Crucible:
1. A severe test or trial as of patience or belief
2. A place, time, situation in which concentrated forces interact to cause or influence change or development.
I think Arthur Miller titled his book "The Crucible" because a crucible is a severe test. The Salem Witch Trials were basically one big test. The trial was testing the beliefs of the town accused towns people. Miller could've also named his play "The Crucible" because it was a time of change influenced by certain people. In this case the force would be Abigail. She influences the rest of the girls in Salem causing madness. The court attempts to change the town by getting rid of all evil therefore he named it the crucible
Friday, November 20, 2009
Friday, November 13, 2009
I Am Not
What is identity? Identity is characterized as the collective aspect of the set of characteristics by which a thing is definitively recognizable or known. On my ID there is somewhat of a who description of me. I am 4’11, I have brown hair and brown eyes, I weigh ninety-two pounds and I am a female. Although these are all true that is not how I identify myself. I think a person’s identity is made up of not only their physical traits but their memories and their ethics too. Their ethics can be made up of so many different principles a person holds dear. These ethics can be influenced by many different things including their culture, religion and friendships. The people that a person hangs out with the most would be how they are most likely to be.
If somebody asked me how I identity myself, I don’t know what I would respond. People take years to understand and know who they are. Although I don’t know who I am, I know who lm not. I am not the best preparer. Although I love to be organized and I love to make lists I am a procrastinator I know that this is not the best t habit to posses because procrastinators get nowhere in life. They just procrastinate some more. They procrastinate about trying to find out what they want to do in life. I remember one time in the fifth grade our teacher gave us two weeks to pick a topic for a mini essay we were supposed to do. I chose the fourth president of The United States, James Madison as my topic during class while she was handing out the forms to fill in our topic. From there she gave us two more weeks for an outline which I decided was stupid but I did, half way. Three weeks and a half after that deadline we had to be ready to present. I worked on that essay for two hours two days before and three the night before. My mother says I was so mad at myself I went to bed without supper that night but I think it was because by the time I finished the essay I was too tired to even eat. She says she’d never seen me that mad at myself but it was because she knows I wanted to do well on the paper but I didn’t give myself enough room. With schoolwork I’ve always been independent, since my mother is originally from Guatemala; she was not the best person to help me with English. I got through the paper just fine but that day I realized I worked well under pressure. Since then my procrastinator ways have been heightened. I have tried and tried to get rid of this old habit but it is virtually impossible.
I am not uncaring. As the youngest of nine other siblings, you would think that I’m spoiled, bratty and inconsiderate. I actually had to be more considerate because of the fact that we are such a big family. I have had to sometimes give up what I’ve wanted to please everyone else. For Christmas one year my sister got me a skirt. Only she had not seen me Christmas Eve so she gave it to me during a party a couple days later. I remember that we were walking to her car with her daughter, who is three years younger than me. (At the time I was about ten and she was seven) It was still cold outside but it was worth being cold for a minute if that meant that I was getting a present in exchange. When I saw my present wrapped up I wondered what it could be. I opened it and it was an outfit complete with its own little purple skirt with lavender flowers and a lavender spaghetti strap blouse. My niece decided she liked my present so she started to cry. My sister tried to convince her that it was my present but that evil little girl didn’t care she wanted the outfit. When my sister started to give in I started to cry. My sister convinced me she would get me a better skirt if I just gave in to the whims of her daughter. I accepted and till this day I have not gotten any skirts from her. I guess she wants to make up that skirt with love or something. She’s lucky I’m not the bank; at least I don’t charge interest.
Another thing that I’m not is bland. I love to talk, play and make new friends. My teachers used to call me busy body. Their good bye notes usually said “Busy body, keep on being yourself and never change.” Apparently, I should stay quirky and friendly. Seeing as how I am a commuter and I try not to drive illegally as much as I can I must take the bus. It is not the greatest thing in the world because it is very time consuming and most of the L.A busses are smellier than God knows what. On the other hand, as I am “Eco-freak” I am pleased with the fact that riding the bus is healthier for the environment and I also like it because I get to meet new people. Just the other day I made friends with somebody who was also majoring in biology. Every time I get on the bus I make new acquaintances and it’s kind of fun not to talk to the same people. Although don’t get me wrong I love my peeps but I still love trying new things.
