Reflection 13

i came in late to class again. For the... I've lost count. I feel terribly sick today and i just miss my bed at home and my unlimited boxes of tissue. Anywaay, Mrs.Fa has asked us to write a short story based on one of the three given stories and that is why i am here writing this... No, not to write the short story here but to post the very last reflection. I'll definitely miss writing this blog.

On a completely different story, Mrs. Fa just taught us the term that i did have heard of before and it is called 'Cliffhanger'. The term Cliffhanger is basically what i can say as the unexpected ending of a story. It leaves readers wanting for more. And you'll never really see how the story ends but it just does unexpectedly. The tricky part is to be genius in writing the ending which we were taught just minutes ago, has three techniques. You can use a cliffhanger ending by using question, dialogue or by using descriptive scene.

Right now i think i'll proceed with another task Mrs. Fa has assigned us to do because i'm a good student hehe. Until we meet again!

The Twelfth Reflection

For this possibly the last reflection I will be writing, it will be about the last class that Mrs.Fa had taught us more about the last type of poem which is called... Haiku! Haiku started in Japan and what is interesting about Haiku is, it is short but meaningful. It is short because a haiku is usually to capture a particular moment, emotion, or one's surrounding. It is special how one short haiku can tell much about a single moment. However, Haiku has a lot more types under it and that was exactly the part that made me feel as though I had been tricked. I thought there was only Haiku :(

There are four types of Haiku and all of them share one similarity. They are all unrhymed. 

The traditional Haiku has its own format. It must be written in a single stanza that consists of three lines and 17 syllables. 

The first line : 5 syllables

The second line :7 syllables

The third line: 5 syllables

There are also strictly a few themes that we could choose to write about in our Haiku such as nature, seasons, environment, people and emotions. 

The second type of Haiku is called Tanka. I must say that this is my most preferred type of Haiku because it allows me to write longer words, hehe. Tanka is also written in one stanza but consists of 5 lines and 31 syllables.

Line one : 5 syllables

Line two: 7 syllables

Line three: 5 syllables

Line four: 7 syllables

Line five: 7 syllables

The third type is called Septolet. Septolet must be written in two stanzas that consist of 7 lines with 14 syllables. It does not have any specific amount of syllables in each line but it is still tricky because of the syllable limit.

The last type of Haiku is called Lune. When I first encountered this word, it instantly reminded me of the moon. Lune is an English variation to the Japanese Haiku. It is written in a single stanza that consists of 3 lines and 13 syllables. 

The Eleventh Reflection.

I was absent on this day because I felt really, really sick. Almost sick that I could not even move a muscle... After spending more than half of the day in bed, I asked a friend if I missed anything from the Creative Writing class with Mrs.Fa and she kindly told me that they were learning more about the acrostic poem. From her last class, I only knew about the first technique of acrostic poem (where the line will start from each of the letter of a word). But in the last class I missed, Mrs.Fa taught us another two more techniques. These techniques include, putting letters at the end (the line would end with each of the letter of the word) For example,

The weather was terrifiC

The rain gave me amnesiA

To wash away what remained hard to forgeT

and lastly, putting letters in the middle (the line would start and meet the letter of the word). For example,

She refused to See the world

From his blue Eyes at least

It was always Empty when she did

She also taught them about Found Poem which is a composition from combining fragment from printed materials such as newspapers, magazines or books and rearranging them into a form of poem. The

The Tenth Reflection

I could not make it to CFS to for a quick meet up with Mrs.Fa and the others but I was nicely informed by a friend of mine that I had been included in her group that consisted of Aiz (Nazatul), Mek (Nadia) and myself. I was told that the three of us would do the assignment given by Mrs.Fa together. The assignment required us to write a short story based on a fairy tale that should not be more than five pages and two different formatted poems. But first thing first, we had to come up with a name for a group before we could comfortably start with our work. Looking at three of us, we had our own peculiar ways when interacting with others but at the same time, we were also stoked and enthusiastic for something! Therefore, we named ourselves The Vivacious Stiffs and The Vivacious Stiffs would definitely give Mrs.Fa a good piece of writing. Our group would write about the twisted tale of Rapunzel and we hoped to twist the plot as much as we could to give the element of surprise to our readers.

