Blog #7

Final Workshop Reflection

Writing was something that I have avoided for most of my life. I was one of those people who said, “No, I really do prefer mathematics.” It was true until recently when spontaneously I started writing things that would just come into my head and would not go away. In this class, I had to learn how to keep under control my writing. I had so many limitations that at first seemed unbearable – time, topic, style and word count. However, all of those restrictions pushed me beyond myself. I honed my skills and acquired new ones – writing on different topics for deadlines and in the given space.

Below is the first paragraph of my last piece for this class. I think Interview before Dinner showcases all of the skills that I personally struggled with in the beginning starting with dialogues and ending with description. I enjoy this part because I am able to describe a person in 100 words while including not only clothes and look, but also a sense of a man.

      “The first time I met Vicente I did not approach him. It was in Kazakhstan when he was twenty five. I watched him while waiting for him to start the event. I came early, and everybody was late. He was wearing a black shirt, black shoes, and a black tie. Only his green eyes were contrasting his image. He was sitting straight. His spine seemed to be made of steel. People passing immediately noticed his posture and cold look in his eyes. He did not move, and it seemed like he did not breathe either.” 

Blog Assignment #6- Narrative.ly Literary Profile

Response to "The Simple Science of Mary Roach" by Kyria Abrahams

(www.narrative.ly)

“I wasn't academically worked up about science, but I still spent all my time outdoors in the natural world. I remember watching frog’s eggs turn into tadpoles and picking them up.”

This profile of a book writer and journalist writes about science – Mary Roach. She is naturalist, explorer, observer and a person who still has the childlike curiosity for the world. Roach's love of writing started in grade school then she started to write graphic novels. Her love for nature and experiments started even before that, in her early childhood when she played with her neighbors .As she simply puts her childhood memories and resonates with many children and adults, she makes others wonder if something as simple as enjoying nature can lead to a world of science.

It is as if Mary Roach never grew up – she was not interested in science as many scientists would – however, she writes about science without any advanced degree in it. She admits her imperfections in a same honest way as she talks about her childhood. She says, “When I am talking to scientists, I sometimes experience a certain amount of anxiety about being able to get it right. Sometimes, I think that I've understood something and I actually have some element of it wrong.” She does not feel the need for perfection. Instead, she follows her inquisitive nature.

“We would ride bikes outside during that time of dusk when it was just a little bit dark. There was just always something new.” Roach while showing the sides of a tomboy, also reminds to the readers the times when inquisitiveness was a driving source of life – for her, it still is. 

Blog Assignment #5: Planning an Interview for a 'Personal Profile'

I want to interview a good friend of mine - Vinny. He was born and raised in the United States. He is a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer. Vinny served two years in Kazakhstan while he has worked on numerous organizational development projects, primarily focusing on AIDS prevention and youth empowerment. Since I am from Kazakhstan, I was always curious how he and other foreigners experienced it. Also, Vinny and I spent a lot of talking about different philosophical points which I would like to explore more. While we are very different from each other, I learn from him regularly. I was thinking to ask a few different question that are connected to his experiences and the way he leads his life.

What do you think about Kazakhstan?

When did you found that life is not fair?

What are you most proud of?

How do you want to be remembered?

Blog Post #4: Response to "The Omnivore's Dilemma"

Each person has a very different from another and yet very personal connection with food. In Kazakhstan, most people still are not too far removed from garden full of vegetables and fruits, yellow fields of wheat and villages where many own cattle. I have seen all of those things as I lived there, however I took it for granted. Michael Pollan in The Omnivore’s Dilemma exposes not only questionable policies applying to farms, but also the distance between food and consumer. Michael Pollan makes a reader question how far removed do you feel comfortable from your own food. He gives an example of Joel as a person who knows what he eats since he grows it. Michael Pollan explains what Joel gets in return for his knowledge, when he states “Joel’s reasons for wanting to do this work here himself are economic, ecological, political, ethical and even spiritual.” During his experience, Michael Pollan questioned if the practices at hand were morally acceptable for him as a meat eater and the person who is extensively removed from his food. He writes, “I don’t know if there is a more humane way to catch three hundred chickens, but I could see why doing it as fast and as surely as possible was best for all concerned.” while he thinks about how humane the procedures should be, Michael Pollan acknowledges that there is hypocrisy when it comes to food. Michael Pollan confesses, “It seemed to me not too much to ask of a meat eater, which I was then and still am, that at least once in his life he take some direct responsibility for the killing on which his meat-eating depends.” As a reader, I was happy to see than he recognized that there is certain falseness in consumer’s behavior when consumer is removed from production. 

