As Katie Dale looked out the window at the icy tundra, she wondered about many things. She wondered what the surprise was her grandma talked about so often. She wondered if she would make new friends. She wondered what her house was going to look like. She wondered if it was possible to learn a new language in approximately three days. She wondered if all these thoughts were usual when going to a new country Katie sat in the taxi frozen with fear. She was all alone ready to start a new life in Iceland. Katie had been under so much pressure since both her parents died. She had been around almost all of America looking for a new family Katie didn’t understand it. Why couldn’t she stay with her grandmother, why? Katie knew perfectly why, it was because everyone thought her grandmother was a crazy old lady who ought to be locked up forever. Katie strongly disagreed with this, but how could she change what was in the past? She was just thankful she was going to have some parents around to support her. “Here you are, miss, at the Akureyri Airport,” said the taxi driver. Startled by this remark, Katie paid the taxi driver a little of her money that was left to her by her parents. This must be the store Grandma mentioned in her letter Katie thought When Katie stepped out of the car a sudden wind blew her leather bag off her arm and onto the ground. Her belongings spilled everywhere. She quickly gathered them before the wind blew them away She was putting away what she thought was her last item, until she saw a white envelope marked Katie. She had never seen this before, but she recognized the handwriting as her grandmother’s. She read the letter aloud in a sort of mumble. My dear Katie, I don’t know if you will miss me on your long excursion, but I’ll miss you terribly. I am so very proud of you leaving your home, and going far away with no support. But that is not true my dear. I always feel as if you are right next to me, and no matter what, you will always have me for support. I once lived in Iceland for nine years. During those years I made many friends. There is one friend I know that you must meet. Her name is Marrisa. She lives in an old antique shop fairly close to the Akureyri Airport. Enclosed is a ticket. In order to meet her you must take this ticket to the person behind the counter at the shop, and ask for Marrisa. If he is kind enough he’ll let you take her home with you forever. With love, Grandma P.S. I’m sure your folks won’t mind Marrisa living with you. Katie was so happy to know her grandma had friends right here in Iceland. She immediately started looking for the antique shop. Katie wandered not far into an odd little shopping town. She looked and looked in every store window. Finally she saw an old building full of many odd things of different shapes and sizes. This must be the store Grandma mentioned in her letter, Katie thought. As she entered the shop a sudden burst of warm air hit her in the face. There were racks with candlesticks, paintings, mirrors and dolls. Straight ahead was a counter with an old man behind it. Katie walked up to him and handed him a small golden ticket. The man looked puzzled, until Katie said, “Marrisa.” The confused look on the man’s face faded. He also spoke English, and he said, “She’s downstairs between the lamps and jewelry.” Now Katie was puzzled. The man, then, took her by the hand and led her to a small dark room below the store. He led to a part that had shelves full of old broken things that Katie couldn’t tell what they were, except one thing. It was the most beautiful doll she had ever seen. She had a very detailed face, and she wore a blue dress with 1684 embroidered at the bottom. Katie stared at her for a long time. The man must’ve noticed, because he took the doll off the shelf and handed her to Katie while saying, “This is Marrisa. There isn’t much I can do with her, but you can have her for free if you’d like. I got her from an old friend of mine. I knew her for nine years.” Katie didn’t know what to say. She just nodded her head and turned to walk back up the stairs. She was near the top of the staircase when she looked back at the old wrinkled face and said, “Thank you,” in a soft gentle voice. Katie walked back to the airport feeling just a little different than before. She easily found her parents, because they held up a sign that said Katie. That night Katie found some paper, and wrote: Dear Grandma, I met Marrisa today. You were right, the man let me keep her. Since I got her I’ve told her everything. She’s like my new best friend that I can always trust. My parents are great, they even speak English. They live in a cozy cabin near a huge forest. I love you a lot, Katie As Katie curled up in her bed she thought to herself, I have two great parents, one best friend, and a grandma who loves me. How could life get any better? Emily Livaudais,11Fenton, Missouri Karina Jivkova, 13Sofia, Bulgaria
March/April 2007
Project Mulberry
Project Mulberry, by Linda Sue Park; Clarion Books: New York, 2oog; $16 “That’s great but what about here?” That’s the question I used to ask myself whenever my mom bragged about how well developed and strong and powerful Korea was. My parents were born and raised in Korea; I have lived in L.A. all my life. Often I wished that my parents would brag about America instead because that would be more useful to me. This past October, my mom borrowed books from the library, just as she does every two weeks or so. I left Project Mulberry at the bottom of the pile because it didn’t sound interesting and the cover looked dull. I didn’t even know what Mulberry meant. Finally, after I had read through the other books, I picked up Project Mulberry and started to read it. I read five pages the first day and the rest of the book the second day I was so fascinated by the story that even my mom and dad’s favorite Korean soap opera, blaring on the TV with its characters always crying and shouting and fighting, didn’t distract me. The main character of Project Mulberry, Julia Song, was in almost the exact same cultural situation as I was. I really wanted to figure out how she solved the problem of juggling two cultures. Julia Song, a seventh-grader who has just recently moved to Plainfield, Illinois, needs to find a project for the state fair. Julia’s Korean-born mom, whose own mom worked with silkworms, suggests a silkworm project. Patrick, Julia’s best friend, loves the idea but Julia thinks it is too Korean. She instead wants a more American project. Julia eventually gives in and throughout the book she gradually changes her attitude about the project, caring