Reading Response to Certain Girls

I’m finally nearing the end of Certain Girls by Jennifer Weiner. It’s the type of book I like to call “real”. I really don’t understand exactly how the author did it, but she captured both the perspectives of the over protective mother and the teenage daughter and I know this is incredibly different because the thoughts and ideas of a mother to a daughter are such opposites. It’s real because when I read I can feel myself there and that’s something I haven’t experienced with a book in a long while. It’s nice.

            Life is twisted; this is one thing Certain Girls makes obvious. Joy, the teenager and Cannie, the mother, have a somewhat normal relationship with each other for their ages. They argue a lot and they disagree and Joy does things without Cannie’s permission particularly because she knows it will upset her. Cannie feels helpless. Like I said; normal.

But their lives, their history is far from average. Cannie’s past is filled with confusion and worry and hate which she vents in her book Big Girls Don’t Cry. She tells about how rough her childhood had been, with a terribly unkind father and a clueless mother. She tells of how she was always put down; every idea. Then she writes of her new boyfriend Bruce and how an unexpected pregnancy at a young age would potentially ruin her life. She didn’t want Joy; she never wanted Joy. And knowing this, Joy’s hatred toward her mother grew stronger.

            I can’t say I can completely connect to Joy’s situation, no, not to that extent. I don’t have some sob story about how I was a mistake or how horribly I ruined my mother’s life. But I can relate. I feel myself agreeing when Joy describes her thoughts not just about Cannie, but about everything, her whole world.

 Though, I don’t want to. I don’t want to be that teenager with the mood swings, or that daughter that argues a lot, or that girl so desperate for attention. I don’t have a hard life. I have things pretty great at home, I live in a house close to my school with a functional family, I have everything. So why do I feel like this? Many stereotypes exist about teens and I don’t want to admit that most of them are true.

That’s why this book was so important. I get it now, okay, I’m not always right and as Joy began to realize this, so did I. I don’t think adolescences should mean disobedient and secretive and untrustworthy all though we may want it to be. Really, we need this for our futures. Young and stupid, that's what they say.  So now I’ve got to stop, it’ll be hard. 

Three Great Blogs

Truly, I think everyone's blogs are pretty fantastic though if I did have to choose some of my favorites, they would probably be (in no particular order) Lena's, Ana's and Fiona's blogs.

Lena's blog has a very creative and unique look to it. She used her own pictures and quotes to decorate her blog and make it a little more personal. Actually, the more I read through, I'm noticing most of her writing is especially personal, at least her poems are. She writes about her many interesting experiences. I can tell she puts a lot of work into everything. I think one of the best posts up on her blog, though all of them are really good, is her poem response to the painting "Heat". It has so much emotion and depth to it. It flows and she used words that just made it all work. I love it and her blog and her! Great Job Lena!

I also really loved Ana's blog mostly because I can hear her voice and see her personality in all of the writing she posts. It never fails. Sometimes she puts parentheses in her writing to get across something she wanted to make sure the reader understood and that's when I'm like, yup that's Ana, right there. Not to mention her writing is so thought provoking and full of ideas I would have never thought of before. Everything she does is super creative and very well written that I look forward to what she puts up next. I like that fact that she makes her own rules on her blog, her own style, and that's something I'd really like to try to add to my own blog as well. Nice Job Ana!!

And last but not least, I liked Fiona's blog a lot! I've found that everything written on it is really insightful and beautiful like it could professional work or something. Her responses always touch on many important ideas and they always leave the reader wondering- she creates tons of questions and wonders about a lot in her responses which make them especially intriguing. Her sonnet is definitely one of my favorite poems she has written although all of them are so deep and thoughtful. I just thought her sonnet was so deep and amazing and used so much advanced and Shakespearean vocabulary that it reminded me of one of Shakespeare's poems. It can be interpreted in many different ways and it all just flows. Everything Fiona writes flows and that's one of the things I admire most about her blog. Awesome Job! 

Sonnet

Crossing between I dream to stay with them

Found in dark place but here I’m not alone

All acts of hate and fear are soon condemned

Without a shadow’s grim face weeping shown

And here I don’t pretend to all the sea

So not controlled nor puppet on a string

A sky so bright it makes me glad to be

They jump they fly they swoop, the birds, they sing

It’s now this hour of peace I think of most

When dawn begins to break and calm’s no more

I hope to glide that glory boat to coast

Though not to reach the sounds that lie ashore

My wish is filled with passion and great love

To stay with what’s below and found above. 

