My Independent Writing Project: Double Crossed

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1HxqpUU3iqOvhO4zyPVRjUlCfBA4RfbXH5VGwyvgCk2E/edit?usp=sharing

Poem: I Walk With a Falcon

This poem is about overcoming your biggest fear: Yourself. It's about how we all have a limited time on this planet so we shouldn't be afraid of ourselves, instead, we should be living our life as we choose to do so. We should be brave and cast our doubts away so that we don't regret our decisions in the future. Despite being pressured by our peers, we can't let their criticism take away from ourselves.

This poem began with a bunch of lines that I liked from a film festival. As I developed this poem, I got more and more ideas from the lines and wrote my own poem that spoke directly to me. Enjoy!

I Walk With a Falcon

Lost in the light,
Dead in my mind.

Storms crashing my heart,

Winds tearing me apart.

Shaken,

The world falling like dice,

Twisting on the game board,

Rolling through life,

Always landing on 1,

Never a 6.

Not even once.

Hourglass flipped,

Sand seeping,

Anguish a veil of black,

Ribbons of crystal hope,

Waving in the past.

I’m drowning under the waves,

Under the tide,

Under the world,

Under my life.

I want a future that floats.

To soar above city lights

Gliding on snowy wings.

I don’t want to be afraid,

Not anymore.

People assume,

I’m some vulnerable creature,

Like I’m a baby bird,

Trapped in a cage.

Like they are God,

Holding the key.

But all that charity,

Can be cast into a trance,

Clenched in the clutches of shadows,

And careless memories.

Because,

I walk with a falcon,

Poised on my fist.

Podcast - Organ Trafficking Black Market

Top 10: The Star of the Show

The polished wooden stage is swept with luscious velvet curtains. The teeming crowd is practically jumping out of their cushioned seats in excitement. They have been waiting for this production for a long time. Everything is dark, like the night, you can't even see your own hand in front of you. Anxiety weaves through each person, as wonder fills the cold air. Who will be the star of the show? A shrieking clap of thunder races across the room, as a blinding yellow light, appears in a large circle at the centre of the stage. The audience is scrambling for a glimpse at the actors, but the spotlight is beamed directly on only one person. Where are the rest of the actors?

You see, the rest of the actors and actresses hide in the shadows, bouncing on their toes with butterflies fluttering in their stomachs. All costumed in their thoughts for this performance, the artists wait for their turn in the glorious spotlight. The performers wait. And wait. And wait. But, their turn to present their stunning act will never come, because of one person, one cruel attention freak.

Yes, I am a performer. I am hiding in the shadows of one human being, just as most of you are. My thoughts remain in an abyss, all ideas to be forgotten, never to be spoken out loud. Every theory, all opinions, even my minuscule suggestions, are all banished to myself because I am forbidden to utter a single word. Why? Because the attention freak has struck, again. The attention freak snatches all of the attention towards him, and won't let anyone else speak at all. The being glues our mouths shut with not tape, but with his mind so that none of our thoughts can be shared with anyone. Magnificent words bubble out of the attention freak's mouth like a waterfall, the words cease to stop pouring out until they have drowned out everyone's voice but his. Wave after wave, his words turn into sentences, and his sentences to turn into paragraphs, and even his paragraphs turn into essays, as the waterfall of words never stops. This is why the performers will always be waiting because the attention freak will never lend the spotlight to anyone else.

We are all meant to be stars of this show. We all want to dance and twirl in front of the crowd, we all want our ideas to shine under the spotlight. But, we are not able to, because the attention freak has stolen the spotlight yet again. He has shut out our thoughts and spoken only his out loud. Enough, I say, enough. We have waited far too long to throw the attention freak off the stage. The time has come for him to step into the shadows. The time has come for us to become the stars of the show.

Open Letter

To all those people who don't do work in group projects,

Please know that you are the cause of my suffering.

You couldn't do your part of the project yesterday? Oh, it was because your dog ate your homework, that totally makes sense! And you can't-do your assignment today either because your cat will eat your homework. Nor, will you do your work tomorrow because somehow your sofa will eat your homework! Wow, should I just play along with your lies? There are so many, I'd have to be a professional actress to keep up!

