Watch first:
Watch second:
Monday, 16 November 2009
Sunday, 15 November 2009
Life Dreams
1) Own an enlarger (for negatives, do not misinterpret).
2) Own a bar
3) Become a famous actor who is actually good at what he does, and does photography on the side
4) ...Become a doctor
p.s. readers you suck for nobody reading or at least commenting my complaints about the school.
2) Own a bar
3) Become a famous actor who is actually good at what he does, and does photography on the side
4) ...Become a doctor
p.s. readers you suck for nobody reading or at least commenting my complaints about the school.
Wednesday, 11 November 2009
The School Spirit
One wonders how in an American School (the United States being the self-proclaimed land of the free and/or brave) he finds himself under the constant illusion he has an opinion but are never asked for it. It occurs on every level: between students, between students and their representatives, and between students and their teachers.
Let me pose various examples:
First, take into consideration the 12th graders and their graduation trip. A small group is set on Ibiza, and just this week a meeting was held without prior notice (well, there was talk about holding a meeting, but no dates) in which we were told the options, of which Ibiza was described as the only one valid because it was the only one they had prepared, giving us ballpark figures of location and price. Although it sounded great, there was a sense of manipulation around the whole ordeal.
Then there is the student council. I have nothing to say about the candidates themselves, our president is probably the most qualified for her post. However, when were we asked who we wanted to represent us (besides the class representatives, whose role is less significant, I suppose, than that of the president)? I have been told that “after middle school, we do not vote for our president”. Does that then not make him a monarch, or a dictator? And when were we asked if we wanted our year’s theme to be sustainability, or whether we wanted the flick the switch campaign to be implemented? (Some of us do like to learn with a source of light).
Then there is the sudden interest the teachers have in bringing Barack Obama to the school, and how we are obliged to write him a letter. This is a person I have nothing to say to, as I know fairly little of his policies (basically, I would say that I thank him for being the first black president- which really does not say anything about his qualifications as president, or inspire me to want him to come to our school in the first place. The only reason I might want him to come is as a mere curiousity, or to use the anecdote as an icebreaker at parties). The letter incident is interesting, and is completely blown out of proportion. Today, the parent of one of my seedlings came up to me and said: “Remember you have to write a letter to Obama.” I nodded, though I have no intention of doing so. I believe that this school, which considers itself so democratic, should stop telling us we’re compelled to do anything. Anything we do, even in the classroom, is out of free will—because we want to pass, because we want to take the path in life that leads to college, because we agree with its base philosophy.
Another example of this is the peace sign photo we were also forced to participate in. I personally went voluntarily, because it could not hurt and there is no need to be unnecessarily uncooperative. However, a friend of mine who wanted to study and also hadn’t the slightest interest in participating, was forced by a teacher to go down and pose in a picture where one person less would not have made a difference. On this note, I have been informed that one of the kids in said photograph actually posed middle finger in the air. To you, I tip my hat (no names will be said, but you know who you are).
The kid who “flipped Obama the bird” is probably what we should be aiming to have in this school society. He probably didn’t do it for the reasons I’d like, but still it is a small demonstration that we can do what we want. It really makes no difference to us if we are forced to do senseless things or not, but what bothers me is the lack of respect towards the student (oh, and the slight hypocrisy). You can catch more flies with honey than you can with vinegar, I think, and we are the flies that constitute our school. One would think that Obama’s coming would be for our enlightenment and as such we would be allowed to say If we actually cared if he came or not. One would also think that voting for a trip a whole grade participates in once in a lifetime would not be manipulated. One would expect students to have a bigger say in choosing their representatives.
Let me pose various examples:
First, take into consideration the 12th graders and their graduation trip. A small group is set on Ibiza, and just this week a meeting was held without prior notice (well, there was talk about holding a meeting, but no dates) in which we were told the options, of which Ibiza was described as the only one valid because it was the only one they had prepared, giving us ballpark figures of location and price. Although it sounded great, there was a sense of manipulation around the whole ordeal.
Then there is the student council. I have nothing to say about the candidates themselves, our president is probably the most qualified for her post. However, when were we asked who we wanted to represent us (besides the class representatives, whose role is less significant, I suppose, than that of the president)? I have been told that “after middle school, we do not vote for our president”. Does that then not make him a monarch, or a dictator? And when were we asked if we wanted our year’s theme to be sustainability, or whether we wanted the flick the switch campaign to be implemented? (Some of us do like to learn with a source of light).
Then there is the sudden interest the teachers have in bringing Barack Obama to the school, and how we are obliged to write him a letter. This is a person I have nothing to say to, as I know fairly little of his policies (basically, I would say that I thank him for being the first black president- which really does not say anything about his qualifications as president, or inspire me to want him to come to our school in the first place. The only reason I might want him to come is as a mere curiousity, or to use the anecdote as an icebreaker at parties). The letter incident is interesting, and is completely blown out of proportion. Today, the parent of one of my seedlings came up to me and said: “Remember you have to write a letter to Obama.” I nodded, though I have no intention of doing so. I believe that this school, which considers itself so democratic, should stop telling us we’re compelled to do anything. Anything we do, even in the classroom, is out of free will—because we want to pass, because we want to take the path in life that leads to college, because we agree with its base philosophy.
