I Am Number Four

I finished a book recently, called I Am Number Four by Pittacus Lore (this is a pseudonym for the real authors Jobie Hughes and James Frey), and I am surprised by how much I enjoyed reading it. At first, I did not enjoy it because it was written in present time, and most (if not all) of my favorite books are written in past tense, but as I got more and more used to it, I began to really enjoy it. It took me roughly three days to finish it, and that is a record for me because it can take me up to a month to finish a book (but this is only if I am not really that interested in it). I remember reading Ella Enchanted when I was eight, and I was proud that it only took me two months to complete it.

                Anyways, I Am Number Four depicts the tale of a young sophomore, who has named himself John Smith (this is a temporary name for him) that happens to be an alien from a planet named Lorien. He left his home on a space ship that traveled to earth when he was a toddler because the Mogadorians (another living species of aliens from the planet Mogadore) had attacked and destroyed Lorien. There were nine toddlers (including himself) and nine Cêpan (which are the caretakers and trainers of the Garde, or aliens) on the ship and in order to not be found and murdered by the Mogadorians, a charm has been placed upon them: they have been given numbers, and can only be killed in that order. Three have been killed, and this is the tale of Number Four (the boy, John Smith).

                I really enjoyed this book, because it opened my mind to all of the possibilities, meaning that there could actually be aliens, that appear to be human but really aren’t. It makes me believe in the impossible, or the unlikely (although it seems crazy to do so). I have realized that I really enjoy reading sci-fi novels, and hope to keep reading books of this genre. I would recommend this book to anybody who is interested in this genre because it describes events that seem unlikely, but because it is written in first person it causes the reader to really believe everything that is going on. I was unhappy when I finished the book, but it is said to be the first book in a series, so I am excited for the next arrivals. 

Something More Positive

I was reading my blog the other day, and while doing so, I noticed that in the last two entries I wrote about the negative sides to my life. I realize it’s unfair to simply pinpoint those moments that are unhappy, and that I probably blew them out of proportion. Yesterday, I was reviewing the photos that were taken of my family during our trip to China last summer, and I realized how much I love my family and how despite all of the negative moments, I wouldn’t trade them for the world. That is why I have decided that this blog post will be about something more positive. I have therefore decided that this blog post will not have the word ‘not’ in it because ‘not’ is a negative word and I am trying to see a more positive side to life.

I am very interested in photography, and in my painting class my favorite part is choosing the photograph that I will paint as opposed to painting them. I took various photos during this trip, and when I showed my sister she encouraged that I become a photographer. My favorite part of photography is finding beauty in unexpected places, and taking pictures of moments when a person is truly happy and not just smiling for the camera. I once took my camera and walked around my back yard and I realized beautiful things that I had previously disregarded. I love looking for different angles and perspectives when taking pictures because they make an image more visually interesting, and I always like to borrow my father’s camera when he is not around and taking pictures of what is around me. What I find rather funny, is the expression on my family’s face when they look at me taking photographs; they are always looking at me like I have gone mad because I like taking pictures of the patterns on the floor or of the shapes in the clouds.

 I think working creatively calms me, because when I am angry or frustrated, and I walk into my watercolor class, after a couple of minutes of me concentrating on my work I realize that I am no longer angry. Working creatively, whether it involves taking photographs or painting is my outlet and it helps me blow off some steam. Having a class once a week gives me something to look forward to, and knowing that I will have a full three-hour session to be creative makes me happy. 


Sincerely,

                Me

Not Good Enough

I am seen as the rebel of the family. And maybe that’s a good trait to have in the real world, but as far as things go in my family it is not. I don’t try to be a rebel; I just don’t see why we should follow orders when they are wrong or unfit to the situation that we are currently in. I feel like my family does not care about me as much as they care for my other sisters, and as much as I try to put a positive spin on my situation, I am currently finding it impossible to do so. Today, for example, I came home late due to the fact that I was in the play, and as I am working hard to finish the day’s work and go to bed my father came to tell me that I should leave and sleep. It all starts well with a good intention, but somewhere along the line things get messy.

