Self Evaluation

Christina Berthaud

December 6, 2010

10:30 Class

Self Evaluation

            Throughout the duration of this class I have grown an appreciation for writing. As I said in the past I always felt defeated when it came to writing. Back in high school my teacher used to tear up my papers, not literally, but demolish it with red pen corrections. And because I felt my writing was never good enough for her, I hated having to write anything, hence, why I put of English composition to my sophomore year of college. But being in this class, I didn’t mind writing.

            One thing I really love about this class is blogging. I have another blog other than my blog for class. I just like to jot down my thoughts. I put a lot of effort into my blog posts. I put in just as much work in my English blog [Tina’s Two Cents] as I do my other blog [Run & Tell That!]. And I am just realizing that I should have named my other blog Tina’s Two Cents. Every one of my blog posts on my English blog has been made to look nice. I have a color scheme on my blog and I highlight certain words or phrases in my entries and put them in color so that they pop. I also highlight them because they are key words or phrases that I want paid attention to. Nearly every one of my blog posts has a corresponding picture. I didn’t want my blog to look super plain with just an abundance of words.  Nobody wants to just scroll down a webpage and read word after word after word. That is boring, because we read like that for anything else.

            It also helps to have a great professor when it comes to writing. If you cannot see yourself connecting with your professor or liking your professor you are going to hate their profession. Being in English Composition with Hannah was not bad at all. Besides the writing in the blog, in this class we were able to explore. We were to go places and write essays on our observations. We did, what seemed like secret missions, when working on our papers about McDonald’s, trying to get answers and observing the people. Even given pointers like, “They are not allowed to tell you to leave the restaurant”.  Overall I felt very comfortable in this class. Being able to speak up and participate even thought I have been sleepy half the time I have come into class.

            In the end I have grown to enjoy writing more, I even wrote an article on Hip Hop, as I expressed in a past post that I love it, and it was published in an online magazine. They even asked me to write another article. But I do believe I deserve at least an A or a B+ in this class. I believe I have done all the work, I have participated in class discussions and I also have attended every class, even if I show up a little late, I still make sure I am here and the work gets done.

A Game of Free Will

Looks like the devil is challenging Eve in a chess game, as she holds an apple and sits unclothed with divine wings. Perhaps because she is a woman the little devil looks at her, almost a taunting look, as if she cannot  win. She was challenged BECAUSE she is a woman and thought to be vulnerable. They are propped atop a medieval wind house maze or labyrinth  of illusions and trickery, for that is what the devil does. It seems this game has gone from dusk till dawn. This may also be like the inside of someone's mind, like a picture of debating between right and wrong: a game of free will. 

An American Execution

Christina Berthaud 
10:30 Class

The author did a great job with the figurative language. The imagery I believe was the best part of this story, I felt like I was sitting on the other end of the glass watching. The story I feel was also intense, due to the great use of figurative language and diction. The author described the process step by step even included the time of which each step took place. By adding the times, I was able to see how quick the process went through and how it was just all routine. It seemed those involved in the execution of Daryl Holton were indifferent with their feelings. Nobody seemed to show any type of emotion except those trying to defend him. Overall, I liked this story, super intense.

What is the Author Really Saying?

Christina Berthaud
10:30 Class

On one hand, the narrative is about a couple who is separating and the man is trying to leave, but being a woman, his significant other is taunting him. Then the argument it about the baby and who gets the baby, the woman wants to keep the baby of course but the man wants the child. And they physically fight over the baby, while the baby boy is in her arms. Unfortunately the dispute was settled after they ripped the child in half arguing over who gets the baby or not, is if he were not a human being. But on the other hand, the author is really writing about 'Little Things' quite literally, being the child. Or it's little things that can ruin a relationship and cause you to ignore other important things.

Frida Kahlo

Frida Kahlo

Woman laying on her side in a dress, yellowish orange. She is laid in a sea of green and purple vines. She is covered in plant roots around her arms, torso, and coming through her chest. Long roots and vines with sprouting leaves engulf her body, slithering over her draped dress. She leans in a pillow in her bed, trying to find herself, the sea of uncertainty. Her hair falling to the right side with connecting brows, shaped like a seagull. Vines come through her chest and heart, she knows her roots and accepts them, as they wind around her. 

