Metacognition: Laying it All on the Line

Anger. Embarrassment. Love? Regret? Humility. . . .Shame. As I sat down to write the first of what would be 27 drafts of a poem, I was confused to say the least. How was I supposed to write about something that I myself couldn't make sense of? How could I get onto paper what my therapist couldn't get me to even fathom? . . .But maybe, just maybe, by putting the raw, unfathomable emotions onto paper, maybe--just maybe--the reader and I could figure it all out together.

When the first draft of my poem was handed back to me, I felt as if my breath had been stolen. All I could see were markings over what I had thought was an extremely powerful poem. It didn't matter that the majority of what my teacher had written were compliments, it mattered that I had laid it all on the line--and it was rejected. As the frustration with my inability to express what I was thinking boiled over, so did my patience. "I can't write this poem. It simply isn't ready to be written" I told my English teacher. "Okay, fair enough. But I'd like you to try anyway" he calmly replied.

As the war with my poem raged on, I started seeing the world a little differently. In a poem, you have a few stanzas to sell you, your heart, soul and story to the reader. In life, we rarely open ourselves up that easily and openly, yet in a poem, you can't help but let your emotions dance across a page. It was on my second to last draft that I realized a rather hard truth--my poem will never be perfect. My poem will always have room for improvement, and it was once I realized this that I was able to write the last, beautiful draft of my poem. 

My poem isn't the best or the worst. It's not the funniest or the dullest. But you know the one thing that it is? Me. It's not words on a page, it's Toby on a page, and for the first time in a while. . .I'm okay with what I'm reading.

Metacognition: Thanks for the Memories

As I boarded the plane nearly 6 months ago, I never thought that 6 short weeks could change my life. Yet 6 long months later, I found myself face to face with the physical representations of a nearly indescribable summer.

It was on Thanksgiving morning when my mother knocked on my door, and politely reminded me that I had committed to unpacking prior to Thanksgiving dinner. As I awoke, and shortly after started my morning prayers, I asked myself what I was truly grateful for. Though it may sound cliche, I found myself thankful for just one thing: memories.

As I stared at my immaculately clean room, I realized that it was finally time to look at the one thing I had yet to compulsively organize--the 3 foot by 2 foot canvas bag sitting atop the penthouse shelf in my closet. Almost as if by magic, the first thing I saw was the mix CD my 12 other volunteers and I had made entitled (appropriately) "The Soundtrack To My Summer".

With my speakers screaming out memories and nothing to kill but brain cells and time, I began sorting through the bag that I had lived out of for 6 life changing weeks. Two hours passed by, and yet I still had half a bag of memories sitting before me. Two more hours passed by, and yet this time, I found myself staring at only one thing--an empty bag. The Sharpied canvas was no longer the carrying case for memories or home to the smell of  Sean's Axe drenched sweatshirt--it was just a bag. With tears welling up in my eyes that could never say goodbye, I realized what I had to do.

Days later, I sit here writing this blog. My room remains immaculate, and my mind still remains buzzing with memories of a summer I only pray I'll never forget. Nearly everything remains the same, including the top shelf in my closet that is home to a 3 foot by 2 foot bag; yet this time, it holds only one thing--memories.

Metacognition: Poetry Writes Itself

When author Laurie Halse Anderson was interviewed about her riveting book Speak, she was asked whether or not she would write a sequel. Her response has always been the same: I will not speak of the rest of Melinda's story until Melinda is ready to share that story with me. Though cliche, I feel the same way as Ms. Anderson; it's impossible to write a story without first hearing or experiencing at least a part of that story for yourself.

When the poetry assignment was given, I was more than a bit relieved. "No more Orlando" I thought, "this will be easy". It was only when I sat down at a blank screen for the 5th time when I realized that this assignment was far from it. When assignments are vague, I tend to feel flustered and unable to think of anything I deem creative. Yet when assignments are very clear and concrete, I struggle to color within the lines, always wanting to see if I can add just a little color to the white space surrounding what most would deem the "artwork". The poetry assignment fell in the vague category for me as far as instructions, yet I found my struggle not with finding a topic to write about, but with writing about the topic itself.

When I write, I try to not put words on a page--I try to let a story that's been eating away at me spill out and flourish onto a blank canvas. Yet as I sat down at my computer time after time, I found myself unable to let the story out. Finally, on my 6th attempt, I allowed myself to completely relax and just let my mind and fingers say what my heart and soul had been unable to.

