Reconnect

re·con·nect

verb /ˌrēkəˈnekt/  reconnected, past participle; reconnected, past tense; reconnecting, present participle; reconnects, 3rd person singular present Connect back together - surgeons had to reconnect tendons, nerves, and veins Reestablish a bond of communication or emotion - in order to keep your marriage healthy, it is important to reconnect as mature individuals

It's high time that I reconnect. Reconnect with my blog that I haven't touched since the beginning of the month, with family now that it's the end of December, with old high school friends and teachers, many of whom I haven't seen since graduation...
It's time to reconnect with Emma and Anthony and David and all my characters. Time to reconnect, or rediscover, my high speed fingers that can put forth college papers in at most four hours (if they really tried), 50000 words in 30 days, even one book in the course of a single school year.
Time to reconnect with my inner child by a much needed bout of Disney movies and painting projects, perhaps a few sketches thrown in between. Time to reconnect with the lost piano fanatic by pulling out all the classical sheet music, even the Rachmaninoff that makes my wrists hurt, and seriously play again.

I have less than seven hours before the New Year comes hurtling in. It's time to reconnect with so many aspects of life, before I can consider reflection and everything onwards.

Day #30: Sweet Success

50,000 words. 30 days. (I actually did it in 20). OH MY GOODNESS GRACIOUS. It's one of the most ridiculous, disgustingly bad manuscripts I've ever started, but that's what editing is for anyway.

Meanwhile.

50,080 words = 79 pages = a quarterish of a this novel. I think I've written more in these thirteen days than most freshman at Hopkins have written this semester. Just saying. :)

Oh the taste of sweet success.

Day #30: Showtime

Brought my "words left to write" count back to the 4 digits (this is down from over 15,000 mind you).
I am now at 40,372 words, 63 pages. Technically, I have 10 hours to complete the last 9,628 words required to hit 50,000 (which translates to roughly 16 pages, single spaced). With classes and that history paper I have yet to start that's due at 10am, I probably only have half that time to complete all that writing. The words and pages better fly. COME ON MUSES. Don't fail me now.
I'll keep this brief, since I do have a paper on Locke to write (thank goodness for IPLE, I practically know John Locke by heart).

Favorite Sentence:Her eyes wander across the computer screen, glazing over slightly as she reaches the end of the gossipy news story that had originally interrupted her attention span, which is currently at the same level as a goldfish, or hyperactive ADD squirrel.

Sappiest Line:He shakes his head. “There are no words left to say. Only all the unsaid to act on.”

Passage:
But his sharp eyes pick out the tiny details that put together the story behind this object as well. Spread across the lower right hand corner of the first few pages is a slight warping effect, the result of an overwhelming volume of fluids that soaked into the paper fibers, the evidence of a splashing of angry tears that probably blurred her vision as she flipped through the beginnings of the screenplay. Scattered throughout the entire document are random pages that are slightly yellower than the rest, the pages that she loved best, the fragments of half-fictitious memories that made her happy in the loneliest first days of being in this enormous city. He notices the strangely perfect flatness of each page, the lack of a fold or crease anywhere. It has been put away somewhere, buried deep between textbooks perhaps, or something of similar weight and composition, carefully preserved and hidden from sight and mind. He looks down at the brief note, underlined exactly by the pink ribbon, he wrote to her in his scrawled handwriting eight years ago: Do you remember two summers ago, when you told me to write you a song? Well here’s your song, plus interest. His fingers tremble slightly as he unties the ribbon and flips to the next page, the one that announces to the world, in bold, scripted letters, “Emma’s Play.”

Day #18: Post 10kword sprint

My writing skills are either really good, or just really insane. Or both. Many artists are insane.
When I wrote an 8page (double spaced) paper in two hours, I thought that was pretty good. Yes, that is quite a WPM rate; my roommate said my typing sounded like a machine gun going off. But college papers are easily structured and outlined. You basically just need to list the points that you want to cover, dig out a few good quotes from your sources, and then string the ideas together with fancy, SAT vocabulary.
Novels, on the other hand, are an entirely different matter. There is absolutely nothing to follow. At least not with the way I write novels. Literally what I have to do is sit there staring into blankness, mentally prodding my characters along, possibly speaking to them (in my head, usually), until they decide to do something interesting and worth writing about. It is the most agonizingly slow process ever. But, in the past three days, I somehow wrote 10,000 words in my novel, with the majority of it in just the past two days. I am mind blown; I never knew I could write so much in such a short span of time.

Here be the breakdown of my pathetically-behind-until-a-few-minutes-ago word count:

Nov. 15th: 20,311
Nov. 16th: 20,818
Nov. 17th: 25,826
Nov. 18th: 30,081

And it's not even 10pm yet!

