Yay, Updates!
FINALLY, I found some time to upload stuff I wanted to share.
Poem, new writings in commentary, etc. etc…I’m very happy
I neatly placed everything in my uploads folder months ago, but didn’t get the chance! I’m glad this semester is winding down because that only means I’ll have more time to spend on writing and the site later on. If I have time I might even tweak with the graphics. I’m also thinking about posting a links page for site with great writing tips in a few days, as well as place some more works in Fiction. That’s to help those who visit and wish to improve on writing, too!
There are tons of links in my favorites section in my browser, and if I post them here, I can click delete and make it clog-free…
Well, until then!
Crystal
To be || ! to be…some after thought…
A Moment of Swirls
The first time I went to the ‘Doughnut Shop’ with Grandpa was when I was six. I was sitting in the basket attached to his silver mountain bike with the wind whipping in my face. The ride usually lasted for ten minutes from his home to some corner, that is long since gone by now—but the memory of it remains.
Grandpa would swerve around corners and I would yell, “Yip—pee!” and we would both say, “Let’s do that again!” As I recall these times, I remember Grandpa as a younger version of what he looks like today: old, but with an essence of youth still engulfing him. He also wore this grayish bowler hat when he stepped outside and tilted it to the side of his bald head, which made me think of some detective. To me, Grandpa was the coolest!
After the fun ride Grandpa would eventually come to a stop at our destination in front of the Doughnut Shop. The first time we arrived there together I waited for the click, click of the chain to tie the bike so that it would not be stolen. Then we stepped into the small, glass window shop and inhaled that sweet air. On that day in particular, the merry sound of customers could not be heard and the whirring shop only contained the owner, Grandpa, and, of course, me. Stepping inside there were a few unorganized tables and chairs and straight ahead was a bright lime-green counter with a cashier. Lined on the right side of the wall were the grand assortments of doughnuts of all shapes and sizes with the most interesting decorations. And behind the counter was a completely different world decked with posters of coffee, a flashing menu high above, and the various gadgets making the noises of life that made shop so distinct. I gasped.
“Alright, you can go over there and pick any doughnut you want, “ points Grandpa. “But don’t tell your grandma, okay?”
I just shake my head and shuffle over to the encased doughnuts. They were lined in the most beautiful order with chocolate frosting, fillings sticking out, and different kinds of sprinkles jutting everywhere. I did not know what to make of the sight. I ate doughnuts before, but never appreciated the moments of munching on one. The owner saw my astonished face and small hands pressing against the glass and laughed saying, “Who is this, now?”
Finding
Some days ago, I found a poem I wrote using 14 (?) works. I look a line or two out of the works and made it into something new. If I find the titles I’ll post them up as well!
The weary blues – I know why the caged bird sings – I, too - Sing America (one of my favorites
) – america – etc Sing America. The very first time I thought I was lost, My dungeon shook and my chains fell off,The days were still stuffy with summer,I was in America, Among the Americans— But not of them. No idle passenger Traveling through life, The watcher turns his eyes away,His dreams mocked to death by time,Scorned by attitudes,He will explode. Left his footprints in the skyWith a big knife,Without pencil or paper, With one thousand masterpieces, Hanging only from his mind— Maybe it just sags. Like wet cornstarch, I slide,I was a guide, A pathfinder, An original settler,But I laugh,I LIVE THE ANSWER! Besides,Why should the world be overwise?Tomorrow the radiant stars, Too full to swallow any sorrow,Counting all our tears and sighs,Let the world dream otherwise. Then,I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,The darkness under the trees,When he beats his bars and would be free.
I, too, am America.
The Puritan Society, Seen
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The Art of War
January 7, 2008 at 8: 51 pm01 (Social Commentary)
On Time and Crazy Hurdle Jumpers
By Crystal Hua
I am only a spectator, in the sense, when I stood overlooking the whole Gabrielino lunch quad one day, and saw amazing sprints. Students were reinventing the Olympics in front of my eyes as larger boys were dashing and small girls looked like fierce piranhas out to get anyone. Now, usually I don’t judge people by the way they run or the way their “ginormous” backpacks fly behind them, but I can say I was laughing pretty loudly. I mean, truth is, if I wasn’t observing the adrenaline in me would have done the same. You know, need to eat to live, right? I used to feel no shame whatsoever running down the B building like physically disadvantaged me; then flying through lunch tables only to pant like a dog and say “Ha! I made it before–*breathe– you.”
But being one day older in observation, I feel strange. Time, like the ticking one, lingers over students during lunch—is not timeless. We live in America. The cooperate society that says dash and run at the sound of the shotgun and last is the loser. I have been Loser only twice during lunchtimes because I was so far from my rubber, teriyaki rice bowl. But, being Smart Loser I found that if I went against the edge of the wall and waved like an idiot saying “Hey! Hey so-and-so!” and pretend I knew the girl next to me, I could cut significantly. Even so, my sense of moral judgment cannot become clouded by the need to feed.
The point is, students stand in lunch lines that get only larger as the years grow on and from the lack of efforts to censor people from outside the school that use a fake SG address to come to Gabrielino. It’s not exactly a bad thing, because the shady business is that there are smart people outside of SG and we need to bring them to our school. But is that ethnically fair for others? Not counting the impossibility of removing everyone, we get into the whole issue of who to oust and not. And the next thing we know we will be asked to monitor the dogs that come to sniff for crack and other illegal substances. So what do we do? We can leave the situation as it is and field a new track team from the exercises every lunch. Or we can fix the problem through less dramatic means. There is a solution to our problems even though we cannot stop time.
Believe it or not, cooperate America can be fair to employees by giving bonuses and amazing them through what-not means. So at GHS we need to amuse our students. Instead of making people wait in endless lines, why not cut them down? Why not create more of those lunchlady stands or more machines to scan those flashy pink cards that scream scratch. Or we could do what Disneyland does and make lines more compact to save space to have them become the happiest places on earth.
What I’m saying is that there is a solution, one that requires the motivation of students and administration. As such, in the art of war all is fair, right? So in all fairness we can take hand’s time and leave the blaming on our shoulders to fix. We need leaders, not another generation of Marion Jones. We need action and we need to consider the possibilities. So, that’s why the art of war is…bloody art, but also something to improve upon and make our school blood face and well fed.
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