Social Addiction

Christina Berthaud
November 18, 2010
10:30 Class

            Personally I love the media. My major is dealing with media, music, television, magazines, internet, and social networks, everything. I live for music and would not mind a bit of celeb gossip. I don’t want to say I’m addicted to social networks but I use them often. The way I see it I use social networks to keep in contact with people and well network—duh. Networking is EXTREMELY helpful, whether it is for my major or just in life. Sadly it is about who you know and not what you know. 
            In terms of social networks I you facebook and twitter mainly. I know I tweet A LOT, but it’s because I like to talk, and a lot of my friends have and use twitter daily. I originally made a twitter account FOR networking. Let’s just say I was thinking waaaaay ahead. But as far as some of these articles go, some things are totally out of hand. 
            The Guardian article I think was completely outrageous. These parents in South Korea truly should be ashamed. Imagine being a parent, how can you possibly forget your own child? How can you allow your child to starve? All because you were caught up trying to raise a virtual child you forgot the one you actually conceived. I admit social networks can work like drugs. Drugs can cause a person to forget about their child or children OR cause them to willingly forget or give up their children. In the article Chung Jin-Won said “The couple seemed to have lost their will to live a normal life because they didn't have jobs and gave birth to a premature baby," But goodness, how do you lose your willingness to live? How do you spend 12 hours in front of your computer? In the same article a boy killed his mother because she nagged him about being on the computer son long. HOW do you kill a person for the internet? How do you kill you own mother. 
            In the time magazine article with the parent obsessed with Facebook i feel it was terrible that the women could not help her young daughter with her homework. Not that she was doing her taxes or something but because she was too busy on Facebook. And then for her daughter to try to catch her attention, having to e-mail her is ridiculous, I understand that the mother checks her facebook frequently, because I do too, BUT I also do not have a child to take care, I’m a college student who has some free time during the day. I can say I am NOT obsessed with Facebook by reading the five signs, I do not lose sleep over Facebook nor do I get cold sweats by not being on it, BUT I do spend more than an hour on facebook and sure I ignore homework spending time on facebook, but anyone would rather do something fun than something that has to be done,

Mustard Tigers in my Cheeseburger Locker

MUSTARD TIGER

-Crusty, yellow, ferocious, wild, goopy, bitter, angry person. 

"Ugh, you're such a mustard tiger!"

CHEESEBURGER LOCKER

- The chamber between your intestine and ass that stores only components of cheeseburgers, and you must drink "locker cleaner" to clean it out each week, IF you have a cheeseburger. If not you will gain 5 pounds and your butt will get bigger. 

"You need to clean out your cheeseburger locker, your but is getting bigger."

Diamonds Are A Girl's Best Friend

Christina Berthaud

November 29, 2010

10:30 Class

                There is silver diamond ring I wear on my necklace every day. It never comes off. It’s an old engagement ring. My father gave it to me in eighth grade. My father works at a nursing home, and from time to time I would go to work with him. My father used to come home and talk about his patients all the time. From some of the nicest little old ladies to the rudest ones. One time I went to work with my father and I met one of the patients, her name was Christina. She was one of the most cute, funny and nice old ladies. She was so happy to finally meet me because my father would talk about me to her all the time simply because we had the same name. Christina used to send my father home from work with things for me all the time. She once sent me ‘The Book of Completely Useless Information’, I think it was called. I actually took a look at it. Little did she know I was completely nonsensical. Another time, she sent me a Mickey Mouse crew neck sweater, and that was around the time the 80s fashion started coming back around so I gladly wore it. I remember I had it on when I met this boy Jesse I liked in middle school, I know realize he was not even that cute.

                Everyday my father would come to with an update on Christina. He would tell me about how she loved Mickey Mouse and the old Disney characters since she was little. And so one day I was out and saw this cute Disney placemat and I sent it to work with my father for Christina to eat her food off of. He told me she loved it and could not wait to see me again. So the following week I went to visit her. She was having lunch on my placemat. Once she saw me she gave me a hug and exclaimed how thankful she was for the small gesture. That day she told me about her life and how she only had one child, a son. She also told me about when her husband died.

                At least a month later my father came back home with a ring and he handed it to me. I asked where it was from and he said it was from Christina. She said it was her old engagement ring and she wanted me to have it. My father said she told him ‘Take this and bring it to your other beautiful Christina.’ Unfortunately the following week, she passed away. I wore the ring on my finger until it got tight, then put it on the necklace I got at my high school graduation, it’s been there ever since.

                I was always given rings as gifts. For some reason rings were the only piece of jewelry I never lost. My father gave me my first ring, a ruby ring, on my Holy First communion. I still have it. My mother told me when my grandmother passed away that she left me a ring on a necklace and said to give it to me when I graduate college as gift from her. Gift giving if cherished in my family. Sure we give each other gifts all the time, but when they are expensive or passed down they mean so much more. When I was a little kid, my grandmother was my favorite person in the world, and she left me a gift. I plan on graduating to receive her gift and her blessing. And when i get older I can pass down the jewelry I received to my children. 

