Speak, Cry, Laugh it Off : on the book "Speak" by Laurie Halse Anderson

Melinda Sordino seemed to be an ordinary girl. Her dried out, chapped lips, thick black eyebrows and hand-me-down clothes are only the surface, but inside of her hides a deep dark secret kept from the outside world. The overflowing hallways of high school pass in a haze; Jocks, Preps, Cheerleaders, Artists, and Goths all in their place. But she is alone, ignored and hated by everyone, in a surrounding world where no one cares. Every chance they get, they use to throw a dirty look or maybe a nasty joke. All they know is; she’s the girl who called the police at that party, she is the one who ruined everyone’s fun. No one knows why though, and it doesn’t cross their minds to simply ask her why.

Rape. While everyone else was enjoying the festivities she had no way to escape his grip. His deep cold voice in her ear, pinned down and unable to move. Thousands of thoughts rushing through her head hoping he’ll go away. And even if she screamed, no one would hear her anyway. It’s the type of incident that leaves a permanent imprint, and will haunt her for the rest of her life

As the reader, we watch from afar as this innocent girl tries to overcome what has happened. It’s impossible to imagine what it must be like, but we get close enough to slightly skim the surface of how it feels. The guy who raped her is the one everyone adores and the one her ex-best friend has a crush on.

Who would believe her even if she told? No one would be on her side. The slow and on-going agony throughout this book makes you want to reach out and help Melinda, to say it will all be okay. It’s easy to tell she is in denial, pretending as though it had never happened. Maybe if she just told someone, it would all be over.

It’s not that easy, her most prized possession was taken from her violently by force, and without permission. The ac t of a pig with nasty needs, who should be brutally punished if only someone else knew his shameful deed. But she chooses to stay silent, no matter what.

Her therapy is trees. She draws them in every way possible; dark and mysterious, gloomy and silent, and sometimes a happy one in between. They hang in her thinking space; a dark old closet in her school, her secret hideout that no one knows exists. Through her drawings she expresses her thoughts and feelings, and it helps her come through. The trees were actually an assignment, given to her by her teacher, who asked her to perfect the art of a tree.

Maybe the only way to overcome something is to re-visit again, but not completely, only as far as it takes to understand. It’s a good thing she finally told her friend, because he came back searching for seconds, but failed. If only she had told someone sooner it probably would have helped, because when he came to seek her out, her friends were the ones who heard her scream. They defended her from him and made sure everyone knew to stay away. If Melinda had said something or someone would have asked what’s up, maybe it could have all been much easier and with less pain.

Melinda wasn’t alone; she just needed the help and support of someone she could trust. Now, even though the memory is permanent, at least with friends it is easier to move on.

Daddy’s Little Girl

If someone were to ask me who I thought was the coolest person on earth, I would have to say my dad. He’s my role-model and my best friend. Ever since I was little he has been the first person I go to if I need advice or want something. He is always there for me and no matter what kind of trouble I’m in, he is always on my side. Of course, there are moments when I absolutely hate him and think that he’s being ridiculously unfair, but as time passes I allow myself to forget, and move on. My dad is so many things I’m not even sure what category to put him in. He is relatively tall, with his distinguished black hair and white streak, and he wears a suit no matter what. He constantly tells me fascinating stories about his childhood. How he used to live on a farm and would help out by driving his father’s tractor; or how he began with small jobs and built his life all the way up to own large businesses. It’s incredible to think about all the things he has done.

Ever since I was in 1st grade he has taken me to school every single day, and he doesn’t mind at all. And every morning, on the way there, he talks to me about life, politics, the past, the future, and anything else that’s on his mind. And when he comes to pick me up he always brings something special for me, and whether it is a water bottle or a pack of gum it makes me feel happy.

Whenever something goes wrong or a situation seems impossible, he’s able to fix it. If it weren’t for him I don’t know what I’d do. He’s an expert at tackling any challenge he is faced with

One of his finest qualities, and one of my favorites, is definitely that he likes to surprise me. Whenever Christmas comes around and I ask for a really special present, my dad tries to turn it into a surprise. The first thing he’ll do is pretend he hates the gift or say that he absolutely refuses to buy it; and then, over the next couple of weeks, he’ll act extremely suspicious whenever I bring it up. Of course, for me that’s the first clue that something is up. Then he usually goes out and buys it. Sadly, he isn’t the best at hiding things and I always find the gift a couple of days before Christmas. Still, despite what you may think, I don’t do it on purpose and I always act as if nothing has happened. Then, part of the “tradition” is that the present is never going to be found under the tree. It will either be hidden somewhere, to be found later, or otherwise an envelope with a set of instructions inside will be given to me. And naturally the instructions or clues eventually lead to the gift. If he didn’t do this one year I would feel as though something has gone wrong.

