River Rafting, Prank, and a Bruise with the Shape of a Paddle

            A couple of years ago during summer vacation, my family and I were spending our break in Rio Claro, a hotel in a natural park with a lots of activities like zip lining, water rafting, river tubing and more. The place is very serene, and since my aunt is the owner of it, we could do whatever we wanted, as long as we weren’t audacious to the other guests at the hotel. One day, my aunt had the idea of going rafting in the river as a whole family, and almost everyone was not lackadaisical towards the idea, and we were even more enthusiastic towards the idea of a mutiny against my aunt, Ximena. The plan was to push her off the boat, (while we weren’t in any rapids of course).

            So we embarked on our journey through the beautiful emerald green river, and of course, eager to reach the “safe for mutiny” part of the river. All of us were very conscientious not to make any expressions that would give us away, but my cousin Oriana who is also Ximena’s daughter, was keeping the secret slovenly, she didn’t try too hard to keep it secret.  At one point my brother, Pipe, had to make her quiet by rebuking her, but he was very prudent about it.

            It was almost time to prank Ximena, and we were hiding the secret very well because she had no linking that we were planning on throwing her off the boat.  As soon as we pushed Ximena off the boat, Oriana rankled out of the blue! I guess it was because it was her own mother being pushed off the boat but Oriana did not notice Ximena’s smile as she was playfully pushed. It may have been an irascible moment for Oriana, but her expression was hilarious! It would be impossible to depict her face, it looked just like this. In addition, Oriana was so incredibly irritated with us, that she grabbed a paddle and started hitting us with it! Luckily, Pipe confiscated her “weapon” before she could know my teeth off.

            In the end Oriana ended up trying to steal from the profusion of paddles we had, and everyone had to stay clear of her way for the rest of the day, Ximena had fun, and the only “revenge” Oriana got was to pilfer from our dinner plates at night. I had a blast, even though I ended up with a bruise on my back, and guess what; it had the shape of a paddle.

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Explosion by Mistake

            A couple of years ago, me and Mateo, the son of my country house butler, were very excited about New Year’s Eve because it’s a tradition in our family to launch fireworks at the end of every year. This time, we were going to have an año Viejo, a human size doll filled with saw dust, straw, and some fireworks. People all around sell them, and the dolls are also decorated and are made as impressions of famous people. Anyway, we could not hold our excitement because this year the año Viejo would be filled with extra fireworks so we were really looking forward for the night.

            The day went by quickly and we did our daily vacation schedules: eat, run around, make mud piles, ride bikes, climb trees, and take a bath before midnight (the first we’ve taken in three days).  We met at 11:45 PM in the warehouse, where the año Viejo was supposed to be stored, and indeed it was. The doll was decorated to look like a large sized Toad, you know from Mario Kart. Boy was I satisfied that Toad was going to be blown up, (the whole family hates that little jerk to its guts. We all play a lot of Mario Kart and Toad’s always getting on our nerves). Mateo and I left to grab something to eat, eager for the clock to mark 12 o’clock.

            This is what I wanted to get to, the tragedy that occurred. As the countdown from ten started, Tito started to walk towards Toad with the open flame that would detonate the fireworks. As Mateo playfully pushed me, I pushed him back, (there may have been a slight chance that I used a little too much strength to push him) and so Mateo fell back, pushing Tito towards the año Viejo. Instead of lighting the match, the whole thing caught on fire, and all of us had to run to cover! And so Toad blew up violently (not that it wasn’t anything to be sorry about) and I didn’t take the blame for pushing Mateo. I hope that this year, since I’m seeing him again, he’ll forgive me for my lack of courage, I’ll try to pursue him into forgiving me. I’ll tell him it has to be his resolution, but we’ll see.


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The Life-changing Teacher

            It’s amazing really, how just one person can impact your entire life, and change your opinion about lots of stuff in just six months. When I first started this school year, I was mostly worried about my English class teacher, Mrs. Meadows. I’d heard lots about her, and I’d drawn my conclusions: great teacher, lots of work, it’s my funeral. I had the idea that even though Mrs. Meadows was indeed, a wonderful educator, it would be my funeral because she would require us to read tons of books, and the words “Juliana” and “avid  reader” only go together in a sentence when there’s an “isn’t” in between them.

