding ways to reach them. I began finding ways to become closer to my family and friends. I try to find things I love so I can go after them wholeheartedly. I know it may seem like a stretch from just a short trip, but the sparkles from that tower just continue to create sparks in my life. 

Huck Finn Experience Questions

1. Have you read the novel Huck Finn before?  If so where and why?

I have read Huck Finn, and I read it before my senior year of high school as a part of our summer reading assignment.

2. What was your response to reading Huck Finn, and what do you remember from your reading?  Also, did you actually read the whole novel, or just parts of it?  Did you read Cliff Notes or Monarch Notes instead?

Originally, I absolutely hated Huck Finn, but that was mostly because I had to read it over the summer when I could have been doing many other things. When I was re-reading the novel, I remembered most of the story (like the basic characters and plot line) from what I had read, but I couldn’t have recalled enough just by reading Cliff Notes. Thus, I decided to fully re-read the novel.

3. If you were assigned to read Huck Finn in a previous class, either here or in high school, how did your class as a whole react to the novel?  Why do you think your instructor assigned the novel?  How did he or she try to “teach” the novel?

Overall, my classmates liked to novel, but found it to be slightly tedious. I think my teacher assigned it because over the course of senior year, we read many stories of how people come to have different beliefs and thus new lives (like Crime and Punishment.) She taught the novel from a perspective that the book is mainly about how Huck has to grow up throughout the novel.

4. If you were required to read Huck Finn in a previous class, what sort of assignments were you required to complete, and what exactly did you do during the classes when

Huck Finn was being discussed.

I had to answer discussion questions before school started as I read through the book, and during the two classes we talked about it we did an assignment on the different aspects that Huck has to grow in, and then we had to write an in-class essay about it.

5. Huck Finn is still one of the most controversial and most banned books in America.  Why is it so controversial?

I think it is so controversial because of its honest portrayal of the slave-society mindset that most people had in that day and age. I don’t think most people want to think that normal people had slaves, and used words like the “n-word”. I think Mark Twain’s honest seriously scares people, and that’s why most people do not like to accept this book.  

6. Is Huck Finn still relevant to you as college student today?  Should it continue to be taught in college classrooms?

I think it is definitely still relevant to me today. Overall, the story tells a story about how a boy has to grow up and try to buck the system that he has grown up in. I think in any day and age it is important to learn how to question the rules and regulations that we grow up with. I think that college students should especially learn how to take their beliefs into their own hands instead of just trusting what they have always known.

7. The general consensus among critics is that Huck Finn is a brilliant and powerful novel, but also a flawed and problematic novel?

I think the dialogue and the native language used might be hard for people to understand. It may be hard for some people to actually understand what is being said, let alone the meaning behind those words. I think it might be flawed in its use of the “n-word” because for some, it may be hard to overcome seeing that word so often. I also think it could be problematic because, at least to me, the ending was slightly annoying with Tom and Huck trying to release Jim. It seemed to be way too dragged out, and that really made me not even want to finish the novel at all.

Short Hair, Long Laughs (Sketch #1)

As we huddled in her closet, 6-year olds Kaity and I knew that no one would see this one coming. We had done pranks before, like whoopee cushions, and water-spraying flowers, but this one was huge. The plan? We would switch places for one week, and on Saturday we would reveal the big secret to our parents. Amazed at our ingenious prank, our parents would laugh so hard that they would want to take us out to our favorite ice cream store.

But there was a slight problem in our differing appearances that had to first be addressed. I had bangs that hung right above my eyes, while Kaity had hair that was all one length. For a while, we stood puzzled. But suddenly, the solution seemed to hit her like a freight train, “Let’s just cut them off! I have my scissors from school, and then it would look just like my hair!” Thus, we headed to the bathroom to commence our adventure.

Sitting on the cold granite counter top, my little legs continued to swing back and forth to the rhythm of the ticking clock. “We have to do it now before they come back!” she urged me in a harsh whisper. I bit my lip in intense concentration as my mind swirled with confusion. My palms sweated bullets. I knew this would work if we did it right, but if it failed, it would be the worst decision of my life.  In my meek voice I muttered, “Okay, just do it fast before I have time to think about it!” As I said that, large chunks of my dark brown hair started to fall to the tile floor while my hands clenched tightly over my eyes.

