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.

            

Grow Up!!

“Kids don’t shuffle along in unison on the road to maturity.”

                

              After reading the Time Magazine article ‘What Is It About 20-Somethings?’ I have come to realize something. I realized there has been a drastic change in the course of things in terms of growing up between our generation and the generation before us. The traditional order of events for the road to adulthood goes from completing school, grow up, start a career, marry, have a family and eventually retire. Unfortunately it seems our generation can make past the finishing school but cannot seem to get through growing up. By not growing up it can delay the rest of events that are to follow.

                In the article it was started that those in their 20s, following school, move back home. It can also be said that this type of behavior may be glorified on television with shows like “$#*! My Dad Says”.

                Another realization I made was how closely related the road to adolescence/ coming of age and maturity /growing up are. Both processes include finding yourself [identity], instability, self-focus, feeling in between and “a sense of possibilities”.  But of course with adulthood it is a lot more serious and has a greater sense of urgency.  Professor Arnett from Clark University in Worcestor Massachusetts [my best friend goes there =)] calls this “the age 30 deadline.”

                I feel that when coming of age our generation was in such a rush to grow up but when the time came to be grown and take care of grown folks’ business, they were/are not prepared and did/do not want to take care of responsibilities and cannot get their priorities in order.

                In the Time Magazine article it was also brought up that many people do not take the course to adulthood in the order of which it is listed. Realistically speaking it cannot ALWAYS go as planned.  Also some milestones are never crossed, either by choice or just the way their cards were dealt. For example having a child, the situation may be that the person is unable to have children, choose not to have children or have a child before being married.

                I personally feel everyone will ‘grow up’ in due time. When a certain situation occurs they will muster up the strength to step into those grown shoes and take care of business.