Blog Assignment #7: Final Workshop Reflection

This was the first creative writing course I've experienced and I am most grateful for the introduction to writers like Truman Capote, Frank McCourt, David Foster Wallace, and David Sedaris as well as the introduction to narrative.ly.  Another great tool would be the class dedicated to building a portfolio with the intention of sending work out to different publishers.  The opportunity to write creatively about some of my experiences as well as getting in touch with my imagination did not feel like work.  It was enjoyable and allowed me take some components from these writers as well as the talented writers in the class, and use it in my own work.  Although, I felt the course left more to be desired and I didn't really understand the point of group work.  The blog assignments were a lot more effective, in my opinion. 

I believe my improvement was marginal but the course gave me more confidence in my writing ability.  I no longer see writing as a chore despite the struggle in getting things running.  The challenge I faced was really understanding what I needed to do to revise some of my pieces along with finding interesting things to write about.  I really enjoyed reading Angela's Ashes since it was told from the perspective of a child and it gave such a nice innocent voice to an interesting tale.  The piece inspired me when it came time to write our third blog assignment, which was to write about a historical photograph.  Another author who stands out as the most entertaining is David Sedaris.  Both Turbulence and Me Talk Pretty One Day were hysterical while poking fun at peculiar situations we all find ourselves in at least one in our life.  His writing in both pieces was engaging and perfectly mixed description of setting, characters and the thought process of a quirky individual. 

The assignment I am most proud of will probably be the memoir piece in which I wrote about my childhood experience about sneaking into a construction site.  The reason I enjoyed writing it is because I genuinely enjoyed that memory and it's one that I'll never forget.  The narrative was inspired by a piece read out loud in class about a student who no longer saw the same neighborhood when they reflected on their childhood friends and memories as an adult.  I will try and get it published but I won't be holding my breath.  Here is a taste:       

The Last Night Across The Street

I couldn't remember how old I was but I do remember that my cousins were young enough to still hang out with me and the rest of the younger bunch.  We looked across the street through the living room window and no longer saw an empty parking lot where we used to light matches and play catch.  Instead, we saw two giant blue doors with a chain poorly connecting the two together. 

A construction site that would eventually house a seven story mediocre inn.  My dad would always talk to the man in charge of the construction site.  He seemed nice.  But boys will be boys and there was no way we'd let our curiosity go to waste.  One night I noticed my two older cousins come home with smiles from ear to ear.  They had one hell of a night, which during that time usually meant doing something illegal.  I always looked up to my cousins so naturally I began snooping around once I knew there was no way I'd get a straight answer from the two.

My sisters and I happened to catch the two culprits across the street one empty night.  They stood in front of the unfinished building and pushed the doors in opposite directions as the chain was too loose to keep them out.  I couldn't believe my eyes.  How could they not invite me?  It was then and there that I decided I'd invite myself along with my two sisters.  I guess my dog decided he'd like to check out what was going on inside the unpolished building too.  He was a loyal dog who was always up for an adventure.  The streets were usually empty around 8 pm as the abandoned block was filled with factories with my house at the dead center of nowhere.  Oh, how I miss it.

Blog Assignment #6 Response to Literary Journalism Piece

"Tara and Tito."

"Why is this uncomfortable for me to look at? I realized it's because when I'm having an experience or I wanna do something, candid, I don't want to stop and worry about my angles.  I don't see myself in my own memory."  Photographer/journalist, Tara Israel's fast-paced lifestyle and her faithful furry companion, Tito are the focus in A Girl And Her (Extremely Patient And Unnaturally Photogenic) Best Friend.  Noah Rosenberg is the interviewer who dissects the bond between a dog and a dog owner who remain inseparable and unmoved by whatever the world throws their way.  Rosenburg makes sure to keep himself out of the piece by only mentioning his questions, which I believe was the right call.

Tara's life as a small town girl has always been surrounded by pet animals like dogs, cats, rats and even salamanders.  Her initial thought was to adopt a stray dog with larger features and the strong capability of learning tricks and signals.  Despite her ideal vision of a dog, she wound up receiving a Pomeranian pup from a pet shop as a gift from her mom before she went off to college.

A typical free-spirited woman, Tara enjoyed traveling and embraced the opportunity for a new experience but her love for Tito's company equally matched her desire for adventure.  She started off by taking Tito with her while meeting her friends in NYC clubs while using him as an ice breaker in the process.  Her life as a photographer takes her from one side of the world to the other, which naturally leads her to take photographs of the places she's seen only these pictures have the tendency of exclusively featuring Tito.  Nowadays it's more rare to see Tara without Tito than with him in places like a packed college campus, a private plane, or even on a bell buoy.

What makes her story interesting isn't so much that she travels the world with her dog but the kind of effect Tito has had in her life.  She describes how the two have been able to remain healthy in the twelve-year span they've been together because they eat healthy and remain active, and having him by her side has allowed her to keep in touch with her inner-child.  It's the reason why Tara has been able to avoid becoming stagnant or experiencing the usual slumps people go through as they get older.  Tito's character traits happen to rub off on Tara while her wild lifestyle has become a norm for him.  Tito is just as beneficial for Tara as she is for him.  Their bond is a gateway of opportunity to face the world with open arms as well as optimism.  

What started as a habit became a hobby and now a great visual of Tara leaving her mark wherever she lays her hat while having her partner in crime by her side.  One particular quote that stands out is, "At some point I realized if I waited until I found someone to come with me to do the things I wanted to do, I would waste my entire life waiting.  So I just started going.  So did Tito."  This quote intrigues me because I have two dogs at home and I have the tendency of feeling guilty of leaving them home alone so I end up putting things on hold just so I can come home to them.  Tara does the opposite, instead she uses Tito as not just a companion but as a reason to create friendships, memories and adventure.  Also, I don't think anyone can match the unconditional love that dogs offer.   