After about 30 minutes, I opened my eyes to Kaity squinting and snipping a few more pieces off of her creation. With a ‘voila’, the deed was done. I turned around to see my new ‘do in the mirror, only to be greeted by a poorly mowed football field on top of my head. My arms flailed back and forth as a collapsed onto the bathroom floor in a heap of tears and screams. Picture a chili-bowl haircut on top of a Mohawk. That was my hair at that moment, and obviously not quite the plan we envisioned. Instead of pulling our switch-a-roo, we had to call my mom crying.

Needless to say, my mom attempted anything to fix the mistake I made: wigs, hair attachments, and headbands. You name it; I tried it. To top off this most embarrassing time in my life, my mom would not let me go to my second grade pictures with any hair coverings (I’m assuming for punishment or some other form of parental humor), saying that I would laugh about it some day. Well I guess today is that day, and I do admit, it is one of the funniest moments from my childhood.

On a side note, I will attach a picture of this lovely event, which was taken about 3 months after it happened so it is much improved if you can believe that. I think the plaid jumper uniform really adds a nice touch. And don't worry, I will not be perusing a career in hairstyling. 

Meeting Mohammed and Alia (ESL #2)

We were in a predicament. Our normal meeting spot at the bookstore had apparently been threatened that day, but we didn’t know where else to go that Mohammed and Alia would like. Having only been in America for a little over a month, they have not grown accustomed to our food yet. So finding a location with something that they would like was hard. They knew they liked muffins at the bookstore, but I worried they wouldn’t like their other choices. “Let’s go to that ‘Potbelly’ place!” Mohammed finally decided. Nervous about their reactions, we soon walked into the warm restaurant.

Opening up their sandwiches, we began to talk about the types of food that they would normally cook. Mohammed’s eyes lit up as he began to talk about the food from his country. He told me that he normally cooks many rice dishes with shrimp, beef, or chicken with many different native spices. “Oh so you would love Pei Wei!” I exclaimed, clearly not understanding. Mohammed laughed as he said that the rice from their country was nothing like our American rice that gets too sticky for their dishes. But they were at least glad that I was attempting to help them find somewhere they could like.

Clearly, I have much to learn about their culture, so I asked about the places they like to eat at their home in Saudi Arabia. Alia explained that they lived in an apartment above a lively street, which included their favorite restaurants. From breakfast places to formal dinner restaurants, their street had it all. Now being here something she didn’t understand about our eating customs was the weird timing. She said in Saudi, they usually wake up late, like around 11 or 12, and then begin their day. Thus, their dinner didn’t begin until like midnight or later! I laughed a little because I’m typically in bed by that time. Mohammed explained his frustration with the early closing times of most American restaurants because he usually does his best work at late-night restaurants past 12 am.

“That must drive you absolutely bonkers!” I exclaimed, not even thinking. Both of them looked at me with the most confused look on their faces. After a few seconds of pure puzzlement from both sides, I realized I had used a weird phrase without even thinking about it. Obviously, I then explained that that phrase means that it must frustrate you to the point of annoyance, to which they both nodded their approval. I guess I don’t even realize how many of these idioms I use in my every day, or how weird they are. I began to think of some other weird idioms, like ‘pulling someone’s leg’ or ‘biting the dust’. It makes me laugh a little to think what most foreigners picture when they hear these ridiculous phrases that merely mean you are joking or losing a game.

As a born and raised American, I obviously take for granted these understood idioms. But as I have now realized, I need to be more careful whenever I use them around other people who may not have the same background that I do. If I do that, it will make my conversations much easier for people who are not familiar with our culture.

On a side note, in case you were wondering, both Mohammed and Alia loved their sandwiches from Potbelly! They were also very grateful that they found their first American restaurant at which they like to eat.

Questioning the World (Huck Finn Blog)

Having grown up in the midst of the charming South, I’ve always been taught those old adages like “Always use yes ma’am and yes sir,” and “You better make your bed ‘cause you’re gonna lie in it!” And being a good Southern girl, I never once questioned them. Otherwise, I’d be encountering those terse scolds my mom tended to have whenever I would break one those rules.

When I sat down early on a chilly Saturday morning to read Huck Finn, I was expecting a quick read about a boy who has to grow up. I had no idea that I would be encountering and contemplating all those little things my mom taught me from my childhood. Little Huck Finn, like my Southern self, was brought up learning many lessons that he never once thought to question, like stealing is okay if you absolutely need it and that certain people are supposed to be in slavery. But unlike me, Huck takes a bold step and actually questions these values.