I don’t know why I have a tendency to disobey my parents, but sometimes I just feel like they are making a mistake and that they do not understand me as much as they think they do. They see me as a rebel teenager who is just acting immaturely and does not care to fix this and mature. I feel that seeing as I have a sister who is graduating in a year, they think that I should be more like her and therefore expect more than I can give them. What I don’t think they realize is that I am not my sister and I will never be like her. I feel that when they are not comparing me to my siblings, my mother especially, tends to compare me to herself at my age. She describes herself as the golden child who never did anything wrong and always did what was told of her and went beyond; in her eyes she was a mother’s perfect daughter. When I supposedly misbehave (even though I don’t see what my mistake was: another thing that my parents see in my that is wrong) my mother compares me to herself and goes on and tells me for the billionth time that when she was my age she did not do such things. I actually do not believe such stories where she is described as perfect because I am sure as most teenagers, she did rebel against her parents at one time or another; this is part of growing up.

At times, this is why I feel alone when I am at home, and it pains me that my parents do not understand (and I tend to feel as if they don’t care enough to) me. I wake up every morning wishing that this day will be better, but it never is. I hope that I will do something correctly and for the first time, in a long time, my parents will compliment me on the little things I do correctly instead of pointing out my flaws. This is especially brought up in conversations about my grades; I brought up the subject a couple weeks ago to tell my mother I got a B+ in Math for the quarter, and instead of congratulating me for a job well done she asked me why I did not achieve a higher grade; she tells me that I should have gotten an A and that she only likes As. They look at my sister as she tells them about how when she was in my math class, two years ago, she aced through it and it was easy for her. I feel sometimes that they do not realize that I am not my sister, or them.

Fifteen minutes ago I promised my father that I would work for another twenty minutes before going to bed, but I have not. I cannot work when my heart is filled with such anguish. You can ask my closest friends about how stressed I have become recently due to grade issues. I hate it. I cannot stand how I feel as if my parents are pressuring me to strive for my best, but they set the standard so high that it is impossible to reach. At the end of the quarter I got a B+ in math, and that means that I am above standard. But my parents don’t see it this way. They think of a B+ as falling short of what is expected. When I got a low, but passable grade on my math test (the one that brought my grade down) I cried. I saw the grade in red pen on my test and I could not hold back the tears that began to glide down my cheeks. The thing is, that I was proud of myself for getting the grade because I had thought I did so much worse. I was happy and satisfied with my grade. But I knew that as soon as the report card came out, that I would hear it from my parents, and they told me to work harder I could hear the dissatisfaction in their voices. I could feel their disappointment, and most days I feel that what I do is never good enough for them and that I will never be good enough for them.

                Sincerely,

                                Me.

Not a Grownup Yet

Do you remember the time when you were a kid and all of the grownups you knew asked you what you wanted to be when you grew up? I would always answer that I wanted to be a teacher, or like my mom. I miss the days when we could answer anything and no one would object, or the days when we didn’t have to worry about our future because it was, oh, so far away.  It annoys me how those days are long gone now, and we can’t simply decide to be anything we want anymore. 

This reminds me of how in Middle School, everything felt like fun and games. We would learn but nothing would be so stressful, or extremely important that it would affect our entire future. In High School, I feel like everything is much more serious, it is academically, but the hallways are always silent and everyone is working. I have to admit that I miss the clamor of the younger students.

         

Anyways, all the conversations my family has around the dinner table are about the future. It annoys me how they are always talking about my older sister’s career and the college she will go to. I feel excluded in these conversations, because, although college is in my near future, it is still a good four years away, so I don’t need to worry about it now. But I despise how my family only focuses on my sister and when they ask me what I will study (and I tell them that all I know is that I do not want to work in a cubicle) they laugh at me and say I will be a carpet installer. I know it’s a joke, but my family laughs at me (making me feel, strangely, a little more included because they are talking about me) and then four seconds later they go back to my sister’s future. Something that annoys me is how whenever they ask me what I want to be, and I answer model, photographer, artist or teacher (these were my choices up until now) they would always tell me either, that I should want to be something with a higher pay, or that they should by my hobbies rather than a career. The thing is that as long as I am doing something I love, I don't care about the pay (they don't seem to understand this). Graduating from High School is a big deal, and I understand why my parents are so devoted to talking about it, but either way it irritates me.

I know what you are thinking. I do not want to steal my sister’s spotlight, the one she deserves as a junior in High School, but I would indeed like to be a part of this conversation, or have my parents take my future into consideration and take that seriously, instead of a joke. I know that deep inside my parents care about my future, and all those things they tell you when you bring up the subject, but I just wish they would act like they cared as much as they say they do.