            I really didn’t get much joy from reading books, it was just words put together and that had a certain flow, nothing magical really. Reading was the least thing that I would want to do, I’m a good reader, but I despise reading. So there I was, the girl who hates books sitting right in front of the teacher who loves them, great. Yet something happened that very first day I met Mrs. Meadows, she introduced to me a new way to look at books, like pieces of art instead of wasted paper. She taught me how to appreciate books, how to take my time and analyze it, she taught me basically how to read how you’re supposed to read.

            I still don’t know how it happened really. One day I was sitting in my chair, hating books and being all Holden towards them, and then the next thing I knew, I had read the whole Twilight Saga by Stephenie Meyer  in two weeks! I would’ve never discovered the magic of those books without Mrs. Meadows, and I never would’ve known how amazing books can be. Now, it’s not the whole book I hate when I read one, it’s just a certain aspect or a character. She taught me how to value books, and I owe her so much for that. Someone who doesn’t appreciate books is someone who is unfortunately under the darkness of ignorance. Mrs. Meadows reached in and pulled me out; she saved me from ending up oblivious to the great books that wait for me out there. It’s safe to say that Mrs. Meadows more than just middle school teacher, she’s a life teacher, and so much more. There are still lots I have to learn from such a wonderful teacher, and there’s so much I’ve learned, the only thing left to say is that I love her for teaching me such great lessons in life, and for being such an awesome teacher. Thank you Mrs. Meadows!

The Book that Must not be Banned

The Catcher in the Rye a popular coming of age novel written by J.D. Salinger was published in 1952 and it was said to be an “anti-everyone book” (Chasan 1). The book was banned because of its sex and profanity theme, and it also provoked outrage from parents and elders for many decades. The book is about an alienated teenager, Holden Caulfield, who doesn’t specify where he is located, but he’s clearly in a mental hospital narrating the his experience before he got to there, specifically, a few days before his Christmas break when Holden is sixteen years old. The Catcher in the Rye was originally written for adults but it has now become popular with adolescents for its themes and now Holden Caulfield has become a teenage icon for rebellion.

            In the story, Holden experiences what seems like a bizarre month for the reader, in only three days. At Pencey prep school, the school Holden’s been recently kicked out of, he has a fight with his roommate, Stradlater, and Holden decides to drop out early and wait a few days before he actually has to go home for Christmas break. Holden takes the train to New York but he doesn’t stay with his family, instead he checks in at the Edmont hotel to evade discussion with his parents about being kicked out. In those three days Holden gets drunk, goes out, gets beat, visits an old professor, goes ice skating, sneaks into his house to visit his sister, and goes through much more events that help him change in a way. I think those three days were enough for him to finally realize he needs to change, and the he actually can try to do something useful for once in his life.

            I think that The Catcher in the Rye is still a relevant book of our time because of the way it speaks to teenagers. The book itself is so unique; due to the fact that it covers only three days of Holden’s life and yet the reader learns so much about the protagonist and the other characters, most books cover a year or two. I think that it is its uniqueness and the fact that it’s from the point of view of a teenager – a person so full of confusion, decisions, angst, and rebellion – that speaks to the young reader. In a certain way, one can relate to the characters in this book, not based on their experiences, but based on their points of view, or their feelings. It’s safe to say that this book will always be relevant for any era since teenagers can appeal to the story and enjoy reading about Holden’s experience because it is a guide to them, it contains all those feelings one feels while going through adolescence.

            Many people think that the teachings of this book justify the banning of it; however, I don’t agree with this. I think that no book should be banned at all, whatever its message or teachings are. The book might not be interesting to adults because they no longer go through these emotions Holden goes through; therefore, the book has no profound meaning to them. Whereas a teenager has the feelings and worries Holden has, perhaps at a lower level, but still they do, and reading about someone as rebellious, lost, confused, and emotional as Holden might speak to them because it’s what they feel they are going through. I don’t agree with this book or any book actually, to be banned because it might not speak to adults, but it sure speaks to teenagers and they do have a real meaning for the book.