One passage painted a picture that I will remember more than any other. In this section, Huck is feeling extremely guilty about not telling Miss Watson about Jim’s location, so he decides he needs to write her to come get her runaway. Upon finishing this letter, Huck feels as if the weight of the world has been lifted off of his shoulders. However, Huck realizes he can’t stop thinking about how Jim would pet his hair, sing to him, and call him his best friend. Torn up inside, he finally decides that he would rather go to hell than give Jim up, forcing him to “take up wickedness again.”

Earnest Hemingway once said: “About morals, I know only that what is moral is what you feel good after and what is immoral is what you feel bad after.” Judging from Huck’s decision, this is not true at all, even if that is what we subconsciously think. Huck has always been taught that when slaves runaway, they are to be returned without questions asked. Even though all of us today would agree that this was the morally upright choice, how is it that Huck could possibly feel guilty after? This is the question that kept nagging me, even long after I finished the novel.

            Unfortunately, the answer I have come up with is not one that I particularly like. I think all of us, Huck included, are more of a product of our culture than we even realize. Your morals and values will be shaped in accordance to what surrounds you, whether that is beneficial or absolutely crippling like slavery. That is inevitable. However, like Huck, we can push the bounds of society to a new world, or should I say the “best of all possible worlds.” I would like to learn from Huck, and find the parts of my life in which I can change that society may not like, but are morally upright. I hope I can find my Huck-sized courage somewhere inside of me to do that.

Home for the Holidays (20s-30s Blog)

In one monumental year, Babe Ruth hit his final home run, Elvis Presley was born, and the first Volkswagen was built. Amelia Earhart was lost into the Pacific, Stalin, Mussolini, and Hitler were in charge, and millions of Americans could not afford food for their families.

The year? 1935. This is also the same year that published the Ladies’ Home Journal that I found myself heaving off of the top shelf.

Opening up the musty book, I found myself in a magazine that popped with colorful drawings and pictures, bold text, and unique advertisements from Bisquick and Vicks Vapo-rub. Looking deeper, I noticed that all of the advertisements were targeted at women’s imperative needs like cooking, cleaning, and even ironing. Simultaneously, I noticed that most of the magazine was full of short stories. Ranging from mystery to romance to heroic, these stories seemed to be the perfect way for the 1935 housewife to get her mind away from the crushing depression. On many pages, there appeared an advertisement for women to earn their “very own money, without neglecting home duties.” Boy, is that different from the norm of the 21^st century where women are often the breadwinners.

Even with all these other captivating features, one article caught my eye. It was called “Home for the Holidays”, and featured two freshmen women who were coming home from their first semester at university. Named Betty and Mary Lou, the girls had been followed throughout the fall by the magazine, and this article would be covering how they should act while at home for the first time and how other girls could follow suit.

It began by saying that they would be packing away their socks, sweaters, and skirts, because that type of ‘casual attire’ would only be acceptable for class. Now that they were at home, they must begin to dress to impress to ensure that other people know that college ‘agrees’ with them. Thus, they must get rid of their tweed hats, since those were out of style, and start stocking up on “toques and turbans for going to lunch at the club.” Secondly, they must find an impressive dress for the New Year’s Eve party to complement their dates’ tuxes. After getting their hair cut, curled, and ‘foiled’ (which I learned meant colored), their new coming-home look would be complete.

Around the article, the beautifully drawn pictures of these outfits jumped off of the page. Every outfit that was pictured was highly conservative, yet elegant. It struck me that these girls were so concerned about looking polished every day for shopping, lunch, or even class. Comparatively on our campus, it is rare to see a girl that is not in sweat pants and a large T-shirt, let alone a skirt and sweater.

Comparing myself as a college freshman to these women, I feel as though I take my experience for granted. For girls of the 1930s, coming-of-age did not mean going to college, but instead it usually meant getting married and becoming a housewife. Women like Betty and Mary Lou were the lucky ones who were able to go away to school, to learn and grow like most women weren’t able to do in their time.  To them, being at college was an experience that was precious, so they needed to dress to impress. What a different concept than we see anywhere on TCU’s campus.

I may not begin to dress as refined as these women, but maybe I can learn to live each day in college for what it really is: a blessing. Even though for women in this era coming-of-age often includes college, it hasn’t always been that way. I am a part of a new type of woman, and I need to begin to embrace that.