My necklace & I :)

Media Free Week [Free Write]

Forms of Media I Use:
-Internet on my laptop [usually an all day thing]
-Facebook [the tab usually stays open on my internet sever
-Twitter [Always open, especially if Facebook isn't open]
-Gmail [A couple times a day]
-Blogs [Everyday, whether it's my own blog or other blogs I download music on]
-STJ e-mail [is always open]

Are You Lovin' it?

THESIS STATEMENT: McDonald's uses misleading advertisements to mask the truth about what innocent consumers are really eating. 

Class? [free write]

So, I came into class and the free write was asking about 'class'. The question is "when you hear the word "class: what do you think of? Originally I'm like 'wtf kind of question, im sitting IN a class (-__-)' Then I thought perhaps she meant class like a classy lady?--NO, neither. So i read the rest of the questions and Hannah wants to know about classes like SOCIAL class (duh.). When I hear class I obviously thought of other things, but now that I know what Hannah means, when i think of class in terms of society i think of middle class. I think middle class because I think my family is middle class, but lower middle class (sheesh!). Upper class, the more wealthy, when i think of them i think snooty, greedy, selfish, and rich..oh and WHITE (lol). Upper class can also be like white collar, professional jobs. Middle class the larger percent of America. Middle class = working class. I feel like they are typically in jeans (Jeans were created as the working class pant), The middle/working class are shown as minorities too. Then the lower class, the poorer of society, whether they are poor due to their own issues or not. The lower class also includes minorities. Perhaps even those getting government aid, though the middle class due to the current economic state, has been receiving governmental aid. There is no definite class system in America, it exists but there are no lines drawn....

Propaganda U.S. Food Production [free write]

To me, propaganda is like advertising, but negative advertising. For example McDonald's can have an advertisement showing how McDonald's makes children cheerful with Happy Meals, and reeling them in by including a toy--propaganda would be negative and even sarcastic perhaps showing a fat little baby or child eating McDonald's, low key showing the affects of the fast food on a person. Even though these ads go out, it doesn't completely stop the food production but may slow it down and cause people to stop eating it. Also think about any food at the supermarket like meat, & then ads/propaganda against this food saying perhaps terrible things the company does like how the animals are killed or butchered or how they are cruel to the animals or something-this negativity can cause people to stay away from or boycott that food for just that specific brand...OR there is a brand of food or a company/restaurant makes "chicken" and it comes out that it is NOT real chicken! People will not buy it, and if people are not buying, then it will not be produced...Sucks for producers. 

'Rosie the Riveter'

Christina Berthaud

October 13, 2010

10:30 Class

English Composition

            People may not realize but propaganda surrounds them. Propaganda may be an advertisement, a promotion or just something spread by word of mouth. Whether it be subtle or straight forward.  The goal of propaganda is to convince you to buy something, or convince you to feel or think a specific kind of way.

            Propaganda was especially used in times of war. During the world wars there were many posters with subliminal messages. These posters and flyers were used in order to get the people of the nation to feel a specific way: against the other powers. During the wars, there were plenty of posters to encourage young men to join the cause and fight for their nation. There were also posters to encourage women, who couldn’t go to war, to work and support the troops [Rosie the Riveter].

            In the video from the New York Public Library discussing propaganda, ‘historic trauma’ was mentioned as a cause for propaganda. Historic trauma has close and strong relations to propaganda. Historic trauma is when something negative occurs and people turn to a scapegoat or someone to blame but propaganda provides the answer. For example, if you rewind through history just prior to World War II, you can of course see the propaganda on both sides: the allies and axis powers. And associated with World War II is the power and reign of terror of Adolf Hitler. What people fail to remember is that Adolf Hitler was ELECTED by the people of Germany. You would wonder, why would the people elect such a terrible person to run their country? But Adolf Hitler was the ANSWER to the trauma of that time.

            At this time in history everyone was experiencing a depression. Not just in the United States but all over the world. The Europeans were struggling just as much as the Americans at this point in time. When Hitler would speak, he spoke with power and assurance. He was telling the people of Germany all the things he could do for them. Because they had already hit rock bottom there was nowhere else to go but to have faith in a person who was saying EXACTLY what you wanted to hear and gave them someone to blame for their financial problems, the Jews. This was propaganda [convincing the people].

            A functional myth brings about propaganda as well. A functional myth is a story used to explain the historic trauma or explains why something happened, but yet can be questioned. It’s called ‘functional’ because it works. Whether the story is true or fabricated, it works, because there is no proof that these things happened or nobody will question the authenticity. For example, religion can be deemed a functional myth. Religion is something that can be debated or cause people to double think. [To double think is to the power to hold two contradictory thoughts but yet believe them both.] Religion is considered a functional myth because it can be questioned, but many people dare not question the word of GOD. The stories of the Bible are questioned but may not be proved because there isn’t anyone to confirm the series of events.  