The Ninth Reflection.

On Monday, Mrs.Fa could not attend the class as usual. Hence, she gave us a very special task to do to refresh back our memories regarding the types of poems that she had taught us earlier. The first type of poem is called Acrostic. To do an acrostic poem, we must firstly find a word as a subject and the poem will begin with each initial letter of the word. For an example, WONDER. Each of the initial (W, O, N, D, E, R) will fall into different lines and each line will start with the initial.The second type of poem is called Diamante. It is not interesting but also creative. This seven-lined poem is written into a shape of a diamond. The first line consists of only one word that is normally the title of the poem. The second line consists of two adjectives to describe the title given. The third line consists of three different verbs about the title. The fourth line consists of four nouns that are related to the title. The fifth line must have three verbs to describe the nouns in the fourth line. The sixth line consists of two adjectives that describe the fourth line. And the last line is a word that is opposite to the first line. The final type of poem is called the Freeverse. There is no format to this one which means that it is much more relaxed because it sets no limit to the poet!

Three Poems.

1. Acrostic Poem

What the world has to keep me wandering around

Only time and my broad imagination will tell

Now and forever I will close my eyes to see

Dreams and possibilities that will answer my thoughts

Eerie it is, my thoughts will always be reborn

Reborn in this little sytem of mine.

2. Diamente Poem

Love 

Beautiful, painful
Upsetting, relieving, comforting
Joy, beauty, irritation
Tormenting, pleasing, tempting
Jolly, grumpy
Hate

3. Free verse (Happiness) 

Monotonous i was in that sweltering room,

Words continued to collide, my pale lips were stitched

This place swallowed me whole and my mistake, i let it fill me with gloom

My years were observed but no eyes were on me

My eyes could fill in any empty hole there was,

My ears could medicate my vacant soul without the presence of light

My blank stares and aimless moves were nothing brand new

And my never-ending desolation became the state in which my mind grew

Words collided and my lips were stitched still

Over the years, my childish wish became something hard to fulfill

This place had kept my weakness a secret it would never spill

It had always bothered me, this lack of thrill

That one thought invaded my system,

This room, it coaxed me with the comforting air

These eyes, they had seen me rise and fall

This place, I would never want to get out of it

I found my happiness in loneliness,

Right here where I was raised.

The Eight Reflection

The test that Mrs.Fa had prepared for us really got me worried. Worried because I thought I was ready to be as imaginative and creative as possible but I still do not think that I am pleased with the answers or essays I wrote /sighs/ On a different note, the part that I enjoyed the most was choosing any one of the characters in the given picture (there were many!) that were situated in the same location which was in a restaurant. Different characters were doing different things and I remember choosing this one skinny, short, pig-tailed hair man who was wearing a pair of round quirky glasses to write about. Maybe because the character and I have one thing in common... we are both really short people. Overall, the test really made my hand sweat! I don't think I wrote that much compared to others (I think) but it was enough to numb my hand.

The Seventh Reflection

Mrs.Fa had brought us to the classroom which was located in the library. We were initially told to share the story that each group had to rewrite based on the famous tale called 'Jack And The Giant Beanstalk' from their first point of view. It was a clear-glass walled classroom and those who were sitting outside of the classroom could see us hold a piece of long white paper that we had successfully wrote the story that we renamed as 'Sharpie And The Thief'. In our story, we had decided to turn the giant into a protagonist and Jack as the antagonist as switching points of views could really make a huge difference to the story. Not only did I have a good time sharing the story with the other members of my group, I also enjoyed listening to different twisted stories from the other groups! We also had to paste our paper on the wall where others would have to put their sticky notes that had their comments on our story and ours on theirs to know how we could improve our writing. Afterwards, we were taught about the types of poems that initially got me scared because there were many of them! And I began to feel worried because I knew I had to really understand each and one of those formats of different types of poems. There were a few types of poems; haiku, wingspark, diamante, acrostic and many more. A wingspark that we were asked to do by Mrs.Fa must always start with the line of 'I dreamed...' followed by the second line that consists of the person or thing that you dreamed of. The third line will be the place where the character appeared in your dream and lastly, the action taken by the character. It should not be called as a wingspark if you do not follow the exact format.