"That sense of imagination, most people lose as an adult.  I've never had to conform to being a non-playful person."  This quote stands out because it illustrates the importance of holding onto who you are and in Tara's case, Tito's presence will always be the reminder she needs to enjoy life. 

The piece was effective because I believe it's easy to relate for those who own pets and for those who enjoy living a fast-paced life that includes a ton of traveling.  She seems like an ordinary person but what sets her apart is the fact that she lives her life on her own terms during moments when it becomes difficult to do so.  Her times in college followed by transitioning into the workforce, witnessing her grandmother's dementia worsen, and so forth could have very well led the average Joe mad but not Tara.  She is too busy looking forward to what tomorrow brings as well as Tito's position in front of the camera.

Blog Assignment #5 Interview Candidates

In my first feature profile I interviewed a U.S. Marine Corps staff sergeant and I enjoyed finding the relatable yet intriguing parts of his life.  For this particular assignment, I plan on interviewing somebody who works at a dog grooming place, simply because I like dogs and have noticed more dog grooming places in my immediate area.  Maybe a New York City council member since I never got a chance to interview one in my last feature profile assignment.  Then perhaps a local business owner in the Long Island City area who can offer perspective on changes to the neighborhood, keys to success and how the economy or any other outside force has shaped their work life.  The reasons behind these options are simply because I enjoy the challenge of bringing something out of what many consider ordinary.  Some of the questions that I've been brainstorming include:

What was your first impression of your profession?

What is your most memorable experience on the job?

Describe a typical day at work.

Was there any turning point in life that led you to choosing this profession?

What are some of the most challenging aspects of your job?

If you could change one thing about your job or workplace, what would it be?

What are some of the trends or possible changes you've noticed in your profession?

What might surprise people about your day-to-day work?

What is something you'd like people to know about your profession?

What is the most enjoyable part of your profession?

Can you discuss some of your inspirations?

What are some changes you'd like to see if any?

Blog Assignment #4 Response to Turbulence

David Sedaris immediately has a way of grabbing one's attention by using subtle humor found in every day occurrences.  The story immediately starts off with a riot as the narrator is found in an awkward predicament during a flight as he accidentally spits out his cough drop onto the lap of a sleeping passenger beside him.  Things go from bad to worse as he invites the reader into the thoughts of an observant passenger who starts to connect the dots of the supporting characters surrounding him and how quickly circumstance can create conflict between two passengers who are stuck seated next to each other.

 The narrator remains the quirky and creative guy while Becky, the woman next to him, goes from being a wholesome middle aged woman into an entitled brat once she doesn't get her way.  Despite clearly standing out as the antagonist, Sedaris keeps the story light with exchanges such as, “Listen", she said, “I’m not asking you to switch because it’s a bad seat. I’m asking you to switch because we’re married.” She pointed to her wedding ring, and when I leaned in closer to get a better look at it she drew back her hand, saying, “Oh, never mind. Just forget it.”  I couldn't help but smile throughout the entire story as he managed to create a scenario where the reader cannot help but continue to read until the conclusion of the flight.

Sedaris did an excellent job of putting the reader in the narrator's eccentric mind as it wandered from avoiding the bulkhead to declining the flight attendant's offer for a drink because he thought appearing low maintenance would make her like him more.  Sedaris has shown a knack for being able to poke fun at himself while perfectly blending a mixture of dialogue and introspection.

Usually writers try to stay on course but Sedaris manages to captivate while drifting away from the plot. Towards the end of the story, Sedaris transitions from sharp humor into a moral dilemma, "But what if I was wrong? I pictured her in a dimly lit room, trembling before a portfolio of glowing X-rays. 'I give you two weeks at the most,' the doctor says."  The transition is smooth rather than dramatic and came while the antagonist was in deep sleep.  Sedaris' guilt leads him to think about his own relationship and how the two handled disputes.  It was a nice touch, which allows the reader to learn that much more about the main character in the end as opposed to the beginning of the story.

Man's Best Friend

"Yeah?"  I answered the vibration in my jacket on a breezy  Friday Summer night as I left the classroom.  It was my sister, who knew I'd be in bible study yet she still called.  I'll never forget the sound of her sobbing as she struggled to put her words together.  It frustrated me as my heart immediately began pounding into my throat.  "What happened?!" I yelled.  I thought it couldn't be my parents since they were here with me.  Could it be my one of my other two sisters?  My aunt?  Maybe my brother?
"Miko got hit by a car.  It's bad."  A mixture of pain and a sigh of relief filled my stomach as I immediately told her to calm down and stop crying as it could have been worse.  She nearly scared me to death, I hated that phone call and wished she had sent me a text instead.  She put on my brother-in-law who was gathered and blunt when he spoke.  "Yeah, it's bad.  He got hit by a taxi."
 "Is he going to make it?"
"No."  My eyes dropped to the deep grass beneath me as if I could go no lower.  I sighed and thought I might as well gather some more meaningless details knowing it won't bring Miko back.

 "We got home, parked across the street and I opened the door and he got out.  Your sisters were waiting to cross and he went towards the sidewalk to stick his head out and the cab dragged him away."
Who let him out?, I thought.  I made sure not to place any blame on anyone because it wouldn't do any good.  I couldn't remember what else was said in the conversation but do remember the pain becoming worse as time went by.  My parents drove us home and felt bad about Miko's demise but they couldn't feel as bad as I did.  Tears began to drop as the drive grew quieter.

