Driving Questions

The research question driving Looking For Zora is “What can be found as evidence in the place where Zora grew up for who she was as a person rather than who she was as an author?” The purpose was to get to know her on a more personal level, and maybe more solidly, by finding her home town and the people she knew, rather than just going off of what was read in her books. In No Name Woman, the question driving the research, even though the story is primarily about her aunt, “who am I in relation to my American present and Chinese past?” The two different cultures make a strange kind of pull on her existence, and I think at this point, as she is fearful of her aunt, she is fearful of her Chinese past, because it makes her have less American “normalcy.”

Questions

BLOG QUESTIONS FOR DR. JOHNSON

1. In most of my writing, unless I’m forced to write formally,I tend to take a conversational approach. Is this appropriate in this situation?

2. I think I am comma happy! Do I use too many?
3. What do I need the most help with?


4. How is my sentence structure / grammar?

5. What is your favorite color?

Writer's Workshop

Questions for Peer Editors:
1. Would this fit one on Zinsser’s forms?
2. Is this cheesy, or weird to read about?
3. Is my punctuation, spelling, and grammar correct?
4. Does it flow okay, and come full circle?
5. Is their good voice?

I hate letting people read my work. I should have added that to the entry where I was describing myself as a writer. SELF CONSCIOUS. I am not sure why it scares me to let other people read my writing. I was especially wary about this one because it was so personal. This workshop, even though uncomfortable for me, was very helpful. All of my questions were answered. As a group we decided that even though all of our papers did fit Zinsser’s forms, even if they didn't it would be alright with us, because just because Zinsser didn't mention it doesn't mean it is not a worthy form. Apparently i shouldn't have worried about this being awkward, because if a teenage boy tells you it made him happy to read about YOUR boyfriend, you must have done at least decently to reach your audience. My group told me I did not cross any invisible boundaries of awkwardness or makes them uncomfortable. They helped me in picking out a few grammar and punctuation errors, which you are very prone to at 3 a.m. I was also told that the voice and flow went nicely, and overall they thought I had a really good paper.

I was sure that they would help me, but I was surprised how much I liked reading their papers also. We did this in High School all the time, but I had known those people forever. I think this helped us get to know some people that we might not have thought we would have anything in common with.

:Personal Essay:

Everyone who knew me, or was even acquainted with me, knew that I was not like most of the girls in my age group. I was not giggling over boys in the hallway; I was beating boys at sports in gym class. I was not passing notes to boys in class, I was leading the discussions. I was not praying some boy would ask me out on a date, on the contrary I turned a few down purely to make a statement. I was focused, determined, ambitious; I left no room for distraction. I surely did not think of love. I thought the girls my age that claimed to have found it were full of hormone based stupidity. I’m sure those people who knew me then would be surprised to learn that I now wear a ring on my left hand. I was not looking for love, but it found me.

I was completely minding my own business. I hung out at that movie theatre, with those same people, every Friday night, because honestly, there is not much else allowed of 14 year old girls. Now, I am not trying to tell you that I fell in some kind of deep, passionate love at this very moment. However, I am suggesting that I scraped the surface that very first day. He came up to talk to me. I remember what I was wearing (jeans and a hoodie, not looking to impress), I remember what movie we saw that night (50 first dates), I remember who I was with (2 of my best friends), but for some reason I cannot remember what he said. I do remember how I felt, the way he looked at me, and that gorgeous smile. My entire “I don’t need some ridiculous boy ruining my life and taking away my focus and perspective” philosophy crumbled at my feet. I had heard a few things about this boy that I wasn’t so fond of, and while I listened to this advice, I just didn’t take it.

Our first date was an “accident” that I’m more than certain was orchestrated by our friends. There were supposed to be ten of us, and it’s hard to believe that 8 people forgetting to show up, leaving just him and me was purely coincidental. I had never been more nervous in my life. My palms were sweating, I was breathing quickly, and my knees were shaking. Looking back now it seems completely immature, but the simply physical affect this boy had on me was incredible. This date turned into many, and the next thing you know we had been dating for three months. Around this time, he told me he loved me. Previously, this word was nonexistent in my vocabulary, other than family of course. However, I was not afraid to use this word now. Not with him.

