Hi guys, hope ya'll are doin great. I have a favor to ask you. Could somebody tell me our teacher's e-mail please?I really need to talk to her.
Thanks in advance.
Saúl
16 years ago
Saturday, 25 October 2008
Friday, 24 October 2008
Task 1 From Sweet Potato ( Ruby) - Ti tia !
After reading the task i thought that i would write about a Woman called Maria. She was like my grandmother. I didn’t have the chance to know any of my grandmother’s or father’s, they were gone before I was born.
So, « TI TIA » like I called her, was the grandmother‘s figure that I had. She had a dark skin tone short black hair, beautiful black eyes and this wonderful smile that used to light up a whole room. I used to stay with her every day after school; she would always have yogurt cake for me, her specialty, and when my mother was angry at me because I did something wrong I used to ran to her house and hide behind her, she would turn to my mother and say: « Ho, she’s just a child, it’s normal, she won’t do it again, won’t you Ruby?».
She had such a difficult life, her parents force her to marry an older man almost 20 years older than her, and she had 2 daughters and 4 sons, and she had to raise them alone because her husband died when all of them were just kids. She worded as road sweeper, working from early morning to night just to feed her children .She taught me so many things like being humble and try to be positive although things may seem dark and hopeless. I spent most of my time with her, since my mother worded all day.
I love cats and dogs, and that’s because of her, she had a cat and she taught me all about caring for animals and how they sometimes are more faithful than human beings. Since then I always had a pet, cat or dog doesn’t matter, it reminds me of her.
She was a big fan of Fado and Amália Rodrigues, so I remember that every weekend she would sit on the floor and put her old radio to play and she would just sigh, I didn’t understood it then, but now I do, she felt lonely, there was no family around and she faced night after night alone and having me around her was her joy as she was mine.
I was 20 years old when she died. Cancer took her smile and I saw it fading away through chemotherapy. Every time I look at her house I still see her waving and smiling at me.
She was very important to me and wherever she is now, I know she is looking down on me and watching over me.
So, « TI TIA » like I called her, was the grandmother‘s figure that I had. She had a dark skin tone short black hair, beautiful black eyes and this wonderful smile that used to light up a whole room. I used to stay with her every day after school; she would always have yogurt cake for me, her specialty, and when my mother was angry at me because I did something wrong I used to ran to her house and hide behind her, she would turn to my mother and say: « Ho, she’s just a child, it’s normal, she won’t do it again, won’t you Ruby?».
She had such a difficult life, her parents force her to marry an older man almost 20 years older than her, and she had 2 daughters and 4 sons, and she had to raise them alone because her husband died when all of them were just kids. She worded as road sweeper, working from early morning to night just to feed her children .She taught me so many things like being humble and try to be positive although things may seem dark and hopeless. I spent most of my time with her, since my mother worded all day.
I love cats and dogs, and that’s because of her, she had a cat and she taught me all about caring for animals and how they sometimes are more faithful than human beings. Since then I always had a pet, cat or dog doesn’t matter, it reminds me of her.
She was a big fan of Fado and Amália Rodrigues, so I remember that every weekend she would sit on the floor and put her old radio to play and she would just sigh, I didn’t understood it then, but now I do, she felt lonely, there was no family around and she faced night after night alone and having me around her was her joy as she was mine.
I was 20 years old when she died. Cancer took her smile and I saw it fading away through chemotherapy. Every time I look at her house I still see her waving and smiling at me.
She was very important to me and wherever she is now, I know she is looking down on me and watching over me.
Monday, 20 October 2008
Potato chip's draft...
Alright so, it's 00:21 and I was finnaly able to accept the invitation...
Here's my draft, hope ya'll like it...
22nd of December, Nineteen Eighty Nine. Red as a tomato, Mrs. Maria da Graça Agostinho is suffering the pain of someone with 50 centimeters and 3 kilograms eager to come into this world. She sweats from everywhere, she screams as loud as she can, she cries for despair, she pushes with all her strength, until a little boy, with a cone-ish head and covered in blood, cries for joy and relief, or sadness and fear, for finally being here. She gave that boy the greatest gift anyone could ever receive, the gift of life.
As days, weeks, months go by, that woman with sky blue eyes and silky face watched her little son grow, smile big when he did something funny, closed eyebrows when he did something bad.