I realize that I don't have as much liberty to choose my future, but all I know for now is that I still have time, I can still choose whatever I want to be when I am older. In other words, I am not a grownup yet. 

Sincerely,

                                Me

Dreams Are Not So Simple

So I was thinking about dreams the other day. Everyone dreams in their sleep, the difference is that some people remember theirs, while others don’t. I remember my dreams, not all of them, but certainly the most important ones. None of them make any sense, but I believe that there is a purpose for dreams, a reason that they exist. Dreams are not only a figment of our imagination gone wild to create a simulation of an event that is occurring, they have hidden meanings. I know that my sister believes this as I do, but unlike me, she researches the meanings of her dreams in a dream dictionary on the internet (only sometimes though). I do not do this, because no one can possibly know the meaning of dreams, especially your dream. Only you have experienced this vision and although people may have ideas as to what certain things mean in a dream (separately), they do not know the whole context, or story, so they cannot know the meaning. Anyways, I believe that there is a deeper purpose behind everything, and that our minds have not simply conjured this story; I believe that it may even be a force that is sending us a message (not necessarily a god though).

I’ve had many dreams so far, that mostly relate to what I was last thinking of, or feeling before falling asleep. They all take place in different settings (once it was in a castle or at school, etc.) but somehow always involve the people whom I surround myself with. Most of them have a moral, or something being accomplished, but there have been dreams (or rather nightmares) that are rather gruesome (I am not going to describe any of them in detail here, for obvious reasons) with people dying, or me sacrificing myself for someone I love (this one is less of a nightmare). But, although nightmares are indeed unpleasant, I strongly believe that these have a deeper meaning as well. Dreams are like symbols in a good book, they appear to be simple, but in reality they represent different, more complex, ideas.

One thing I cannot stand is when I have a great dream, where something I’ve longed for happens (these are my favorite kind of dream), wake up and instantly forget everything. I can’t stand not remembering such a pleasant dream, and it frustrates me to remember everything until the second when my eyes flutter open, until the second where I am warped back to reality. I also hate waking up from a beautiful dream, because then I know that this never happened and probably never will. These dreams usually involve something to do with love, and the one I love, or like; I’m not sure if it is love, but it is the strongest feeling that I have ever felt so far (apart from pain, of course). This is silly in my opinion because dreaming that one day your “true love” will love you in return and you will live happily ever after, just builds your hopes up, only to destroy them when you awaken. But I am not getting into love in this post, maybe next time. Finally I can’t stand when you have such an amazing dream (as I previously mentioned) that you are disappointed when you wake up and remain day dreaming about a possibility that will probably never come (for now anyways).

All in all, I absolutely love dreaming and drifting into another world entirely, especially being whoever I want to be. I believe that without dreams (all kinds of dreams, dreams in your sleep as well as goals) we would be hopeless.

Sincerely,

                Me.

It's Not Only About Grief

Today is the 10^th anniversary of the 9/11 attack on the Twin Towers and the Pentagon. I am very touched by this event, even though I am not directly affected by it (I am not American). I still remember when I was four years old, and I walked into my parents’ bedroom on September 11, 2001. All I saw were flaming buildings on her TV set, and my mother's hands covering her face as she wept silently. I was confused, and when I asked why she was sad, she replied something like this “Estoy triste porque algo malo pasó en el mundo hoy” which is Spanish for “I am sad because something bad happened in the world today”.  Now, I can’t be certain that this was exactly what she replied, but I am certain that it was very close.  I was sad momentarily, but I moved on quickly (mainly because it didn't affect me, and because I was four and my dolls were more important to me). When I was older, I asked my mother why she was sad on that day, and this time she told me part of the whole story, but not all of it (I think she wanted to protect me from the evil in the world).

Recently, I visited Washington D.C. with my grade, and in the Newseum there was an area that was devoted to this horrid day in history. There was a satellite antenna from the actual towers, along with a wall covered in articles of September 11, 2001. Before my visit, I thought that 9/11 was a tragic day (which it was) and that it was only filled with grief. That was when I noticed a small notebook, where people could write anything about that day that they wanted, and in it was an entry that a girl wrote which said the following:

 

I’m glad my daddy missed his flight, or else I wouldn’t have anyone to walk me down the aisle.