Writing for me is personal, and when you only have a few stanzas to sell yourself and your story to the reader, it can often feel intimidating. Here I am, a 16 year old student, divulging my innermost feelings and thoughts, and all I can do is just pray that my thoughts won't be graded or thought upon too harshly. So here they are, more words on a page. Maybe they mean something, maybe they don't. If I've learned one thing, it's that a writer can do no greater thing than to leave themselves vulnerable on piece of paper expecting no one and everyone to understand.

Blogging Around

Kali's Post and My Response

As Kali so beautifully wrote, society really has no right to place each unique individual into a rigid and binding stereotype. Kali wrote about how in class we had been debating whether or not the words "gender" and "sex" mean the same thing, and how after a few thought provoking comments, she had changed her view. At on point, my classmate had thought that the two words were interchangeable, yet then came to the realization that they were anything but. She concluded by saying that society should not and has no right to define us; life in the black in white is much too rigid so it's time we embrace the true beauty of the gray.

My comment/response to her truly inspiring, motivational and uplifting post is as follows:

Kali, this was a very powerful blog post. The fact that you were able to show the change in your thinking and ideals is amazing, and the fact that this change enabled you to be more open minded is fantastic. This blog is really inspiring, and helps reaffirm that society really shouldn't discriminate or box us into such rigid stereotypes. Bravo for using class references to show a very powerful change in perspective and thinking.

David's Post and My Response

When we think of  women's rights, we instantly think of issues like freedom of choice, job equality and healthcare. Simply by hearing those two words together, a thousand things rush through your mind, but few times are any of those racing thoughts focused on the meaning behind the words themselves. In the constitution, women were promised rights equal rights, yet we still find ourselves debating topics that would suggest otherwise. David's post really examines the core ideas behind this pairing of words, and how honestly, they should never have become a topic of debate in the first place.

My comment/response to his thought provoking, unique and well worded post is as follows:

I really enjoyed reading your opinion on this quite controversial subject. While many people seem to take one side over the other, you found the only logical answer: middle ground. The flaw in the argument of "women's rights" itself is rarely pointed out, and I find it quite refreshing to hear. Your post was very thought provoking and informative, and I very much so enjoyed reading your opinions and the eloquent manner in which you chose to word them.

An Inconvenient Truth: Rape Screws Everyone

When we think of PTSD, we think of a soldier struggling to cope with life after being in combat. When we think of  choices, we often think of whether or not we'll go the movie on Friday, or where we should go on vacation. And when we think of our biggest fear, we usually think of an action or an object/animal. But if you're a victim of rape, none of these things come to mind. When you're raped/sexually assaulted, PTSD no longer is something you hear of soldiers having--its becomes a part of you and your daily struggle. You no longer are in control of your body or your voice, because someone physically, mentally and emotionally stole that right away from you. As a victim of sexual assault/rape, all of your fears jumble into one--THEM.

Sexual/assault can happen to anyone, and despite some theories that say victims are "asking for it", these could not be more false. That cheerleader, that girl with no friends, that boy with the blue Nike's--rape/sexual assault can happen to anyone; yet some have viewpoints that rape only happens to a select group of people. Another common misconception is that rapists are weird guys with 70's glasses and a white windowless van, yet 80% of rapists/sexual predators have a positive/healthy relationship with their victim prior to the assault, Though the majority of predators are male, many happen to be female as well. "Rape isn't rape if the person likes it", yet this too is completely false. Emotions/physical feelings mean very little when classifying rape, it's a matter of whether or not the event was consensual. The most unfortunate viewpoint of all happens to be one that is true--most rapists and predators are not aware of any wrongdoing.

Though I can see other sides to the story, rape/sexual assault will never be something that I will change my opinion on. 5% of victims will ever press charges or file a report, yet  100% will have to suffer from the permanent affects. Your life is completely turned upside down after sexual assault/rape, and at times, you feel like you have no one to blame but yourself. One of the saddest truths of all is that survivors tend to blame themselves more than they do their attacker. Rape/sexual assault is one of the worst things that could happen to a person.

1 in 5 people are forced to become survivors.

Rape. Screws. Everybody.

Change of Mind: Orlando

As I dug my way through my backpack one morning, my meaning of Orlando came to me. I was pulling out the final draft of my Orlando paper when seemingly all the thoughts I had previously had finally started fitting together. Orlando wasn't just about a person changing in nearly every single way, it was about a person growing up and no longer accepting that which they were given; it was about a brave soul who rejected the path set before them, and learned to walk on their own ground.