Blog Post #3

Diary of a working mother

Yana is three and a half feet full of seriousness, steadiness and silence. Her overseer would describe her as a good worker unlike many other children she does not cry or ask for mommy. She works as steady and well as many adult workers. I am her mom. I can say that too, she works as much as I do and as well if not better than I do. We work at the Loudon Hosiery Mill together – we are knitters. Most of the day we stay on our feet, me bending over the machines and her barely reaching it on her little wooden stoop. When we just arrived to Tennessee (which was less than a year ago), she had to learn how to balance herself on two of those just barely rising over machines only in order to bend herself over it. I was so scared she would fall. I kept looking at her during work, so that overseer without a warning moved me to work to another end of factory. I was devastated that I will not be able to help my little baby. It took me another six months and a bribe to overseer to move back closer to my daughter.

She is only nine now, but her brown hair keeps growing past her knees. I cut them shorter to make it easier for her to move around but not too short. I like braiding her hair in the morning because it is the only time when I feel like a good mother. I wish I could do it all day. During that time, she behaves like a child. She talks to me about her dreams from last night, asks for extra sugar in tea and smiles. Yana is very smart girl. I wish sometimes that she would not be that smart. It will be hard for her in the future, if she is smart. She looks at me with her big brown eyes and says everything straight forward without trying to hide the truth. It makes me angry. I would prefer her to select what she says but her brown eyes are too truthful for that.

I made her a brown dress to match her beautiful eyes. It is simple but she kept asking me to make it shorter. I wonder what she had in her mind. She is too serious to ask for short dress just because she wants it. She had something on mind that she did not want to share. I think I know, she wanted to move freely instead drugging the dress behind. It looks very pretty with white collar that she wears on holidays. I am making a new one since she is growing fast. I still have the same brown fabric that I made this dress from. This time I will teach her how to make it herself. She is a girl – she needs to know how to make things.

It has been just a few years since we moved from Poland to the United States.  I dreamt of big beautiful house and dinners with meat and wine. I dreamt of many pretty dresses for Yana and myself. I dreamt of big garden with flowers that fill the air with colors and sweet smells. Instead, I wake up in the mornings to get her up and ready for work. "Good morning, mama!", she says brightly at me. My little baby washes her face and gets ready for work. I, too, am ready for work. I have my hair in a bundle so it is not on my way. I am already wearing my white and yellow striped dress. A bit of tea before work for both of us. She is so sweet my little girl as always asking for more sugar in her tea. It is my favorite time of the day – my morning routine – the time where I sit down and braid her of my daughter. The time when I feel like a mother.

Draft for Blog Post #3

Library of Congress

Child Labor. Girls at a textile mill. Lewis Hines.

I am sorry dear

I am sorry that

You wake up so early

And work so late.

I am sorry dear,

This is not what I had in your age,

I had toys and scones.

You have work and boss.

I braid your hair in the morning,

I am sorry dear,

This is the only comfort I can offer.

I am sorry dear,

You have to be strong,

Stronger than me.

I am sorry sweetie.

I am glad that you don’t understand.

I am glad that you will hate me later.

But for now, I am sorry,

Let’s braid your hair.

Hot (Vignette)

Hot! Why is it so damn hot?! I feel like my left shoulder is starting to sizzle like a bacon on the grill. I was standing under the telephone pole shade. I was third one under that shade. Two women were right behind that pole so their bodies were completely under the shade. I was right there but the shadow was thinner towards the end so it covered only right side of my body. There was nowhere else to hide from the sun. To the left of me there was a bus stop. Most people call it Metal Box of Death. During the summer it hits up to the temperature that will burn your skin if you touch it or try to sit down in its shade. Air, the air is so hot in it that it is easier to handle the direct sunlight than trying to sit in there.

Hot! I am thirsty. I wish there would some place to buy water.  I know I can buy water if I will walk down the street. There is a store approximately ten minutes away. It always has bottles of frozen water.  That is the best thing in the summer. Freezing water serves a few purposes. First it ensures that water will be cold for a while. Second it also lets water out in small portions so it cannot be gulped down. It is a bit expensive but still cheaper than two bottles of water that would be consumed anyways.