The slow night drive became a living nightmare as it finally began to sink in.  I kept my head down trying to hide the hurt as I repeatedly told myself to be thankful for the time I had with my pal.  He didn't deserve to die a painful death.  I should've stayed home to keep him company.  This could've been avoided had I been there.  Nothing lasts forever in this cruel world but at least I could rely on my protector for companion.  The long walks with him would last close to an hour and would usually result in my dad asking me not to stay out so late.  I couldn't help it.  The walks were just as therapeutic for me as they were for Miko.

A scar planted on the back of my right hand will forever remind me of him.  I had provoked him one too many times and he decided to sink his teeth into my flesh to teach me a lesson.  Not one ounce of anger fueled me as I stepped over him and headed to the bathroom.  The cut was brutal but wasn't deep enough to require stitches.  The blood made my throat dry up as I began to feel disgusted.

Upon arriving home, I asked where he was and was directed towards a large black garbage bag laid out near the sidewalk  My sisters blamed the cab driver for driving too fast as their eyes were full and full of redness.  I didn't care.  I wanted to be alone.  I walked past everyone and into my room and thought about how big of impact a dog could have in one's life.  I could still hear his footsteps followed by the tugging of his nails on my legs whenever I came home.  He was not very friendly to anyone during walks, especially if they stared.  That's why my sister walked him in the day and I walked him at night.

The day before I decided I'd walk him around noon since I was off from work.  It came as a surprise to Miko but he made sure to wag his tail and stand by the door as if it were our usual routine.  At one point during our walk, we began crossing the street when a car turned right and towards our path.  I pulled the leash quickly back to towards the sidewalk as I was caught off guard.  That was close, I thought.  Once we crossed we walked past a small seating area with surrounding bushes that we saw every night, only this time something was off.  Miko stopped, turned his head and looked up at me.  His eyes were large and his ears remained hanging softly on his head but I never remembered him giving me this obscure look before.  And I'll never forget it.  I stared back and bent down to grab his rugged cheeks and smiled as I asked, "What's going on, boy?"  Little did I know that it'd be the last time I walked him.

 I buried my head into my pillow and vowed to never own another dog.  It was far too painful to deal with the loss.  I looked on in bewilderment on the night my sister exited my cousin's car and called out to a three year old puggle she had adopted from a Brooklyn animal shelter.  My nephew decided to name him, Miko.  It was out of the blue and I always thought my sister would seek out a puppy instead.  His fur was straight and bronze-like with small hints of black on his paws.  He had short arms which made his shoulders stand out.  My friends would jokingly ask if my dog worked out.  His tail would always remain curled up except when in deep sleep.  We'd always sneak him upstairs when my parents went to bed.  His loyalty was immeasurable.  He didn't care about my appearance or the size of my bank account.  All that mattered was that I was his owner.  Sadly, I wasn't fast enough to be his savior.

The Beach Chair

I could smell her perfume as she entered the classroom 8 minutes late.  Class began on a blistering Sunday morning at the church where it all began.  I met her a few years back and I don't think I could ever forget the words, "She has a cheating bible."  Those were the words I uttered after she had gotten a question right in class while the rest of us were scolded for wearing blank faces.  It was the first time I made her laugh.  Soon after I'd find myself practicing punch lines in front of the mirror hoping I could grab her attention long enough for her to notice how great I was.  Or at least how great thought I was. 

She always sat behind me during bible study.  My nerves arose whenever she dipped her toes into my immediate area.  The closer she was, the more difficult it was to remain still.  I'd shake my foot left and right as it sat on the wooden floor.  I'd toy with my sideburns and found myself clearing my throat more than usual.  Today will be the day I force her smile, I thought.  That thought lasted for more than year. 

I hadn't been in church since early Spring and we were in the middle of Winter, which only reminded me of her impending birthday.  The distance between the two of us made me wonder if she was as special as I initially thought.  She said all the right things when she declined my offer.  She said it was inappropriate for members to date.  I thought I was golden until the realization that I was no longer invincible. 

I could smell her perfume from behind me but this time it didn't sting as much as it used to.  The anger inside me was long gone.  Her runny nose had my undivided attention.  I could only stare at my instructor's lips move up and down but all I heard were her sinuses acting up.  Her voice was as clear as day even when she couldn't find the right words to say.  Then, somebody swung open the side door, hitting my leg in the process.  I had to move my seat and the only available one was beside her.

You hold your head up high and take that seat, I thought.  I sat down and immediately sensed her discomfort upon realizing how close the two chairs actually were.  I could feel her arm leaning against mine followed by a feeling of fulfillment.  I couldn't move even if I wanted to.  All of a sudden I found myself sitting on a beach chair enjoying the sound of waves colliding.  I could've sat there all night. 

The instructor had other plans as he picked on me to answer a question I could hardly understand.  Without thinking I turned to my right and asked her if she could help translate the question.  I nodded my head like a young fool as she spoke.  Her eyes took me to places I never knew existed.  The ability to share the same room was enough for me to keep showing up.  I answered the instructor's question and proceeded to return to my beach chair until the clock struck 12 and it was time to head to the temple. 

Blog Assignment #3: 1922 Eugenicists Baltimore anthropometric study

http://histclo.com/essay/misc/eug/cou/us/meas/balt-as22.html

It felt like an odd day from the start.  Mom and dad wouldn't look me in the eye when they said I had to go see the doctor.  They just told me I'd get a prize if I didn't cause any trouble.  I yawned and rubbed my eyes as I wasn't used to being up this early in the morning on a Saturday.  Ralph and Brian from school mentioned having to see the doctor today as well.  When I asked them if they were sick, they both laughed and said they usually get sick during school days.