Thirty minutes distance (which is now how far away we were), does not seem like much now. But to a fifteen year old, it really is. Keeping up a relationship was hard, and when we had two different lives consumed with sports and school it seemed almost impossible. I did love him, although the love that I felt for him then is insignificant for what I feel now, but I started to think. How silly was it to think that you are in love at fifteen? I had nothing to compare this feeling to. This must just be what it is like to be dating. The feeling was normal. I was just experiencing attraction. This was not a connection that would carry on into the future. Why waste each other’s time, when we could be going about our lives easier, and separately. I broke it off, it became too much.

Now interested in dating, I took full advantage of single freedom. I dated around, tried both casual and more serious relationships, all with bad results. I found emptiness everywhere I turned. Nothing compared to what I had felt before. I tried so hard to recreate the feelings that I had once taken for granted, but failed. I was especially surprised at my reaction, the physical aspect. Kissing, which my first experiences with were wonderful and personal, seemed uncomfortable and sometimes, with the less experienced few, repulsive. At this point I started to second guess myself. Maybe I was wrong in thinking that my original feelings were either fabrications or otherwise common.

This took me a while to figure out, around two years to be exact. Even when I did realize this, it was even longer before I could swallow my pride and come to terms with what I was actually thinking and feeling. I like to be in control of everything involving me (it’s a comfort issue) and this includes my emotions. Not being in control scares me. It made me vulnerable, and in my perspective at the time, weak. But as many times as I pushed these feelings aside, and justified my denial as being rational, I could not get him out of my head. I am sorry to say that I drug this boy along all the while I was making my decisions. And questioning my decisions. And re-making my decisions. I know now how much this hurt him, and while I would give anything now to take that pain away, I learned so much in our time apart.

I cannot remember exactly when I reached this epiphany, or how. It is almost like I woke up one morning, and came to terms with what had been there all along. I needed him. I am not one to admit something like that. I have always been stubbornly independent. To admit or to submit was a sign of personal flaw in my eyes at one time, but I suddenly was not afraid to need anymore. It took me a while to get up the nerve to talk to him. A few weeks after regaining contact, my prom was coming up. Although I was asked by someone else, there was only one person I wanted to go with. You can image how much of my pride I had to swallow to ask him. I was so afraid of him saying no. He now tells me it was foolish to stress over that, “Like I could say no” he says.

My favorite memory of our younger years was our first dance as a couple. I may or may not have played a part in having the same song repeated at prom. Tactful, I know. It was purely out of curiosity. I had to see if the feelings that had been absent from my life for so long would resurface, and if they would be as strong. I was surprised to find that they had only grown in strength. Dancing to our song the second time, replaying my favorite memory, his arms around my waste, singing softly in my ear, are among the most wonderful moments of my life.

As wonderful as our prom night was, it took so much to regain his trust. I knew I had made mistakes in my life. I wasn’t sure if I could call them mistakes, however. It was a mistake in the sense that I hurt, quite deeply, the person that I love most in the world. But, in my eyes it was a learning experience. In order to see what I had all along, I had to make these mistakes. I had to explore who I was. I had to be broken hearted to know what it feels to truly be whole. Regaining his trust has been a privilege, and I am honored to say he has given me his love.

Our place in each other’s lives is something Justin has never questioned. I envy his absolute trust in his feelings. He never once doubted our love. He never once doubted me. I feel like I could spend the rest of my life thanking him for his faith and forgiveness.

Since then, the time has both flown by and ached slowly. The little time we have together between both of our school and work related obligations makes it hard on both of us emotionally. It is something we accept however, because we know we have the rest of our lives. It sounds so strange to say that now, that I know I will be with him for the rest of my life. Four years ago I would say that a girl who thought she knew who she would spend the rest of her life with at age eighteen was an ignorant little girl. I surely hope that is not the case with me. In fact, I know it is not. I would say to my then fourteen year old self to give love a chance. Because in opening your heart and your mind to another person, you give yourself the chance to see life in a completely new way. I would tell myself to give love a chance, no matter the age, because love is indifferent to timing.

