Tuesday, May 20, 2014

Full length Short Story (2000 word)

The hot solstice sun shined upon the bedroom walls, creeping up slowly but surely. Rays of light bounced about as if they were off to a party. A blinding light shines upon a young man’s face, illuminating its redness of the hot summer. He groaned. His world of peace and quiet was abruptly brought to an end as his hand slapped on the nightstand for the clock. His eyes made out a rough shape of a red seven followed by a two and an eight. The man mumbled as he put the clock back at its place. He should have pulled the curtains the night before. He placed his hands on the bed and lifted his entire body off the bed. He lifted his left leg off the soft base of the bed and placed it hanging off the side of the bed. The man sat up and attempted to place both feet on the floor to stand. He stood onto the carpeted floor and glanced around. He walked over to the bathroom door, scratching his lower back with both his hands. As he scratched, the muscles of his back came to life, giving a moment of relief to the stiffness he had before.

He walked on the bathroom’s cold linoleum floor, his feet quickly releasing the heat of sweat onto the floor. With his back straightened out and feet cooling, he relieved the pressure building in his lower abdomen, and released it as he sat on the toilet. Finishing his business, he looked into the mirror. His reflection stared back. The man took his toothbrush and pasted on toothpaste and began scrubbing his teeth. He silently questioned what he should eat for breakfast. He questioned what he should do while exercising. A lot of things were flying about his mind; he could never concentrate on one of his problems. Why did he wake up this morning? What was the point of even continuing this harsh and cruel life? He rinsed his mouth off and splashed his face with water. He took a towel and dried off his face. His hair looked fine. It would do for the morning.

He quickly jostled on his shorts and put on a simple white T-shirt that said: “Boston Marathon”. He quickly grabbed his lifeguarding shirt and shorts and stuffed them in his bag. He tossed the bag to the door. He would pick it up later after everything was done.

The man walked up to the coffee pot. The water from last night was still there. It was fine to drink that water, especially if he boiled it. He started the machine to heat the water. He opened a bag of brown powder into a cup. He threw the bag in the trash, walking to his doorstep as he did so. He opened to door to see the daily newspaper lying on his doormat. He picked it up and walked back inside, closing the door as he went. The water in the pot was boiling. He poured all of it into the cup and stirred it. He sipped at the black coffee.

The man took note of the picture of his girlfriend, smiling back at him. They were both hugging each other from the long day, and that was the start of their relationship. Both of them shared similar interests, one of the bonds that held them together as they continued dating throughout the years. That was enough reminiscencing for the morning. He would see her later, but he still had the entire day before that.

The man began asking himself what he should do that morning. Fishing took too long. Bicycling would require him to fill the tires with air. Such chores were simply too hard to perform in the morning. He shouldn’t even go outside. The morning joggers and people appear as a scary bunch. Some would come up to him, say “good morning” in a nice tone, then shoo him away. The teenagers were the worst of them all. They would stand around the basketball court and not let anyone in, even screaming at passing people just casually strolling by. Why should he even go to the park? That would be just a complete waste of his time. He might as well head over to the pool and wait until it opens. It would be full of peace and tranquility, unlike the chaos he would go through.

He glanced down at his cup. All the liquid was drained, his body feeling regenerated. He rinsed it out and placed it in the dishwasher. The man slipped into his running shoes, the nice back stretch sent satisfaction up his spinal cord. He stood up and walked out the front door. He locked the door and turned around. The man made his decision. He would spend some time walking around the park.

Arriving at the park, he walked down the tennis courts. The tai chi lessons were already in session. The old grandmothers and grandfathers moved in sync. Their hands extended to the left, then back to the right, and their left leg lifted up for a kick. The man never understood why they practiced that. Tai chi was too slow to fight anyone, and it was not Yoga or anything of sorts. The man muttered to himself it was their decision, and noted to himself he must not become one of the old people when he grows to their age. If anything, he said to himself, he will spend his mornings in bed.