The streetcar was filled up by other boys my age, which led me to remove mom's arm from my shoulder.  Upon arriving to the doctor's office, the outside of the building looked more like a factory.  Mom and dad weren't sure where to go until they were met with a few men in suits.  They weren't dressed like doctors.  We entered a room filled with a seated group of boys along with their parents.  A few of the boys only had their moms seated next to them.  My parents looked uncomfortable as they sat straight up without saying much.  Whenever they spoke to the other moms and dads, they made sure to keep their voices low.  Even they didn't seem to know what we were doing here.  I was surprised to see Ralph and Brian and relieved to have somebody to talk to.

We began talking about what the doctor would do to us and thinking back to anything that would've led to our parents bringing us here in the first place.  After laughing at the idea of being sent here for some kind of boot camp, the adults told us to be quiet or else they'll make sure we get shots.  I never liked needles and the thought of one of those big men sticking a needle into my arm scared me silent.  After what felt like hours, the men came into the waiting room and handed each of us a pair of boots and a pair of thick blue overalls.  We were instructed to put them on and then follow the big men into an empty classroom.

The men didn't say much and mostly talked to each other in their deep voices.  I couldn't make out what they were saying but remember their stern voices telling us to line up against the chalkboard and that it'll all be over soon.  They seemed to like Brian the most as they made sure that he was the first one in the line.  They patted us on our heads and smiled as they took notes.  I couldn't make out what was written on the chalkboard as it appeared to be in a different language despite some words looking familiar.

I thought it was weird that we had to pull our shirts down as we stood against the chalkboard.  The vents offered a bit of warmth but it was too cold and a bit strange to be standing half naked in front of a class room.  It felt like I was living out one of my recurring nightmares.  We were eventually allowed to put our normal clothes back on, although I did like how the boots fit.  It was odd seeing so many of the adults hug their boys once we made our way back to the waiting room.  Dad nodded and said we'll talk when we get home.  Mom kept checking my body for any kind of bruises but I told her I was fine.  Ralph, Brain and I said our goodbyes as we got back on the streetcar and made our way home.  When we got home, mom baked some of the best cookies that day and dad even gave me an extra glass of milk.  They told me they weren't sure if I had to return but that I did a great job.  Yeah, I guess I did.

Sports Field

The walk was about twenty minutes away from the train station but it felt like we made it there a lot quicker.  Me and my two pals from high school were in search of an empty baseball field and were told we'd find one just past Hunters Point.  The weather guided us to the opposite side of the grassy fields and onto the side filled with industrial factories and auto repair shops.  The signs were rusty as they appeared to be holding on for dear life.  The other side of the street wasn't as grassy as initially thought.  The uneven concrete only pushed the plants towards each other creating a wild configuration.  Traces of scrap metal and potato chip bags could be found on the ground, almost camouflaging underneath the layers of grass.

We passed by a real estate office, a dog grooming place and a couple of comedy clubs and even some sports bars.  We thought soon we'd be regulars there during Mets games.  The further we walked, the further we felt from our own demographic.  Business suits and skirts flew by us with phones glued to their ears.  Funny that those who were heading towards the train weren't as much in a rush as I thought they'd be.  They were too busy chatting and laughing simultaneously.  The sidewalks drowned in messenger bags and slip-on shoes.  There was no room for parking as cars lined up looking as if they'd been there for years.  The concrete appeared to be getting smoother as we moved closer to field.

Condominiums grew closer as we entered a world that appeared brand new yet vacant.  A banner above a gated area read, "Coming Soon Queens Library."  The sight made me sort of smile.  I wasn't sure this place needed a library since there was already one located in Court Square just fifteen minutes away.  "Kids need their exercise," I thought out loud.  Every dog walker that passed us grabbed my attention as I did my best to name every dog breed I recognized.  The trees looked artificial as they were planted exactly twelve feet apart.  The ground was more white than gray as it countered the large black shadows from the high rise condos.

We could now see the bright green turf, as we stood a block away from the field we only heard about through a friend of a friend.  The perfectly squared tiles made it feel as if we were stepping onto holy ground as the wind whistled a tune filled with welcoming chimes.  Thick letters reading, "SPORTS FIELD" sat on top of a ladder shaped silver steel structure above a half open gate that we viewed as an open invitation.  The smell of artificial turf mixed with the sun burned steel was strange but comforting as we were finally at home.  Unfortunately it appeared that we weren't alone.

Distant chuckling and shouting could be heard as a group of older gentlemen took turns kicking a soccer ball from one side of the field to another.  It all seemed pointless to me.  Countless amounts of thuds could be heard echoing across the turf as the ball was being kicked in near rhythmic fashion.  We dragged our equipment towards the left behind a tall sturdy gate and onto wooden bleachers.  I nearly lost my balance walking up the steps as their was only a small amount of space in between each layered step

The clouds seemed to be closing in us as the gentle breeze began pushing us away.  Every now and again we'd see some of the players jogging on the red running track at the edge of the park.  They wore similar bright jerseys and shorts.  These guys think they own the place, I thought. A wide scaled light blue building could be seen behind the field with small silver balconies.  It resembled the Citi Bank tower not too far away.  If you manage to look high enough without hurting your eyes, you can see a few ant sized residents watching from above.  Leaves from the trees outside the bleachers soon began to join us.  The clouds would eventually betray us as they darkened and began sending drops of rain towards the turf.  The moisture in the air began to dampen the view of the field.  The trees danced left and right signaling the end of a colorful day and the beginning of a soggy night. 

Fun In The Dump

I couldn't remember how old I was but I do remember that my cousins were young enough to still hang out with me and the rest of the younger bunch.  We looked across the street through the living room window and no longer saw an empty parking lot where we used to light matches and play catch.  Instead, we saw two giant blue doors with a chain poorly connecting the two together.  A construction site that would eventually house a seven story mediocre inn.  My dad would always talk to the man in charge of the construction site.  He seemed nice.  But boys will be boys and there was no way we'd let our curiosity go to waste.  One night I noticed my two older cousins come home with smiles from ear to ear.  They had one hell of a night, which during that time usually meant doing something illegal.  I always looked up to my cousins so naturally I began snooping around once I knew there was no way I'd get a straight answer from the two.