Should I buy water? Then I will be risking missing the bus. No, I will stay. Shifting to my right, letting my left side burn and rights side to cool down. The two women started chatting. The first in line has a big red bow on her head and the second one is in the red dress – so they are Red Bow and Red Dress.

Red Bow: The grass is green on the isle.

Red Dress: Yeah, you are right. It is still green. I don't remember anything being green in July.

They are right. Usually grass turns yellow in May and grass fires start in July. Almost everything around the bus stop is bare. The earth is so dry that the cracks on it are very deep.

Red Bow: You know why it is still green?

Red Dress: I have heard the mayor replanted all burned out grass.

Red Bow: No, it is not that. They finally figured out when to water it. Apparently, it is useless to water grass during the day – water vaporizes before it is absorbed by the ground. They water everything overnight now so the dirt is moist for longer.

“Ha! Smart.” – I mumbled looking at the little aisle of green. It is just a narrow long green isle that separates the road in two. It does not even have flowers, just very green grass. It looks out of place in the middle of the steppe. City mayor in a past few years has been obsessed with plants. He plants flowers all over the city every season. Those little flower isles usually do not survive the heat. This is a first year of green grass in my hometown.

The bus is still not here. I think we have been waiting for more than an half hour. It feels like my skin on the left shoulder is shrinking. Maybe it is. Or maybe I am having a heat stroke. In the summer, I always think that I am having a heat stroke. I am surprised that most people do not. Only children experience it sometimes.

Wait, what was I thinking? I think I lost my chain of thought. Hmm, how long have we been waiting for the bus? It has been an hour! I wish I got water earlier. Now, I definitely cannot leave to get it.

Red Bow: I think I see a bus!

Red Dress: I hope it will stop.

We all move out of the shadow. Bus is getting closer. I keep looking at it as it is passing the isle with green grass. It is almost at the bus stop but it does not slow down. It passes by us and only dust is in the air now.

Red Bow and Red Dress retreat back under the shadow.

Red Dress: It is not in service. It is not going to come today.

I stay in the sun. I see a little black dot at the end of the street that might be a bus. My face feels like mud. Sweat and dust are the main accessories that shared by all residents of my hometown.  I see bus is approaching. I wave over to the women, and then we all wave to the bus like we are trying to catch a taxi or a bird, hands flying over our heads in desperation. Hour and a half of blasting sun and I am on the bus.

Red Bow moves quickly through the crowd into the back of the bus followed by the Red Dress.  I stay by the door watching through the window at the green isle disappeared in the steppe.

Assignment #1

"Hot! Why is it so damn hot?! I feel like my left shoulder starting to sizzle like a bacon on the grill. I was standing under the telephone pole shade. I was third one under that shade. Two women were right behind that pole so their bodies were completely under the shade. I was right there but the shadow was thinner towards the end so it covered only right side of my body. There was nowhere else to hide under from the sun."

Hot is a vignette that describes one of my memories from last visit to my hometown. My hometown is a city in Kazakhstan, however I wanted to leave out that information to let people from any part of the world to be able to relate. It was strange to write the story where the actions are very still, yet life is my hometown gets very still during the summer. There is heat and there is wait that much is expected. Yet, surprise is that something as simple as grass found its way to survive in the middle of nowhere.

Welcome to my blog

My name is Aida. This is my last semester in LAGCC. I am planning to transfer to a four-year college after graduation. I am originally from Kazakhstan. Four years ago, I moved to New York. Since then I have been learning how to write in English. It has been a long journey with highs and lows. I am very happy to arrive to a creative writing class, which is a milestone in my academic career.
From time to time I write poems and practice writing articles on the topics that are close to my heart. Recently, I started a blog where I practice my writing and share my experiences and tips on how to do well in a community college. I am planning to continue to blog on this topic while I am in school. Also, I have a blog that is in Russian which shares with my close friends and family my life and philosophy. In my native language, I also write poems, opinion articles and fiction. I like when writers incorporate surrealistic images in real life description. It is a fascinating contradiction. Also creative non-fiction is another fascinating contradiction where creativity needs to be expressed in a very narrow box. I am looking forward in acquiring that skill.