The Sixth Reflection

During this Friday class, we were taught more about the fourth point of view which is called omniscient. It is basically the added details of one's surrounding that give a very clear view to the readers how the surrounding is like. It is very interesting knowing that much can be said even if you are only sitting at a cafeteria, in the classroom or just anywhere. We were also showed a video about a man who seemed to be very unhappy with his relationship with his wife. In the video, the man had a lot of thoughts going inside his head and he thoroughly described the entire room and the actions of his wife. Afterwards, we were assigned by Mrs.Fa to form a group of three to four members and rewrite the famous story "Jack and The Giant Beanstalk" from a different point of view. It was interesting to see that many possibilities came up from the story. The best part was knowing that the protagonist could be the antagonist and vice versa just by switching the points of views!

The Eye Of Bethany

Bethany was raised in a supposedly happy family. Supposedly because her parents were rich enough to get her different types of luxurious cars on her birthday, Christmas' Eve, Christmas, Thanskgiving and any other special occasions you can think of. She was supposed to be happy with her life as a teenage girl living in a big mansion with the view of the great blue sea from her room and going to a school where everybody's priority was the same; being the most perfect in terms of everything except academics. They were never important if you had the money. Bethany was different than most of her useless schoolmates that never looked way beyond their parents' wealth and that is why she was an outcast. Living through the years, receiving everything she had never asked for, she felt as empty as an old narrow road that nobody took anymore. Her emptiness was always filled with much more nothingness as she woke up each day. Friends? You could only buy them with money. That is the reason why she was friendless... Because she knew she could only get a bunch of people who would agree and support even if she was to cause a riot at school with her money in their pockets.

She had a pair of black round eyes that were as black as the hole in her heart. Her hair was cut to the length of her shoulder and her fringe covered the whole area of her wide forehead. She was the only person in school who was strangely bullied despite of her parents' wealth. Her lack of interest in keeping herself physically interesting was one of the factors why most of the people at school chose her as a medium for them to finally escape from pretending to like, support, agree with somebody and their childish decisions just because they were rich enough to pay others' temporary interest. Bethany was always being laughed at for not being pretty enough in their eyes. She was not skinny, not big sized either. Her body was perfectly normal but she was always insulted for being 'normal'. Some people called her fat only because her body was normal. Some called her weird because her eyes were round and puffy. Some also called her a fish for having a huge forehead that she covered with her fringe that always went out of place. She had insecurities that she could simply solve with her parents' money but really, she knew it would not change a thing because that would only make her the same as those who bullied her.

She did not want to be like them, she did not want to be her either. It was all because of money that most of them acted the way they were acting as though they were all mighty.

One day, she got home after long, agonizing day at school. She closed the main door and looked around her big mansion. The walls were white, the huge golden chandelier hanging in between two different white marbled staircases that led to the second floor of her mansion complimented the dullness in the colors of those whites, the expensive Italian made wooden windows in an open room next to the staircases offered the sight of the great blue sea and the tables were all custom made and shipped from different countries. "All these things... They don't matter," she told herself. All those things but there was no sight of her parents to worry about her condition. They were never around anyway.

The Fifth Reflection

Monday, April 13, 2015

I remember coming in late to the library on this day. As I entered the classroom that had been switched to the one in the library, I noticed a single presence of my Indian friend. She was sitting on her own. And then I turned my head to the right, I saw Mrs.Fa sitting at her desk and I immediately told her I was sorry for being late. She then told me something that had been written on the white board next to her. Everything was confusing because I had no clue what was going on. She explained further about the task that she had assigned to my classmates earlier which was mainly about the Types of Characters. There were seven of them and I was required to pick one of them (that included the main, minor, flat, round, one dimensional, two dimensional and three dimensional characters). I chose to do my research on the three dimensional character which is the type of character that will appear in stories with real human-like flaws. The point of creating this character is to add detail to the story (even though it is not necessary in the plot) but it is there to give more more meaning to the story to make it more realistic. A three dimensional character also has differences with the two dimensional character which include:

