Tayari Jones

I wasn't at all excited when I realized that we had to attend a mandatory book reading at Foster Auditorium. I wasn't thrilled for three reasons; first, I hate having to do things when they are mandatory, I like the freedom to make my own decision, secondly, my last experience at Foster Auditorium didn't please me, and thirdly, I had no idea who Tayari Jones was besides from a reading we had for class. At seven o'clock, I dreadfully dragged my feet to the reading expecting the worst.

As the reading started, however, I was quite surprised. Tayari Jones's voice was rich and powerful, which kept me attentive and drew me in. As she read through her novel I got lost into her world; I myself became a character. Tayari Jones spoke with such passion and intensity about her characters and the story itself, that it became clear that this was a reality to her. She was connected to her book; the setting, characters, plot. I was immersed in the story, finding myself complaining when she decided to stop. I never thought of writing to be a fun career choice; nevertheless, after attending this reason I realized that even though writing can be a struggle, it can be rewarding in the end.

During her Q&A session after I learned about the techniques and steps she goes through to write her novels, which I can now try when I write. Dialogue and the story itself is better read out loud and it's okay if I need to cut pieces out, as long as it helps my final product. Tayari Jones really showed me what it's like to be a part of what you've written and I must say that I am now so glad that I went.

She Has The Magic Touch

I stared off in disbelief. How could this be over, I asked myself, this can't be the end. But alas, it was. While my mind was busy turning over and over, running one hundred miles a minute, I tried to remember how I ever let this happen in the first place. Droplets of water fell onto the palm of my hand and I realized that tears were gently sliding down my rosy cheeks. Why did this affect me so much? Why am I losing control? And then it hit me. I won't ever be able to cast a spell again. I will never again be able to experience the thrill I got from dueling wizards or the pride I felt from taking down a mountain troll. I can never again fly away on a dragon, compete in a treacherous, thrilling competition, win the house cup, defeat the basilisk in the chamber, become a fugitive, meet some interesting people, make lifelong friends, and save the world. What am I going to do, how will I survive? I knew I was being over-dramatic, but I didn't care. I was lost in my own world, in an endless sea of emotions. I didn't know what to feel, I didn't know what to say, I didn't know what to do. I was lost.

"Kris, are you okay," my mother asked me, "you look baffled." She came across me lounging on the swing out back, staring off into space. I just looked at her, my heart filled with grief, and simply replied, "It's over." She looked down at me and smiled. "I know sweetie, but it's not the end of the world. Come on up I made your favorite for dinner." And just like that she left. I sat there for a moment and though about what she said. Yeah, I told myself, she is right. The world is not going to end, just this world for me. I quickly wiped the tears that stained my face and stood up. I knew that even though I felt lost now, I'll feel better again soon. Every ending has a new beginning and I was ready to take it on. I said goodbye to my fantasy world, the world I've known and loved forever, and made my way to the kitchen. Before I sat down to devour my meal, I silently thanked J.K Rowling for creating  Harry Potter and the magical world that she allowed me to live in.

March For A Change

"Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound..."


Voices echoed all around: high-pitched, low-pitched, off-key, with the beat. The soft hum of everyone singing sent a chill through the air. It was a dark night, with the temperature inching its way closer and closer to the below freezing mark. Yet, still they marched. The sound of dead leaves crunched under their feet, while the wind whispered gently into their ears. As the girl took a slight glance at her fellow marchers, she saw that not only were there students with her, but matured adults and young children also joined in. The candles they held lit up their faces, presenting a bit of mystery and eeriness to the scene. They were all marching for different reasons, each as diverse as every individual there.

"You can't separate peace from freedom because no one can be at peace unless he has freedom."


These words, along with others, shone brightly on signs and posters. The girl felt a burning sense of pride as she read them. She was marching for a purpose; she was marching for a change; she was marching for MLK. As they followed a path through the campus, others watched them in awe.  While the crowd made stops to recite and immense themselves of the words of Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcolm X, a sense of purpose grew. While everyone was marching for a different reason, they all had the same goal: to start a movement, to be heard, to come together, to spread peace, to be an influence, and to honor Martin Luther King Jr.


http://www.collegian.psu.edu/archive/2012/01/18/MLK_peace_march_.aspx

The Pink Polka Dotted Nightgown

From early childhood to my grandmother's death in eighth grade, my pink polka dotted nightgown has stayed by my side.

It is light pink with white polka dots. Ruffles lay gently across my shoulders, while more dance along the ground. When I was younger it was over-sized, swallowing my small frame in its countless miles of material. Now, however, it can barely fit around my torso. Even though it is more of a summery nightgown, I wear it on the coldest of winter nights. There are a few small holes at the bottom of my gown, as well as one huge one that gives the impression that I either went through battle in it or that something dramatic had to have happened. Whatever the case may be, I love this nightgown anyways. There is a small tear by the collar that grew each time I wore it, indirectly telling me that I wasn't a little girl anymore, and that I was indeed growing up. After it became impossible to wear, I still kept it. I couldn't dare throw it in the trash, not yet anyway. This nightgown has grown up with me and has left an impact on my life that I never thought to be possible by a piece of clothing.

It came to me as a gift from my mother. She loved to dress me up when I was younger; she placed bows in my hair and put me in frilly dresses. As the years went on, though, I become more involved in sports and became "one of the guys". I was about seven when she gave me this gown, and I feel that it was her way of trying to keep that bit of girlishness in me. I loved it the minute I saw it. I was light pink, the color of flushed cheeks, which happened to be my favorite color at the time. I wore it always. Even when I got to old too wear it, I did anyways. I had this special connection with this nightgown; it has been with me through the good times and the bad. 

I grew up having to wear a back brace: twenty hours a day for seven years. I couldn't wear what I wanted. I had to always wear baggy clothes; sweats, jeans two sizes bigger, over-sized shirts, and hoodies. My brace was always restricting me in some shape or form and I don't think most people knew how limited I felt. I never felt pretty in my brace, which leads to some self conscious issues I have today. However, whenever I put on my nightgown all that changed. My gown stretched around my brace but didn't hug my body too tight where the brace became visible. It was hidden perfectly, like a chest of buried treasure. I felt like a princess in that dress, I felt pretty. I would just stare at myself in the mirror and imagine myself as this beautiful girl that everyone admired. My nightgown made me feel better about myself and at the end of the day made me feel like the princess I knew I always was.

I was a frequent visitor at my grandmom's house, and so was my polka dotted nightgown. Most of the times I slept over I was always wearing it. Together we would play board games, watch movies, and have a late night snack; my grandmother, my siblings, and I in my nightgown. The holes that developed at the bottom of the gown were from wrestling with my brother and sister, while the bigger hole was formed from it getting caught in the railing as I ran up the stairs. The holes grew and grew as my foot kept awkwardly stepping through them, ripping the weak material even more. As years went on, I didn't sleep at my grandmother's as much; nevertheless, whenever I looked at my pink polka dotted nightgown my mind instantly flashes to the times I spent there and I relive the moments all over again.

In eighth grade my grandmother unexpectedly passed away. It became one of the hardest times of my life. At night I would hold my nightgown close and remember the good times I spent with her, instead of how difficult it was to lose her. I even tried my nightgown back on and slept in it the day I found out she died, although after an uncomfortable night's sleep I just held onto it instead. Losing my grandmom was much harder than I could have ever imagined, but I believe that having my nightgown and reminding me of the memories we shared helped me through it.

My pink polka dotted nightgown is much more than a piece of clothing. It is a lifesaver, a safe place, a friend. Even though I don't have it anymore, I will always remember the impact it left on my life and how it has helped me grow as a person.