In conclusion, Identity is tough to describe because identity had its own characteristics and it has two different meaning. The list of what I’m not is short but it would take far too long to write what I’m not if I don’t know who I am. I’m still trying to figure out who I am. There is a famous quote that says “If you know who you are, you know where you’re going.” I may not know who I am but I know where I’m going. Over time I know my perspectives will change and I will eventually know who I am, but for now I’m going to take my seat.
If somebody asked me how I identity myself, I don’t know what I would respond. People take years to understand and know who they are. Although I don’t know who I am, I know who lm not. I am not the best preparer. Although I love to be organized and I love to make lists I am a procrastinator I know that this is not the best t habit to posses because procrastinators get nowhere in life. They just procrastinate some more. They procrastinate about trying to find out what they want to do in life. I remember one time in the fifth grade our teacher gave us two weeks to pick a topic for a mini essay we were supposed to do. I chose the fourth president of The United States, James Madison as my topic during class while she was handing out the forms to fill in our topic. From there she gave us two more weeks for an outline which I decided was stupid but I did, half way. Three weeks and a half after that deadline we had to be ready to present. I worked on that essay for two hours two days before and three the night before. My mother says I was so mad at myself I went to bed without supper that night but I think it was because by the time I finished the essay I was too tired to even eat. She says she’d never seen me that mad at myself but it was because she knows I wanted to do well on the paper but I didn’t give myself enough room. With schoolwork I’ve always been independent, since my mother is originally from Guatemala; she was not the best person to help me with English. I got through the paper just fine but that day I realized I worked well under pressure. Since then my procrastinator ways have been heightened. I have tried and tried to get rid of this old habit but it is virtually impossible.
I am not uncaring. As the youngest of nine other siblings, you would think that I’m spoiled, bratty and inconsiderate. I actually had to be more considerate because of the fact that we are such a big family. I have had to sometimes give up what I’ve wanted to please everyone else. For Christmas one year my sister got me a skirt. Only she had not seen me Christmas Eve so she gave it to me during a party a couple days later. I remember that we were walking to her car with her daughter, who is three years younger than me. (At the time I was about ten and she was seven) It was still cold outside but it was worth being cold for a minute if that meant that I was getting a present in exchange. When I saw my present wrapped up I wondered what it could be. I opened it and it was an outfit complete with its own little purple skirt with lavender flowers and a lavender spaghetti strap blouse. My niece decided she liked my present so she started to cry. My sister tried to convince her that it was my present but that evil little girl didn’t care she wanted the outfit. When my sister started to give in I started to cry. My sister convinced me she would get me a better skirt if I just gave in to the whims of her daughter. I accepted and till this day I have not gotten any skirts from her. I guess she wants to make up that skirt with love or something. She’s lucky I’m not the bank; at least I don’t charge interest.
Another thing that I’m not is bland. I love to talk, play and make new friends. My teachers used to call me busy body. Their good bye notes usually said “Busy body, keep on being yourself and never change.” Apparently, I should stay quirky and friendly. Seeing as how I am a commuter and I try not to drive illegally as much as I can I must take the bus. It is not the greatest thing in the world because it is very time consuming and most of the L.A busses are smellier than God knows what. On the other hand, as I am “Eco-freak” I am pleased with the fact that riding the bus is healthier for the environment and I also like it because I get to meet new people. Just the other day I made friends with somebody who was also majoring in biology. Every time I get on the bus I make new acquaintances and it’s kind of fun not to talk to the same people. Although don’t get me wrong I love my peeps but I still love trying new things.