I feel truly blessed to get to call Justin my boyfriend. I can (and have) write a list of all the things I love about him: his smile, his eyes, his voice, the way he looks with a guitar in his lap, his laughter, his spirit, how silly he is, and how hard he tries to be funny, though often times he is not. Some, if not most of these things seem trivial in the requisite sense, but it is the littlest things that some might not even notice that make me love him the most.

Love often makes me feel vulnerable. I get scared to let someone be so close to me. It really is a frightening ordeal to let someone look into your soul. Love often makes me feel jealous. I resent every moment that any other girl has spent in his arms because of my ignorance. But, love, his love, has taken me amazing places. I love to see the world from this view.

I am not so naïve to think that love is the answer to everything. I am not so naïve to think the one I give my love to is perfect. In fact, sometimes I think there is no one in the world that has the capacity, or knows just the right way, to piss me off. That is a strange thing to realize, that the one you love can infuriate you at times. What is important to realize, however, is the happiness that person brings to your life. What would we know of pleasure if we never experienced any pain? I would rather spend my life arguing with this man, than in constant agreement with any other.

When college was looming around the corner, after the most wonderful summer of my life, I was terrified of what was to come between him and me. I thought about it every day, and often it consumed and directed my feelings. I honestly believed that school and distance would do the same thing that it had before. History would repeat itself. It was very possible, even though I knew I could not make the same mistake twice, it was a mistake that he had not made yet, therefore was vulnerable to. On the first Saturday after school had started, I was stressed, out of my element, and needing a vast amount of comfort from familiar arms. I can see him still sitting across the dinner table that night. My heart had never felt so light. The relief that he gives me is amazing, and I thought that this relief was the best gift he would give me that night. I was wrong.

How surprised I was to see that ring! A wonderful, beautiful, delicate piece of precious metal and gem, that represents something so much more valuable than face worth: A promise of forever. The look in his eyes when he gave it to me was even more reassurance. It is a look I hope my daughter will experience when she meets the one she is meant to be with. I wear his promise on my left hand every day. It is a reminder of his love, of his friendship, and his unwavering commitment to me. It is something I feel both respect and gratitude towards every time I look at it.

My fourteen year old self would probably hang her head in shame if she knew what she was to become, a silly girl in love. How amazed she will be when she feels it for the first time: burning, comforting, engulfing. It is said that the only thing worthy in life is to love and be loved. If that is so I can be confident that thanks to him I will be fortunate enough to experience a life full of value, meaning, and happiness. Something that those who knew me then would be surprised in now think I can find from love. I am surprised however, that I can have both. Not that much about me has changed. I am still that driven and ambitious person, but now I know that while it is important to have ambition and career goals, a life of just that, without love, without him, could hardly be called a life.

Jessica & Justin :: age 14
Jessica and Justin :: age 18

Spirit of Time

I wonder how many people watch international news, see the events going on in other parts of the world, sigh, express how horrible it is, and then turn the channel without a second thought. I know so many people like that. Or people who, in a rant about America giving away all of our money, say “it’s just none of our damn business what goes on in Africa.” I like to think that in, at the very least, my educated life, that I was not have either of these reactions I just expressed. I have been fascinated with the hardships and suffering in other countries, but I never knew what to do about it. Sure, you could “adopt” a child in a third world country who will receive your check once a month, or not receive it, you never really know.

