The Final Blog For This Blog

Since it is the end of the year (almost), I have to reflect on stuff. I really have no other preface, so let's just hop right in.

1- What are the three most important things you learned this year?

1. Normal 8th grade ELA is equivalent to Accelerated 7th grade ELA, which means the accelerated classes are set one year ahead of grade level at minimum. This means that the 7th graders are two years ahead/extremely smart. Great job, guys.
2. Mrs. Larson has a grand plan each year, and it actually works really well. Just look at this year. TKAM leads to a discussion about injustice, which leads into Night, which leads into a discussion about the value of life, which leads into Tuesdays with Morrie. You end up learning way more things on the side of your actual task than you would if it was disconnected. As for what I learned from that: All stories flow together, whether real or false, and life has so many different values that no one interpretation *glares at organized religion* of how to live one's life is the "true" way. They're all correct.
3. Life is basically story glue: all stories involve a change in it.

2- What is something we did this year that you think you will remember for the rest of your life?

The Southern Sampler. It was the most clever creation Mrs. Larson ever thought of: A Christmas feast linked directly to the book we were reading, and on top of it all...she gets to eat the junk food we brought in...clever. (Mrs. Larson, you play the long game better than Emperor Palpatine, and for that, I applaud you. *clapclapclapclapclapclapclapclapclapclapclapclap*)

3- What was the nicest thing someone in our class did for you this year?

Everyone who helped me with things...which was basically everyone. Thank you very much. I couldn't have done all the crazy stuff I did without you guys. 

4- What is something you taught your teacher or classmates this year?

I taught you all about minor details making a massive difference. I use this concept in my book theories, which I'm thinking of posting, but still unsure about. 

5- In what area do you feel you made your biggest improvements? What is something you accomplished this year that you are proud of?
Managing homework, because before this year I went home piled high every night. This year my homework load was much the same, but I went home with little to none, daily. Something I've accomplished is my aphorism project, which took two image editors, a few hours of time, and a [redacted]-ton of printer ink. It's my best freestyle piece of art.

6- What was the most challenging part of this year for you?

My recent speech, due to the time constraints, nerves, and my dislike of public speaking. However, I apparently did pretty good, which makes all of that craziness worth it.

7- What was the best piece of writing that you did this year? Why do you think it is your best?

My "This I Believe" speech because it's written in my voice, rather than my writer's voice, which is far more formal and, frankly, easier to write in.

8- Of the books you read this year, which was your favorite? Why?

Dead of Night and Fall of Night, because of zombies, a conspiracy involving the author's other works, a HUGE connection to the series that gave me my Jonathan Maberry fan-status (which is actually linked into the conspiracy) and, of course, excellent writing. 

9- What advice would you give students who will be in this class next year?

The most important piece of advice I'd want to give is as follows: Stay on top of your assignments. Many a seventh grader has fell prey to the sixth grade strategy: procrastinate until you can't, then crank out the assignment. "Until you can't," by the way, tends to be the day before it's due. This never works. Another thing that doesn't work: counting on grace time for being sick, because Edmodo exists.   Other than those two things *insert warning about the massive workload increase here*, you're good.

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This I Believe Speech

"The Hardest Things"

      I believe that the hardest things pay off the most in the end. Why? Well, there was a time in my life that was easily the hardest I had faced. Up until that point, I had tended to believe that most matters relating to my health would, given enough time, resolve themselves without much effort. This all changed last August, towards the middle of the month. I was in rehab for my 3rd surgery, and an event occurred that pushed me to the breaking point. However, I had no choice but to soldier on, and eventually I recovered. This instilled a belief in me that has only grown stronger every week...because I have more therapy. But what happened to spark it? Well...

      I was on the twelfth floor of the sky-puncturing “hospital” known as RIC (or the Rehabilitation Institute of Chicago for those who aren’t so COOL with the ACRONYMS). The twelfth floor was an unusual one, as it looked like someone tried to build a house but were missing some of the pieces. There were parts of stairwells glued to a bathroom and a working kitchen, with a wheel-less Mercedes “parked” outside completing this quirky setup. The “lawn” and garage that they somehow got up there were complete.