My sisters and I happened to catch the two culprits across the street one empty night.  They stood in front of the unfinished building and pushed the doors in opposite directions as the chain was too loose to keep them out.  I couldn't believe my eyes.  How could they not invite me?  It was then and there that I decided I'd invite myself along with my two sisters.  I guess my dog decided he'd like to check out what was going on inside the unpolished building too.  He was a loyal dog who was always up for an adventure.  The streets were usually empty around 8 pm as the abandoned block was filled with factories with my house at the dead center of nowhere.  Oh, how I miss it.

We gingerly made our way across the street looking both ways and whispering to each other about how crazy this was.  Crazier than that time we snuck that stray cat upstairs.  My dad was so mad.  I had never done anything illegal before up to that point in my life.  Although, there was that time I threw a foreign object towards the road that ended up making contact with a speeding car, which immediately halted and reversed right back towards my front porch.  I never ran so fast in my life.  Then again, there was that other time I threw a rock towards that parked van and shattered the back window. I never ran so fast in my life.

The day finally came when my sisters and I were small enough to get our hands dirty.  Usually our size would stand in the way of experiencing some good old fashioned fun.  We fit between the doors but soon found out that we needed a flashlight.  Upon returning into the inn shaped toilet, I relished the fact that I had never been inside of a building so big yet empty at the same time.  It was pitch black but offered so many visions of what was there to see.  My dog went his own route and after a few minutes I could've sworn I saw something to my left and decided it was time to round up the troops and leave.  We ran out of the building and back home with each one of us having a story to tell.  My dog decided he'd stay longer and eventually made his way back home later on.  I thought I saw a ghost.  The thought alone made me feel frightened but equally thrilled to return the next night.

Soon my older cousins decided that we'd all go in as a group and walk around even further into the structure.  We used the giant wrapped bags of fiber glass as trampolines.  After all they did resemble soft, cushioned pink clouds with an endless spring.  We all laughed despite later finding out about the dangers of coming into contact with fiber glass.  Boy, did we dodge a bullet.  I couldn't remember much more of the building but I do know my dog was a frequent visitor who would enter and exit as he pleased. 

Nowadays, my cousins and I exclusively see each other during holidays and these days my sisters and I aren't planning on breaking any more laws.  Today the comfort inn stands tall and lined with bricks, I even broke one of its windows playing catch a few years back.  I never ran so fast in my life.

I usually pass construction sites on a regular basis as developers are busy digging their teeth into every New York street corner.  It reminds me of how much fun the dump used to be. 

Blog Assignment #2 Response to Inherit the Earth by Demetria Martinez

The initial reaction towards the description of violence, death, hopelessness was just a reminder of the pain that at times, comes along with the American dream.  We've all joked about the U.S.-Mexico border but the truth is that the details are ugly and far from a laughing matter.  

The art installation illustrates the few items that hold so much value and so much reliance for the death-defying migrants.  Martinez's multiple references to the Arizona heat provide an example of nature filling the role of the antagonist.  Installations of the items being carried throughout the journey across the desert offers life altering artwork and even community journalism as it plays a role in raising awareness.  

Martinez uses descriptive language in painting a picture early and often in her essay.  She possesses a journalistic style in being engaging, straightforward while using factual information to support her claim.  She uses anecdotes of relatable characters such as Yolanda Gonzales who poured her last drops of water from her jug into her daughter's bottle (568).  

Martinez then goes on to mention brief but effective scenarios faced by immigrants that include scam artists, smugglers, and old socks lying around (569).  Her words hold nothing back as she refuses to sugarcoat anything.  Instead, she reminds the reader of the courage and unshakable characteristics these people possess.  It reminds me of a feature story one can find in a newspaper.  

As Martinez states, "To speak of an immigrant's plight only in terms of desperation fails to honor his or her full humanity," I am reminded that everybody has an interesting story to tell of their lives because they are human.  It's very easy to become desensitized to constantly hearing tragic tales in the news but these victims should not go unnoticed.  "I need you . . . . I hope that very soon we can be together forever," presents the ongoing battle between hope and sorrow as people attempt to reach the light at the end of the scorching tunnel. 

Rain Go Away

The evening rain offers a jolt down my spine.  Almost a burst of energy runs through my veins.  Nothing can stop me.  I immediately feel the cold rain water on my arm sleeves from earlier in the day.  "I should've wore my hat," I thought.  By my side was my ultimate loyal companion, all 55 pounds of her.  I never watched her walk this fast.  I could only imagine how cold her paws must feel in the crooked ground filling its gaps with cold October rain.  It was like the seasons switched overnight as the abundance of leaves could be found floating away into the empty streets.  The only sounds are that of the vicious winds in sync with the bitter rain.  This kind of weather sent folks scurrying indoors as the temperature continued to slowly drop.  Most people can't stand days like these, I dug every minute of it.

The realization of water entering my shoes only made me shrug, the fogging up of my glasses made me smile and the breeze lifting my jacket off of my shoulders made me feel alive.  My unprotected hair filled with fluid and the sweat on my forehead was replaced by a tickling flow courtesy of the storm.  I've grown accustomed to being drenched during mother nature's inconvenience.  What else can I do?  Run and hide under an umbrella like most people?  Nah.  I've got a better idea.  Embrace the grind.  If it won't kill you, go through with it.  It'll make you stronger.