 

                That was when I realized that it is not only a day of grief, but also a day to rejoice the lives that were saved. This girl’s father was saved, so we should be happy for her. I know that finding a happy story about this day is like finding a needle in a haystack, but I found one. This story wasn’t somber, it was happy, and I am thankful for the life that was spared. It has been ten years since this tragedy, but America is still recovering from the lives lost. And today, the world remembers the family members and heroes (the firemen and those who tried to help) that were lost. September 11, 2001 is a day that will never be forgotten, so as we remember those lives, we should also be thankful for those who were spared.

Sincerely,

                                Me.

It is Not Blood

Just to prove my point, the background is paint

It has come to my attention that the background looks like blood. Just to clarify, it is not blood: its paint. You see, I chose this background because I absolutely love art. I like to believe I started drawing and painting before I started talking, because art is such a great part of me that I can’t bear to imagine my life without it. I am the most creative member of my family, after my mother; she is by far a better cook, artist, and overall a tad more creative than I am, which is saying something.

 

I couldn’t take Art this year as a subject in school, but luckily I found a Watercolor class on Saturday mornings, so I have recently been going to those. Waking up is a drag, but it is entirely worth it, because I can just let everything out into my work, and painting soothes me. This one time, I was annoyed and angry at my family, but after going I was calm and relaxed. It was (and I can’t believe I am about to say this) better than sleeping and dreaming (and if you know me, you know that I look forward to both of these, but that is a subject for another time). I actually finished my first painting (it’s some tulips) and I would show a photo of it, but it’s being framed for an exhibition, so no can do. I have now started my next painting which is a surprise, because it is a gift (I would tell you the reason of it, but I’m afraid that the person will read this and the surprise will be ruined, so I’ll post later what the results were). Hopefully I can finish it next Saturday so that I have time to order a frame for it, because it’s Venezuela (where I am, right now) and things take a while over here.

So for those of you who thought it was blood in my background, it isn’t and that’s that (sorry to disappoint). So now you know, about my passion for art (which is a little more about myself, I guess)

Sincerely,

                Me.

PS: I have realized that my post titles all have the word 'not' in them. This is just a coincidence, there is no real pattern, and it is not something special (just in case you thought it symbolized something). 

Not an Introduction

The first post on a blog is typically the worst. They are almost always introductions, with excess information of one’s personality and likes and dislikes and detailed explanations of what to expect from the blog. I, for one, hate introductions; I hate telling new people my name and I can’t stand it when people who don’t know my name and call me “girl”, so for those of you out there who don’t know me, I’ll be known to you as Me (that is the best name I could come up with). If I were to introduce myself in an elaborate way I would be writing for hours and you would probably exit my blog after the first paragraph, but, luckily for you, I refuse to state my whole self in one post. I believe that you get to meet a person, and truly know them the longer you are around them, so therefore, you will learn more about me through my posts, rather than in only one. The one thing I will tell you right off the bat, is that I am not very fond of blogging – yet. It feels weird to pour out my thoughts, and share them, with an infinite number of unknown people and a handful of known ones. But I guess all it takes is time for me to finally open myself up to the world.  

I have started this blog (not really because I wanted to, but because it was asked of me as a class assignment) and I am honestly not sure what to write in it. I find it impossible to think of a single topic that I can constantly talk about. I guess I’ll write about myself (not about who I am, I don’t like doing that: please refer to paragraph one) about my life, and how my experiences have shaped who I am and who I’ll become (yes I know exactly how cheesy that sounded, but bear with me). (This next part of the post might sound completely off topic, but I promise it is relevant) Don’t you just hate it when people give you those “get to know you!” surveys? I’ll take them if I’m asked to, but you won’t ever see me filling one out on my free time. Or isn’t answering the question “Who are you?” annoying? I mean, how on earth is a person supposed to answer that question so that the listener won’t get bored? It sounds so easy to answer when in reality it is the most complex question I’ve ever heard. I don’t think anyone ever really knows the answer to that question, because no one can possibly know everything about themselves without having any doubts (or without leaving any questions on the surveys blank). I guess, to all of you out there, we will be finding who I am together (because I am not sure I can answer the question “Who are you?” right now).

Sincerely,

                Me