            Propaganda is a part of everyone’s reality. It has always been around for years, through history, and I am sure will continue to make its way through advertisements and all forms of media accessible to man. The media paints a picture of what things are or how they should be. [‘Seeing is believing.’] Propaganda disregards what we hear, or know to be true. It may also send off false claims also making it appealing.  It is like a template of how one should be, look, believe or live. 

Fox News Article [free write]

In class we were given an article to reed [ Fox News Article ]. The article is about a young 18 year old freshmen at Rutgers University committing suicide. Before even reading the whole story I was already hurt to hear such a thing. But apparently his roommate had recorded him via iChat being intimate with another guy. That is already a violation! People have no sense of privacy and i feel  if he was not gay his roommate would not be recording him with intentions of putting it online. I think it's a bit much. Sadly, the two involved in this [Ravi & Wei] cannot really be charged for much but invasion of privacy. People of the gay rights group of New Jersey were trying to deem it a hate crime. I honestly feel it is not a hate crime because they didn't literally inflict physical pain on him, Or maybe I don't know the exact definition of a hate crime. This also reminds me of something similar that happened back in Massachusetts in 2009. In Springfield, Mass a little boy in 6th grade was constantly made fun of and called gay, and he was so fed up that he killed himself. THAT is so sad because he was only 12 years old and to be bullied to the point a baby wants to take his own life. That spring I went to a summit and met a girl who knew him, the little boy was her little sister's best friend. It was just sad to hear how a little girl was hurting so much.  Apparently, many young boys have been taking their own lives due to bullying in school. Bullying is no joke. 

Ain't Nothing Like Hip Hop Music [Free Write]

So, I have the biggest crush on....Hip Hop. For as long as I can remember I have been listening to music. When I was younger my brother was my best friend. Everywhere he went I was there, whatever he was doing, I was doing it too. And because my brother loved music so much, I began to like it just as much. So from a young child to present day I have been a hip hop junkie. Though when I was younger I only listened to what my brother listened to, and as I got older I developed my own taste and preference. Sometimes when I speak to my brother now, we get the whole 'how is school?' thing out of the way and go straight to talking about music. I really found my love for music and radio in late middle to early high school when we had no cable at home (-__-). My father didn't pay the bill, so I got my music source/fix from the radio, I listened to the radio night & day. That was when I realized I wanted my future to involve music and wanted my own radio show. Till this day I still listen to the radio over watching television. I also get my music fix by logging on to blogs like Nah Right and On Smash. Also over the summer I became part of a hip hop promotional group [Barrel House BKLYN]. I promote music, fashion, and a movement.

Bad Influence [Shop 'Til You Drop]

Christina Berthaud

October 11, 2010

10:30 Class

English Composition

            What is mass media? The mass media is any way or form that news reaches you, whether it is through print like magazines and newspapers or through television and radio. I have come to realize I have an issue with shopping. I love to shop and spend a lot of time shopping. Therefore I am a major consumer, mainly of clothing. I will also admit that the media also has a major influence on what I buy and wear.

            Media also influences consumers because of their advertisements and promotions of course!  The person had to have seen it somewhere for it to catch their eye. When advertisements are created, like billboards there is a whole science behind how they look and their placements. For instance, beers like Coors Light and Corona, are mainly drunken by men, and so for the advertisement beautiful women in bikinis may be placed drinking the beer, in order to catch the eye of the man.  Another example, another form of advertising is by getting people to “jump on the bandwagon”, meaning making it seem like everyone is doing it or buying it therefore, you do or buy it as well.  

            The way I see it is, if I am flipping through a magazine and I see Kim Kardashian has on a shirt and I think it is cute. I just might want it. Unconsciously I will think the shirt is cuter because it’s on Kim Kardashian.  Knowing me, I would not purchase the same exact shirt for it will probably be incredibly expensive. Kim and I are definitely not working on the same budget. But what I will do is purchase a shirt that looks just like it.

            I feel like when people purchase things they seen glorified on television or in magazines they buy it and wear it in hopes that someone will recognize that someone else, perhaps a celebrity or A-lister, has on the same item.  For example, Ugg boots, those are made in Australia, originally as house shoes, then they made it to the United States via celebrities and people began buying them. Many people said that Uggs are ugly, but when they were seen on the feet of celebrities and their children, people began buying them and wearing them year round. I was also part of the group that said they were ugly, but then they began to grow on me as I noticed more and more people wearing them, and they are also actually quite warm and comfortable and took it upon myself to order a pair though they were expensive.