DAY #15: [supposed to be] Halfway Point

I should be at 25,000. I'm 5,000 words behind. 10 freaking pages. No biggie. I love how I can write 8 page papers in 2 hours but it takes so long to write 10 pages of a novel. What happened to the days where I could sprint through 5 chapters a day, clearing several thousand words at a time? Upsetting, but at least these past few chapters have been moving the plot along, instead of that one random chapter in which literally NOTHING HAPPENS except pointless (but nevertheless really cute) dialogue.

Anyway. Here's some of what I've accomplished today (from chapter 6)

“Shhh,” Allie hushes. “Let her finish.”

Emma smiles slightly and keeps talking as if nothing had interrupted her. “The day I left, he came over with a box of brownies that his mom made…”

Livy smiles and croons a sincere and heartfelt “awwwwww,” ignoring the side glances from her other friends.

“… some flowers, and a giant packet,” Emma continues. “He gave me the brownies and flowers first, told me to put them in the car, and then took me by the hand and led me around to the backyard, under our tree.”

“Now how can you say things like that and then claim that you guys weren’t in a relationship?” Reina accuses in exasperation.

Emma shrugs. “I don’t know. We were really close friends. He was always grabbing me by the hand; that was normal for us.”

Reina lets out an impatient sigh; Livy pats her gently on the shoulder and tells her to be quiet so Emma can finish the story. “You guys were standing under your tree,” Livy prompts.

“Yea. And he handed me the packet. It was freaking huge, and all wrapped up with a huge ribbon. I asked him what it was. He didn’t answer my question. He just gave me a really long hug and said, ‘good luck in New York City. You’re getting the chance that the rest of us aren’t going to have. When you make it to Broadway, don’t forget us here in Clermont. And don’t look at this until you get into the car.’ He made me promise I wouldn’t look at the packet, and I promised.”

“Well what was the packet?” Reina asks.

Emma closes her eyes. The mysterious packet is sitting right now squarely in the middle of her desk. It is dusty from being hidden in a box for so long, but the conditions of the pages are pristine. She has taken such good care of it. “The first page had a note. It said ‘do you remember two summers ago, when you told me to write you a song?’

“Of course I did. I actually got kind of upset at that point, because I realized that I was going to leave and never get my song. Anyway, under the question, he wrote ‘Here’s your song, plus interest.’

“I flipped the page, and the next page was a title page.” She takes a deep, shaky breath. Tears collect onto the edges of her eyelids, quivering, threatening.

“What was the title?” Livy asks quietly, her voice full of expressive concern.

Emma takes another deep breath. “It was a script. For a musical titled Emma’s Play. It was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever read.”

Day #11: 11/11/11 (Wish Away)

11/11/11.

More importantly, twice today, it will be 11/11/11 11:11:11

This only happens once in a lifetime. I'd better make it good.
I get two wishes today. I missed my first by a minute, leaving me actually distraught for several seconds.



So what should I do with the most epic wishing hour of the century?
I can wish for something meaningfully cliche, like world peace. Or I can wish for something obnoxiously impossible, like the sudden raining down of Jamasen's chocolate truffles from the sky, or a good grade on the Macro exam. I can also wish for some really sappy thing that I shall not disclose here, or for a sensible Confucian-esque thing like wisdom, or success.
I still have a little under ten hours to ponder this. But, as with everything else, I hate to plan. I tend to take life as it comes. I prefer constant movement, constant progress, over stagnated and pointless pondering of things that don't have answer anyway. So when the next 11:11:11 comes, hopefully my brain will suddenly be hit with an amazing wish worthy of this once in a century opportunity.

Until then, too all of you out there across the time zones, wish away.

NaNoWriMo Day #6

The weekend festivities offered no inspiration. Sorry :(
What did propel me forward 2000 words is Stephen's nonstop promotion of Wicked, and in particular, Defying Gravity. That song inspires like no other. So thank you for that :)
I am now listening to music and thinking again in literary terms & plot lines. The inner writer has reconnected herself with my brain, so I will be spewing random things that seem disconnected from real life (because I am living in fiction).

Excerpt from today (a piece of chapter 3). Just goes to show how much I absolutely adore this school.

Twelve schools, twenty-one total essays, and several months later, the letters started coming back. Nearly five months later, on the last week of August, Anthony arrived with his two, giant suitcases of belongings and stood, full of self-satisfaction and a sense of complete awe, in front of the enormous marble sign that marked the North entrance to the Johns Hopkins University. Situated in the heart of Charm City—Baltimore, Maryland, with one of the best Writing Seminars programs in the country, an amazing soccer team (albeit Division III), and the added quirk that his freshman dorm room gave him the same exact view of the University as it gave writer F. Scott Fitzgerald when he stayed in the same building decades ago, it was everything that Anthony could have possibly hoped for. And so began Anthony [insertlastnamehere]’s own breakout story.