One time her little son sat on the kitchen floor of the old wooden house, with the pan where she made the dough for the orange and yogurt cake, eating it with such a serene face, savoring and feeling the sweet and creamy taste of it. In fact, he liked it so much that his nose, cheeks and even hair savored it too. Of course, the selfishness he would gain years after didn’t exist then, so the floor and clothes could have some too. The result: a huge mess. But instead of getting mad and punish him, the woman would just stand there looking at him, with her sky blue eyes shining and smiling, laughing and tenderly saying :”Oh my, Saul, look at this mess!”
A couple of years went by, maybe three. Saul doesn’t want to eat. She first closes her eyebrows, and raises her tone, demanding him to eat. He’s been like that for quite a while, tears dropping as soon as she yells the word “Dinner!”. He slowly grabs the fork, hand shaking and terrified face, and raises a single berry of rice, slowly putting it in its mouth. Dad yells at him. She watches it, eyes wet of helpless feelings. She just knows something is wrong.
As you probably understood by now, I am Saul. And I didn’t fulfill the task on this text yet. Why? Because there’s no way I could ever explain why she’s so important to me. I could say that it could be the sweet memories of walking hand in hand down the town roads to the cafe, and eating my favorite cake, or the laughs he had for hearing the joke someone said, or the pride in her face while applauding me in the first row in my first folkloric dance, the warm hug that only she can give while she gently says “Who’s mom’s sweetest thing?”. She’s my best friend, my best partner; she’s always and will always be there for me. She gave me life, love, education, experience and knowledge. And I thank her for being here and being what I am, because most of what I am is because of her.
Saúl Santos
22717
Here's my draft, hope ya'll like it...
22nd of December, Nineteen Eighty Nine. Red as a tomato, Mrs. Maria da Graça Agostinho is suffering the pain of someone with 50 centimeters and 3 kilograms eager to come into this world. She sweats from everywhere, she screams as loud as she can, she cries for despair, she pushes with all her strength, until a little boy, with a cone-ish head and covered in blood, cries for joy and relief, or sadness and fear, for finally being here. She gave that boy the greatest gift anyone could ever receive, the gift of life.
As days, weeks, months go by, that woman with sky blue eyes and silky face watched her little son grow, smile big when he did something funny, closed eyebrows when he did something bad.
One time her little son sat on the kitchen floor of the old wooden house, with the pan where she made the dough for the orange and yogurt cake, eating it with such a serene face, savoring and feeling the sweet and creamy taste of it. In fact, he liked it so much that his nose, cheeks and even hair savored it too. Of course, the selfishness he would gain years after didn’t exist then, so the floor and clothes could have some too. The result: a huge mess. But instead of getting mad and punish him, the woman would just stand there looking at him, with her sky blue eyes shining and smiling, laughing and tenderly saying :”Oh my, Saul, look at this mess!”
A couple of years went by, maybe three. Saul doesn’t want to eat. She first closes her eyebrows, and raises her tone, demanding him to eat. He’s been like that for quite a while, tears dropping as soon as she yells the word “Dinner!”. He slowly grabs the fork, hand shaking and terrified face, and raises a single berry of rice, slowly putting it in its mouth. Dad yells at him. She watches it, eyes wet of helpless feelings. She just knows something is wrong.
As you probably understood by now, I am Saul. And I didn’t fulfill the task on this text yet. Why? Because there’s no way I could ever explain why she’s so important to me. I could say that it could be the sweet memories of walking hand in hand down the town roads to the cafe, and eating my favorite cake, or the laughs he had for hearing the joke someone said, or the pride in her face while applauding me in the first row in my first folkloric dance, the warm hug that only she can give while she gently says “Who’s mom’s sweetest thing?”. She’s my best friend, my best partner; she’s always and will always be there for me. She gave me life, love, education, experience and knowledge. And I thank her for being here and being what I am, because most of what I am is because of her.
Saúl Santos
22717
Sunday, 19 October 2008
Task 1 from Claudine * MARina
After reading the acceptance speech “Cherries for my Grandma” by Geoffrey Canada, one could say I must have been influenced by his topic idea. At some point I was indeed. I strongly believe that families are the foundation of the self, for good or bad, they are certainly the first reference for values and moral ethics.
My motivation comes from many sources, but there is one person who significantly stands as the main catalyst for all the good in me. She can sail through the most tempestuous storms and still shine all the way back to shore. My strength to keep rowing throughout many devious courses, I seek on the one who long before my arrival learnt how to cope with the various tides. Her name is Marina. She is my mother.