Walking along the sidewalk, he came upon the basketball courts. The courts were already occupied with the kids, their sweat glimmering on their faces. The others not playing crowded on the edges, screaming at the boys playing. As the man walked closer, he could hear the sneers and remarks of the young ones. Although they were not much younger than him, he sensed the disrespect they needed to learn. “It’s that guy again, why is he here? I thought we taught him a lesson.” “Why are people coming around again? Do they not understand these are our courts?”

The man had enough. He turned around and saw an open bench under the shade. He sat down. The day was already hot enough, he didn’t need anyone else making it even warmer. He waited. The man did not even know what he was waiting for. His life was in a spiraling abyss. He just did not understand why people would act like that. Soon an old man with a walking cane came by. He sat down. His hands were shaky and he wiped his forehead with a towel.

“Rough day, isn’t it sonny?”

“Not quite.”

“That’s what all you lads say when you do not want to make conversation. Didn’t those boys over there give you a hard enough time?”

“Why yes.”

“Everyday I come here. It is always the same routine. The people just gawk at you when you are not part of them. It seems crazy that I’m still here, I didn’t get scared off. I’m absolutely happy the way I lived my life, and I’m here to enjoy what is left. It is not time for people to criticize what I wanted and what I have. It is my life I want to enjoy, and it is not theirs to ruin.”

“Sir, why would you be here everyday? I don’t understand.”

Several minutes passed as the old man stared off into space. The baseball manager of the park drove up his John Deere to the fields. He unloaded the equipment. Piece by piece he set it leaning on the truck. He picked up the rake and began to vigorously scrape the sands around the mound. Fresh, wet, and new dirt surfaced as he labored away in the sun. He continued on.

After he got a good three feet radius around the mound, he stood tall. He took a moment before he turned around. He picked up the tools and carried them off to the side. He quickly got back onto the tractor and began driving it in circles around the field. The rake hooked to the back of the tractor kicked spouts of wet sand and dirt to resurface the dried skin of the field. He finished the field and began drawing the foul lines. He slowly opened bags of flour and poured them in what appeared to be a wheelbarrow. He slowly drew the foul lines by meticulously pushing the barrow slowly down to first base.

The old man cleared his throat. The young man turned his head. He waited patiently.

“Sonny, don’t you have anything better do?”

“Not quite,” the young man replied. “I still have about another fifteen minutes before the pool opens.”

“Why do you spend time to sit here? Don’t you have anything else to do besides talking to me?”

“Life is hard, sir. I just hate waking up every morning. The rude people always ruin it for you. People who disrespect you. I don’t like it.”

“What have you done in your life? Anything you are proud of?”

“Why, yes.”

“Oh? Do you just define life to be negative? Have you ever thought about the positive? What do you live for then?”

The young one thought about it. He had his girlfriend. He enjoyed seeing her. Her smile, her, her personality, and everything about her seemed to bring joy to him. He really lives just to see his girlfriend? “My family”, he replied.

“Do they make you fill with joy when you see them?”

“I guess.”

“You guess? Are you not sure?”

A silent pause continued. Meanwhile, a woman in her twenties jogged past. A male on a bike passing by waved to her and attempted to say hi. She ignored him and continued straight ahead. The biker frowned and pedaled away.

“I’m sick and tired to see older people say, ‘Oh, you are just a kid, be off with your life and stop judging mine.’ I just want to do my job, a lifeguard. The last thing I want is to jump into the water to save an ignorant person who completely ignored my warnings.”

“That is what you think.”, the man said. “How do you treat them? Politely, hmm?”

“Yes, I once said, ‘Ma’am, the floor is wet and I don’t want you to slip and hurt yourself. You must walk on the pool deck. That way you wouldn’t get hurt.’ Then she replied back, ‘I think my coordination is good enough for me to run on the pool deck, regardless if it is wet or not.’”

“Obviously, running on the pool deck is a violation of the code, and I had no choice but to tell her to leave. I said, ‘Ma’am, if you are not in compliance with our safety procedures, it is best that you leave and find another pool that suits your needs.’ Then she would storm off and report the conversation to the pool supervisor, and she had to be thrown out, almost dragged out by security. I think her argument was I was too young to tell her what to do.”

The old man paused in silence. “That is what you think people think of you. Hardhead, roughneck, teen -- they don’t like that. To me, you’re just a kid looking to do your job. I cannot speak for everyone else -- that is what you have to learn.”