            Reading The Catcher in the Rye was a very interesting experience for me; the uniqueness of the book is what captivated me. This book is written in a way that you won’t end up hating the whole book, just certain aspects of it, and then maybe in the end, your view might change and you end up loving the whole novel. It sort of helped me because I realized that I could do worse, meaning, Holden goes through a lot more stuff that’s not as good as what I go through in my life. Yet that is also due to Holden’s attitude towards everything, but it still taught me that you need to follow your pace in life, at some point you’re going to have to grow up and stop being as childish as you were before. I loved the book and every single aspect of it, but when I first started reading it, there was something about Holden that irritated me; I didn’t like Holden at all. And when I finished the book, I knew Holden a lot more; I understood how he felt because it’s what every adolescent goes through. Even though this book is from a different time, the meaning of it is still the same; I don’t think it should be banned because this book is an icon for teenagers, it speaks to them and believe it or not, it helps them. It might be profane from an adult’s point of view but a teenager’s years of adolescence might just be the angst, confusion, and rebellion Holden goes through in this book.

The Year of Magical Thinking

The Year of Magical Thinking a memoir written by Joan Didion, a middle-aged woman from California was a unique, well written book, as well as a pleasure to read. Joan’s memoir was adapted into a play in the form of a monologue, but it is still in the form of any normal book. In the beginning pages of her memoir, Joan’s husband, John, dies, this event can alone be devastating, but John dies right before her eyes, only adding on to the tragedy. The rest of the book is about her coping with the inevitable loss of her husband. As she re-lives the year after John dies, she analyses her experience, and the focus on some particular emotional and physical aspects of her experience changes. Didion also finds herself believing that if she does certain things that are right, like doing John’s funeral and showing strength towards the situation, John will eventually come back.

            In addition to John’s loss, Didion also has to deal with her daughter, Quintana, who comes out of a coma after her father dies. Didion re-lives moments from Quintana’s childhood in which she remembers her daughter being closer to John than to her. Throughout the story she tries to avoid remembering those moments, she tries to avoid getting sucked into the “vertex” as she calls it, but again and again she succumbs to re-living those memories.

            The experience of grief and sorrow is a theme in Joan Didion’s book, even though there is not much raw emotion in the process of her coping with this situation. In one of her memories, she remembers a doctor talking about John’s health and how it could not last long. After analyzing a few key points of that specific memory, John may have known in advance about his health problems, and she could’ve made his remaining time more meaningful. Her past conversations with John also take new meaning as she relates them with the experience she is now going through. I find her way of coping with the grief this type of situation brings very interesting because it’s not like any other person would’ve done it. Normally, people get depressed for months, and won’t accept any help from anyone, but Joan Didion doesn’t show almost any raw emotion, and she doesn’t give up on life. She is able to get through the moments of grief with magical thinking, something people don’t use normally for situations like these.

            Deeper into the story, Didion reaches new levels of grief due to Quintana’s health problems, which later on result in her death. Didion explains that she didn’t want the year after they died to go. At first I thought of it as if she didn’t want to accept the fact that they were gone, but she kept herself in a year of magical thinking. In anthropology, magical thinking is when a person thinks that when hoping for something enough or doing the right actions, an unavoidable event can be averted; thus the title of the book, The Year of Magical Thinking is the year after John and Quintana die and Joan carries on thinking that “if” she follows the right procedure, she can bring them back. “For once in your life just let it go” (60). This is something John told Didion back in the days when Quintana was a child. I found myself repeating this over and over in my head because Joan actually never lets anything go. It’s one of the lines that stuck to my head because they meant much more in this story. Throughout the book Joan complains that she isn’t the one who must let go, but after analyzing for one year, she finally does let go of her year of magical thinking and continues with her life.

            I found this book very interesting. The theme, the author’s experience, her way of dealing with the experience, and the book itself is a life-changing occurrence. After reading from Joan’s point of view, loss of a loved person is very devastating, and it’s extremely hard to deal with it and still keep calm and sane. I never really thought about how my grandmother feels about her husband’s death, but after reading this memoir, I feel admiration towards her. Joan Didion totally changed my view about dealing with these situations. I loved the whole book actually, all the lines were excellent, but I really liked the one I talked about before, when John tells her that she never lets go of things in her life. I could make a connection with John and the line, as I read on, I felt like I was John telling her this. Anyway, it was such an experience itself to read the book. It’s very amazing how 62 pages can have such an impact in your life. Although it’s not an easy book, because it requires profound analyzing, I recommend this book to anyone who likes the memoir genre.

