That Room

            “What are you doing?”

            I look into my brother’s room. He’s sitting on the bed, a bowl of hot cheetos in hand. The T.V is blaring one of my favorite movies, The Perfect Storm. The room smells just like my brother, a mixture of cologne and dryer sheets. Oddly enough, it is one of my favorite smells. I snap out of my trance and look around the room. Brown. Almost everything in the room is brown, a soft brown like the color of our eyes. I climb onto the bed and I am instantly engrossed by the movie. It is not a hard task to occupy my seven-year-old mind. I grab some Cheetos and take a couple of bites. Before I know it, we are talking and laughing, completely oblivious to the movie in the background.

            I knew this day would eventually have to come; the day my brother moves out, leaving only an empty room full of memories behind. Leaving me to conquer the world all on my own.

            “Hey Grandma, do you need help unpacking your stuff?”

            “No, but come here for a second.”

            I walk into Grandma’s new room, which was also my brother’s old room. I’m overwhelmed by the smell of lavender and fresh flowers. It smells exactly like the perfume Grandma has been wearing for years. It seems Grandma also decided to get rid of all the brown and replace it with her favorite shade of purple.  Grandma pulls out a huge chest. Being only thirteen, I’m very curious to know what is inside. She opens it up and I see that there is a ton of photographs in there, photographs of my mom. I can tell that these are old-timey photographs, the kind you would see in a 1970’s movie.  We sit down on the bed and pick through the pictures, and for every picture Grandma has a wonderfully elaborate story to go along with it. I learn all sorts of new things about my mom, some things I wish I never found out about. We sit on the bed for over an hour, just talking and looking through the dozens of photographs. I don’t even mind that I just wasted my whole day with Grandma; because no day spent making memories is actually wasted.

            I dreaded the day Grandma was moving out. It seems like she came in one day, then she was gone the next. The only things of significance that she left behind were memories. She took everything else and headed back to Texas, taking a piece of my heart along with her.

“Mom! Would you please help me move my stuff into that room?”

            Being sixteen is tough, especially when everyone expects you to do everything on your own. I struggle to walk down the stairs, arms full of my most prized possessions. I successfully make it to my new room. Mhm. Cologne, dryer sheets, lavender, flowers. It smells exactly like it did when it belonged to my brother, and then Grandma. Soon the scent and colors will change to match my personality; vanilla and blue.

 I set my things down on the bed and smile to myself. All of the memories from this room suddenly come rushing back to me, the late nights, the early mornings, the fights, the long talks; everything.

The colors of the room have changed. The fragrance of the room has changed.  The people that lived in that room have also changed. The room itself has stayed the same, and the memories I have in that room will stay with me for the rest of my life. One day, probably sooner than I realize, I’ll move away to college. My little sister will be able to move into that room. I hope that she’ll be able to make just as many great memories in that room as I have.

The Beginning of Sleepless Nights and Countless Library Trips

 
          I don't recall exactly how I first learned to read. Most of my childhood memories just come in bits and pieces. I assume I learned the basics from my elementary school teachers. I started out reading some small books such as The Cat in the Hat by Dr. Seuss, and then I progressed to reading the Junie B. Jone’s series by Barbara Park. I found myself always wanting to read, and whenever I finished a book, I would crave another. I guess you could say I fell in love with reading. Although I personally loved to read, most of my peers detested it. I could never quite grasp why so many people hated to read.
             I constantly had my nose stuck in a book whenever I had the chance. I loved being able to escape my own little world for a little bit while I focused on my book. It was like for a short while, I was away from my own life and engrossed in the characters life. I loved the feeling of being able to forget everything, even if it was just for a very short amount of time. Reading helped me get through a lot of stressful times.

I remember I would always beg my mother to take me to the public library or to the book store in Memphis so I could get a new book to read. For several years I would always get books for my birthday and for Christmas, and I never complained. Now I have a bookshelf in my room filled with books that I’ll probably never read again. I even got a kindle one year for Christmas. I have tons of books on my kindle considering it’s much easier to buy them online than to go to a book store in Memphis.           

            My school required us to read books and test on them in a program called AR, or accelerated reader. AR was one of my strong points all during school. I could go through two or three books in a week and test on them and make a perfect or near perfect score. I could easily comprehend everything that I read, so accelerated reader was one of the easiest things about middle school. I never understood why so many people hated to read and test on books for accelerated reader.

In school I was always a few  levels above my grade level. I remember reading all the books in the Little House on the Prairie series by Laura Ingalls Wilder while I was just in the third grade. I would usually always get awards for accelerated reader. Since I was such a big reader, I would always tend to do really well in all my English and Language classes throughout school.

            I've had a love for reading for as long as I can remember. Lately I haven't been reading as much considering I barely have any free time. I really want to get into reading again before this year is over.

I Am

I am strong, yet utterly weak  
I wonder if it ever really gets better 
I hear the buzzing of my alarm clock 
I see that it’s time to get up and face the world, once again  
I want to embrace life 
I am strong, yet utterly weak    

I pretend that it doesn’t matter to me
I feel every emotion so strongly that it hurts
I touch the lonely raindrops falling from the sky
I worry that I’m never going to be good enough 
I cry over things that should be irrelevant
I am strong, yet utterly weak     

     

I understand that it has to rain before the sun can come out
I say that I’m fine when sometimes I’m not
I dream of moving away and making something out of my life 
I try to consistently have a positive outlook  
I hope to always find something to smile about                                            
I am strong, yet utterly weak

There’s More Than What Meets the Eye

In every day society, people tend to judge others based on their outward appearance.  This was the case in "The Handsomest Drowned Man in the World" by Gabriel Garcia Marquez.

The short story was about an unusual man who had washed up on shore.  His name was Esteban. Esteban was very large, so everyone automatically thought he was this great man. All of the villagers had unreal expectations about Esteban. To be thought of as the “tallest, strongest, most virile, and best built man” creates some very high standards to live up to. All of the women compared their own men to Esteban, but they knew their men could never be as great as him.

As the villagers have more time to think, they realize that Esteban’s life was probably not as grand as they once imagined. They slowly realized that people probably thought of him as a burden or nuisance.  To be known as the “big boob” or the “handsome fool” was not something that you would want.

I think the theme of this story is that you can’t judge someone on the way they look. Although someone could look like they are spectacular, they could have a harder life than you imagine. In many ways this happens in real life. We compare ourselves to other people, when in reality; they don’t have it as good as we think they do.