Another example of this is the peace sign photo we were also forced to participate in. I personally went voluntarily, because it could not hurt and there is no need to be unnecessarily uncooperative. However, a friend of mine who wanted to study and also hadn’t the slightest interest in participating, was forced by a teacher to go down and pose in a picture where one person less would not have made a difference. On this note, I have been informed that one of the kids in said photograph actually posed middle finger in the air. To you, I tip my hat (no names will be said, but you know who you are).
The kid who “flipped Obama the bird” is probably what we should be aiming to have in this school society. He probably didn’t do it for the reasons I’d like, but still it is a small demonstration that we can do what we want. It really makes no difference to us if we are forced to do senseless things or not, but what bothers me is the lack of respect towards the student (oh, and the slight hypocrisy). You can catch more flies with honey than you can with vinegar, I think, and we are the flies that constitute our school. One would think that Obama’s coming would be for our enlightenment and as such we would be allowed to say If we actually cared if he came or not. One would also think that voting for a trip a whole grade participates in once in a lifetime would not be manipulated. One would expect students to have a bigger say in choosing their representatives.
Sunday, 8 November 2009
Blossom on the tree, you know how I feel.
Dragonfly out in the sun, you know what I mean, don't you know?
Butterflies all having fun, you know what I mean.
Sleep in peace when day is done, that's what I mean,
And this whole world is a new world,
And a bold world,
For me.
-Nina Simone, Feelin' Good
Saturday, 31 October 2009
Friday, 30 October 2009
Saturday, 24 October 2009
Guardian Angels
Bell rings, he dumps his books atop his locker and runs to fetch his lunchbox. A long day, tiring stretches of class after class after class and only a few faces to talk to and trust. He has to sprint to the doctor now, on the other side of the city. He plugs his headphones in, and walks downhill to the tram. Today's weather is nice, cool but sunny. Yesterday it had been downpouring, and he had eaten candy with his sister in the rain. The colours would melt onto their hands and faces, unintentionally tie-dyeing their clothes.
After a long tram ride, he hops off and takes the bus. Then, after a long bus ride, he walks several streets. The hospital is near his house, and he's been to it several times, but he never manages to find it. He ends up somewhere on Floridablanca and now he knows he's too far. A few metres ahead he sees a woman strolling with a Down's Syndrome teen. He walks behind them, and knows he has to ask somebody where Calle Manso is. He accelerates, and when he stops to talk to them he realises they were speaking in English. So he asks:
"Sorry, do you guys know the way to, uhm, Calle Manso?"
The mother responds, "Oh! Well, we're going that way, we can take you. Are you going to the hospital?" A conversation starts. The guy asks "Mom, is he a friend?" His mom responds that he's just an acquaintance, possibly to spare him the embarassment. The boy asks "But what's his name?" His mom tells him to ask him himself, and he does. "Felipe", he responds. "Felipe... Hi, my name's Scott."
Once we got to the hospital I thanked them, and said bye to Scott. I wanted to ask for their phone number, or give them mine, but I was embarassed. Was it right to do so, or would it make me look like a stalker? I don't know, but I didn't, and I honestly regret it. Things like this make me wonder if, on the most unsuspecting of days, there are people up there who lay everything out for you, but leave you to take care of what they have laid out. Many a time things have worked way too perfectly on the strangest of days, those days where you're about to lose hope and don't really expect anything great to happen but embrace them for their normality. I do regret not giving them a phone number, taking Scott out to the movies one day, becoming friends. I do regret it, and if I could go back I would skip out on social conventions and take the risk. I'm hoping that, on another day like yesterday, the stars will align and another small miracle will occur, somewhere.
After a long tram ride, he hops off and takes the bus. Then, after a long bus ride, he walks several streets. The hospital is near his house, and he's been to it several times, but he never manages to find it. He ends up somewhere on Floridablanca and now he knows he's too far. A few metres ahead he sees a woman strolling with a Down's Syndrome teen. He walks behind them, and knows he has to ask somebody where Calle Manso is. He accelerates, and when he stops to talk to them he realises they were speaking in English. So he asks:
"Sorry, do you guys know the way to, uhm, Calle Manso?"
The mother responds, "Oh! Well, we're going that way, we can take you. Are you going to the hospital?" A conversation starts. The guy asks "Mom, is he a friend?" His mom responds that he's just an acquaintance, possibly to spare him the embarassment. The boy asks "But what's his name?" His mom tells him to ask him himself, and he does. "Felipe", he responds. "Felipe... Hi, my name's Scott."
Once we got to the hospital I thanked them, and said bye to Scott. I wanted to ask for their phone number, or give them mine, but I was embarassed. Was it right to do so, or would it make me look like a stalker? I don't know, but I didn't, and I honestly regret it. Things like this make me wonder if, on the most unsuspecting of days, there are people up there who lay everything out for you, but leave you to take care of what they have laid out. Many a time things have worked way too perfectly on the strangest of days, those days where you're about to lose hope and don't really expect anything great to happen but embrace them for their normality. I do regret not giving them a phone number, taking Scott out to the movies one day, becoming friends. I do regret it, and if I could go back I would skip out on social conventions and take the risk. I'm hoping that, on another day like yesterday, the stars will align and another small miracle will occur, somewhere.
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