In conclusion, Identity is tough to describe because identity had its own characteristics and it has two different meaning. The list of what I’m not is short but it would take far too long to write what I’m not if I don’t know who I am. I’m still trying to figure out who I am. There is a famous quote that says “If you know who you are, you know where you’re going.” I may not know who I am but I know where I’m going. Over time I know my perspectives will change and I will eventually know who I am, but for now I’m going to take my seat.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
The Piano's Character
In all great works of writing there is a great deal of symbolism. There are also characters which are combination of qualities or features that distinguishes one person, group, or thing from another. In The Piano Lesson by August Wilson, an important symbol and character would be the piano. It symbolizes the past and the hardships the Charles family encountered. Berniece herself does not like the piano because of all the bad memories it brings, yet she does not let anyone get rid of it. On the other hand, Boy Willie embraces the past of the piano yet wants to sell it to buy land off of Sutter. The piano is a character as well because it has qualities of it own. It has carving engraved and a past. People have cried, died and bled over it.
The fight for the piano is very interesting because there is a great deal of thought that has to go into the decision being made. Should Boy Willie sell his family legacy for a piece of land or should Berniece keep the piano without really embracing the meaning and value of it? I like the piano because toward the end it brings Boy Willie and Berniece closer together. They are no longer at war and I’m glad that Boy Willie tells his niece about the family history. This is when I start to see that the piano is a character. It resolved the conflicts between a brother and sister.
The fight for the piano is very interesting because there is a great deal of thought that has to go into the decision being made. Should Boy Willie sell his family legacy for a piece of land or should Berniece keep the piano without really embracing the meaning and value of it? I like the piano because toward the end it brings Boy Willie and Berniece closer together. They are no longer at war and I’m glad that Boy Willie tells his niece about the family history. This is when I start to see that the piano is a character. It resolved the conflicts between a brother and sister.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Bully Me
It may be because I am a nice person or it may be because I didn’t mess with anyone and I didn’t do anything radically mischievous but I cannot think of one time when I was bullied. The only time that I can recall harassment was when I was about 6 years old. When I turned three my mom put me in a day care because she had to work. My father was not around so he could not help us out. This day care was next to what would be my school for the next five years, Grant Elementary. This is the place where I made all of my childhood friends. When I arrived at the day care I played in the sandbox or in the doll house with the girls until about twelve which was when we would sleep. I would never sleep because I was a restless child who just wanted to play some more, at one we would have cookies and milk and at three or four o’clock my mom would pick me up.
At the age of four or five I no longer liked hanging out with the girls. I wouldn’t paint or dress up in cute little costumes located next to the pretend kitchen. I became one of the boys. At recess I would run with the boys, I would fight with the boys and I would have burping contest. I won most of the time. My best friends Xiomara and Stephanie had no problem with the change but other girls did and I think I know why.
When I hung out with the boys I would arrive to school with clean fingernails, nice white shirts and clean sneakers by time school was over, I was covered in dirt and looked as if I had rolled in it. My mom hated to pick me up and I hated when she did too because she had to see how dirty I would be at the end of the day and she would scold me all the way home. My sister on the other hand would encourage me to get dirtier she would say things like “You’re a kid, do what you need to do.” Now that I think about it, it’s not very good advice but she meant well.
I was one of the boys; I had to act like them. Whatever they did I would do too. I was like their little sister in a sense because if anyone tried to pick on me they would be there to be on my side. As a group we picked on everybody. Don’t get me wrong, we didn’t thrive in this but whatever we wanted we would have. It wasn’t constant suffering for the rest of the kids either and we didn’t rule the day care, we just had an upper hand. We would always cut in line, get the good cookies and use up all the supplies before anyone even saw them. Thomas, Elvis (the boys I hung out with) and I would play practical jokes on everyone like when we put stink bombs in the teachers’ lounge or placed whoopee cushions on different seats. Once we filled a cup of milk with glue but nobody drank it. (Darn it!) We were bad.