            As much as people make claims saying they don’t jump on the bandwagon or follow the latest trends and fads, I feel they are lying. I say this because whatever the person has on, they have seen it on someone else or somewhere before, and by purchasing the same thing; you are in some way, a follower. Always remember, someone was wearing it before you. So yes, my shopping habits are influenced by media.

What am I? [Free Write]

Everyday I sit atop the table by the window. From sunrise to sunset. Each and everyday I get turned on. When they push my buttons I warm up. Fibers get to moving, things spark inside me and move all up and down the spectrum. Once they turn me on, they sit and watch, for hours upon hours. I love it. I'm on for hours upon hours. But by like 2am, they look at me and seem to have had enough and press my buttons. I die out. This is the part i hate, I sit alone in the dark for hours. Until someone decides to show me some attention. What am I?

My Point Is...[free write]

If I had a point to make today. I honestly don't know what it would be. Right now I do not feel I have an argument going on in my mind or a lasting conversation that i want to make a point about. One thing i do hate is after an argument, discussion or conversation, you have a point to make after it is over. That is so aggravating. All that is ever on my mind is either music, 'do I have homework?' or boys. I HAVE A POINT! If i had a point to make it would be that CHIVALRY IS DEAD. Just like hip-hop was last year, chivalry is dead. I say this because dudes are just not the same as how they used to be. I can't say that every man is a gentlemen, but they should be,  I am quite sure their mother's raised them that way: to be chivalrous. I do understand that chivalry can also mean holding doors open and stuff, but chivalry is also like making the first move, asking a girl out on a date and things of that matter. Granted some guys do DO these things, but not as much as they used to, or not as many men do it. BUT I have also come to notice some women killed chivalry too. It was killed by the whole 'independent woman' movement. All these woman walking around like "I don't need a man, I can take care of ME!' Okay yeah that is all fine but um, yes that is correct I do not NEED a man but it would be nice to HAVE one. I can take care of ME, but I want HIM to take care of ME from time to time. I like this topic, I'm going to further discuss this on my other blog :)

Warm Vanilla and Wrinkly Smiles

Christina Berthaud

September 26, 2010

English Comp.

Warm Vanilla and Wrinkly Smiles

            I do not seem to know why but there is one specific time in my life that I remember too well. I have so many memories from my kindergarten year at Bates Elementary School, in Salem, Massachusetts. People say I cannot possibly remember things from when I was five years old. I remember parts of that year very well actually. I can see it now. On the first floor of the building were Mrs. Gorham and Mrs. King’s classrooms on the right side of the hall. I was in Mrs. Gorham’s class. I remember saying ‘hi’ and hugging her every day. She always wore thick tacky Cosby sweaters. With knitted lines upon lines of entangled yarn. Mrs. Gorham was a tiny little blond woman with a short cut. She also wore silver wire framed glasses with a circular lens. Mrs. Gorham smelled like warm vanilla sugar. Till this day whenever I smell vanilla perfume, I think of her. I am sent to a stage of nostalgia. She would smile hard with her aging skin and beige freckles hiding in the creases of her wrinkled face.

            I am not sure it was the first day or within the first week, but people thought my eldest sister was my mother. And being a five year old I thought it was completely silly. I remember I had perhaps six intertwining braids in my hair. I had ponytail holders with colorful plastic balls, wrapped around the top of my braids and at the ends I had shiny little butterfly barrettes. That day my sister and I had on matching jackets. They were a light blue, but my sleeves were too long and rolled up and cuffed at the end of the sleeves. Now that I think of it I look exactly like my sister.

            I remember I used to sit next to this girl Lauren, I cannot remember her last name but I do remember that she was extremely sensitive and cried for almost everything. She had long frizzy blond hair and pale skin. When we were getting to know each other in class Lauren told the class about her baby sister. I don’t know why but then I told Mrs. Gorham that I had a baby brother. She told me I didn’t and I knew I did not but insisted to her that I did. Till this day I have no idea why I lied but I did. Also in my class was Adria Pomales & Justin Scaparttie. They also sat in my blue trapezoid shaped table.

            Mrs. Gorham’s class read Green Eggs and Ham and that same day our teacher made us green eggs and ham. I remember pushing the round plate from in front of me. I thought the eggs were rotten and rancid because they were green, little did I know that the lime green color on my eggs was artificial and totally safe to eat. Our classroom smelled like boiled eggs all day. Kids in the class circled the room exclaiming “P U!" I am sure I was one of them.  After every meal, Mrs.  Gorham would make us brush our pearly tic tac teeth, in hopes of creating good health habits, of which I am sure only a few took on.