two dimensional character: a perfect character who fits in the story. Doesn't have a history to tell the readers and often predictable in the story. Readers will be quick to tell about the character's development. They are also logical, which means they are simple to not give readers an intense time to discover deeply about them. Two dimensional character is said to be non-social (it sticks to itself to produce less complexity in the story) and archetype (it has an attitude/behaviour or something familiar that readers have encountered with before)

three dimensional character: a flawed character who has its own story to tell. It has a unique past (to gain readers' interest if they are fond of deep stories) and it is also irrational. Which means that this character is brought up with the focus of human flaws and therefore, it possesses a very complex attitude of a human being. Three dimensional character can be seen as the quirky one, often social (to add more complexity) and different than any other characters.

The Fourth Reflection

I apologize for not updating this blog for a long time. I had been too caught up with assignments, tests, class projects and family matters over these few weeks. Therefore, I decided to start (or more to continue) writing many posts to come from where I stopped. 

On the last Friday, based on what my friends had reminded me... All of the CFS lecturers were sent to a seminar. That, however did not leave us empty handed as Mrs.Fa had given us a special task to do as our 'homework'. It required us to do a bit of 'sight-seeing' which in this case, I called it 'stalking' because our task was all about looking for a stranger that seemed to trigger our interest. Let it be a normal girl with a pair of glasses walking along uplaza with her handphone or a boy who just happened to sit on his own at the bakery, we could use them as a character in our story and invent any possibilities that probably had or never had occurred in their lives. Basically, we had to observe their moves and appearance in order to write our story better. 

My story about this 'stranger' I found when I was sitting on my own at Ucafe was clear and simple. He just seemed fascinating and my eyes led my mind to wonder more about him. Frankly speaking, I did feel those butterflies in my tummy as I was writing a story about him because it always reminded me of the moment he was in my sight. And that moment was a reaaaally long moment. 

Thank you Mrs.Fa! ;)

(I had posted the story that is entitled 'Not Much of a Stranger' before writing this reflection)

Not Much Of A Stranger

I saw him from afar and my heart started to send a familiar signal to my brain that led it to producing words that only I could hear if I paid close attention to myself and the butterflies in my tummy. He had that decent look on his fair skin. I had noticed his high level of confidence that never got too high that the perfect amount of confidence in his walk became the symbol of arrogance and cockiness. His abilities consisted of finding judgmental stares and whispers from ear to ear extremely tolerable because it was an easy job for him to distract any poor girls out there and be the center of attraction with that rare confidence as well as his charming look that managed to catch even my attention. His short straight undercut black hair that never went out of place was another work of art. I figured it was one of his best hair days that he always had for his years of being attractive and extremely decent. As he continued to be present in my sight, I noticed no flaws but bushy yet perfectly edged set of eyebrows that showed how masculine he was and his killing brown round eyes that were clearly visible across the room. His lips were unlike any others', they were moist and pink. Overall, they complemented his light skin.
The voices that came from people I barely knew introduced me to him and he had a very good reputation to maintain although I knew it was not necessary for him to do so as his strong desires to be humble, generous and strong at the same made him quite famous among the crowd. I looked at him and instantly felt relieved as though I was sitting on a wooden bench in a forest on my own while witnessing the beauty of the waterfall that simultaneously produces cold breeze and loud noise of tans of water falling from above and into the flowing river. My eyes were drawn to him and I just had to know who that man was.
I asked around, knowing he was famous and therefore my shameful task to figure out his real identity would be a piece of cake. For aught I knew, people had nothing bad to say about him because he came from a nice family and he found comfort in spending quality time with each and every one of his family members. All of them would at least go out four times a week and that would be when he was staying for the week at his parents' house instead of his apartment when he had classes to attend to. They were greatly attached and knowing that gave me a new feeling. Envy. He was a family man and it was important for him to always check up on his mother by calling her every night and letting her know that he would always be around eventhough he was not there physically.
Still, it was not a bad thing to feel envious of a man with a great profile, respectable personality and great look to top if off.
I forgot how long I had stared at him mainly because I was too caught up in figuring him out. Poor man, he did not know whom he could trust and he was bothered by the thought of  him being surrounded by a bunch of people that only wanted to stick around because of his status and appearance. It was a nightmare for him to continue facing the two-faced money sucking bunch of dependents on a daily basis WITHOUT lashing out on them and giving them a piece of his mind. He only had one fear and that was the disability to kick some sense into them in order to let them know that they were only making a fool out of themselves by putting on an obvious act to be with him for the fame and easy life.
I guess he was a man who would stand his ground and be assertive. I knew because that recognizable confidence in his walk showed how dangerous he was and nobody should mistake his appropriate profile for pitiful weakness. He was driven by his maturity as the man everybody knew to slowly and carefully reveal mask after mask of the people who never truly deserved his kindness and time. The satisfaction to make them realise on their own just how pathetic they had become to such extent also contributed as a motivation for him to continue putting on such act and tolerating his fear.
He was an interesting book that I would not mind to read again and see where life would take him. His perfections had outnumbered his flaws and I could not wait to hear those voices from unfamiliar faces again to know more than what his eyes and walk would then show me.