While we're here, DOES SOMEONE WANT TO GIVE ME A LAST NAME? The character is white....
Please and thank you!

NaNoWriMo Day #1

And so begins another month of feverish & insane writing. 50,000 words in 30 days.
I completed it in 17 days in freshman year. I wrote through the Model UN research and conference packed days of sophomore and junior year. I even did it senior year of high school between college applications and IPLE speeches (UNIT 1: I was novelling and researching/writing about natural rights at the same time on Nov. 30th last year. I can admit that now that we're the best unit in the country).

I can definitely handle 50,000 words, 30 days, freshman year of college. Emma's Play is the story waiting to be told.

Insane accomplishment:

First Words: Prologue to Emma's Play

Novel #4: Emma's Play.


Put all thoughts aside and simply write. Reconnect with my inner artist/writer.
Here it is:

Prologue

Tell the stories that are waiting to be told.

The words are written on a strip of paper in bold, block letters, each one a statement in and of itself, serving as a daily reminder to him.

He doesn’t know where he first read the line, but it served as his mantra for the past three years, his own literary  guide and drive.

Tell the stories that are waiting to be told. He reads the words again and closes his eyes.

“What are the stories waiting to be told?”

Music spills from the speakers on his computer, drowning out everything except the physical presence of his bedroom around him and the tumble of thoughts in his head.

Minutes pass, lengthen themselves into the form of an hour, before he finally breaks from reverie. With a startling quickness, he lunges for the pen lying on the desk and sets pen to paper. The computer is there but nothing beats the primal relief of gliding a pen tip across off-white paper. The words appear beneath his hands, sure in their placement, each one sinking into the blue lines with firm conviction and belonging.

Act I.

Emma:

He writes late in to the night, never once stopping. Pages fly by. The angry crossing outs that usually pepper his work stutter to an eventual stop, and the words flow effortlessly. The midnight silence guides him through his thoughts word by word, line by line. He writes until his mind and body collapse into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Tell the stories that are waiting to be told.

Comments would be great :)

Readability

Sometime back in January or so of freshman year, a friend and I came up with the basic ideas for a thriller/romance novel. She spammed me with a list of character names, and in a few weeks and multiple pages of outlining (which are now safely sealed in a plastic sleeve), I sketched out the underlying structure of the (to date) biggest writing project of my life: SQuared.

SQuared took me three years to write (freshman - junior year of high school) and I literally finished editing it a few weeks ago. The proof copy is now sitting on the shelf in my dorm at Hopkins, the novel officially available online at amazon.com
It was an exciting project, something that was massive in complexity, thoroughly researched, and painstakingly edited. I invested such immense amounts of time into that thing.

And then I come across this website (when I should be writing my half of a 30 page paper for JHUMUNC): online-utility.org. It's a site that takes the numbers and measures the readability of your work. So I copy and paste the SQuared manuscript, all 150 pages of it, into the little box.
Here's what it spat back at me:
Number of characters (without spaces) : 375,231.00
Number of words : 83,695.00
Number of sentences : 8,758.00
Average number of characters per word : 4.48
Average number of syllables per word : 1.43
Average number of words per sentence: 9.56

Indication of the number of years of formal education that a person requires in order to easily understand the text on the first reading
Gunning Fog index : 6.25

Approximate representation of the U.S. grade level needed to comprehend the text :
Coleman Liau index : 7.47
Flesch Kincaid Grade level : 5.00
ARI (Automated Readability Index) : 4.46
SMOG : 7.94
Flesch Reading Ease : 76.27

List of sentences which we suggest you should consider to rewrite to improve readability of the text : (a list of basically half the dialogue in the book).

I'm not sure if there's a problem with the fact that I write at a 5th - 7th grade level. But hey, I'm doing ok on my English papers, and I still got a solid A on my history paper, so for the time being I'm going to go out on a limb here and make the claim that I can write. If nothing else, I wrote 84,000 words in one word document.

Directions to where I live

This is inspired by Stephanie Kallos, author of Broken for You, because I'm bored and can't sleep. This can also be found on my site.

-- >> Begin in the heart of the City That Never Sleeps, New York, concrete jungle where dreams are made of, on the day that Troy was sacked and burned to the ground.

Learn to stand too early, learn to walk too early, learn to scream far too early. Fall over backwards onto the kitchen floor. Go overseas to the far Orient and get water poisoning, be spoiled, watch Disney in a foreign language, eat delish, legit Chinese food. >>

>> Return to the States, realize you're in New Jersey, and there's a thing called a sister. Get in trouble in kindergarten for talking in class, when you don't even speak English. Kick a boy while wearing heavy winter boots, learn to speak English, fool around with poetry.

Grab the hand of the really pretty blond girl in your first grade class, become best friends.

