Final Workshop Reflection -- ENG 247 Fall 2012

Obliviously, I took this course as an accident. Most likely because of the cancelation of my previous signed up classes. I needed a fourth class, and it has to be an elective. So, that's how I stumbled with this course. I never had a writing class before, at least a creative writing class. It's either a literally course, basic ENG 101 courses, or back in my high school's journalism/yearbook. This is different class is completely different from all those classes. I have written research papers, literary responses, poetry but not even once I wrote "creative non-fiction."  It takes me out of the bubble, and actually write it however I want but with connected to a particular theme. So, in a way, it's basically writing outside the box. Not typical research paper but every day life, a story wise. I enjoyed that better than those other English classes. But I guess you really have to learn the basics with language, grammar and syntax first before you get into any journalism/writing type of field. 

I think all the readings for this course are all fairly interesting. But we really didn't have enough time to analyze or to read all them since it's only a semester thing. To name a few, Angela's Ashes, Joe Gould's Secret, In Cold Blood, Me Talk Pretty One Day and Prodigies. Somehow, I can relate. 

           "Standing amongst a sea of faceless strangers, eyeing train 281’s status on the arrival board, waiting patiently for the big red ‘BOARDING’ next to it. I exhaled deeply, took a sip of my ice coffee, put my backpack down next to my duffle, and slowly lean against the staircase railing on the center of the spacious station – I close my eyes, reminiscing how I met her, my princesa, I’m eager to see her.
            A week ago, I attended a college diversity weekend and of course, just like any other non-New York City-like place, it was very relaxing, slow pace, small town right outside of Boston, surrounded by Victorian brick houses – renovated like modern houses, a large pond connected to a river down the stream, countless trees and the leaves of fall – purple, red, orange, yellow – descends as chilly autumn breeze kisses my tan skin. It was a sunset late afternoon as I approach Mark’s House, clubhouse where meetings are held. Ding-dong, the bell rang, a cheerful young woman, with bleach blond hair welcomes me inside. My eyes scanned across the room, various students from different ethnicities, shapes, color and sizes are all packed together, jammed at the center of the clubhouse’s lounge. I took a seat, beside an acquaintance, rubbing off numbness of my frozen hands, stands before me, lady wearing a fitted white long-sleeve, blue jeans, caramel-skinned, brown hair tied in a bun, her Coca-Cola bottle shaped like figure. I thought to myself, I’d tapped that." -- Place Assignment Original Piece by Kim Bartolome 

I think this piece was an okay piece,  not because it was a confusing love story, but because how it was written. Time warp reminiscing, then description of places and people that relevant to the story. I am not so sure if I want something published at the moment, especially I think I really didn't do such a good job on it. But other than that, perhaps someday I would shoot Prof. Dragan an email if I change my mind. 

Personal Memoir (Are You Really My Mother?) -- Author's Notes

It leaves my body cold every time I discuss this aspect of my childhood. What actually inspired me to write a story as a rite passage of letting go, sure most people -- especially my mom to this day, would argue with me about overreacting to what had happened that day. But I think it comes to the point of, parents do not realizing the decisions they make could hurt us. That day, my parents have made a decision of making a life-changing decision, they traded their old ways, home, and possibly, "luxury, jobs, opportunities, America"

A lot parents do not realized how badly affected their decision can scar or damage their kids, although for good. They value money more than anything that I've ever imagine. They constantly work like dogs, and currently bragging how much we spent. Never they value their family in their own way. I realized that when I lived with my parents after 12 years of separation. The person I had in mind when writing about this piece was my mother and I, 6 years ago. The piece started from what I remember from my childhood when she left and my reaction when she finally decided to come back to my life.

Hard as it is for us both, I had my own personality and was already established as an individual but much to her dismay, her young "baby" - as she would say - would still her baby. I really do not wanted to be treated as a 2 year old when I was, at that time, 13. Reflecting from it now, it was really a powerful thing and affected our relationship greatly. Of course, as denying as my mom is -- even from "doing the right thing" -- she won't accept it.  No journal, no nothing, just a pure memory written straightly from my memories to MS Doc.

"Personal Profile" -- Interview

I am not sure who I should interview to begin with. Back in high school, I have this mentor, I met him by going back and forth in his office one summer school. He was a very fatherly like figure and ironically, a counselor as well. He was very funny and witty. Since then we were in touch and gotten close. I always had a respect for him as a counselor and especially as a father -- for I never really had experience one when I was younger. A lot of people misinterpret our relationship due to, I guess, never really or rarely occur between a student and a teacher. I love listening to his philosophical  remarks. One of my previous teacher mentioned to "stick with him" because she viewed him as wise man, (not to mention, they both look alike.) Anyways, we were both raise in extremely different backgrounds. He born and raised in a typical American family, has 3 sisters and had a rich well nourished experience. I really don't know how to explain, but to simplify he grew up with his parents and I didn't.