“Aren’t you supposed to tell me what is the meaning of life?”

“No. Everyone has to come up with that. I can’t simply tell you that. You might simply think you live for the next day. Is that really why you continue the constant struggle of ups and downs? I know why I come out here everyday.”

The young man felt like stretching. He didn’t move a muscle. He sat there with the muscles growing tighter with each second. “I do live for something. I think I still need to find out. It is not my girlfriend, not my job, not my friends, not my school, and nothing else. I don’t even know why I am here.

“Son, grow up and live your life the way you want it to be. Once you get to my age you will understand. You still have an entire life to figure the answer for that question.”

The young man sat there with the old man for another few minutes in silence.

Monday, May 12, 2014

First half of the Short Story: Rediscovery

The hot solstice sun shined upon the bedroom walls, creeping up slowly but surely. Rays of light bounced about as if they were off to a party. A blinding light shines upon a young man’s face, illuminating its redness of the hot summer. He groaned. His world of peace and quiet was abruptly brought to an end as his hand slapped on the desktop for the clock. His eyes made out a rough shape of a red seven followed by a two and an eight. The man mumbled as he put the clock back at its place. He should have pulled the curtains the night before. He placed his hands on the bed and lifted his entire body off the bed. He lifted his left leg off the soft base of the bed and placed it hanging off the side of the bed. The man sat up and attempted to place both feet on the floor to stand. He stood onto the carpeted floor and glanced around. He walked over to the bathroom door, scratching his lower back with both his hands. As he scratched, the muscles of his back came to life, giving a moment of relief to the stiffness he had before.

He walked on the bathroom’s cold linoleum floor, his feet quickly releasing the heat of sweat onto the floor. With his back straightened out and feet cooling, he relieved the pressure building in his lower abdomen, and released it as he sat on the toilet. Finishing his business, he looked into the mirror. His reflection stared back. The man took his toothbrush and pasted on toothpaste and began scrubbing his teeth. He silently questioned what he should eat for breakfast. He questioned what he should do while exercising. A lot of things were flying about his mind; he could never concentrate on one of his problems. Why did he wake up this morning? What was the point of even continuing this harsh and cruel life? He rinsed his mouth off and splashed his face with water. He took a towel and dried off his face. His hair looked fine. It would do for the morning.

He quickly jostled on his lifeguarding shorts and put on a simple white T-shirt that said: “Boston Marathon”. The man walked up to the coffee pot. The water from last night was still there. It was fine to drink that water, especially if he boiled it. He started the machine to heat the water. He opened a bag of brown powder into a cup. He threw the bag in the trash, walking to his doorstep as he did so. He opened to door to see the daily newspaper lying on his doormat. He picked it up and walked back inside, closing the door as he went. The water in the pot was boiling. He poured all of it into the cup and stirred it. He sipped at the black coffee.

The man took note of the picture of his girlfriend, smiling back in her tight swimsuit. They were both hugging each other from the long day, and that was the start of their relationship. Both of them shared similar interests, one of the bonds that held them together as they continued dating throughout the years.

The man began asking himself what he should do that morning. Fishing took too long. Bicycling would require him to fill the tires with air. Such chores were simply too hard to perform in the morning. He shouldn’t even go outside. The morning joggers and people appear as a scary bunch. Some would come up to him, say “good morning” in a nice tone, then shoo him away. The teenagers were the worst of them all. They would stand around the basketball court and not let anyone in, even screaming at passing people just casually strolling by. Why should he even go to the park? That would be just a complete waste of his time. He might as well head over to the pool and wait until it opens. It would be full of peace and tranquility, unlike the chaos he would go through.

He glanced down at his cup. All the liquid was drained, his body feeling regenerated. He rinsed it out and placed it in the dishwasher. The man slipped into his running shoes, the nice back stretch sent satisfaction up his spinal cord. He stood up and walked out the front door. He locked the door and turned around. The man made his decision. He would spend some time walking around the park.