Over the past few weeks, I've been noticing things in society that I simply cannot force myself to agree with, and refuse to force to myself to accept. It's because of that one defining moment as I turned in my paper that I realized that conforming to society is not a requirement to survive. People were created with differences for a reason, and by attempting to be like everyone else, you lose the person that you spent so long trying to find.

While my peers and my society will have an impact on me, no doubt, I'm now able to see that I can go in the same direction without following in anyone's footsteps, or walking on a pre-made path. I'm not like everyone else, though for a while I tried be. Orlando was happy, no matter who, what or where Orlando was, Orlando was happy.

Things may not always make sense, and I may not always agree with things, but now I know that that's okay.   I can now be honest when I say that the path I'm walking is also the path I'm choosing. I'll take a few more wrong steps along the way, trip over myself a few times and get a few bruises here and there. Leaving the drama and lies behind, I'm finally walking on my own two feet. I'm Toby, and for right now, that's okay.

Best of Week: My voice won't be heard. . .yet

"What matters to you most? If you were an adult. . .", a teacher of mine started to say.
"Well", I thought to myself "why does my opinion not matter now"?

This week in class, we've been discussing the upcoming election, and what truly matters to us most. What are the core issues that will affect our voting; will we we choose to align ourselves with a political party? All of these questions get thrown out so easily, and for good reason--we're talking about "the future".

This ominous term tends to terrify me, mostly because at my age, I really have no say. As a Jewish girl who became a Bat Mitzvah, I am deemed an adult. I now have the responsibility to pray with the adults, yet am still expected to play with the kids. Similarly in politics, I am caught in a relatively uncomfortable position. Society is telling me that I am "the new generation", yet I'm given none of the trust or responsibility. I am expected to care about the changes going on around me and to take ownership of what "my generation" is doing to "our country". 

In our country, people with money are valued. Scholars and those who are educated are valued. I am in honors classes in an upper middle class society, but I am not a pre-law student, nor am I in college. I can't tell you what the headline in the business section was this morning, but I can tell you how I think this country can move forward. I can tell you what I want my world to look like. I am the new generation, and yet I am constantly feeling suffocated by society. No matter how many letters I write to my congressman, I know that the response I get is from his secretary. I have been taught time and time again that my voice at my age simply does not matter.

A long time ago, my voice was stolen. A long time ago, people decided that I don't deserve the right to speak up, based on my religion, gender and simply my age. Today, you may not hear more than a brush stroke. Tomorrow? You'll hear an explosion of color as I paint the world I will be living in--it's MY world now.

Carry it Forward: Healing of America

As we began discussing Healing of America by T.R. Reid, I couldn't help but feel a strong connection to the prominent underlying theme: problems--large or small--can be solved if people simply cared.

T.R. Reid tells his audience that nearly every successful healthcare model/system works because the people running the healthcare system care more about the well being of the people that they're serving than they do about their own bottom line. As I was reading this book, it was easy for me to think back to times when I, like America's healthcare system, had put my own personal needs miles before the needs of the people around me. I also was able to connect to times when I was like Japan's healthcare system, for instance, and I put the needs of others before myself, yet my needs were still met.

Unfortunately, I feel that people these days just don't seem as genuinely concerned about the well being of others as they do about themselves. Sure, you could argue that you'd do anything to protect your family, but when it comes down to it, our generation has proven time and time again that we'll throw anyone under a bus if there's even a hint that we could get mildly hurt. 

Caring for and about people is just something that's a part of me. My religion teaches me to care for and about others, but not at the risk of hurting myself. Though the groundwork had already been laid by my religion and the teaching of my parents, Healing of America has built a permanent reminder in my mind to think before I speak, and when I listen, to listen with both open ears and an open mind. I know the whole theme of "caring" can seem quite juvenile and basic (which it is), but the bottom line is that we wouldn't need to re-teach something if people had learned it the first time around. 

Not all problems can be solved with an open mind and heart (A.K.A. caring), but I know for a fact that there would be less conflict and more problems would be prevented if people simply cared. Caring about others is a tough task, and caring about yourself can be equally as tough if not more so. This is a lesson we learned so many years ago, so now let's follow the same logic that we were taught so many years ago: think before you speak, love before you hate and learn that which you do not know or understand.