Play piano, play Czerny finger exercises, type piano, scream and cry over that piano. Quit piano, because clearly there's no way that's working out. >> 

>> Lose your first kiss on a dark dance floor. Write a novel when nearly ten years ago you didn't even speak the  language that you're writing in. Publish the week before your sixteenth. Fall in (puppy) love. Cry over puppy love. Write angry poetry and another book. Survive junior year of high school with five AP classes and a season of studying on the driveway. Lose your most dramatic high school kiss on another dark dance floor. Do Model UN seriously, then wear Chinese dresses to Model UN and make speeches about a stuffed panda toy.

Go back to the Orient, dine with the executives of a global financial superpower.

Write college applications through the night, cry over college applications, cry and worry about everything that crosses your mind. Check your email. Get into Johns Hopkins.

Flirt in Spain. Fall in complete adoration for eighty elementary school students. Carry four year olds on your lap for two months. >>

 >> Study hard. Work hard. Party harder. Hate numbers, love lots else. Play in a hurricane. Fall for someone already, forget him in two days. Get your first B on an English paper, own your first college history paper with a solid A. Slip on marble, sleep at 3am. Study, read, drink, dance, bring it home. Burn your stomach, ravage your neck with pressure-popped blood vessels. Publish some more books. >>

>> Procrastinate macroeconomics reading. Write this. >>

You. Are. Here.

Now: Give me directions to you. -- >>

My Inner Asian

College changes people. There's no denying it.

I'm drinking tea like a maniac. All I do in my spare time is make tea. Whenever one of my friends is on the verge of sneezing, I drag them back to my dorm and make them a pot of Jasmine tea.

In high school, with the exception of my killer grades (kidding), the glasses that framed my smallish eyes, and my last name, there wasn't much that could identify me as "Asian." I did not listen or dance obsessively to KPop, religiously follow KDramas, or own anything with Hello Kitty on it. I could not speak with an Asian mother accent without even thinking about it. I didn't know how to cook tapioca for Bubble Tea (I only knew how to drink bubble tea). I was not particularly adept at math or science. My hair spirals in impossible curls rather than fall past my shoulders in glossy, black, Asian straightness.

But here at Johns Hopkins, 3 weeks into college, I am beginning to feel it. I am at a school where, although the student population is 21% Asian, I am surrounded by people from so many different places that I literally have not have the time to realize my own background.
Which was perfectly fine with me (given the Asian immersion that my high school was)... up until about a week and a half ago. That's when the cravings started:
My friend, who's not even Asian, I might add, starts whistling Gee (from SNSD) while we're going to Late Night at the FFC. He's not the only one to get that song quickly stuck into my head.
I plan a sushi/bubble tea party on my floor, and end up going 30min. all the way to the HMart to buy supplies. I returned with a 20lb. bag of rice, 4 bamboo mats for rolling sushi, and Kikkoman soy sauce.

My pilgrimage to HMart, MD. It's nowhere as big or impressive as the one in NJ.

And now, one of my goals for the next few weeks is to learn the Gee dance. I envy my white friend's Hello Kitty shirt. I will try to learn the Asian accent from one of the many, many awesome TAs on campus (preferably the one who looked at me as if wondering how I got into Hopkins when I went to him with a really stupid Calc question). I can actually do math now without too much difficulty :). I learned to make bubble tea (despite the nasty burn splashed across my stomach as a result) and sushi, all in one day. There is, sadly, nothing I can do about my stubbornly un-Asian hair.

The years of endless urging of my friends didn't do it. The peer pressure of a million KPop/KDrama fanatics through 4 years of high school didn't do it. The summer abroad in China, or working at an Asian learning center, or the fact that my genes are 100% Chinese couldn't do it.
But after barely a month of being a freshman at Johns Hopkins, I have connected with my Inner Asian.

Bubble Tea & Sushi Adventures!
            

A Sheet of Marble

It's pouring rain outside. The marble that trims this entire school is glistening with wet. The white lines that crisscross through the campus, the smooth white stairs that students have to cross in order to get to half their classes, the giant spreads of white stone that lay as the entrance to most of the buildings = one really dangerous morning trek to anywhere.

Therefore I'm hiding in my room in Wolman listening to that Chopin piece I can't play and eating a sandwich.

I have to reread 2.5 Macroeconomics chapters because overslept and missed this morning's lecture. I have to get the history notes from the other JFong in this school who happens to have history with me, because I overslept and missed this morning's lecture. I have to go over to my friend's room and get the Calc notes from him because... I overslept and missed this morning's lecture.
I never realized how important the alarm on my phone was until it didn't ring and caused me to sleep into the two digits this morning.
At least I got 8+ hours of sleep. 3:00am - 11:30am.