Arriving at the park, he walked down the tennis courts. The tai chi lessons were already in session. The old grandmothers and grandfathers moved in sync. Their hands extended to the left, then back to the right, and their left leg lifted up for a kick. The man never understood why they practiced that. Tai chi was too slow to fight anyone, and it was not Yoga or anything of sorts. The man muttered to himself it was their decision, and noted to himself he must not become one of the old people when he grows to their age. If anything, he said to himself, he will spend his mornings in bed.

Walking along the sidewalk, he came upon the basketball courts. The courts were already occupied with the kids, their sweat glimmering on their faces. The others not playing crowded on the edges, screaming at the boys playing. As the man walked closer, he could hear the sneers and remarks of the young ones. Although they were not much younger than him, he sensed the disrespect they needed to learn. “It’s that guy again, why is he here? I thought we taught him a lesson.” “Why are people coming around again? Do they not understand these are our courts?”

The man had enough. He turned around and saw an open bench under the shade. He sat down. The day was already hot enough, he didn’t need anyone else making it even warmer. He waited. The man did not even know what he was waiting for. His life was in a spiraling abyss. He just did not understand why people would act like that. Soon an old man with a walking cane came by. He sat down. His hands were shaky and he wiped his forehead with a towel.

“Rough day, isn’t it sonny?”

“Not quite.”

“That’s what all you lads say when you do not want to make conversation. Didn’t those boys over there give you a hard enough time?”

“Why yes.”

“Everyday I come here. It is always the same routine. The people just gawk at you when you are not part of them. It seems crazy that I’m still here, I didn’t get scared off. I’m absolutely happy the way I lived my life, and I’m here to enjoy what is left. It is not time for people to criticize what I wanted and what I have. It is my life I want to enjoy, and it is not theirs to ruin.”

“Sir, why would you be here everyday? I don’t understand.”

Several minutes passed as the old man stared off into space. The baseball manager of the park drove up his John Deere to the fields. He unloaded the equipment. Piece by piece he set it leaning on the truck. He picked up the rake and began to vigorously scrape the sands around the mound. Fresh, wet, and new dirt surfaced as he labored away in the sun. He continued on.

After he got a good three feet radius around the mound, he stood tall. He took a moment before he turned around. He picked up the tools and carried them off to the side. He quickly got back onto the tractor and began driving it in circles around the field. The rake hooked to the back of the tractor kicked spouts of wet sand and dirt to resurface the dried skin of the field. He finished the field and began drawing the foul lines. He slowly opened bags of flour and poured them in what appeared to be a wheelbarrow. He slowly drew the foul lines by meticulously pushing the barrow slowly down to first base.

The old man cleared his throat. The young man turned his head. He waited patiently.

“Sonny, don’t you have anything better do?”

“Not quite,” the young man replied. “I still have about another fifteen minutes before the pool opens.”

“Why do you spend time to sit here? Don’t you have anything else to do besides talking to me?”

“Life is hard, sir. I just hate waking up every morning. The rude people always ruin it for you. People who disrespect you. I don’t like it.”

“What have you done in your life? Anything you are proud of?”

“Why, yes.”

“Oh? Do you just define life to be negative? Have you ever thought about the positive? What do you live for then?”

The young one thought about it. He had his girlfriend. He enjoyed seeing her. Her smile, her, her personality, and everything about her seemed to bring joy to him. He really lives just to see his girlfriend? “My family”, he replied.

“Do they make you fill with joy when you see them?”

“I guess.”

“You guess? Are you not sure?”

A silent pause continued. Meanwhile, a woman in her twenties jogged past. A male on a bike passing by waved to her and attempted to say hi. She ignored him and continued straight ahead. The biker frowned and pedaled away.

“Son, grow up and live your life the way you want it to be. Once you get to my age you will understand.”

The young man sat there with the old man for another few minutes in silence.


Also on the request of my classmate Robert Vargas, the following piece is added:
(Not part of the paper)

BANG BANG BOOM BOOM, EVERYONE DIED.

Sunday, March 30, 2014

Old Money, New Money, and Everyone Else

     As we are reading The Great Gatsby, I find it a good time to discuss the subject of money. Gatsby, lives a rich and extravagant life. What is that, new money, or old money? In order to understand what old and new money is, we must take a look at the book.