      Today, I was trying to scale the stairs under some of my own power. This was my first attempt since 6th grade. I had heavily protested the idea because, and I quote “stairs are evil,” but higher-authority diplomacy had won out. At this point, it was me, Mom, and a physical therapist (being RIC and all). I had already scaled the stairs, which was a difficult feat due to the narrow metal realistic rail and my relative weakness. Now, I was standing at the top of Mount Stairimanjaro, looking down at Mom. The PT was behind me as support. I took one step, then another...and smashed my dominant right knee square into the railing. My vision blurred with tears and I let out a string of mild profanity, as I don’t really swear. The PT and I shuffled down the stairs, with her bearing most of the weight on account of my right leg being temporarily out of commission and my left leg unable to support much. Once I was off the stairs, I collapsed into my walker. After being consoled, as that really hurt, the pain in my knee faded.

      I realized that the only way out was to try again, even though all I wanted was to go collapse into my hospital bed. I tried again, and to my credit, I actually succeeded. After that, the session (fortunately) ended. I then returned to my room and rested.

      That day, I learned that getting through stuff takes a curse-ton of effort, and that shifted something inside me. Stuff started happening more easily and my recovery accelerated. Once I returned to normal PT, I made more gains more rapidly than I ever had before, and I continue to apply this “effort pays off” mentality to every PT session I attend.  Difficult labor pays off in the long run. I feel that this is a critical lesson to learn, because many are going through tough times. Whether it’s physical, financial, or mental, remember: your hard work now will make your life better long-term. Keep at your goals, and never give up.

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Morrie Aphorism Project Blog

      The aphorism I selected was, "What if today were my last day on Earth?" What Morrie means by this is, "Would you be ready to go if it was, in fact, your last day on Earth?" The Buddhist bird is basically a personification of that, but what does it come down to at its core? What it's all really asking (the book, this unit, most of the year, even), is: Are you living your life to the fullest and not taking your youth and health for granted? This entire 8th grade year has been basically looking forward and looking backward at the same time: hope for the future mingled with past regrets and present triumphs. Fifth grade didn't really have this much weird retrospection and foresight mixture, but maybe that's because it flowed better together: one ended, another began. It's like we're at the end of a movie trilogy, with a distant-set sequel movie right around the corner, and Morrie's breaking the fourth wall for us, kind of like the little bird...and now we're back where we started. That's unusual.

      I'd probably relate this to the book We All Looked Up by Tommy Wallach. In it, a comet (dubbed Ardor) has a 66% chance to make the Earth into the Powder. It's going to arrive in 2 months, and we see society degrade into very little by the time the comet shows. The book answers the question posed by the aphorism in the best way possible: "We'd have a giant party!" The book ends just before the comet hits, or doesn't. We don't know, and I think that's the beauty of it. More specifically, society's deconstruction ends up being the focus of a main character's blog, as people stop caring and life stalls and comes to a halt. It's scary to look at, honestly. All of that kind of mirrors Morrie's degradation as he uses his own mortality as a talking point, except spread to society as a whole.
      
      I agree with this aphorism because I seem to be living it. Just as soon as I start taking my health as something I'm always going to have: surgery, followed by a barrage of indignities and wasted, ruined, days. As a result, I've sort of started living in the moment: never focused too far on the future and distant events, instead slowing down and focusing on a day-by-day basis. Morrie did much the same. On page 46 of the PDF (which I have linked below), it mentions that, "Morrie said no; to tell the truth, he was less afraid. He said he was letting go of some of the outside world, not having the newspaper read to him as much, not paying as much attention to mail, instead listening more to music and watching the leaves change color through his window." I've been doing that too. I skim past most of the politics, because it's basically a pit of venom, and that's not really healthy for me. Instead, I'm using that time that I have to progress forward and, at the same time, make sure I have things done while I have the capacity to do them (i.e. me not being laid up from another surgery.) I've learned to let things go, but sometimes I take them back, also. Since our two most important family summer traditions (Dells Trip and Pool Party Wednesdays) have basically disappeared, I'm left grasping at other things. I kind of need tradition as an anchor, and with that gone, it's like I'm a balloon that's dwindling. Mitch and the food also act as anchors for Morrie. On page 42 of the PDF, Mitch says, "I still shopped every week and walked in with bags to show him, but it was more for the look on his face than anything else. When I opened the refrigerator, I would see an overflow of containers." It's hard, seeing this, just like it's hard when I'm trapped on the couch. As a result, we grab and clutch what we have left, even if there is no real point. It satisfies us, though, makes it possible to let go of things if it is, in fact, our last day on earth.