So, he would tell me stories of his adventures and how he and his family traveled around the world. His father was a professor at University of Wisconsin so they get to travel and live in nice universities around the world. I would like to ask him how his experience there and how it influenced his life now.

- How was your experience at University of Singapore?
- How did that influence your views towards the Asian culture? American culture?
- How and why did that experience changed you or shaped you to who you are now?

Personal Memoir -- Response to Frank McCourt's "Angela's Ashes"

"He never brings home the money he earns on farms. That money seems to be different from the dole, which is supposed to be brought home. He takes the farm money to the pub and drinks it." (95)

"She hopes he might think of his family and pass the pub even once, but he never does. She hopes he might bring home something from the farm, potatoes, cabbage, turnips, carrots, but he'll never bring anything because he'd never stoop so low as to ask a farmer for anything." (95)

“Dad says I’ll understand when I grow up. He tells me that all the time now and I want to be big like him so that I can understand everything.  It must be lovely to wake up in the morning and understand everything.  I wish I could be like all the big people in the church, standing and kneeling and praying and understanding everything.” (108)

Frank McCourt's style of writing capture the attention of his readers by his story in a simple everyday format with twist, on a child's perspective. With his unique style, made his story interesting, and captive. Young Frank sees the positive side of things although in the eyes of many would conclude that what he experienced was very tragic. Thus, it maybe heartbreaking story, it still adds a humorous twist of an innocent mind of a speculating child. I believe that McCourt wanted to share his story to many because not everybody, mostly children,  are not completely aware on how to react on such situation therefore, they either deny it -- as adults -- or just play. So I think that's McCourt's message, it just depends on how you look at a situation. For him, it seemed to made him happy that his family was still complete despite of their loss, and the famine. 

Descriptive Source -- On a Historical Photograph

Prokudin-Gorskii's photo of a mother and mother nature.

A mother seats by the riverbank, by where the boats dock. When things get overwhelming, she comes here to relax. She casually wears a long black blouse shirt, a long maroon skirt up to her ankle, and a white cloth to cover her head. She had her shoes off, placed them beside her and have her foot dripped in the cool water. It is summer after all. She closed her eyes, exhaled deeply, and thought about her late son.
A year ago, she gave birth to her first born -- her stillborn son. It's a mother curse. The children way destroy their parents -- mostly their mothers. Just like the way humans destroy their mother -- Earth. Mothers of all kinds all share the same suffering, ironically, their suffering is also their happiness. 
Prokudin-Gorskii was heading to the town near by, when he saw the woman in a deep state. He decides to take a picture of her without her permission.

Descriptive Piece -- Response to Truman Capote's "In Cold Blood"

"Take ye heed, watch and pray: for ye know not when the time is."(30)

"a person or persons unknown." (77)

"[Now free to do as he pleased,] the murderer killed them one by one, [each time carefully collecting the discharged shell.] When he had finished, he turned out all the lights and left." (82)

The first two phrases are every ironic. The first one, it's true they never knew when the time has come for you to part from this world. Certainly, the Clutters didn't expect that it'll occur soon, not on Thanksgiving week at least or anytime soon. The second one, technically, to the investigators the murderers are 'unknown'. But I think on Capote's perspective the murderers are much more than 'unknown', that they also have an identity, a past -- no different from us nor the Clutters. Lastly, I feel like the way Dewey describes the murderer is just doing his chores. Paraphrasing it to "he planted them [seeds] one by one" and when "he had finished, he watered them and left." Like murderers are immoral people, and it's completely normal that they murder, they show no mercy because they don't care.

Clearly, Capote's style in writing came from a different era, used simple words, excellent description of the characters and places. His writing grabs you from your chair to exact scenes that happened, as if you're a ghost that follows each characters, you feel the emotions, the shivers -- in cold blood.

Vignette -- Author's Notes

One-twenty-six-o-clock on a chilly autumn morning, a shadow sat in front of a brownstone house's staircase with the laptop light beaming at an innocent face with thick-rimmed glasses. Sipping a warm cup of tea as it's stares deep into New York City's starless abyss. Finally, front lights turned on, revealing the shadow of a fair skinned, shorthaired bedhead-style with a sharp-jawline young woman in her early 20s, lost in a deep thought. Suddenly interrupted by a voice. 

A childhood friend of mine inspired me to write this story about her traumatic childhood experience. Since she has been separated from her parents for basically her whole life, she have suffered from severe depression and breakdowns throughout her whole life. When I was writing this piece, all I could think about is how must have been painful for her growing up like that. I would like to include this piece on the final portfolio for this course and would revise it in a way where the ending would be mysterious and extend the story, add a few twist. I've wrote several short stories in my previous English writing courses and what I learned about vignettes or any creative non-fiction you basically make your own rules. It's my story, I could manipulate it however you like. I first started off writing with my smartphone and later transfered my thoughts down on my computer.