Yes, 3:00am is pretty average at this point. In between going out ;), eating pancakes at 11pm, 140+ pages of reading in one night, sleep doesn't seem to have a place in my life anymore. Disappointing.
Welcome to college.

On the other hand, I've met people from literally all over the world -- Africa, Sweden (my roomie!), Belgium, Mexico, throughout the US. I found out that I'm really not that bad at Volleyball, and rediscovered my loathing of Calculus (and the fact that I can't process math). I went mudsliding in the midst of a Hurricane Irene (aka just really heavy rain) and eat a ridiculous amount of food everyday. I play more piano now than I have in 7 years, and more consistently than I have in 7-8 years.

So despite the treacheries of the fine white marble that literally called out to me the first time I drove by this campus back in April 2010, Life is pretty darn good.

On A Final Note

Dear students,

One summer, 10 weeks (in reality it's been 9 weeks), and a thousand laughs, tears, screams, and memories to last for who knows how long.

A lot of you probably first saw me this summer when I clunked up the stairs in three inch heels, wearing a floor length blue BCBG dress (my graduation gown).
I was Jess Fong: 4th grade & kindergarten English/Math teacher. I was the one with the obscenely loud voice that always carried from one corner of the big room to the other. I was the one who always had a child hanging off my hip. I was the one who told everyone to clean their mess or lose ice pop privilege.

Yet despite the many, many times I've nearly lost my voice yelling at the top of my lungs, I can't help but still love you all. I have taught every single one of you, either through merging classes or substituting for your teachers. You are all my students, and for Jess Fong, that indicates a certain species of bonding that holds deep and doesn't easily go away.

I can't put into words how hysterically proud I am of all of you to carry through the massive lessons and projects that I planned. Debates, ethics, poetry, the government, economy, Constitution... these are all fairly difficult topics to grasp. As for the performance Friday night, I just have two words. STANDING OVATION. Nothing could have topped that performance.

But its 11:35pm, and I have to sleep soon so I can drag myself up at 6am to go down to Hopkins, so I'll jump to the things that I really need to say.
This summer has, hands down, been one of the most amazing and memorable summers of my life. They say that teaching keeps you young, and I believe it really does. Even though many of you are mature beyond your years, you still retain that youthful playfulness and innocence that makes me so happy, even when I'm trying to break up fights or lecture you with a straight face.
Don't try to grow up too early, guys. Stay young, and enjoy your years of pre-high school-ness. Every year is going to have its difficulties, but always look for the silver linings that make up the confetti of life's parties. For those of you who read Sylvia Plath, don't listen to her poems. Life is beautiful, and for the majority of the time it's going to stay that way. Enjoy everything that is given to you, and make the most out of everything.
My suggestion, and the way I have gotten through everything thus far, is to take life head on. Take everything -- good or bad -- head on and barrel into it with the force of Daniel. If not, imagine what you would miss by trying to skirt around everything all the time.
One last note: Work hard, play hard. Give yourselves time to relax and absorb. Just sit and listen to music, name the unicorns that you see in the clouds, read for the sake of just reading. Do your work early, set time aside wisely, and then play until you collapse.

Take these lessons and go conquer your schools, take the future.

I'll be back definitely during Thanksgiving.

Enjoy.

xo
Jess Fong

Pottermore: How I Found the Magical Quill

The story of how I went from Muggle to Witch at Hogwarts! :)

9:00am :: I arrive at my teaching job at a summer camp. All is normal. I enter the classroom to find several students and Mr. Zonis (another teacher) crowded around a laptop, rapidly refreshing.
Me: What's going on?
Alena: We're waiting for the Pottermore clue to come up.
Me: What Pottermore clue? Disclaimer: I did know what Pottermore was, and that something about an early registration was happening July 31st, incidentally Harry Potter's birthday, but I had no idea about this clue business.
Mr. Zonis: Jess, slap yourself and apologize. How do you not know about this!?


So they explain: For seven days, 07/31 - 08/06, Pottermore would release one clue during a specfic time. We had to wait for that clue, solve it, and follow links through the Internet to find a Magical Quill. The Magical Quill allows us to register early for Pottermore and be officially accepted into the magical world we were immersed in for 14 years. Otherwise we wait until October. But space is limited; we must be fast.

9:30am :: Mr. Zonis and I combine our two classes so they can watch Legally Blonde. It's their reward for doing a spectacular job on their first mock trial (all the students had just finished 3rd-5th grade. We even had one second grader testify).
The "movie laptop" is connected to the TV. Another has the Pottermore website and Twitter page up, with Mr. Zonis and Alena alternately refreshing for the clue, scheduled to come between 9am-1pm EST.

c. 10:00am :: Alena screams "OHMYGOD MR. ZONIS ITS UP!"
Spastic screaming begins. The movie is quickly replaced by the www.Pottermore.com screen; the class lunges towards the laptops to see the clue; I grab my iTouch and launch Safari.