      My own aphorism would probably be, "Any situation that appears to be your cosmic punishment has a way out, no matter what." Just like RIC (The Rehabilitation Institute of Chicago) seemed tailor-made to be my ultimate punishment, to the point where I thought that I had died and been booted into the underworld: No privacy, little sleep, and grueling physical labor. Of course, I was released...the literal day before school started. But I was out, at least!

The PDF

Final Morrie Socratic Seminar Blog

      The past 4 seminars definitely influenced my thinking, bringing up viewpoints I would never even have thought of. It also brought up a lot of side tangents, such as ghosts, ways we'd want to die, other books, communism, consumerism, and quotable quotes. For example, Lorin: "If I couldn't die of old age, I'd go on death row." On a more serious note, my own mortality, something I had long shoved in a box inside of a mobile home that I sent tumbling down a cliff, crawled back up and brought itself into focus. I did realize that I had wasted a part my life, but at the same time, another part of me was grabbing my mortality realization and trying to kill it with fire. It was...odd, to say the least. It also made me realize; Morrie did something long thought impossible: merging with, accepting, and using his own mortality as a philosophical springboard. I do believe I made a remark to that effect as well.

      One major trend I noticed with myself was that the seminar went so far away from what I had written in my guide that I eventually stopped entertaining the notion of using it, and as such only filled out the required minimum. This wasn't really negative, as few used their guides overall. Also, my reflections were rather formulaic: "Overall, this was [good/average/great]. [Flaws]. [Successes]. [Number grade]. As for me, [Flaws]. [Successes]." Again, this isn't entirely a bad thing; formulas can be useful for stuff that you do a lot (like these), are much the same every time (like these), and cover similar ground every time (again, like these). Additionally, I'd bring up a flaw and it'd be fixed the next seminar. Rinse and repeat, until you get here.

      The class had some trends too: flaws that got fixed the next seminar and random, relevant offshoots being the most common ones. Others were quotable quotes and laughter fits after them. Despite this, the seminars really helped my understanding of the material. This class, also, is rather conducive to such things. A less advanced class would probably have some...troubles...with such things. However, unpreparedness is statistically unavoidable, but you should at least try to mitigate it. That way, it won't hit you as hard.

My Perfect Day

      My perfect day would be simple, but sometimes, that's all you need. First, I'd sleep in until 9. Then I'd get up, and have some eggs for breakfast. I don't know the way I'd want them prepared, though. After that, I'd watch old cartoons, like Looney Tunes and What's New, Scooby-Doo? It's been a while since they played those...anyway, where was I? Oh, right, perfect day. I'd get dressed, then I'd walk—actually walk—to Proksa Park, and basically be my usual crazy self for a few hours. Nerf guns would most definitely be involved.  After that, I'd head home, and kick Dad's rear end in a Halo match (a phrase which here means, "get repeatedly splattered by Dad in a flying, squashed eggplant.") By that time, it'd most likely be dinner. For dinner, I'd want my favorite food: quesadillas made with corn tortillas, chorizo, beans, and chipotle cheese. For dessert, I'd probably have a flan. After dinner, I would have an epic lightsaber duel with Dad/possibly Frances/maybe Mom using my old lightsaber style, with lots of acrobatic maneuvers and power blows, all carried out at lightning speed. After that, it'd probably segue into an epic Nerf battle (which they would lose, of course). By that point, it'd most likely be bedtime. I'd read some new dystopia novels while petting our cats, and eventually fall asleep.

      As for the attainability of this day, I'll probably have something close to it within a few weeks. Progress towards my walking unaided is steady, but not rapid, so that's more of an optimistic estimate than a certainty. And I am out of practice in my old lightsaber style, but it's not that hard to re-master. It's been about 4 years, and with every day that passes, I feel myself getting closer to it. Time is weird.