I can't count how many times I've watched men, women, and children hiding underneath anything hovering above them blocking one of mother nature's greatest treats.  It makes me smile.  I am often met with a line of locals rushing their way through the drenched sidewalks holding up their umbrellas.  So many times my already sensitive eyes have been put in danger, not from the God awful rain, but from the good mannered citizens carrying their sword-like shields.  It makes me relish this night even more.  Not one soul outside.  Well, not yet at least.  Ruby stops to sniff around some exposed grass, fully benefiting from the seasonal showers.  When was it decided that rain was bad?  Was it when we worried so much about our clothes being dry?  Was it when we became so adamant on avoiding any kind of small sickness?  "I don't wanna die without any scars," famously stated Tyler Durden from the popular film, Fight Club.

Where did that mentality go?  I'm not saying to go find a friend and start beating each other senseless.  I'm saying why should we allow the weather to throw a wrench in our plans?  Mother nature giveth and mother nature taketh.  I recall being in the sixth grade, hoping and praying for a blizzard to touch down only to curse the frigid Earth when it actually came.  I did my best penguin impression as I tried to keep my balance.  I didn't want to be the laughing stock.

Sometimes the weather is not here to make a mark but, instead destined to leave a scar.  We have no say in the matter.  Which is why during nights like these when we have it a lot easier than say places like the beloved Bahamas, why not embrace it?  I intend to.  My walks with Ruby last roughly twenty minutes but after thinking of her fragile paws, I decide it's best to try and walk as fast as she allows me to.  The vibrant cars swish past me as I stepped into the bright streets reflecting the traffic lights.  Each rain drop only increases my enjoyment, the fog invites me inside to a place others avoid.  I can tell Ruby enjoys the experience by the way her hips move back and forth.  Who could blame her?  Once the cold water touches her fur, she becomes livelier and playful.  My favorite side of her, which is quickly followed by an extended nap on the endless sofa.

 I watch her and smile as I shake off my shoes and remove my coat.  Home sweet home always feels a little bit better after a battle with nature.  I've seen worse.  Walked through worse.  Hurricane Sandy sent me over to my aunt's house for a memorable Halloween.  We were all bunched into the living room.  Not for long though, we embraced the challenge by exiting the narrow door and heading towards the nearest grocery store.  Those chips never tasted better.  The rain offered a new memory as it wiped away the old ones.  I was alive.  I am alive. 

Lost In The Big City

"Let's seize the day," said my art teacher before leaving the class room.  Why is she so excited? She's been to this place a bunch of times, I thought.  The date is a bit foggy but I can still remember the sulking feeling I had on that early day during my sophomore year of high school.  I remember feeling less than enthused once I heard we were heading to the High Line, an old railroad turned park in West Side Manhattan.  

 I hadn’t even been to Manhattan.  I only just started referring to it as, the city because I felt that was my job as a New Yorker.  The walk to the subway was quick but I didn’t know how to handle standing in such a swamp-like atmosphere.  The moist air in the platform appeared to be scraping off the bad paint job.  Cracks between each footstep grew more crooked and the billboards were clearly old as most of the films were no longer showing in theaters.  I felt like the walls were closing in on me and I had to dodge dirt filled puddles on more than one occasion.  The rigid ground poked at the soles of my feet as if I were an unwanted guest.  The dark walls tried to consume me while the air blurred my vision.  I looked to my left and saw no signs of worry in the faces of those among me.  I am not a true New Yorker, I thought.  The experience must've been some sort of initiation in order to earn my stripes.  Entering the train was like stepping into a shaky boat, all I could do was hold on for dear life.  The people in the train seemed like experts as they read their newspapers and ignored the plea from a panhandler.  

            The entire trip was a blur but when it was over my teacher's words were loud and clear.  “Does anybody not know how to find their way back home?”  I could only imagine lifting my arm up.  As I looked to my right, nobody seemed to have trouble, which meant there was no way my hand was going up.  I attempted to group up with my clan but ended up losing touch when they decided they’d go hang out elsewhere.  Unfortunately, I wasn’t paying attention to our route; instead I was too busy enjoying the view.  My instincts told me to keep moving forward as I began finding traces of where I came from.  The people around appeared much larger and I felt as if I did not belong.   

 The streets offered loud noise of construction, a vast difference from my quiet and secluded home.  Anxiety began to build, as I couldn't decide whether to slow or speed up my footsteps.  The smell of cigarette smoke began to fill my nostrils, but instead of walking away I felt comforted by the warmth.  It reminded me of how my uncle smelled.  Eventually a sharp pain made its way to the bottom of my feet - I've been walking around for a couple of hours now.  I stopped as my eyes wandered, hoping to find a familiar face.  The strange folks appeared to be moving in fast forward, preoccupied with their endeavors.  Even the buses appeared  foreign to me.  They were clearly not headed towards Queens.  There was no cell phone in my pocket, no tools in my back pack, no map in my immediate area.  This is it - time to set up a piece of cardboard and join the homeless man to my left.  He was completely invincible as far as the rest of the bystanders were concerned.  I wondered if he started off as a young buck lost on a field trip like me.  My shoulders sulked as my will began to break.  My surroundings became darker as the streets began to fill up with more business suits.  I turned the corner when I spotted my lifeline. 

  An off duty MTA employee.  Her legs slowly trotted forward as she was in no rush.  Her hat covered her entire forehead and her uniform fit hit her perfectly despite the rolled up pant sleeves.  I froze as she was approached by what I assume was her coworker.  I gathered as much courage as I could and softly spoke, "Excuse me."  I asked where the nearest train station was as she inched closer and closer.  I looked down to the ground and found our feet nearly attached.  She asked where I was going.  I did my best to ignore the people walking around us and held onto every word she spoke.  Her directions were quick and simple.  Almost too simple.  Had the train really been that close this entire time?  