"What is the number of students who participated in the Triwizard Tournament? Multiply this number by 28."

Mr. Zonis and Alena: WHAT'S 4 x 28?

Normally, we can all do math like this in our head. This is not a normal day.

Me: 72! NO THAT DOESNT MAKE SENSE. Grabs pen & paper...

Mr. Zonis: HURRY UP!!!

Me: 112!

URL :: quill.pottermore.com/112

We are redirected to a Sony site, in which we have to find the magical quill.

"What's it supposed to look like?"

"Is it hidden?"

"Where is it?"

"What are we supposed to do?"

"I DON'T SEE THE QUILL!"

"Where is it?"

"JUST KEEP REFRESHING THE PAGE!"

"WHERE IS IT?!?!?"

3 laptops, two iTouches, and around twenty people that had gone completely nuts.

c. 10:30am :: I hit refresh. On top of the SONY site appears a deep red-violet rectangle with a mass of floating feathers. One of them is glowing. The Magical Quill. In a panic I try to click it, but my hands are shaking so badly it takes me three tries. Finally, my mouse makes contact. The box glows, and all the feathers fade.

Congratulations! You have found the magical quill!

Me: flying victory punch! I GOT IT!!! WHOOOO I GOT THE QUILL!

 

Commence registration

Around me, more screams erupt, as students and Mr. Zonis are finally able to access the registration site. We are seriously due for some celebratory butterbeer.

And I am no longer a Muggle.

Long live Harry Potter.

My First Seminar

Life is full of firsts. First steps, first word, first day of school, first graduation...
There's even a first time for my mother to use the word "pro" (that was two seconds ago) ... ...

At the end of 12 years of schooling, and after many prolonged conversations with some of my students' parents, I decided that the time has come for yet another first: my first seminar.

As a first generation student in America, and the first child to survive the entire schooling process from Kindergarten Day 1 through High School Graduation, I have a lot of stories and experiences to share. As a teacher, I have gathered even more stories and observations on the minds and emotions of children/students.
What I noticed, particularly, was the confusion that my mom and I felt with parts of the entire process. We had to figure out a lot of things for ourselves, often times at the last minute. Many times, things can turn out ok. But with something as big as our future on the line, it's scary to think about all the "what ifs" that can result if we didn't make that deadline, or didn't find out about a certain event.

After my JHU acceptance came, I realized that I didn't want other parents and students to be plagued with the same confusion and worrying I experienced. I wanted to make the process as smooth as possible, clear up questions, and provide insight into the child and student's point of view on the whole matter of education and parenting. The things that worked for me, the things that were a pain, the things that were a complete waste of time -- I told all.

I do have to say that the seminar was quite a success (despite the one father who came, took pictures of all my slides, and left without saying even a "thank you" or "goodbye"). The parents seemed to like it, and I liked the fact that they were so interested and open in listening to a college student's words and input. In part, I would like to thank them for being a great first audience.

Will there be more? Of course. In life, as long as there is a first, there will be more to follow. Life is all about breaking ground, and tonight, I added yet another first to my life.

Mischief Managed!

Cried my eyes out (or I would have if I knew how to cry with contacts)
Laughed without any dignity left
Screamed like a crazy fangirl; I even brought a cloak to the theatre

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2; the midnight showing.
People preordered tickets weeks ahead of time (myself included). Viewers began filling into the theatre as early as 9pm. The lines for popcorn went on and on. Mad-eye Moody showed up again (but I didn't park next to him this time). No one dared recycle the plastic 3D Harry Potter glasses.
I've never seen so many crazy fans, never seen a more crowded theatre, never been in heavier traffic. Never have I been so touched by fictional characters. Never has a book saga taken the world by such an intense and epic storm.

I do feel bad for Draco Malfoy. I love Mrs. Weasley. I love the whole Weasley family, and I am still thoroughly traumatized about Fred. Mcgonagall is my new role model.

It was the movie event of our lifetimes and possibly the most amazing experience I have ever had the pleasure to enjoy.

From third grade to now, 9 years of reading, watching, waiting...
It was well worth it.

Going into the theatre, I felt a sense of total confusion at what I should do with my life after the day was over. Harry Potter marked my entire childhood. From sneaked past bedtime readings to Wizard Week in my 4th grade, dueling in my cousin's house to my plans to join the school Quidditch team, the magic has never left me. For millions of us, we assumed this would mark the end of not just our childhood, but an entire era.
But at the end, I did not lament my lost childhood. It's still here, all around us, living in the costumed movie watchers, the pricey wands from Florida, hidden secrets and dreams we hold in all of us.

In 200 years, Harry Potter will be a classic, living forever on as all the great books do.