My senior year I was prepared for a good debate season. I had gained a lot of new knowledge by going to state last year, and being a senior and captain gave me an even bigger advantage to having a really successful season. Our topic for the year stated: Resolved that the United States Federal Government should increase it’s public health assistance to Sub Saharan Africa. This was, as said before, something I was fascinated with. I dove into research for my case, and was amazed, appalled, and disgusted by what I found. I found that little girls don’t get to go to school because they walk five miles both ways to fetch disease infested water in a probably stagnant pool home to thousands of malaria carrying mosquitoes. I found that 2.4 million children die every year from diarrhea, something we would not think twice about. Many of the people are enslaved, terrified for their lives, and witness that life is way too short. I found that our funding is allotted to the “prevention” of diseases that are also present in the Western World (HIV), not necessarily those who need the most attention, or are easily prevented and cured. Our legislators pay little to no attention to the culture that we are pouring money into, and instead waste a ridiculous amount of money teaching abstinence and single partner importance to a society who’s system of beliefs and culture allows multiple partners. We create utter dependence on Western Intervention, instead of helping the countries that make up the Sub Saharan African region thriving and self dependent.

I looked away from my research for a while. Under my fingertips were the keys to my brand new laptop. To my right, my three hundred dollar cell phone, and in my ears, music was playing quietly from my then top of the line video iPod. Granted, I had worked for most of these things, but I had the opportunity to, when many, like these people in Sub Saharan Africa did not. I felt disgusted with myself, wondering why I was complaining about my car yesterday
It’s hard to explain exactly how I felt at this point in my year. Even though I was not into designer clothes and shoes like a lot of the girls in my school, I was none the less infatuated with money. I wanted to get into a good school so I could get into a great law school, get a great job, and make amazing money. It was all means to a selfish end.
The things I learned in debate made me feel like I needed to do something to contribute to the current state of the world, like it was not okay to only worry bout yourself. When we had the opportunity to hear a speaker from Sudan, I without question skipped my most difficult class to sit it. The speaker was a woman from the Dinka tribe. She had faced persecution for her race and had to fake a Muslim religion her entire life. Members of her family were killed fighting for freedom in Sub Saharan Africa, Sudan to be specific, and she had narrowly escaped. She was able to make her way to America, where she feels blessed every day by the freedom she receives here. But this is only where her story begins, and because this is not where it ends that she affected me so much.
The speaker was the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. There was something so different about her, and her beauty was far superior to our models in our magazine. I suppose in Sudan she would be an average woman, but the tone of her skin, her long elegant arms, and curvy but lean body was exotically beautiful to me. Most of all I was drawn by her spirit. The way she spoke of her homeland, even in it’s current state of turmoil, was as if she worshiped the land she used to know. The purpose of her speech was strictly informal. Our coach had just asked her to speak about her life. I asked her what her in life was now that she was in America. Her answer shocked me. After all the trouble she went through to escape the condition of her life, she wanted to go back. She wanted to go to refugee camps to teach young girls English, and more importantly, she added, how important it was to be your own woman. She wanted to teach these girls of freedom.

I knew this is how I could help. I could help her fulfill her dream and in turn help other girls. We would help her go home. The look on her face when we told her was one that I will never forget: that of pure thanks. We held a public debate over the topic. We were able to inform our public about the tribulations that they might have previously turned the channel on. In turn, we were able to raise half of the money needed for (NAME) to return to Sudan.
I spent the remainder of y year diving deeper into this subject of my study. I did my senior research paper on our current government’s aid to Sub Saharan Africa. Through this year I learned not only about Africa but also about myself. I realized that the most important thing in life was not to be financially successful, but instead to be proud of what you do. I have never been more proud of myself than when I was able to help someone else fulfill her dream. Through this year I learned that I want to teach people about other cultures, other lives, and other problems that are not quite as selfish as the ones we think we face daily.