One day I woke up on the wrong side of the bed and when I got to school Thomas and Elvis didn’t show up which made me angrier so I decided to play with the girls. They were playing with dolls as their children. I don’t know why, but we all decided to pretend to be someone else. Instead of our real names we used fake names; I clearly remember wanting to be Stacy but Celina also wanted to have that name. Strike one. Then she took my apron. Strike two. After, she followed to insult my baby doll and take her clothes off. Strike three and the last one. I popped like the cork of a champagne bottle. I started yelling at her for doing all those things, and then I threw some plastic food she had placed neatly on the little table and broke the head off all her dolls. I was so mean to her that she started to cry. I showed no compassion but I know I felt bad because when I was sitting in the corner by myself I started to feel it. I think I felt worse because I was going to get it when mom heard about this.
Luckily the day care called while my sister was at home. Our care taker was upset when she heard my sister laughing at what had just occurred. She picked me up later that day and promised she wouldn’t tell my mom on the condition that I would be nicer and keep my temper under control. I was relieved when I heard this but when I got home her messy room and dirty laundry was waiting for me. I did this for a whole week which is like a month in kid years. I learned my lesson and never again did something that mean. My last day at Grant Elementary, I apologized to Celina and she didn’t seem to remember what happened but I felt better about myself.
At the age of four or five I no longer liked hanging out with the girls. I wouldn’t paint or dress up in cute little costumes located next to the pretend kitchen. I became one of the boys. At recess I would run with the boys, I would fight with the boys and I would have burping contest. I won most of the time. My best friends Xiomara and Stephanie had no problem with the change but other girls did and I think I know why.
When I hung out with the boys I would arrive to school with clean fingernails, nice white shirts and clean sneakers by time school was over, I was covered in dirt and looked as if I had rolled in it. My mom hated to pick me up and I hated when she did too because she had to see how dirty I would be at the end of the day and she would scold me all the way home. My sister on the other hand would encourage me to get dirtier she would say things like “You’re a kid, do what you need to do.” Now that I think about it, it’s not very good advice but she meant well.
I was one of the boys; I had to act like them. Whatever they did I would do too. I was like their little sister in a sense because if anyone tried to pick on me they would be there to be on my side. As a group we picked on everybody. Don’t get me wrong, we didn’t thrive in this but whatever we wanted we would have. It wasn’t constant suffering for the rest of the kids either and we didn’t rule the day care, we just had an upper hand. We would always cut in line, get the good cookies and use up all the supplies before anyone even saw them. Thomas, Elvis (the boys I hung out with) and I would play practical jokes on everyone like when we put stink bombs in the teachers’ lounge or placed whoopee cushions on different seats. Once we filled a cup of milk with glue but nobody drank it. (Darn it!) We were bad.
One day I woke up on the wrong side of the bed and when I got to school Thomas and Elvis didn’t show up which made me angrier so I decided to play with the girls. They were playing with dolls as their children. I don’t know why, but we all decided to pretend to be someone else. Instead of our real names we used fake names; I clearly remember wanting to be Stacy but Celina also wanted to have that name. Strike one. Then she took my apron. Strike two. After, she followed to insult my baby doll and take her clothes off. Strike three and the last one. I popped like the cork of a champagne bottle. I started yelling at her for doing all those things, and then I threw some plastic food she had placed neatly on the little table and broke the head off all her dolls. I was so mean to her that she started to cry. I showed no compassion but I know I felt bad because when I was sitting in the corner by myself I started to feel it. I think I felt worse because I was going to get it when mom heard about this.
Luckily the day care called while my sister was at home. Our care taker was upset when she heard my sister laughing at what had just occurred. She picked me up later that day and promised she wouldn’t tell my mom on the condition that I would be nicer and keep my temper under control. I was relieved when I heard this but when I got home her messy room and dirty laundry was waiting for me. I did this for a whole week which is like a month in kid years. I learned my lesson and never again did something that mean. My last day at Grant Elementary, I apologized to Celina and she didn’t seem to remember what happened but I felt better about myself.
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