I was walking in the opposite direction this entire time.  I smiled as I gained new found assurance.  I kept repeating her words over and over under my breath.  

The welcoming Times Square bright lights were ignored.  At this point my damp and factory filled home was my utopia.  There it was, the gloomy green stairwell leading to the underground with a number 7 hanging above.  My eyes lit up as I awkwardly jogged over ignoring the agony my feet had endured.  I rushed down the steps and exhaled.

An empty train awaited at a standstill.  I didn't care to know why it wasn't moving.  I just believed it had been waiting for me.  I entered the least filled cart filled and sighed as I threw myself onto the uncomfortable seat that felt like heaven.  I couldn't help but smile at the rumbling sounds of the train taking off.  Soon I could see the brightness burst through the windows as we left the underground and inched closer to home. 

Death In The Family

"Dad's gone."  I'll never forget those words.  It came from my older brother, Brandon.
"He died in his sleep.  Doctors say he went peacefully.  His funeral is next week."
"That was fast," I thought.  I still had to go into work that day.  Usually dad drives me.  He usually drives me to school, church, and anywhere else.  Our car rides had shortened over the years.  I was no longer up for the rides to the market.  The early Saturday drives ended due to my work schedule.  The afternoons at church were replaced my afternoons at school.

I could've called out of work but didn't feel it was necessary.  I had yet to shed a tear.  His body was gone by the time I got home from school.  It was an enjoyable day.  I guess.  I was complimented twice in two of my classes.  Felt pretty good walking out of class and exiting through the welcoming doorway.  I thought it was unusual that he didn't answer his phone.  I had been waiting by the bus stop staring across the street.  All the people who appeared to be on autopilot or locked into their cell phone screens.  They all seemed the same.

I had trouble meeting anybody new because the truth was, nobody around me was really new.  Their faces were too familiar, their mannerisms were predictable and they all laughed at the same jokes.  "That joke isn't funny anymore," I thought.  I did my best to not shake my head at the sound of their conversations.  Kept my eyes forward and bypassed the loud gestures.

Even walked past an ensuing brawl between two couples earlier in the day.  I could hear the heavy footsteps rushing into each other like two bulls.  I could smell the rubber burning off their running shoes, wondering if they were appropriate for street fighting.  I thought I should've at least informed the security guard.  There weren't too many people outside at the time.  I had to get to my next class.  Should I have stopped?  My dad would've done something.  Not me.  I heard the voices, thick with anger.  What would little old me do?  Right when my hand reached for the knob, I heard,
"Get off of him!"  She sounded in despair.  Worried about her other half.  "They asked for it," I thought.  My hands swung as careless as my head.  "They were loud enough for the security guard to hear," I thought.  Looking back I regretted not at least sneaking a peak into the action.

I leaned against the wall embracing the end of a long day.  My brother and I hadn't spoken in so long but for some reason he was calling me.  I thought about letting it go to voicemail but remembered that I promised myself to try and be more welcoming.  Delivering the news of my dad's death didn't exactly convince me that I should always pick up his calls.  Well, at least I don't have to be standing out here alone.  I slowed down and decided to sit on the long brown bench I saw every day of the week.  It was usually filled with students who would sit there for hours.

The ground felt warm as the sun began to move ahead of some clouds.  There weren't as many people outside as I expected.  Was there an ongoing pep rally?  An ongoing concert?  Did everyone forget it was rush hour?  Better start moving before the streets get noisy.  My book bag felt heavy as my body sulked downward.  I thought about chucking it.  Dad's gone, why keep going?  Then I wondered what else I could get away with by blaming my dad's death.

 Will nature make a man out of me now that dad's gone?  Sixteen, clumsy and shy.  My watch got stuck on my jacket sleeve as I decided it was warm enough to walk in a sweater.  The same sweater I got in the mall.  The same mall my dad would always drive me to.  The dirt on the trail offered hints of a snowstorm as my shoes crunched with each soft step I took.  Made me think of the time we threw snowballs at moving trucks.  "They interrupted my sleep," was my rationale.


 My hat covered my ears blocking the unexpected winds that hit me as I drew closer to the large buildings.  Upon reaching home, I headed to my room to get changed and rest until I had to head to work.  I was stopped in the hallway by my mom who immediately gave me a hug as she cried on my shoulder.  I wondered about the last time I hugged her.  Probably my middle school graduation.  Will she and I grow closer now?  I couldn't make out the words my aunt and uncle were giving me.  I just knew it hadn't hit me yet.  After a small meal and a quick shower I looked at the clock and thought looks like I won't be getting a ride from dad. 

Feet Don't Fail Me Now

As much as I wanted to slow down, I told myself to keep moving.  I walked past dozens of people on the Court Square platform patiently awaiting the arrival of the express train.  They were content with entering a cart closer towards the end.  I wasn't.  I never am.  I always shoot for the first cart whether I am heading to school or heading home.  It's a long walk but it's worth it.  The sweat filling my forehead made me wonder how many calories I was burning.  My feet were screaming for me to take a breather but I made sure to control my breathing.  I have been speed walking since class was dismissed.  On my way to the platform a seasoned old man quietly called me over.

What can I say?  I'm a people pleaser.  I turned towards him with squinted eyes wondering if I was hearing things.  He was a lot bigger than me but I didn't feel threatened.  I guess being raised by my grandparents gave me more patience towards older folks.  His legs remained still as he leaned towards the top of the stairs.