Inspi(red) Photoshoot

The center most part of something is not always found an equal distance from both sides. In this case it is found quite offset, marked by a foot long piece of white rubber. From the center, I am most at home. The rest of this land revolves around this area. It is the most important part. A chain linked fence surrounds my home, which has the shape of a triangle with one rounded side. All around my center point there is soft dusty dirt, and fifteen feet behind it, the dirt meets beautiful green grass in a lip. Four square, white bags set in the dirt in a diamond formation mark different distances throughout the field, and also represent safety. White chalk lines leave the pentagon shaped rubber at the beginning of the field, and travel two hundred feet to meet the bright yellow poles that mark fair territory. Above me, the blue open sky, around me, scattered at various designated places throughout my home, our home, are my best friends. In front of me are our family and fans, and behind me a few scattered trees and a busy highway. This is not the most fascinating landscape I’ve ever seen in my life. I would name many more before this. But I KNOW this land. I have spent time on the white safety bags. I know the angle that your body can slide into the dirt without getting cut. I have stretched and ran in the grass. I have hit balls to the chain linked fence, and prayed they were in the boundaries of the bright yellow polls. I have watched the feet of my teammates cross the pentagon plate, and I have watched the feet of my opponents cross the plate as well. I have stood outside the field and cheered my team on. Just as I have stood there and got on to them. Mostly, I have stood in my center point, the mound, and felt the pressure, control, power, and obligation that go along with the privilege of standing there. I gave the land my sweat, my blood, my tears, and my laughter. On that land I have had some of my best successes, worst failures, most exciting and most devastating times of my life. I learned how to be a leader, and how to be a teammate. I learned that hard work and sweat never hurt anybody. In fact, it does quite the opposite. I still remember the land, even though my time with it has ended. This year, somebody else will stand on the center point of my softball diamond and enjoy the connection that i have for the past four years.

Oh, Family

I come from a family of what I would consider nice, upstanding hard working Americans. My grandfather is sixty years old and refuses to quit working eleven hour shifts at the rail road, even though his health is far worse than acceptable. His younger brother (by ten years) works at Boeing building airplanes, and chases around his very energetic granddaughter, of which he has full custody, twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. Hardworking, upstanding, blue collar Americans. Now, they say that every family has it’s black sheep. We are no exception to that rule. Our black sheep is the middle child, a man who I call Uncle Roy.


Now Uncle Roy hasn’t exactly had it easy. Not one of my grandpa’s brothers has, but this man is without a doubt the laziest person I have ever met. I remember the day my great grandma, his mother, died. We were over at their house with the rest of the family. He was of course, upstairs in bed. His wife’s phone rang next to me. I was surprised that the call ID said “Roy.” She answers, not without an eye roll, and asks him what he wants. From next to her where I sat, I could hear his voice perfectly clear. He is fond of speaking loudly. “Donna! Get me a glass of water!” Why couldn’t he get his own water? He had worked twenty hours this week and he was tired.


I remember going to visit him once, for God only knows what reason, and having to plug my ears from the closed up car in the driveway because he was watching a war movie. My little brother was seriously frightened, and so were the neighbors. I think a few of the moms were rounding up their children and taking cover in the basement. As soon as we surpassed shell-shock we walk in to find dear Uncle Roy sprawled out on the couch, with his arm hanging over the edge. Down on the floor in front of the couch was a Fry Daddy, and Uncle Roy was frying taco shells four feet in front of the blaring big screen from the comforts of the couch.


Now, every man has his freedom to frying taco shells in the living room while laying down, and calling your wife three rooms down the hall of the same house because you’re thirsty. That’s your own business. But, where the line should be drawn is abuse of public services. Uncle Roy has a mentally and physically handicapped daughter. He does little of the caretaking himself. That does not stop him, however, from abusing his handicap sticker and parking very close to buildings even when Jamie is not with him. Uncle Roy, being the great actor he is, will then limp into the store. Now, you may be thinking that fake limping while grocery shopping is a trying and energy consuming task, so Uncle Roy is therefore not lazy. His act however, is only in the parking lot. Within the store, he uses his normal, uninjured walk.


Uncle Roy isn’t a bad guy, even though he is extremely lazy. He serves a purpose in our family though: He is great to make fun of, and is the butt of most of our jokes. When have my television or radio too loud my dad may peek in and say “Jeez Uncle Roy, that loud enough?” Or when the only parking spot available at Hy Vee is the “Mother to Be” spot, someone may jokingly suggest supporting their lower back with their hand and faking a pregnancy. However, we love the guy, despite the fact that last year, while at a family get together he told his daughter, “Hey! Call your brother and tell him I said Merry Christmas!”