for it more and more. At the climax of the novel, Julia realizes she loves the silkworms and finds herself protecting them from being killed; the final step of the process requires the silkworms to be killed. Later, Patrick and Julia compromise and she allows Patrick and Julia’s mom to kill some of the silkworms for the project. Julia learns much more from this adventure than how to raise silkworms and make silk. When Julia decides to do the silkworm project, she accepts her heritage and stops fighting it. By the end of the story, Julia starts to ask questions about her family’s past and appreciates her background. I realized it was useless to deny my background because I can’t change it. When Julia finds herself unexpectedly enjoying the project, I thought, I can do that too. Now I understand that being Korean adds to instead of detracts from my American identity. Finally, I am proud of my parents’ bragging about Korea. Finally I have stopped asking myself rhetorical questions and have really started listening to learn about the land of my ancestors. For anyone who is struggling as I was to bridge more than one culture, Project Mulberry provides unique insights and an enjoyable read. Richard Chung, 13Los Angeles, California
In My Eyes
Rachel gently set down the next pile of firewood by her mistress’s fireplace. She stood up straight and yawned. It was already 5:3o. She went into the kitchen and fetched the teapot. She crushed up some tea leaves and threw them into the pot of boiling water. The water slowly turned brown, like waiting for the sun to rise. She looked at her dark brown skin. If only she were white. She would have her own personal slave, a big white house, get to eat real food, and get to taste tea! As the water finally turned dark brown she poured it into the teapot. She set out the teacups, the teapot, the butter and bread, the sugar, and the cream all on one tray and brought it out as her mistress, Mistress Sarah, her daughter, Madeline, and her master, Sir John, sat down. They each took a teacup and put sugar and cream at the bottom. As each of them nibbled on their bread, Rachel poured them tea. Rachel looked into the deep brown of the tea in Madeline’s cup. The sugar dissolved quickly while the cream turned it a pale tan. Rachel smelled the delicious taste that was longing to be brought to her lips. Her hands went out to take the cup but snapped back in when Mistress Sarah yelled, “Stop at once! You fool! Tea is only for civilized human beings! Not a negro like you!” Rachel set the pot of tea by Sir John and ran out into the fields where her mother was picking cotton with a few other Africans. She spotted her mother and hugged her. Rachel smelled the delicious taste that was longing to be brought to her lips “What’s happened, child?” asked her mother, stroking her braids. “Have you ever had tea?” Rachel asked. “Once,” said her mother, “when I was a child and working for Sarah, I snuck some tea from the kitchen. It was British tea. I didn’t have any sugar or cream with me, so I snuck some sugar out of the blue cupboard your grandmother kept her spices in.” “Mother, how could you!” exclaimed Rachel. “We’re only supposed to use those spices, especially the sugar, for special occasions only!” “Yes,” her mother continued, “but I convinced myself this was a special occasion. It was the best drink I ever had! Very hot, but so sweet and refreshing. I drank every last drop of it. That’s when Sir John caught me.” “Did he beat you awfully?” Rachel asked anxiously. “Let’s not get into details,” said her mother. “Oh, Mother!” said Rachel, wrapping her arms even tighter around her mom. “Rachel!” cried Sir John. “Go, child,” said her mother. “I’ll be right here.” Rachel ran toward the front door. “A slave owner is here to have a look at you,” said Sir John, pushing her into the house. Rachel’s heart skipped a beat. She held back her tears. The slave owner was sure to take her away from her mother and papa and little Noel, who was only eight months old. She would be thrown on a ship and would be taken somewhere else in the world. The slave owner examined her carefully. The slave owner whispered something in Sir John’s ear. “Girl,” said the slave owner, “get me some water.” Rachel hurried outside and filled a bucket with water. She went into the kitchen and filled a pitcher with the water from the bucket. She carried the pitcher and a glass into the dining room and poured the man some water. “You’ve got this girl well trained, sir,” the slave owner said to Sir John. “Well then, that settles it,” Sir John said, shaking hands with the man. The slave owner took hold of Rachel’s dress and started to drag her. “No! No!” Rachel screamed. They can’t do this, Rachel thought, they can’t take me away from Mama! She was dragged onto a stagecoach. The slave owner put heavy shackles on her feet. “No! Don’t take my baby!” Rachel’s mama called. She was racing through the cotton fields as fast as she could. She dropped on her knees in front of Sir John. “Please,” Mama begged, “don’t let them take her! She’s my baby!” “Mama,” Rachel cried as the slave owner flicked the horses with a whip. Her mother got off her knees and raced after the moving stagecoach. Rachel held her hand out for her mother to take it. Her mother grabbed hold of it and pulled Rachel off the stagecoach. Rachel landed on the dirt road. Her mother whispered in her ear, “Follow me.” Her mother started running into the woods. Rachel’s heavy shackles slowed her down. Mama picked her up and ran as fast as she could. They heard dog barks behind them. Her mother raced inside a cave. She cupped a hand over Rachel’s mouth while several dogs went flying past the cave. One dog stopped. He sniffed around and looked into the cave. Mama carried Rachel deeper into the cave. They found a little hole for Rachel to climb in. But they put Rachel in the hole too soon, for the dog heard her shackles clang against the hard rock floor of the cave. Mama found a big rock to throw at the dog. The dog saw her and started barking madly Mama threw the big rock on top of the dog. She picked up Rachel and started to run. As night fell Mama set Rachel on the ground. “Oh, Mama!” cried Rachel, throwing her arms over her. “Thank you for saving me! I was so scared, I don’t know why I didn’t free myself from him.” “It’s OK,” said Mama, letting go of Rachel, “you were in shock.” Rachel smiled. She stood up. Forgetting about the shackles around her ankles, she tried reaching an apple high up on a tree above her. She tripped on her shackles and fell face first. Her shackles made a loud noise. Then the dog barks