The Third Reflection

The last class I had with Mrs.Fa was another eye-opening class that made me wonder and reevaluate my capabilities as a future writer. She wanted us to be as colourful, imaginative and creative as possible in hope to improve our weak ability to describe a particular character thoroughly and specifically. Or mine, at least.
I had always been the person who only knew that writing was a perfect art if and only if the writer could bring his or her readers into their world that had been perfectly produced into a book. The only way good writers could do that is by giving readers clear images of situations, characters and places through well organized descriptions of them.
In spite of my slow improvement, I am starting to get the hang of it and the clear idea of describing something to turn into an image instead of a plain sentence that only goes through one's head after reading it. I learned that with Mrs.Fa and I will try my hardest to be what I have always dreamed to be and that is an influential writer.

The Man Who Writes

He dedicated his whole life after his retirement to his family but his ambitious wife, ignorant and self-centred yet hot-headed children that inherited their stubborness from their father took his kindness of a family man for granted. He spent more than half of his day during the weekdays in his room while the other members of his family were having a productive one outside. He had no friends,  no cars or motorcycles that he could take out for a drive once he finished his 'chores' such as washing dishes and doing laundry.
He was a mute man at home. There were no other choices for him but to guard the house when everbody was away and even so, he was not given enough credit for being the perfect husband and father. When he felt trapped in his own home that he had lived in for 30 years and desperation to feel needed sincerely by his family, he turned to writing. He wrote his mind out in the thick book he received back when he still had a place to go, his office. The book was not that fancy, it had his company logo on the cover and it was everything he had.
He would write about the walls having new cracks and they reminded him of his heart. Everyday was the same even when everyone was present. He would write about the sweltering heat he felt in his room and it reminded him of him being trapped in the cold treatment by his family and not being able to say anything to them. He would also write about the trash he had to take out in the morning and it reminded him of how much felt unwanted and unappreciated in the house. He would write about anything  that shared similarities to whatever he was feeling then and weep after that. On every page of the book, there would be his tears that had dried and on every page too, he would write "i will take care of my family until the day their tears fall next to mine on these pages".
The moments his family lost interest in having a conversation with him, and to his every question, they only responded with a nod or a shook and sometimes nothing at all, led him to becoming a mute man who only spoke through his writing.

The Trip.