The magic doesn't end. It never ends. Harry Potter: The true mark of our generation, our time.

Hearing problems

Alena heard "when I throw up I want to be artist"
Sally heard "when I grow up I want to be Irish"

The actual line: when I grow up I want to be artist
~4 year old student <3

"My Thinking is Ugly"

Student: my thinking is ugly
Miss Jess: your thinking cannot be ugly. That's like saying your brain is ugly. I guarantee you your brain is not ugly.
Student: But I don't know what to write!

True that. 45 minutes had passed and he had written 3 lines. My requirement for the 4th grade writing assignment was 1 page, to the very last line, no exceptions.

This is a problem plaguing the youth of America. Students either don't know how to put their ideas and thoughts into coherent words on paper, or just don't know how to write.
I have had students come to me with minds as blank as copy paper, as empty as our nation's treasury. It takes me several weeks to tap into the childish creativities and imaginations that have been buried away by too many hours and years of endless worksheets, practice workbooks, math drills, and memorized facts and concepts.

It's a very scary reality. Some of these students can do multiplication as quickly as I can, but when it comes to applying the learned facts to word problems, they draw blanks.
They have all memorized the definitions for adjectives, adverbs, and other various parts of speech. But their minds can't come up with any really interesting examples, or move on to the even more important task of using it in their writing. All memorization, no application.
They're like computers. They have difficulty thinking on their own. (sometimes, I think even cleverbot is more creative than some of the kids that have come across my classroom).

All laments aside though, this is not the end of the world. They're young, many of them have barely reached a decade's worth of life. Their minds are like sponges -- they can absorb anything and everything. We just have to provide them with the right things to absorb. They shouldn't be doused in the commonly repetitive and factory refined bottled water. They need creative juices, tropical punch, spring water, experimental mixes, the occasional dose of something stronger. Then we will have the next generation of fearless, creative thinkers. Then, anything and everything will be possible, in all its entirety.

We'll play real Wizard Quidditch on low gravitation fields, as pigs fly over the moon.

Sing for Hope - Pianos in Times Square

June 18th - July 2nd, 2011.

The organization Sing for Hope placed 88 decorated pianos around the city of New York, throughout all five boroughs. This project, known as Pop Up Pianos, was created to provide people of all ages, situations, conditions, languages, etc. an opportunity to have access to the arts. Each piano was painted/decorated by a Volunteer artist. Among these included Isaac Mizrahi (who made a pink piano), Diane von Furstenberg, Kate Spade, and Walker Fee (the only tape-art piano out of all 88).

Me, being the halfway self-proclaimed pianist, decided that I just had to take this chance to go to New York and play these pianos.
So on the very last day of this event, I, with my mom and sister, ventured out to New York City to play pianos in Times Square.
After very filling lunch at Max Brenner consisting of half a chocolate pizza, a small fudge filled chocolate cake thing, a straight up shot of chocolate, and waffle fries, we walked off the calories by going 30 blocks uptown.
Upon reaching the edge of Times Square, I found my first piano -- the "Drips" Upright Piano.
The keys were kind of loose and a little sticky, but it was a pleasure to play.

The next piano was even better. First of all, it was gorgeous. There was no paint on it -- the peacock and peony designs were all taped on. Secondly, it was right in front of the Marriott Hotel. The first piano was more to the side, the experimental one that people, including me, tried out as they passed by. This piano, "Peacocks and Peonies," was the pro piano.
At first, I was afraid to play. I hadn't taken lessons in seven years, hadn't touched a piano in weeks. I didn't want to shame myself in front of everyone who could play beautifully.

But when the awkward silence came as people looked at each other, silently egging on the other to play, I sat down at the bench and played my Beethoven, some contemporary music, movie soundtracks...
Two amazing things did happen though.

1. There was this one guy who played like I had never seen before. He played so quickly, fingers gliding up and down all over the 88 black and white keys, yet it looked so effortless. I was so entranced that I had to go talk to him. I needed advice. I hadn't been able to get my fingers to speed for years. His response? "You need to practice your technique. You need to try harder. I believe you can do it."
   The next day, I went home, pulled out the finger exercise and technique books I hadn't touched in 10 years, and played. God I'm out of practice.
2. I met the artist who designed the piano (Walker Fee). He plays really well, and is really, really nice.

Everything from Chopsticks to Chopin (I can't actually play Chopin) was swelling over the streets of New York City from Manhattan to Staten Island. It was the most beautiful thing that any person could ever be a part of.

I Am High School Graduate

13 years. That's all I can think of right now. Thirteen years.
Holy goodness.