From Hero to Villain

Ichabod Crane, I am taken back in time every instance I hear that name. Back to days in which my life was different, much easier and enjoyable, with interminable days of parties and acclamation from the town of Sleepy Hollow. Back to the days in which I was a hero and yet, a villain because after traveling through my glorious memories, I am remembered once again of the night in which my life came to a turning point. The day when I turned from Brom Van Brunt, the agile handsome horse rider, to Brom Van Brunt, the man who could possibly have taken life away from Ichabod Crane. What an abhorrent man he was – if you could call that a man – not one thing was there to like. He was tall and skinny, just like a crane, big headed, greedy eater, superstitious, and what’s worse, he was in love with Katrina Van Tassel, my price to win back then but my spouse now. Ichabod, as jealous as he was, was seeking to marry her as well, and so the turning point develops around his final attempt to win over her heart.

It was a very normal day in Sleepy Hollow for Ichabod, he had tried his flirting with Katrina, I had performed my jokes and pranks on him, and everyone was getting ready for the party Katrina was hosting. Do not think of me amiss, although I would prank Ichabod, he wasn’t any close to being nice to me either. In fact, I was never able to understand why others said he was affable; to me he was anything but that. Anyway, that night was going to be very important to both of us, for we were going to try our final plan to win Katrina over. For me it was very easy, I’d courted to her several times now, and we both flirted a lot too, so all I’d do is propose to her. Regardless of what Ichabod’s plan was, I knew it would be well though, for he was a sage.

Throughout the long wait for the night, the idea of Ichabod winning haunted me. Confident as I was, for some reason, I couldn’t think of any way to propose to Katrina, it would have to be exceptional, so that when I’d show her the ring, she’d forget about Ichabod once and for all. Ichabod was no fool, I’ll admit. He was able to avoid physical confrontations with me and he avoided my pranks, and in the night, we had the final challenge.

Nightfall arrived, and many were at the party already. I soon learned were Ichabod stood, figuratively; he’d entreated a farmer for his horse, arrived fashionably late, and he was quite the man at the party. Anyone who didn’t know him before that night could have said that Ichabod Crane wasn’t tremulous, for the way he approached to everyone; he was mostly the center of attention. Every smile, every chuckle, every glance, every breath, every move that fool made was all being monitored by me. Whenever he approached Katrina, I felt the urge to run to her and propose, but she was never left alone. Time passed, and I became more and more irascible with every ticking of the clock.

Ichabod never let Katrina escape from his sight, and so impeded me to approach to her, as If he knew of my plans for the night. I grew more and more impatient with his game, and finally when Ichabod let his guard down to listen to one of the legends which he profoundly believed in, the one of the headless horseman, Katrina and I went outside, reclusive from the party. What a superstitious fool he was, he believed every word of that tale and shivered at its mention, and due to this, I was able to ask Katrina for her hand.

The moment I knelt down, and promised to admire her, to treasure her, to love her every moment forever, and live every single second I spend with her as if it were my last, in exchange of the extraordinary honor of her marrying me, her eyes grew wide and glossy, she trembled at my every word, and squeezed my hands as I spoke, that moment I knew she loved me; she always had, and always will. And as she accepted we both embraced each other, relieved that the wait was over, ready to enjoy the rest of the party spreading out the news, and I was ready to enjoy my victory against Ichabod.

As soon as he knew of our engagement, he left the party very despondent; head vowed, eyes watery, and he did not say goodbye. As I watched him mount his horse and look back as he left the Tassel household, I saw a tear slip from his eye. I felt victorious and joyful; Brom Van Brunt had once again defeated the man who dared to step up against him. I enjoyed the rest of the night next to my fiancée and let the night embrace me with the days of a new life that was to come.

Two days after my engagement, the words and handshakes of congratulations turned into silence and glances of accusation that pierced through my skin, and I understood what they all meant, without even hearing one word. They thought I was the cause of Ichabod’s death. Ichabod had disappeared after the party; no trace was ever seen from him again. Only the horse was found peacefully grassing next to the church and some pumpkin pieces near the bridge that let to it, but Ichabod left no trace behind. There’d been rumors that the headless horseman actually took him away, but due to my behavior towards Ichabod, people were impelled to believe that I dressed up as the horseman as a prank, and killed him once and for all!