Poetry Forward

Life is only what it is because of the different ways we interpret it. And these interpretations come from somewhere hidden or not; our unique minds. They come from our experiences and what we decide to absorb from them. Thus becomes poetry. We write what we know and what we’ve felt. This is the exact opposite to what I have done here with these poems. I have not known what it’s like at war. I have not felt the wonder and sadness of losing someone. No, I’ve never even held a gun. But in this case I used other knowledge; experiences from others that I’ve learned and heard. I felt this was important and I needed to get some specific messages across. I’m not breaking the rules because poetry has none.

            War meant something different a long time ago. It used to mean fighting for freedom, fighting for rights. But it’s not the same now.

I’ve been aware and noticed that wars occur since a very young age. My Dad was quick to teach me about peace and how it’s his dream to see it throughout the world. I learned war was very very different from peace. I learned that it caused pain and death worse than any I could imagine. Yet as I grew older and I began to see two sides to everything, I wondered what war’s other side was; to protect our country? Were we ever really in danger from the place we were attacking? Older and older and now I just don’t know. It’s so complicated and intriguing, which is why I had to write about, I had to share.

            So I suppose you could say I did write what I know. I wrote from many sides, I wrote as them and for them. I can’t say I’m 100% accurate; of course I am not these people but after years of learning, struggling to comprehend, I feel I’m close because like me, they are confused and worried and scared for the future.  

"Please Don't Take My Air Jordans" Reg E. Gains Response

One thing I seek in a poem is uniqueness; this poem is certainly unique. I admire the obvious use of poetic license; words are all over the place and misspelled and abbreviated. Reg E. Gains captured the character so well it was hard to believe that the poem wasn’t about him; that it wasn’t about a specific moment he’s experienced in his life. This time he wrote to the struggling kids. He showed them that he understands; the poem showed them better than any other form of communication. He wrote in their language.

            I find the one character in this poem especially interesting. He seems pretty average at first. Like all the rest, he wants to fit in with his crowd. He wants to be “seen rather than heard” and that’s strange to me. I know what it’s like to be frantic and a little obsessed with being like everyone else. But, I have self-control. I positively convinced that knowing yourself and liking whom that person is, matters thousands of times more than the way others see you and know you.

            Yet this character, whoever he is, thinks the opposite and I think I know why. After a while of obsessing over the clothes and possessions others have, you find yourself slowly slipping away; you find yourself wondering who you see in the mirror every night. And when you’re totally gone, no more slipping, just gone, you end up doing something sickening and wrong like shooting and killing and innocent person for what they have on their feet. But the worst part is, you won’t even feel regret or unease or doubt in the morning. His impulse decision to shoot for what he wanted explains how weak the character really is, how easily he’ll give up and give in. He lets objects define him and he knows it: his “gear”.

            So I think the author so cleverly crafted this poem to get the young and desperate readers to recognize what they can’t let happen to themselves. He’s trying to get them to realize that they can’t fall so under that they’d kill for something they don’t even need. The urge should not get to a point where you know longer have control. You can’t lose yourself.

            But the scary thing is, people do every second, every minute, of everyday. Each day a gun fires. 

Narrative Poem with Rhyme:

We Have Conversations With Our Selves

I stepped out the door

of that blinding, silver jet

kiss perfection goodbye,

welcome regret

I only wanted their praise

Make them proud, feel supported

I wanted their tender hearts

I’m so sorry very sorry family your lives were aborted

It’s so puzzling

And uncomfortably quiet out here

We shiver silently by night

On our toes when dawn’s near

I often question myself

Wonder why I enlisted

To have sanity ripped harshly

My reality set drifted

I see killings

And killings and deaths of my friends

If there’s one thing I’ve learned

Don’t make friends, now pretend

Pretend that you’re not thinking

God, what if I’m choosen next

Though, leave my body and my troubles

Sore, the sky’s mine, perplexed

But that would mean leaving them

It’s against my morals

I’ll stay alive, 'cause I love them

It can't be a death quarrel

Now I’m certain,

For sure

Don't worry, no debate

No light in the tunnel, no open gate 

Poem About an Incident: Shoot

They left me in the rain

miles,

but minutes away

and I felt that wave

that rush:

fear.

I moved gracefully, floated to the window’s ledge

I watched as their shadows grew small

until all was still

and the streetlamp flickered.

But, They came, They ruined it

I thought they’d continue past me

I sat frozen

even my eyes quivered

They walked with a revolver,

sneer on their faces

their faces said hate

and I knew they weren’t leaving

I was right

The chimes jangled as they walked through the door

and here’s were it really blurs

I remember hiding,

shaking

from the steel in their hands

and that feeling of having no body

no one to save me.

panic

I blinked and I was gone

home,

real home.

It wasn’t real

not real

but I couldn’t help the shivering.