I remember starting school in 1998, barely speaking a word of English (and somehow got in trouble for talking in class during kindergarten). I was thrown into the ESL class in kindergarten and first grade; I was publishing in English by tenth grade.
I remember fighting over markers in that communal supply box we all hated. I remember spending every wayking moment on the playground and the kickball field, making up games that spread like wildfire throughout the entire grade. I remember Wizard Week in fourth grade, at Robert Frost Elementary. It was the highlight of my elementary years (besides all the Chinese New Year performances). I remember recess.
I remember being dwarfed in Hammarskjold Middle School, feeling utterly lost as I tried to find my classes. I grew biceps during those two years of carrying books through the halls. With HMS came a feeling of supreme maturity, and for many of us there was. Those of us who were in the Verbal program underwent two hardcore years of Holocaust learning, read Shakespeare, To Killl a Mockingbird, George Orwell. We watched our teachers dance on the tables.
I remember writing my first novel, the exhilaration as the pages sped towards the finish and came to a close with the sexiest words known to man: The End.

Every year, while we are still living it, seems to drag on. We waited during Freshman year to leave Churchill Junior High so we could feel like "real" high schoolers. We waited to be finished with Sophomore year so we wouldn't be at the bottom at the High School. We painfully, and sleeplessly, waited for Junior year to be over so we could remarry our pillows and beds, refamiliarize ourselves with this alien concept known as sleep, get ready to enter the ultimate year of our schooling.
Then came Senior year. I literally felt pained in September as I thought of the long months of applications and  essay writing (which, for me, was thankfully cut short), the cramming of work into first semester before senioritis hit, the wait for decisions, the overall wait for graduation. Senior year was the ultimate waiting game. There were weeks that felt like months by the way they dragged.
But we survived.
We all got into college. The AP IPLE team won regionals, states, third place at nationals. We lived through the final round of AP Exams. We walked through god-knows-how-many rounds of Pomp and Circumstance. I managed to not trip on three inch heels going up the stairs to receive the diploma. We graduated.
We hung just a little closer to our friends of over a decade, forged new ones with those we would know for the next four years. We reminisce, because that's what humans do when the end comes. We hug and cry and say goodbye. But in the end, we know that the show must go on. Thirteen whole years have come and gone, but the human mind is an amazing thing in its ability to absorb, rememeber, and recall. We will never forget those years, no matter how much we complained...

We are Class of 2011, the 50th Graduating Class of EBHS. The time is now ours.

Synesthesia -- Writing Experiment 1

Tired of doing novels, so I decided to occupy my time with a bunch of writing experiments. The below is weird, mostly me playing with words so I don't fall asleep in class, toying with sound, associations between words & colors, imagery, etc. Enjoy.

The possibilities of synesthesia in relation to language and words: the word and the letter as sensations, colors evoked by letters, sensations caused by the sound of a word as apart from its meaning, etc, and the effect of this phenomenon on you.

“Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah      Roma-roma-mah         Gaga-ooh-la-la"

Safety. Sanity. Sanctity

of arms

                        a whisper

 surround me in memories

so meaningful and meaningless

                                                                 feel the words

the sounds

the sensations

bluebells. bluebees. blueboo. trueblue. Blew. Be clouds. Breathe.

White. Eggshell.

Reinvent the rainbow.

Applenectarinelemonlimeblueberrygrapepeach

Cherrykumquatbananakiwiblueberrygrapepeach

Applenectarinelemonlime --- --- ---

What of watermelons?

Mango

Mangos and peaches

Tropical

Sweet Mexico LOVE

LOVEFUNBRILLIANCYLUSHCALMREGALSWEET

angeralightaweambushaloofawayalot

angerambushawealightaloofawayalot

apush. APUSH. ANGUISH. SIGH.

Write on water

Drift through dust

Breathe in bubbles

Try for trust

Surreal

Curly swirly whirly – surely you see

Soliloquy

Silhouette

Dance across the stage

No one is watching

Pluck

them bit by

bit out by the corner

like cluckling chicks plip them onto the

wood plip plop plunk make chinks in the wood

plop drop drop and away

Gray lavender. Lavender gray.

            Willow

            Willow

            Willow

            Whistle with the wind

            Whistling whirl wash

            The withered wisteria

White. Withering white

            Wild willow. Whistle on

The winds willow. Whisper

            Wash. Whispering your wishes

Wild willow whoosh shhhh

            Whisper willow

Willow

Willow

Melted crayons.

Down the road

See the lights

500 miles

Orange tinkle

Twisted sense

Ice cream with ice chunks

Frozen strawberries

Icy sharp sweet                                                           icy sharp sweetness

Firefly                                                  winter blue rosy pink

Firelight                                               slushies – fruit flavored

Flicker away                                       with a dash of tequila

Orange glow                                       shhhh

Dazzle the darkness                            secrets. Sssecrets.

Times square on New Year’s Eve        hushababy secrets –

                                                            hush     shhhh