Did you read those twenty emails I sent you last night? As well as the reminders I set on your phone? Did you check your texts? Because despite all of my reminders, you seem to have not done your project. Again. Thank you so much for making me do all of the work! But that's just the sweet person you are at home. Let's not forget the kindness you constantly show in class. You are generous enough to talk to your friends instead of helping me. You are so kind, you want me to do our group project alone so that I can excel as a student and get all the practice I can get! Thank you!

Have I thanked you for signing my work with your name yet? Well, it's highly appreciated. Making me sleep at midnight, sleep deprived, must really make you happy since you do it so often. I just love being grumpy the whole day while you flaunt around happily. The teacher loves you now, I mean who wouldn't with your grades being suddenly perfect? I must've been hallucinating because while I was working in class, it almost seemed like you didn't do any work, I seriously thought that you were slacking off!

Well, that's all for now slackers. I just want to thank you again for causing me to suffer by not doing any work whatsoever. See you again next class!

From,
Everyone you've ever worked with in a group project.

Application Essay

28K

The sloppy muck clings onto my shoes like cement. My hands flail in front of me, grasping onto any branches within my reach. Each step is agony, the brown substance as sticky as glue, suctioning my neon orange sneakers to the ground. Soon the murky mud is splattered all over my shirt and shorts, the splotches reminders of my useless attempts to escape the treacherous grounds. Despair washes over me as my shoe becomes loose from my foot and sinks into the muck. My feet freeze as the cool liquid seeps through my socks and wedges in between my toes. The earthy wet scent wafts up my nose, trampling any dandelion thoughts I have. The sludge squeals, protesting against my movements as I cast my eyes forward and glimpse the vague outlines of my fellow walkers ahead, all of them successfully out of the mud and well on their way completing the 28k walk.

Images cloud my mind. I imagine the children in Cambodia as they hobble to get water from the wells. The realization almost seems laughable; that I am only aware of my privileged life shin deep in muck. I allow my feet to fall still and let my arms flop down beside to me. Taking a deep breath in, I let my mind wander.

Children in Cambodia have to trudge through muck and gritty grass in the scorching heat just to get water. And here I am, sauntering with civilization at my doorstep. The looming silver skyscrapers tower over me, the red and white flag of Singapore waves relentlessly, and I can even make out the medics with their first aid kits strolling ahead. I have already powered through 27 kilometers, I will continue. I motivate myself with thoughts of young children who walk 28 kilometers in Cambodia every day. I drive myself forward, propelling my mind to see the positivity in this walk rather than the negative thoughts that are holding me back. I channel that positive energy into my movements, now seeing the muck has a mere obstacle in the path of a hero's journey.

With renewed energy, I force my aching legs out of the mire. My terror subsides and all I feel is adrenaline, pumping through my blood, urging me to get out of this muck and to continue the walk. I wrench my legs out of the mud and back in, one step at a time, yanking them with increasing enthusiasm with every step. Finally, my soaked sneakers reach the hard, oh so beautiful ground. I stumble forward and begin sprinting towards my fellow walkers, attempting to catch up to them.

My knees are jelly and my feet are swollen, fat like a pumpkin, yet I run like a tornado, swirling past multicolored people and flowing past my friends. I run further and further away from everyone until I have finally made it to the front of the crowd.

160 people are behind me. 10 people are in front of me. 50 more meters till I finish the Walk for Water.

40m. 30m. 20m. 10m. 5m. 1m.

I bolt through the torn finish line, coming in 5th place. Confetti streams from the clouds, dancing over us. The sea of parents screams encouraging words over the shrieking upbeat pop music. My father presents me with a fresh Starbucks iced mocha, my favorite. The sugary chocolate mixed with the frothy milk melts on my tongue, the caffeine much welcomed in my exhausted body. So this is what victory tastes like. Pride swells inside me, warming every single bone in my body. I did it.