            Kindergarten totally care free, nothing but oversized pencils with no erasers, drawing letters along a dotted line and coloring outside the lines. Till this day Mrs. Gorham is one of my favorite teachers. She seen my mother in 2009 and said she saw my face in my mothers. I hope she is still alive. I want to see her again. 

Nervous, agitated, anxious...[free write]

  

                Sitting in a cold classroom. As the whole class comes in and settles down. The volume slowly rises as they begin to chatter. I sit quietly, bouncing my legs, leveling them up and down. The room is loud but I hear nothing, I am in my in mind. Reviewing the past week’s class material. I just want this to be over with. As I think, memorize and review, my mechanical pencil makes a ‘tik’-ing sound in constant motion between my fingers. I let out a big sigh with inward brows “Where the hell is Hannah? I just want to take the test and leave.”  In frustration I extend my bottom lip blowing air raising my curly bang, causing the hair to flutter like butterfly kisses. It falls back down to my forehead and she walks in.

Momma's House [Storytelling]

Christina Berthaud

10:30 Class

Hannah/English Comp.

Momma’s House

Reading the quote, it was said that you cannot possibly remember everything that when you deliver a story, memory of the past it is fragmented. After reading the quote, it had me thinking about my family and how close we were. I know not all families are alike, and my own family is my own memory and my own story in the book of my life.

One of the greatest memories I have is just growing up in the house with my family. My siblings and I are so close, and have all been trapped in Marie’s [my mother] house. My mother was strict and we didn’t go out too much so we had most of our fun sitting right in the house, enjoying each others’ company, cooking with my mother and creating our own games.  

 When it came to cooking all together it was always on Saturdays. We make a quick and easy meal called “Freety” made up of gryot or tassot, banan peze and piklis. This is fried pork or fried beef, fried plantains, and pickled shredded cabbage and carrots with cut up scotch bonnet peppers. I was always in the kitchen with my Haitian mother. She would sit me on the counter opposite the stove: “You need to learn, so you will watch.” Today cooking still is a family effort where we joke, dance and cook all at the same time. My job in the kitchen is to do the seasoning where I cut up red, yellow, and green bell peppers, peel garlic, chop parsley, put a block of Maggi [bouillon cube] I and a scotch bonnet pepper in the pilon [mortar and pestle] that has been in our house since the beginning of time, and mash all of the spices up and add lime juice. That has been my job for as long as I can remember.

            While being stuck in at home my brother, sister and I would create or own fun, we were quite creative children. Once we took a tape measure and twisted it in many ways stretching from one end of the apartment to the other and rolled a marble down to fall into a cup. We called this Roll-O-Rama. Another time, since there was three of us, we created ‘The Three Game’ which was basically dodge ball in a corridor of the apartment jumping over a little, but only hits below the waist counted. We also created our own board game where you were taken through a series of ghetto events and place to win a dollar in the end. Everyday home alone was a new adventure. At the end of the day when mummy came home we’d sit, eat, converse and “nou bay blag” [we joke].         

            My mother has raised us to be close, and cultured. Everything we know we’ve learned from her. My siblings and I are first generation Haitian-Americans and we will continue to keep the culture alive in us. We’ve learned to speak the language, we’ve learned to sing the songs, and we’ve learned to cook the food. Grouping up so close in my parents’ house has kept the bond between my siblings and I strong. 

We are our mother and I know my children will sit on the kitchen counter opposite the stove.

Francis (description)

*brown skin

*low cut black hair

*Yankee fitted cap (classic navy)

*g-shock

*permanent grin

                Smooth Swiss dark chocolate brown, standing about 6 feet to the heavens. With his permanent big toothed grin and little chuckle, he has a seat to my left. He writes with his head tipped low as his classic navy blue Yankee fitted cap sits atop his low cut coarse black hair. Integrated “N Y” symbol to the back. Left arm up and hand to his forehead as he ponders hard on what to write about the beautiful young lady to his right. As he thinks, the seconds on his swamp green watch turn to minutes. The pea green armored watch is filled with buttons along its sides like shining obsidian.  This watch looks as if it’s armed with lasers due to its bumpy exterior. He writes and he writes, sentences upon sentences laced in blue ink. 

Happy To Be Nappy

Natural hair

                My hair has been natural for about a year and a half. Way back when I was in elementary school my hair was curly and long: natural. It was without products but leave in conditioner and conditioning grease. Then the day before starting 6^th grade my mother insisted I get a relaxer. She claimed my hair began to fall out. Which made no sense because a perm would cause me to lose more hair, but I think she just wanted to give me a relaxer, so she gave whatever reason to do what she wanted. I begged her not to put those dreadful chemicals in my hair and everyone else tried to talk her out of it. But being the stubborn and headstrong woman she is, she ignored my request and proceeded to slab on the relaxer. From 6^th grade to the summer before my senior year in high school I was addicted to the “creamy crack” (relaxer).