But his best quality is his sense of humor. Most people don’t get it, or they feel offended by what he says, but once you get to know him you’ll understand that it’s only a joke. It’s no surprise where I get my sarcasm.
My dad is the coolest guy on earth and he is the perfect example that I can accomplish whatever I want as long as I try hard enough. And I think that if he was able to achieve so many things, I know for sure I will be able to as well.

My Corner Of The Universe

I open the door and breathe in the familiar scent of safety and tranquility. The mixture of a sweet raspberry-like aroma with a light touch of a musky citrus overwhelms my senses. It is right in front of me, my favorite place in the whole world: my room.

Surrounding me are the once-so-desired pink walls that are now filled with sketches, collages, posters and paintings that have accumulated over the years. Each one has its own special meaning, such as: favorite actors, funky magazine cut outs and canvases that each tell a colorful story. The floor is covered with piles of books, papers and not-so-unwanted clutter. It’s always there in case I decide to look at it someday, because it’s just so hard to throw away. If you look straight ahead you see the corner where all my thinking happens: my desk. It’s filled with unnecessary things I forgot to put away or was simply too lazy to care about: sticky lights, alarm clocks, scattered jewelry, a camera, nail polish, and almost anything else you could possibly imagine. It is me, an organized mess.

From the window frames hang baby blue curtains in the most royal way I once loved so much. The blinds are always sort-of closed to keep out too much light, I don’t really know why, but it just feels right. On top of my bed are all my cuddly animal friends, with their cute little eyes and individual names. When I lie on my bed, so delightfully comforting and soft, I never want to get up. Just to stare up at the ceiling full of steps and borders filled with hand-painted pink flowers connected by infinite leaves. And right in the midst of all the individual spotlights hangs the permanent mistletoe from the glistening chandelier. It’s my place, everything I love is here. Under my bed are all my games and paints to do whatever I please. By the closet sits my easel, ready for me to paint. But wait, my closet has its very own mystery as well.

The metal branch from which a thousand hangers hang is bent from the weight of all my clothes. T-shirts, jackets and jeans that hang for years and years, yet some don’t fit and are useless to me. On one end, I keep the various dresses and gowns which have each served their purpose, but I won’t discard them yet… just in case. When I open the top doors, I see thousands of childhood memories on the verge of falling out. It’s nice to look at once in a while, but I’d rather not touch. They might fall out and make an even bigger mess! I almost forgot my biggest collection: my DVD’s. Most are orderly divided by the colors of the case. But of course there is always a stray disc here and there and a few empty cases that I forgot to put away. By my door I find my books, stacked in every possible way. On the topmost shelf are the little things I like to collect: My perfumes and key chains all displayed, so I can admire them all as I pass by. My room is where I go when everything else sucks. Here I can collect my thoughts and just drift away. I don’t have to think about my troubles or mistakes, because everything here is the way it should be.

California Here We Come

“You don’t just go to California,

California changes you,

You don’t come back from California.” – Zack “Gilmore Girls”

My parents had promised me Vienna for my Christmas vacation, but no matter how much I hoped, it never came. Instead I heard the word California come out of their mouths. What?! I couldn’t possibly understand how a person could jump from Vienna to California. Europe, with its vast history and meaningful art compared to the USA? Give me a break.

It turned out that my brother was going to go there for college and we were going there with him to check it out. At first, I absolutely refused to go; I had no interest whatsoever in going anywhere near the United States. But as it turned out, in the end, I decided to go anyway.

It is true what people say: California changes you. It was a fascinating and refreshing new experience. We stayed on a ranch in the Santa Ynez Valley, near a sweet little town called Solvang. My parents never actually made it there, so it turned out to be just my brother and me.

His college, SBCC (Santa Barbara City College) was about an hour away from the ranch, in Santa Barbara. Every morning, would start off by stepping out of my warm blanket, and into a sudden brisk chill, shivering down my back. Five’ o’clock, it was time to catch the bus to the city. It was absolutely beautiful. Everything seemed to look uplifting and there was always a perfect sunshine up in the bright blue sky, only slightly ruined by the sharp cold wind. A whole city located right on the beach, but unlike Panama, you could actually go in the water, although it is freezing cold.