Life is tough. It will drag me down. Neglected problems will come back to haunt me and will pummel me till I drop. No matter where I go, there will always be issues I want to escape. There will always be puddles of malicious muck obstructing my path. That will never change. But, I will battle through the mud, just as I did a year ago. My mind will banish thoughts of negativity, driving only ideas of positivity, and my body will be strong enough to push me past my doubts until I have surpassed the obstacle. But, it is my heart that will pull me through. Just as I thought about the penniless children in Cambodia as I endeavored through the mire, I will think about those I can aid as I plow through my obstacles. I will always stride forward, I will wrestle through the choking muck, to my pride.

Note to the Reader

This writing was a stressful piece of work. Beneath this neat tidy work, there were weeks of mess and struggle. From thinking about a small moment, to actually writing, to finally editing it. There were a lot of things that needed to be done. Coming up with an enticing lead was the easy part, but finishing with a memorable ending? That part was definitely the most challenging. How do you end with a non-cliched, meaningful ending? That was the question that I kept asking myself, and sometimes I still do, but in the end, I think that I did a pretty good job patching up a meaningful ending. That was the hard part but the part that I loved was writing with sensory language. I am detailed writer already, so adding sensory language was the easy bit. I loved cooking up similes, metaphors and just writing with tons of details!

I want my reader to be able to see what I experienced. I tried to write as descriptively as I could so that my reader could imagine the emotions I felt and could understand the background I was in. To me, understanding and being able to see your character’s position is extremely important.  However, the message, of course, is the most essential part of the essay. I hope that my reader could understand how I grew as a person. How I learnt that the body, heart and mind have to work together to surpass an obstacle. How I understood that I have to battle through my problems. This is the message I want my reader to notice and my writing to convey.

Fixing Tomorrow

43,200. That's the number of times that Karla was raped.

One day, Karla was at the Subway with some of her friends, when she was lured by a man with kind words and a fast car. It didn't take much for the man to convince Karla to go live with him, coming from a dysfunctional family and already having been mistreated by relatives, Karla was more than ready to leave her home.

After 3 months of living with him, four years of hell came. Karla was only 12 years old when she was first forced to work as a prostitute. She was taken to one of Mexico's largest cities: Guadalajara. She started work at 10 am and ended at midnight, seeing 30 men per day. Soon she was taken to motels, streets, brothels and even houses across different countries.

Then came the beatings. Karla was attacked by her trafficker; the man who brought her into this. The man beat her with a chain all over her body, he punched her with his fists, kicked her, pulled her hair, spat in her face, and he even burnt her with an iron. Karla told the trafficker she wanted to leave, but she was accused of falling in love with another man and was forced to stay.

That wasn't the worst part though, that was just the beginning. At 15 years old, Karla gave birth. This baby was fathered by a pimp who would threaten to kill or harm the baby if Karla didn't fulfil his wishes. A month after the baby girl was born, she was taken away from Karla. Karla wasn't allowed to see her baby until the baby was over a year old. One year old.

This ordeal lasted 4 long harsh years for Karla. Finally, in 2008, she was rescued by an anti-trafficking operation in Mexico City, just by a stroke of luck.

A stroke of luck. There are thousands of girls around the world who aren't lucky enough to be rescued. There are hundreds of babies born that aren't allowed to see their mother. Can you believe this? How outrageous is trafficking? How is it possible that minors, some being only 10 years old, can face something so horrifying and traumatic that we can't even begin to imagine what they've been through? But you know what the worst part is? It's that we don't do anything about it. We don't give money to shelters that help girls cope with these life-changing experiences. We don't spend a cent on any operations that save these minors from being trafficked. And I bet that nobody has tried raising awareness about human trafficking to anyone.

WAKE UP, PEOPLE! Human trafficking is real and is happening in our world today. Karla is just one girl, we could just as easily be trafficked. What if you were Karla? It's hard to think about but tons of girls don't need to imagine what Karla's been through, they're living it. They're facing the same things she faced and are feeling the same desperate emotions that she felt. Imagine the world with no more trafficked minors. Imagine the world with no traumatized children. Imagine the world with no babies wondering why their mother has disappeared. Well, this world is just a dream right now, but we can make it a reality. We can change our world. We can fix it. We can fix tomorrow.