                By the summer before senior year my hair was breaking more and so I thought to myself “I don’t want to relax my hair anymore, and who will do my hair for me when I go off to school?” Maintaining a relaxer is too much work, it involves touch-ups on my roots every couple months, whenever I wash my hair I have to set it and sit under a hot dryer for an hour, and wrap it at night. I was not up for all of that. And so I began growing the relaxer out.

                By January my new growth was about 3 to maybe 5 inches long and so I did the big CUT. I chopped all of my relaxed ends off and had a mini curly fro.  It was the start of the New Year and new hair. I went back to school with my baby fro and my English teacher looked at me and exclaimed “you are bold”.

                Cutting my hair was like coming of age for me. I cut my hair, and felt independent. I felt like “I did what I wanted with my hair, and my mother could not deny me this” And now my hair has grown and I love it. 

A Gift and a Curse [free write]

Christina Berthaud
10:30 Class

                There are only a couple instances in my life where I can say I was truly suffering. My senior year of high school and freshmen year of college may have been some of the most stressful and a tragic year of my life but at one point was euphoric.

                October 31, 2008, one of my cousins Marvin, passed away. His death was totally random and unexpected. In the papers, it was deemed a suicide, but I refuse to call it so. The story was that he was under the influence of something and was involved in unfamiliar activity with strange behavior. This being the first death this close to my heart took a great toll on me. It took me months to almost a year to cope and seal my heart back up. Later in my senior year, January 30^th 2009 my maternal grandmother passed away of congested heart failure.  I was especially hurt, I felt like a piece of me was taken,  because she lived in my house and I shared a room with her, so every day I woke up she was the first person I saw in the morning and the last person I saw at night. At times I would forget she was gone and enter my room to greet and kiss her cheek.  I felt as if each member of my family was being picked off. And for months I cried. Each time I cried for her, I began to think on the past and cried for him. The loss of both these members of my family put me in a brief depression, I didn’t want to speak to anyone, I didn’t want to go to school, I didn’t want to eat, I just wanted to sleep. Because when I slept I didn’t feel anything.  I had fears of who would be next and if I could endure anymore of such pain.

                As I began to feel that things were getting better, the winters break (January 1^st) of my freshmen year at St. John’s another one of my close cousins, Roshah, passed away in a car accident. At that point I was broken. I didn’t know what to do. In my mind all I can think was “Why me?!” I felt as if someone kept ripping open the same wound just to watch me bleed. Shortly after the passing of Roshah, I came back to New York to spend time with my father’s side of the family in Brooklyn to take a break from tragedy. When I thought things could not get any worse, I got a call from my roommate yelling through my phone in panic “Have you spoken to your mother?!”  I asked why, and she responded, repressing tears, that Haiti had endured a 7.0 magnitude earthquake. My knees instantly buckled, I became weak and nearly hit the ground, unable to speak and get myself together, and I began to tear up. All could think was “My goodness, my mother is dead, who else is going to be taken from me?” I was on edge, in tears, going through sleepless nights. A part of me knew she was okay, but the rest of me was preparing to cope for tragedy. It was like I was cursed.

                They always say with every cloud there is a silver lining. My silver lining may have been really thin and my cloud one of the darkest, but it was enough for me to come back to my normal self. I am entirely too happy to cry anymore, I hated weeping like a banshee. I am entirely too happy, to be held down by tragedy that long. Towards the end of all this I began to feel happy, free from the binding of tragedy. This series of events brought my family A LOT closer. We were close before, but now we speak nearly every week, whether it’s on the phone, through, text or facebook.  My last state of euphoria came when I got word that my mother was alive and well and on her way home almost a whole two months later. My family means everything to me and without them I’d be without a backbone.  I was told to keep my family close, because without them, you are nothing. Those who endure the most pain are blessed. I guess it’s a gift and a curse. 

Labor Day 2010

Christina Berthaud 

10:30 Class.

            On September 6, 2010 I spent my entire day in Brooklyn, New York. Each and every Labor Day on Eastern Parkway all the Caribbean nations gather up with music, food, floats, costumes, flags, feathers, glitter and smiles. From afar the street looked like a big array of color, like a pile of parrot's feathers. This year was my second year in attendance and It felt like the first time all over again. Since I was young I have always heard about the Labor Day parade and how much fun it was. But living in Boston I was never able to go because I had school the following day. I also was never able to go because it was always said to be so dangerous. Boston also has a West Indian festival but having such a strict and overprotective mother I was NEVER allowed to go.