     Gatsby is still very young to be rich. It seems that he acquired all of that money very recently, therefore giving the name "new money". Tom and Daisy are rich, and readers can never tell where their money came from. Since Tom is an athletic person who doe not seem to have any job qualifications, readers can safely assume it might have been from inheritance. This would make Tom's fortune "old money".

     There is an interesting pattern to go about here. Gatsby, who is "new money", lives in West Egg. Tom and Daisy are "old money", and they live in East Egg. Now readers can clearly see the distinct lines of old and new money. People physically distinguish themselves by living in a certain neighborhood.

     Nick, is very young and full of opportunity to make money. Therefore, he should belong to West Egg. However, since he did not make his profits yet, Nick would live in a cheap $80 per month house. Nick would classify as "everyone else". The distinct lines of new and old money can be seen in The Great Gatsby by looking at a character's housing location and housing cost.

Tuesday, November 26, 2013

Thankful

     It's that time of the year again, and I'm supposed to be thankful for what I have. There are certainly things I am grateful for having and actually take for granted when I shouldn't, and things that I am completely not thankful for. Now that I've stated this, I am thankful for one person in my English II class, and that is Kevin.

     He is certainly no my best friend, but he is fun to have around. I find it interesting that we "known" each other since elementary school. We were not in the same class; we never saw each other but knew the other existed. Coming here to Whitney, I could easily point out Kevin was from my elementary school. Seeing me, he could easily point out I came from the same school as him. Just interesting how that all turned out. He has that interesting character that makes you laugh whenever he says something. He is mostly messing around all the time, but still a guy with a personality you want to hang out with...I think. He started Deck Club with another person, and that is a huge success from a group of sophomore Asians, and a couple white kid's who are close with those Asian's. I'm not going to participate in the club for the next couple of months, which I will state the reason why later. But all in all, I'm thankful for him to be in this class.

     Enough about Kevin and this small world, let's go bigger. I'm also thankful for all my friends around school, they have supported me through rough times. I am thankful for my friends outside school. All my friends around me won't shoo me away, which is an improvement of what I thought would be true. I thank all the seniors from last year for not hazing me. I thank my family, for staying together all these years, because I know some people whose lives have dramatically took a turn from that.

     Now that I have listed all the things I am thankful for, there are two things I am not thankful for. Swim team's season started, and it will be a long road ahead. Mornings and afternoons plus weekends is not fun. Trust me. Spending half of your day at school is also not fun. It will also reduce your social life and deplete all the time you have for other clubs and activities. Like before, let's go bigger. Something that is out of our whole social zone, but still something we all know. AMERICA!

    Yes, it's America's governing I am not thankful for. Sure, we live in a country that allows us certain rights, but it is granted that these rights would not exist if the country fell apart, which is something that is happening as I speak.

     After WWII, we owed a sum of debt from Roosevelt's extravagant spending plans to rebuild America, and the war cost. After that, the bill has lost its value as the U.S. started borrowing money from other countries and corporations inside the U.S. Ever since, industries have moved across to other countries, and the U.S. has been mainly consuming while others produced. Argue all you want against my point. Go ahead. Every reason you come up with to argue the U.S. is not in downfall will actually prove my point that America is going down the drain and many American's are either oblivious to it or they won't bite the bullet. That debt is at 16 trillion right? Wrong. It is at 17 trillion and counting. Look at China. Oh, all the anger coming at me for pointing this out, but China is rising. We are falling behind. High speed rail trains there are at 350 km/hr. We are stuck with the good ole' fashioned, outdated diesel engine trains that pull us across America. Plans to make high speed rails are still in planning, planning constructions to 2030. We may live in a somewhat decent lifestyle now, but the clock is ticking and our time may be up anytime now. Therefore, I am not thankful for what is happening to the country right now.

     But, at the moment right now, I am thankful for my friend Kevin, all my friends in my circle, and my family. Hopefully, I get to be thankful for the next several decades.

Saturday, November 9, 2013

I Celebrate Myself

     This is a term not everyone hears everyday. I never even heard of this or thought about it. I know we have to type something about Transcendentalism, but I am not sure, so I'll just write the background. What is Transcendentalism then?