It was the loud noise that startled me... Metal against metal... Honkings from cars nearby....And also the man's sudden appearance. My mind was in a state of shock to the extent of not being able to produce any words that could make my friend, who was driving my silver hench-back 6 year old car (that had quite a number of scratches from the previous hits) turn his face to the direction where the motorcyclist seemed unprepared to clench his brake and had zero unwillingness to predict his possible injuries or whether or not he would make it out the hit alive.
Up to this day, the man's reaction when he fell off his motorcycle after his unstoppable motorcycle hit my car still remains unforgettable. His hands were raised in the air, his eyes were static as they looked up to the sky, his body was pulled down by the gravity and so was his hope to avoid the collision. He went missing from my sight and i began to worry about my car's damage. The hit was not that severe but i knew my friend would be severely attacked by the injured motorcyclist or so i thought and i would receive severing lectures from my parents.
As my friend got out of the car, i noticed his disoriented moves and wild eyes. My fear then, was him getting kicked, punched and hit by the motorcyclist himself and also by the taxi drivers that got out of their cabs in anger while yelling at my friend for not being aware of the incoming motorcycle. I sat in the car and my head was filled with curiousities. After awhile, the motoryclist was assisted by a few people to get him back up on his feet and then everybody started to disappear.. I assume it is because they blocked the road by stopping their cars and trying to get involved.
My friend got back into the car after gently  tapping the motoryclist's shoulder and pointing his finger to the sidewalk to indicate that he was asking the motoryclist to wait for him there while he searched for a space to park the car. Not far from where the accident happened, both of us made our ways to the motorcylist and i could only feel the heat on my face that signaled my fear and worry. As my friend confronted the man and carefully asked him what he wanted so that we would not cause him anger and illogical requests as the 'victim', i stood next to him and started analyzing the motorcyclist that appeared quiet and calm when he was not naturally supposed to. My friend picked up a newspaper off the road and asked for my pen, it took awhile for me to realize that the man we hit was actually mute but not deaf. My friend was having a nonverbal communication with the mute motorcyclist by writing in between blank spaces on the newspaper and the man responded the same way. We asked him if he was okay and if he wanted a ride to the nearest clinic, he shook his head while frowning and wrote "i am late for work". It was a very calm 'conversation' until he demanded for RM50. I was broke at the time and my friend, on the other hand found it ridiculous for somebody who did not even suffer from cuts or bruises let alone serious injuries to be asking for such amount. He then nonverbally told him that it was also his fault for not stopping his motorcycle when all the other cars did to give us a way to make a right turn and the fact that he was on the right lane topped it off, also the damage of our car was much more severe compared to his motorcycle as the car's front bumper has incompletely detached. We offered him RM20 instead but he refused to take the money and got on his motorcycle with empty hands. My friend stopped him and patted his shoulder. He offered him RM30 instead and the demanding  motorcyclist accepted the RM50 note while putting on a struggling act to give us back the RM20 change. The three of us parted ways as soon as my friend reached out his hand to perform a handshake and the motorcyclist smiled at my friend after he told him to take care of himself.
We could have had a nasty ending where my friend would have returned home with bruised fists after giving hundreds of punches to anybody who was trying to attack him or he himself would have gotten serious injuries from the fight that typically would happen if you ever hit anyone on the road. Despite the intensity and the pressure to come up with a way to inform my parents about the damage of the car, i refused to let those negativities and stress affect me, my friend and our trip to Kuala Lumpur. Even though i knew i would face a different yet stressful problem at home, the whole hitting a mute motorcyclist experience could have been worst.

The second reflection

Mrs.Fa asked us to write our own short stories that were based on our own personal experience. Some of them used both experience and imagination, some depended on their imaginaton alone and some used their experience to write on paper. I failed to come up with any fascinating true story because i didn't think i had any interesting experience to write about... Until i thought about this one experience  that seriously got me into trouble.  

It was a difficult task to start putting words on paper but after awhile, i got the hang of it. Once i was done with my draft, i showed it to Mrs.Fa and she told me that she found my story interesting. Honestly speaking, it never occurred to me that i would get such straightforward compliment from any lecturer because of my lack of effort in producing something, but after having my work being acknowledged, i started to feel the need to do more and better. It also reminded me how much i used to love writing and the ability to say something about yourself, people in general, your stories from your own point of view and your own feelings in a different medium where your thoughts are always accepted.

The First Reflection

I've always had a passion in writing because i never had any other hobbies that i wanted to spend more time on. I started writing when i was 13 and I found it extremely intriguing because you could just write anything your heart desired. My sister was the person who first influenced me to write. I adored her style of writing and her words usage that i had no idea what they meant until i searched for them on the internet.  

The first class i had with Mrs.Fa, i never thought i would had an enjoyable time. It has been so long since i gave much thought to my surroundings and the events that happened that could be useful when i had the tendency to write something. I also felt relaxed because Mrs.Fa stayed cool throughout the three hour of class. There was a moment where i began to think that i would do well in this subject because i already felt passionate when Mrs.Fa was explaining about creative writing and i knew i would be in good hands.