            The first time I went was my freshman year in college (last year) when I was finally out of my mother’s clutches. The first time I went I was nervous and was not familiar with where I was so I was also scared. Though I had fun I always thought “next year will be better.” The first time I went we got there late and came back early so I didn’t get to grasp the feel of everything.

            This year I was able to jump into the street and join the foot traffic, dancing and singing loud (was there from noon to 7pm!). All along the street you heard LOUD soca music, the 'cling and clang' of steel pan drums. While I was there I seen nearly my whole family tree and contact list in my phone. As many people as there were flooding the streets, I was able to see too many people I knew (even had to duck and dodge some of them).
            Walking along the street you could see all these smiling shades of brown, from butter pecan to licorice.  I left the parade smelling like charcoal and jerk chicken, from the street vendors and food. There were so many vendors and grills going, I swear I could TASTE charcoal (gross). 

            Though I have been to the parade before NOTHING topped how much fun I had this year. This year Haiti had the most floats. I have always had the greatest sense of pride in my country and people, BUT this year in the parade I was smiling from ear to ear as soon as my floats came by.

            January 12, 2010 Haiti endured a 7.0 magnitude earthquake, shattering the country. My heart was broken because these are my people, my family, and my country. I was especially hurt because I lost a cousin in the earthquake and my mother was also in Haiti at the time. But as soon as I saw the 1^st Haitian float I instantly thought, “my people have come a long way and are strong and have today to show how strong we are and how much pride we have” we showed this by flooding the streets, having the most floats and most flags waving in the air.

            To everything great, there is a dark side. Everywhere you go there are always those people who do not know how to conduct themselves. While at the parade people shoved, pushed and fought (I nearly lost my shoe). I witnessed a couple fights and even ran nearly a whole block and hopped a rail when I heard a gun was pulled. Also on the dark side there were plenty of women who had on things they had NO business putting on. Some costumes showed a little TOO much. Also, the whole bathroom situation was gross. They had teal and blue port-a-potties lined up the different blocks for public use. The bathrooms smelled like DEATH...and pee. Though there was one area with really clean ones but I had to pay a whole, crisp & clean emerald green (that rhymed) George Washington dollar to use it. But as soon as I got in there it didn't reek, smelled like lavender actually. 

            In conclusion, it was a GREAT experience and I feel everyone should go at least once in their life. Yes, I know this is a fairly recent memory, but going through my facebook I came across this photo of my roommates and I at the parade and a flood of different things, memories, smiles, pride and love came to mind and I couldn’t help but share. 

Gender Expectations

Christina Berthaud

10:30 class.

What are you supposed to do?

                 I have come to realize when it comes to men and women, we are obviously different, but people have it set in their minds that we are to be a specific way. Men are to be strong, breadwinners, hard working, emotionless etc. Women are to be sensitive, prissy, emotional, venerable, dependent etc. Most people may actually be this way but in reality a more people are not these ways.

                For example, I obviously am a woman. [Yes a woman, not a girlJ] And I can be sensitive and all, but I aim to be independent and am strong. Now if a woman was a feminist and super independent she would then be dubbed a ‘bitch’.

                There are plenty of men who are sensitive, fashionable, and wear their clothes slightly tighter than others. But as soon as a man is that way he is then called gay.

                Double standards also come into play; this is where my personal experience comes in. There is the famous double standard of when a man speaks to or has relations with a number of women he is ‘the man (-_-). NOW if a woman were to be involved with several men, she is a whore.  WHY?

            My personal story: I had a friend, very pretty girl, conversed with one too many men I guess. People later began saying “So & so is a hoe.” Why? She is only conversing. From conversing came the ‘talking’ stage, the stage of which you are now more than friends but yet not a couple. Even when ‘talking’ to more than one person you are still known as being a whore. It seems as if you cannot talk to more than person. ‘Talking’ is like dating. When people are dating they are seeing each other but can also see other people. People seem to not understand what the term dating means.

            On the other hand women also call some men ‘man whores’. It’s true that there are many ‘man whores’ out there, but the situation may be the same as my friend’s. He may be dating these women but not exclusive to one. If the person is exclusive to one, then that one would then be their boyfriend/girlfriend.

            All in all, men & women should be equal in what they do and whatever they do is called. Though I know this will NEVER happen because this way of thinking is already deeply rooted in the minds of people and they are raised this way, whether it is straight forward or just subtle in what goes on in their home. What is learned at home is from the parents who learned from their own parents, and dates way back through history and as far as the Bible & beginning of time.