Days passed, and people would not believe me when I told them I hadn’t killed Ichabod. I would have to give tirades over and over again every time their accusations and questions came up. Ichabod had turned me into the villain, the one everyone feared; Ichabod had put the town against me. What before was dislike, was now hatred. I despised Ichabod during those years of interrogation and fear; I hated him for what he’d left behind him. But what was then uncontrollable hate, is now gone, or at least in my outside. I put on pride every time his story is mentioned, and even cast a smile of victory, yet inside me, I relive this story to the very mention of the name. Now, mostly everyone does not mention the incident out loud, though I know it still reverberates in their minds swelling with a rising, rising sound until they finally mention it again. But what was left of Ichabod Crane, is gone now. Gone with the pieces of whatever happened to him, only to return with the cold breeze of the night, when the legend of the headless horseman is once again told, and Ichabod Crane is once again remembered.

The Treasure

                All red hair people are the same; they always get annoyed for anything you tell them. Well, at least I knew one who was the total opposite. He was the nicest ginger I’ve ever met, and he was incredibly smart too. His name was Zack, and he was my brother. Zack never got mad at anyone, and he was always in a good mood. He used to play baseball. He was a left-handed too. If you mixed those two things together, you’d get Zack’s most valuable treasure.

            Zack’s treasure was a left-handed fielder’s baseball mitt, which had poems all over the fingers and pocket written in green ink, so that whenever there was no batter up, he could have something to do. Like I said, he was smart. He really was. Zack had turned a used old mitt, into the thing he most loved, plus, he had a piece of his favorite things: baseball, poetry, and even me. I had given him that glove and that was why he valued it so much. The day I got that glove was just my very lucky day. It was like a miracle.

            We’d spent all morning looking for a lefty mitt and surprisingly, we had absolutely no luck at all in the 3 stores we tried. Zack wanted that mitt very badly; he needed it to join the team. After we checked the third store, he had no hope left. Old Zack was too disappointed by not finding his mitt, so he didn’t come to the movies with me that day.

            After I got out from the theater, I was lost in thought with poor Zack and his non-existing mitt, so I decided to go to this sports store down by central park. It was pouring rain that afternoon but I didn’t mind, I’d do anything for Zack’s happiness and the store wasn’t that far. I turned the corner and I noticed I was suddenly running towards the store, and I must have been very wet because when I came in the store, the man looked as if he wanted to dry me up as soon as possible. I sort of smiled at him, but my eyes searched the store for the baseball section and I felt extremely nervous. What if there were no mitts left? I wouldn’t want to think of seeing Zack disappointed when I got home, but there it was, sitting on the shelf along with ten others, a left-handed fielder’s mitt, as if I were meant to be here to find it.

            I bought the mitt with the biggest smile on my face-despite how soaked and cold I was–I dashed home across the wet streets. I kind of felt like Santa on a rush, taking the last present to the boy who most deserved it.  And indeed it was that way, Zack’s smile spread from ear to ear as soon as he touched the mitt. It sent the electrical current through his body and lit his whole face up.

            Zack played like a maniac. He loved that glove, and loved me for it. I noticed he had put some poems all around it and then later on I saw him reading on the field while no one was batting. He used that glove for every single game he played and even though it was getting weary, Zack seemed to value it even more. Zack was very brilliant. He knew that some things are more valuable than others, even though they don’t shine. At home, my mom always use to get letters from the teachers, saying what a pleasure it was to have a kid as smart as him in their classes. They really loved Zack, but then again, who wouldn’t?

            I bet you already noticed the “was” when I’m talking about him, that’s because he’s dead. He died at only eleven years old; he was only two years younger than I was. It happened in Maine, at our cousin’s house during the summer. It was devastating. Zack died from Leukemia. It completely broke my heart, and I was so pissed that I slept in the garage that same night. I was irate, furious, ten times as much as that. There are no words for how I felt. I took it out on the windows of the garage. I broke them all with my fist. It really hurt, but Zack’s loss hurt even more.

            I can’t make a good fist now because I broke my hand. So besides the mitt, I also have the permanent injury of my hand that reminds me of Zack, every single day. After the window incident, they wanted to send me to a psychiatrist, they thought I was mad, but I didn’t mind, all I wanted was to have Zack back. I really miss Zack, and the pain in my hand is nothing compared to the pain of going through Zack’s loss, it’s just too much. His treasure is now my treasure; it’s the only thing I have left from Zack, the only red haired I have ever loved.