"Excuse me.  Do you know which G train is headed towards Long Island City?"
"Umm.  It should say right there."
I stuck my head down trying to find the sign without having to climb all the way down the stairs to no avail.  I ran down the steps.  Skipped the last step for fun.  Saw that both signs at the top of the platform read Brooklyn bound.  Or something like that.
"That one's going to Brooklyn.  Try the other side."  The man gingerly took a few steps down but I decided to head back down to check both sides again to only further confusion.
"Yeah both sides are going to Brooklyn."  I couldn't make what he said but I paced forward then back trying to appear as if I am inching closer to finding a solution for the stranger.  The further I got, the more comfortable I was with leaving him alone.  And that's just what I did.


"Sorry I can't help you out here."  I don't think he heard me.  I spoke just as softly as he did and was not turning back around.  After all, he was bound to find somebody with more transit knowledge than myself.  He's a big boy, he can manage.  I wasn't even sure if he knew he was already in Long Island City.  I was gonna tell him that but didn't want to sound condescending.  The walk towards the 7 train left me wondering why anybody would ask me for help.  I am usually told that I don't come off as very friendly.  I return to my race against time as I reach the platform and make my way towards the dead end where the first train cart will arrive.  Fortunately for me, it got there just when I had reached the front.  The trains were packed per usual on a 6 pm weekday.  I saw enough room in the first cart and proceeded to enter gently as I leaned

against the door.  An old woman to my right and a gentleman to my left who couldn't seem to remain still.  I barely had enough room to breathe let alone move.  My eyes were glued to the backpack hanging off a stranger's back.  We were all bunched up with the same goal, get to our destination.  Unfortunately the man to my left had other plans.  I could see him through my peripheral vision.  He pulled his arm towards his chest and began softly rubbing his shoulder.  His elbow was inches away from my face.  He'd eventually put his arm down but then began looking at his stretched out hand as if it were glowing.  He leaned heavily on the train door and kept looking out the window as if there was something calling out to him.


  I took a glimpse at him and could tell he'd spend one too many nights at the gym.  The slight hint of body odor disappeared once I saw Ed Hardy esque clothes.  To each his own, I thought.  The cocky look on his face made me wonder if this guy was looking for a fight.  I ignored him and did my best to ignore the rest of the men and women around me.  They were already a little close to me as I would've liked.  Then we hit 61st and Woodside which made me think, "Should I squeeze in the few inches that separated my face from another passenger's?  Or should I leave the cart to let the others inside?"  I moved forward with my head hanging as low as possible.  I wonder what the man to my left would do.  I noticed he didn't bother moving an inch, deciding against common courtesy.


"Hey! Don't fucking touch me!" he groaned at one particular guy attempting to get through the train door.
"Move in!" the younger man fired back.  He was more kid than man.  Taller in height but the sound of his voice was that of a school kid.  His bookbag was also a dead giveaway.  I didn't look at him directly, choosing to ignore the chaos instead.  The two men continued to bicker back and forth and stare each other down as the school kid moved towards the center of the train shaped zoo.
"Go to school" said the older gentleman with a thick Spanish accent.  He then made his best attempt at throwing different curse words together to no avail.
"Yeah, I am going to school because I'm getting an education so I don't sound like you."  Check mate.  That line drew some smiles from the other passengers but not me.
"Fuck you, you bastard," the older man said while clenching his fist.  He was inches away from me and I felt that if something was going to go down, his gorilla like arms will most likely be swung inadvertently towards me.  The old lion began to tense up as his eyes didn't budge against the young lion.  The kid was not going to back down.  He refused to look away.  I wondered what I would do if a brawl ensued.  Would it be considered a fight in a phone booth?  Would I put my hands on the man with the larger frame? Was I gonna learn something new about myself today?  Will all my time spent watching UFC fights pay off?  Should I go for a rear naked choke?  Shoot for a double leg?  Flying knee?  Spinning heel kick?

At that moment I briefly forgot about the showdown and thought back to one of the most vicious knockouts in MMA history.  I quickly snapped back to reality and stared back towards my left  upon realizing that I had nowhere to lean or hold onto as the train doors shut.  Somebody took my place and leaned against the door as I had entered no-man's land.  Too far to reach for a pole, I had no other reliance but my feet hoping they remained glued to the hollow floor.  My body swiftly move forward and back as the train began to pick up speed.  I firmly pressed down hard hoping that I don't wind up flailing into somebody's arms.  As romantic as it sounded, there was way too much testosterone in the air.  Instead I would take a deep breath and act like I was physically under control.

One more stop and I'll be out of this hell hole.  Each bump would make me regret moving towards the center.  That's what I get for being polite, I guess.  This felt like an awkward family reunion where everyone could be found in the same place but also completely avoiding eye contact or any other kind of contact with one another.  69th, 74th, 82nd street, 90th, almost there.  I felt like a bobble head doll with how much rocking back and forth I was doing.  Then finally, I arrived.  I softly left the train doing my best not to ruffle any feathers.  Who knows what happened to the two guys.  I'd like to think they kissed and made up by the end of the ride. 

Welcome to My Blog

Ever since I could remember, writing always came naturally.  Time always seemed like a breeze during writing class as opposed to my time in history, science, or math class.

I never really had much structure and the older I've gotten, the more I've neglected honing my skills as a writer.  It just stopped being fun once the stakes grew higher.  So many rules and formulas caused for headaches and felt like work.

After realizing that this was all a part of growing up, I decided to place more of an effort towards engaging the reader especially since I made the decision to pursue a career in journalism.  One of the journalism courses I took a few months ago offered insight on Edward R. Murrow's innovative style in using literary technique in reporting to create a poetic flow.

This was the first thing that came to mind when I thought about creative non-fiction along with feature profiles.  I used to enjoy writing stories of characters based on my imagination back in middle school along with occasionally free writing just to shake off the rust.  I am looking forward to reading more on writers like David Foster Wallace who I was introduced to last Summer.