Usually, I’m the type of person who writes to their boyfriend and friends to tell them how much I miss them. But on this trip I didn’t. Not once did it even cross my mind. Every day I would go out and explore every inch of the city. I’d visit the famous wharf, ride all the different buses, shop, have some coffee, sit back in a café and relax.

However, what I didn’t notice was how much I seemed to be growing attached to California. When I came back I was acting differently, according to my friends. I didn’t go out with them anymore, and kept to myself in my own little bubble. I was craving the perfect blue sky and the icy blue ocean breeze. I didn’t want to be in Panama, I wanted to be in California, and stay there. And now that my brother was living there, that made me extremely jealous and long for it every second of every day. Almost all of my friends were angry at me and I hadn’t even called my best friend on her birthday. It was a complete mess. Even my boyfriend somehow seemed distant; I was ignoring his existence, which almost lead to a break-up. I was ready for the next step and didn’t care about my life here anymore. I wanted to move there, and stay there and nothing was going to change that.

Thankfully, I finally snapped out of it. I realized that, for now, Panama is where I live and I have to leave California aside for next year. The time will come when we all have to part, and that is when I’ll go. I’m hoping to attend college there next year. That is when I’ll be able to enjoy it for what it is and move on when I’m meant to. But for now I’ll try to stay happy here in Panama. Because here are all the people I care about and that are the most important in my life. And as for California, I’ll be there before I know it.

Why Must It Change?

“Omnia mutantur, nos et mutamur in illis ” - Nicholas Borbonius-

Why do we make friends if we know that eventually they’re going to leave us behind? It‘s the same way with everything else. Nothing is ever the same in the end as it was when it began. Why do we choose to do things if we know that they won’t last? If we know that they are going to come to an end? We do them anyway and they always happen over and over again. That is why the thing that I hate most in the world is CHANGE.

Just hearing that word makes me choke back tears because of all the things in my life I wish had never changed. The most recent one of all caught me completely off guard. Imagine hating someone for years. Suddenly, 4 years later you realize the two of you have quite a lot in common. That happened to me last year, but even though it sounds like a great encounter it has its downside. While I was away this summer I got a call from my friend telling me that her parents were forcing her to move. She’d be gone by the time I returned to Panama. At first it hadn’t hit me, but now that I’m here it has and I miss her. Not just her, but all the things we used to do together. These memories included my boyfriend and hers, of whom I had played the role of cupid. The four of us were inseparable. Once the year ended and summer came and went it had all been over and I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye. Both she and her former boyfriend are still great friends of mine, only thing is that they hate each other and she’s in another country. Sure we keep in touch but I can’t bring up anything about one of them to the other. It’s hard to not pick sides when one complains about the other, but I try my best to remain neutral, even though I usually fail. Things like this summer are far too much change for me to handle in such a short period of time.

When I think about it now I realize that I’ll never be able to do “what I did that one day” ever again. It may be because the person I was with is no longer a part of my life, or maybe because it happened in a place I no longer live in. These things make me think about hundreds of memories at once, and it’s too much to think about without being overwhelmed.

You may think that I am a hopelessly depressed person who hides away from the fear of everything around me crumbling. Well, I’m not, and I don’t. I have appositive outlook on life most of the time: I’m almost always smiling and I try to be open to new things coming into my life. Change is something that I silently fear while under the covers, like all those monsters under my bed when I was 5. But instead of an actual monster, this fear of mine is going to creep up behind me and before I know it, something around me will change again, and I can’t help but notice. I try not to think about it too much, but when I do it really hurts. No matter how hard I try, I can’t accept that for the rest of my life new friends, places, cultures and other things will just fly in and out of it, some without saying hello or goodbye. Maybe I have a problem, or maybe I’m just too sentimental. I can’t stand it when people say, “Move on” or “Let it go.” I just can’t do that. What’s more, I won’t as long as I can make everything stay how it is and should be. I’m sick of seeing glimpses of all the friends, loved ones, pets, and homes that have flown in and out of my life. When someone says “Let’s keep in touch,” we know that after a while there will be nothing left to say. And even so we try to hold on to that tiny thread that starts off tight and slowly seems to loosen until it has fallen apart. No matter how hard I try to think “It’s for the best,” or maybe “I’m growing up anyway,” I know that I will never be able to truly accept change for what it is. I will always miss the days where a couple of friends and I would just go out and have fun doing absolutely anything. A part of me will always think back to the good old days and wonder why on earth everything has to change and if it’s really all only for the better.