She was only two when her mother passed away with tuberculoses. Tennyson, her father was a truck driver and along with his two other children, Lucilia and Ruben, he had to manage to keep on track. In the middle of a rural landscape, back in 1953, they couldn’t rely more than on people’s good will.
For some years grandpa wouldn’t go for long distances, coming back at the end of the day for his children. Marina the youngest, many times would go with him. Sometimes ridding as a shotgun, sometimes back with the chickens. At some point she had been all over the region and knew exactly where milk came from.
By the time she was eleven, grandpa made a special delivery. They packed and went to the big city, meeting a prestigious family from the nation’s capitol. They were delighted to engage to such a rural young broad who knew a lot more than just potatoes. They soon offered her to stay and continue her studies to some better schools. Since she had always been on the road, she said yes.
Growing up with a borrowed family can bring some side effects. Their children became her children and between school lessons, her bedroom became a nursery. Besides, it also became hard to tame a heart born free. So many restrictions brought her to reminisce the plenitude of grasslands once left behind. Marina knew emancipation had to come fast and soon arranged for grandpa to change linear time, speeding up natures’ formalities, making ’51 looking more like ’49 on her ID.
Her new eighteen made the world hers to ride. From one job to another she managed to finish high school and get to college. She also humped from one place to another; from living with old ladies and their outnumbered affectionless cats, to six in a room without windows. She knew the light was within and nothing would come on her way to ascension.
At twenty three, still a virgin, mom who thought so enlighten by life experience, met a charming older man. Two weeks later her period was late. Two weeks and one day past he was gone. Nine months after I was born. Time sped up since then. I had to grow up fast from not wanting borrowed families myself. At five, Marina gave me the keys to our last rental; luckily this one was free from cockroaches. I was to be by myself while she was at work. Go to school and back without devious routes. The hardest I remember was going up the stairs instead of taking the elevator to the tenth floor. Somehow the view made worth the effort.
Nobody ever said life would be easy. We come without instructions. As foolish as we may think the parts are all connected, there are pieces that only come together along the way. My mother showed that picking up stones instead of kicking them, only helps for building up castles in the future, and that future is always today.
My motivation comes from many sources, but there is one person who significantly stands as the main catalyst for all the good in me. She can sail through the most tempestuous storms and still shine all the way back to shore. My strength to keep rowing throughout many devious courses, I seek on the one who long before my arrival learnt how to cope with the various tides. Her name is Marina. She is my mother.
She was only two when her mother passed away with tuberculoses. Tennyson, her father was a truck driver and along with his two other children, Lucilia and Ruben, he had to manage to keep on track. In the middle of a rural landscape, back in 1953, they couldn’t rely more than on people’s good will.
For some years grandpa wouldn’t go for long distances, coming back at the end of the day for his children. Marina the youngest, many times would go with him. Sometimes ridding as a shotgun, sometimes back with the chickens. At some point she had been all over the region and knew exactly where milk came from.
By the time she was eleven, grandpa made a special delivery. They packed and went to the big city, meeting a prestigious family from the nation’s capitol. They were delighted to engage to such a rural young broad who knew a lot more than just potatoes. They soon offered her to stay and continue her studies to some better schools. Since she had always been on the road, she said yes.
Growing up with a borrowed family can bring some side effects. Their children became her children and between school lessons, her bedroom became a nursery. Besides, it also became hard to tame a heart born free. So many restrictions brought her to reminisce the plenitude of grasslands once left behind. Marina knew emancipation had to come fast and soon arranged for grandpa to change linear time, speeding up natures’ formalities, making ’51 looking more like ’49 on her ID.
Her new eighteen made the world hers to ride. From one job to another she managed to finish high school and get to college. She also humped from one place to another; from living with old ladies and their outnumbered affectionless cats, to six in a room without windows. She knew the light was within and nothing would come on her way to ascension.
At twenty three, still a virgin, mom who thought so enlighten by life experience, met a charming older man. Two weeks later her period was late. Two weeks and one day past he was gone. Nine months after I was born. Time sped up since then. I had to grow up fast from not wanting borrowed families myself. At five, Marina gave me the keys to our last rental; luckily this one was free from cockroaches. I was to be by myself while she was at work. Go to school and back without devious routes. The hardest I remember was going up the stairs instead of taking the elevator to the tenth floor. Somehow the view made worth the effort.
Nobody ever said life would be easy. We come without instructions. As foolish as we may think the parts are all connected, there are pieces that only come together along the way. My mother showed that picking up stones instead of kicking them, only helps for building up castles in the future, and that future is always today.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)