November 2017

Sea Creature

Descending. You go down, and as you go down the light begins to change. You notice scattered fish in the upper level. Then you see the yellow light that brightens the surface dim. As it dims, the creatures become darker, as if to blend in with their watery homes. Like a rain forest, the sea has levels, and as you go down it’s as if you are in an elevator. Every floor is like the changing of a color. You feel as if you are descending into your grandfather’s basement that is full of relics he obtained when he was a kid. Then you’ve reached it, the light switch in the basement. It brightens the room with wonder. You gasp as the large and gel-like silk body balloons past. You have never seen anything like it. Its limbs wave like spaghetti as you twirl it on your fork. Its body has slight color, you suppose, but you can’t be certain due to the lack of light. It looks a bit like velvet and you long to touch the large jellyfish but remembering that jellyfish usually sting, you retreat. Noticing that this one seems to have blubbery limbs, you begin to wonder. Then your question is answered. A fish swims down from above and you watch as the large jellyfish grabs the fish with its limbs instead of stinging it. It shoves the fish into its balloon of a body and relishes the taste. You study it, and as it begins to descend you follow. It descends. You descend. Then panting, the purple brightens and sunlight breaks through the dark. I wake up. The version of me in the dream dies. “I know it’s real!” I say. I rub the sleepy sand from my eyes as I slowly put on my slippers. I stare at the snowflake patterns for a second. Then I announce the declaration in my head that I made two minutes previous. I know it’s real! I shake my head as if to release the memories of my dream so that they fall out my left ear and land in a pool by my bed. But, unsuccessful with the extraction, I simply get up. I stumbled to the kitchen where my dad was making waffles in our Belgian waffle maker. The upturned belly of my cat gave me a smile, and I rubbed her as she purred with her face pressed against the heater. I then stood up and helped my dad with the waffles. As I poured the batter into the iron, I wondered why waffles were only made in one print of checkered squares instead of many different patterns. It seemed dumb to have a singular pattern. I wished I could eat a waffle that had birds flying across it or a large elephant eating a leaf. Then I thought of all the people in the world and their differences and how maybe we had in some era agreed to make waffles the same so that we could all be united by them. Maybe so that we could feel as if we were all sharing something because waffles had a standard, and we had created that together. Nodding to myself, I decided that that was the answer. Then I quickly ate my waffle as I read the front page of the news. My dad tugged the news away from me saying that my young eyes shouldn’t be infected with that rubbish. I sighed and stood up to get ready for school. After I had meticulously packed my school things in the order I would take my classes, I walked to the bus stop. There I met my friend Jez (short for Jezelle). “Judy!” she called. Looking up I smiled, but I noticed a group of kids surrounding her. Wondering how she could have possibly become popular in one night I ran over to her. There was a circle of mist around her from all of the open mouths that were breathing into the crisp air. Everyone was singing along to the song that Jezelle was playing from her iPod. They sang,”Hey Jude, don’t be afraid, take a sad song and make it better.” A smile broke across my chilled face because I realized that they were singing to me! I smiled at them all and as I did I thought way, way, way, back . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Judy was born on crisp November morning. The first few years of her life had been spent doing the usual things like learning words and burping. When she was five, she got a bike and it immediately became her best friend. When she was eight, she took interest in creating small board games, but after a kid named Walter destroyed her best one, she gave up. When she was nine, she became best friends with Jezelle and they have been friends ever since. But the most important thing in her life happened when she was eleven. Ten days after her eleventh birthday, her grandfather passed away. When sorting through his old things, she found a dust-covered journal. The journal held so many secrets that it took her the whole year to figure everything out. When she finally finished reading the journal, she read it again and once more after that. The journal told of many different sea creatures that were so foreign, few believed that they even existed. But Judy refused to just push them aside, even though her father had told her many times that no such creatures could possibly be real. Judy decided to take the matter into her own hands and began to look up many of the creatures on the internet. To her dismay, she could not find many of the creatures that were in the journal. She found references to a few, but the most profound one she discovered was a large jellyfish that had thick limbs and velvety looking

Heart of a Samurai

Heart of a Samurai, by Margi Preus Abrams/Amulet: New York, 2010; $12.45 What would you do if you were stranded on an island with your friends and you were rescued by people you know as barbarians? Now you have to live with them. You must feel hopeless, dreadful, desperate. Step right into the shoes of Manjiro, a Japanese child isolated from the outside world. On his island, everyone calls Americans barbarians! And Americans were the ones that rescued him. Can you imagine that? And even worse, he can’t go back to his home in Japan. The book Heart of a Samurai by Margi Preus teaches people that just because everything is new, that doesn’t mean they are in a barbaric or hopeless situation; people need to adapt. This book is based on a true story and is set during 1841, when whaling was an important part of the American economy. Manjiro, a Japanese child living on a remote Japanese island, finds himself stranded on another island after a storm during his fishing duty. He and his four friends were found by an American whaling boat and brought to the United States because the Japanese did not let anyone enter their borders regardless if they were Japanese or not. As I was reading this book, I thought back to when I was in second grade. I moved from California to Massachusetts. The entire situation for me seemed unfamiliar. I didn’t know who anybody was; I had no idea where I was and Massachusetts seemed like an alien place to me. It was like the people of California were no longer with me and I had a whole new unfamiliar life. No one knew me; I knew no one. This place to me was foreign, alien, new, strange, uncharted. But, my fear’s grip loosened when I slowly started to get used to the environment. Everything started to work out, bit by bit. Even though the scale of our relocations are different, I could connect a lot to how Manjiro felt when he was in America. But as Manjiro got used to America, he made it his home–just how I made Massachusetts my home. The author wrote this book mainly because Manjiro was the first Japanese citizen to learn English and go to America. During that time period, nobody knew what Japan was like and the Japanese didn’t know what the outside world was like. Until Manjiro. The world had a problem with connection and unity and Manjiro fixed the problem without even knowing it. That happened because he adapted to the environment unlike his friends who gave up and ran off without trying and persevering. After reading this, I could connect to Manjiro so much because of what I’ve been through. It made me rethink myself and capture memories of when I just moved here. This book portrayed adapting to new circumstances powerfully. William Cui, 11Lexington, MA