     Transcendentalism was a religious and philosophical movement that was developed during the late 1820s and 1830s in the Eastern region of the United States as a protest against the general state of culture and society, and in particular, the state of intellectualism at Harvard University and the doctrine of the Unitarian church taught at Harvard Divinity School. Among the transcendentalists' core beliefs was the inherent goodness of both people and nature.

     The Transcendentalists stood at the heart of The American Renaissance; the flowering of the United States thought in literature, poetry, painting, sculpture, architecture, and music in the period. Authors such as Emerson, Thoreau, Hawthorne, Margaret Fuller, the Alcotts, Theodore Parker, Jones Very, George Ripley, the Peabody Sisters, and the Channings were involved in this movement. Transcendentalism was far broader than a geographical phenomenon or a select club membership, although Ripley and Emerson had founded the Transcendental Club in 1836. Rather it was a faith shared with diverse minds and diverse places as those of Walt Whitman in Brooklyn or Emily Dickinson in Amherst or the Hudson River School of painters in New York.

     Many of these authors have written poems that were criticized at the time they were written, for not following the conventional methods. However, I disagree. Even though it takes me five minutes to understand one line, they do bring in certain ideas and ways of writing that have lasted into the modern day.

Monday, October 28, 2013

Poe

     Edgar Allan Poe (born Edgar Poe; January 19, 1809 – October 7, 1849) was an American author, poet, editor, and literary critic, considered part of the American Romantic movement. Best known for his tales of mystery and the macabre, Poe was one of the earliest American practitioners of the short story and is generally considered the inventor of the detective fiction genre. He is further credited with contributing to the emerging genre of science fiction. He was the first well-known American writer to try to earn a living through writing alone, resulting in a financially difficult life and career.

     One of his more famous pieces was The Raven. He as written many other short stories and poem. People have seen his work and recognize it to have spooky and ominous themes to it. I see it to represent all his resentment and anger that came out of his life events. He had a father that left him, mother that died early, wife that died early, and lived poor all his life. Poe was so poor, he served in the military to get payed 5 dollars a month. At age 40, Poe died in Baltimore; the cause of his death is unknown and has been variously attributed to alcohol, brain congestion, cholera, drugs, heart disease, rabies, suicide, tuberculosis, and other agents.
     
     As the author, he is committing a lot of time on other events. He has served in the military, watched his foster mother die, watched his brother die, and watched his wife die. This is a rather depressing life, and he actually had the heart to still develop pieces that become famous today. He wrote mysteries, missing characteristics, interesting theories of life, and symbols that are chosen carefully that sparks the interest of a reader from an absent clue, a clue that leads to the understanding of his story. Yet he leaves that clue, and leaves a lot of people and critics arguing his perspective and reason behind the stories. I solely believe he wrote those stories because of his tragic life.

     It is hard to accept such a recognized author today has suffered a poor life at his time. He was the founder of mysteries, and the mysteries that exist today stay because such a genre exists. He is a very important person, and wrote many interesting poses, yet still passed away as a sick, lonely man, something I believe great authors do not deserve.

Friday, October 18, 2013

What is an American?

     So what is an real American? Is it someone who lives in America or something else? I believe the answer lies way back to the time when the first people showed up in the New Land.

     We are rejects from Europe, whatever people don't like. When people in Europe dislike religious ways they just boot us out. Convicts who are in jeopardy of persecution sail for America so they die. They end up here, set up new settlements, and and that how our nation started after we broke free from England. That was 200 years ago. Now, we are the gung ho nation, who threatens other countries for our own benefit. Ever since world war two, we thought we were the greatest, no one would beat us. Is it what we have become? Just people who would kill for success? I afraid it is true. Many people may deny it, saying we are a clean country, no one is beyond compare. We are standing on one leg my friends, we are about to fall, the country of the brave is about to die.

     We still get immigrants, but is it so? Does immigrant define America? To be very exact, the native Americans were before we were. That means American? I think it doesn't mean literally people born in America, it is people who pledge allegiance to our nation, people who come other shores, people who look for a better life, people who were discarded by their home nation, that is an American.