Journal #10: Out With the Old, In With the New (Rough Draft)

When my parents and I inspected the house we live in now, it felt like being in a maze. The carpeted rooms were desolate and the hallways seemed identical. Moving from one place to another put most of the stress and pressure on my parents and for the rest of the family. The moving truck backed up into the driveway with nearly all of our belongings. My dad's barbeque set and the bikes my younger brother and I used to ride were left behind. Mixed emotions were what I was feeling. A sudden burst of excitement grew and yet, at the same time, I was reluctant to move on. They say a picture is worth a thousand words. There were unforgettable memories that always seemed to bring me back, as I often got sidetracked looking into photo albums, while digging through boxes that contained an item or two for me to put onto the shelf.

The place we rented had to be renovated. You could tell it was an old house. Paint faded and peeled. The wooden floor creaked. Most of the time when my dad drops me off to school in the morning, we pass by our old house to see it in a damaged condition. A plump field mouse scurried in the tall, straw-like grass. My dad spotted it before I did when we stopped at the red traffic light coming down from Likelike Highway. Proof that there was a car accident a few years ago, the wired fence hadn't been repaired. When we lived there, our backyard was much livlier and in order. Til this day, the house never was renovated. In the night, a few roaches, the size of the length of your pinky, would appear and scramble when the light switch went on.

Now, we needn't worry about those problems. Keeping our new home organized from top to bottom was a need, since my mom planned to hold a foster home downstairs. Sixth grade was drawing to a close and it was summertime again. A few months before my mom started bringing in patients, there was an empty room where I hung out, usually listening to one of my brothers whine about not winning in the game, while the other just got lucky. To my rascal siblings, that room was known as "The Boogieman Room." Maybe it was named that, since the long shadows of the branches of the tree gave it a Halloween effect at night.

Aside from being in my room upstairs, watching the latest episodes of Naruto Shippuden and Bleach on the computer, I like to spend my time in that room working out my lower body strength and stamina with an orange jump rope with blue handles. Less than a few months passed by. There was only a short period of time left until someone would move into that room and call it theirs; the room where they'll grow accustomed to it, just as we did on our way here from our old home. The rustling of leaves and the calm breeze that blew in through the screen window made life feel at ease, as the pen in my hand nudged its way from left to right as I wrote in my diary. Written here in this very book, we moved in on Saturday, May 19, 2007. It became a new chapter of my life...more memories and dreams yet to discover and fulfill.

Jounal #9: When My Name Was Keoko

Tell why your novel relates to cultural/ethnic roots and identity. Give specific examples from your reading.

The novel, When My Name Was Keoko, written by Linda Sue Park, tells a story of a family that faced brutal hardships during World War II. The story focuses mainly around Sun-hee and her older brother Tae-yul. Tae-yul wanted to prove the Koreans weren't cowards so he became a kamikaze pilot, putting his own life at risk. During that time, the Japanese and Koreans were in much conflict. The Koreans were forced to speak in Japanese, as well as use Japanese names. Their Uncle, went out of his way to print newspapers in Korean. This showed that he was proud of his culture. Secretly, he also taught Sun-hee and Tae-yul much about their Korean culture and heritage and why it was important to them.

"I woke the next morning with Abuji's words in my head. I started a new diary that very day; not even the pain of my blistered fingers could stop me."

You burn the paper but not the words.

You silence the words but not the thoughts.

You kill the thoughts only if you kill the man.

And you will find that his thoughts rise again

in the minds of others-twice as strong as before.

"The next day I slipped out of the house and made my way down the street to Tomo's house. He was outside loading a crate onto a cart. An American soldier was standing guard at the gate."

"Tomo."

He turned in surprise. "Keoko! What are you doing here?"

For a moment I didn't respond-I was thinking about how he'd call me by my Japanese name. We had all gone back to using our Korean names the very day the Emporor's surrender was announced. Indeed, as part of the celebration in the street that day, people had torn up their Japanese identity papers. But Tomo had been calling me "Keoko" for five years now; it would have felt strange to hear him call me "Sun-hee."

"I wasn't Keoko anymore. But the part of me that was friends with Tomo would always be Keoko, and I didn't want to forget that."

Journal #8: Querencia (Brainstorming)

My Home
Comparison b/w two homes
Safe environment

Saint Theresa School
8th Grade Retreat
Computer Lab
PADDYP
Homeroom 8A
Busy Schedule
Graduation
Confirmation

Journal #7:

Roots & Recipes (Rough Draft)

After an 8-10 hour trip from the Philippines to Hawaii, Uncle Ben was ready to come home and be showered with hugs and fresh, purple orchid leis. Back then i was in the second grade. I was curious to know what was going on. Uncle Ben then told me stories of his exhausting trip and later, how he wasn't satisfied with the airplane food, since it was a little too bland. As I listened attentively, he and I drank milk and munched on cookies. When uncle moved here he was only 15 and he told me about taking cooking classes in his junior year. My uncle didn't like cooking, but he said that he enjoyed making people happy with his food.

It was a fine September day and my mom and younger brother's birthday was just around the corner. Before the big day, Uncle Ben spent time to prepare the dessert and to surprise us with his cooking. When I was younger and even today, I was the one chosen to taste-test the food. At first, I hesitated to try the leche flan because it seemed knew to me and so I sniffed the food.

Uncle Ben exclaimed, "Why you smelling the food. Why you cat?!"

I giggled. It was one of those times when my uncle and I shared special moments. When the party started, I gobbled the food as fast as I could. After eating, I headed back to the dessert line and got two or three pieces of leche flan on my plate. It's golden-brown top, oval-shaped appearance, and sweet taste wanted me to crave more, but I knew I was done for the night.

Journal #6: Transcript of Interview

What are the ingredients used in making this custard?



When did you first start preparing leche flan?



How long have you been making it?



Was it difficult for you to make at first?



When do you think is the most appropriate occasion to prepare the dish?



What do you like about making leche flan?



Are there any experiences you would like to share about your connection with this food?

Journal #5: What is a MeneMac Student?

Being here for a month or so and still fitting in a "techy" environment, I find MeneMac students to be committed, productive, and have the utmost integrity. Working against the clock, we are willing to get the job done and at the same time build special bonds. As I've seen so far, each individual has talent in his/her own way, say, in art, music, media, being sporty, and just being there to make everyone laugh and smile. It's like having bread and no ingredients to make a sandwich. MeneMac students use their talents to help everyone around the room. We also have pride in what we do. That way we can connect with our MeneMac family.

Journal #4:

Journal #3: Roots and Recipies

Name of the food you have chosen and several specific details about your experience with it.
When my uncle arrived here in Hawaii, I was always curious of the dishes he would prepare. There was this one that was brought to my attention because of how sweet it was. It's a Filipino custard, also known as, leche flan.

Make your appointment to interview a family member who can share the recipe and stories about the food and family and include that person's name and your interview date in the blog.
I will probably schedule my interview with my uncle and aunty this weekend on August 28, 2009.

Questions for your interview.
What are the ingredients used in making this custard?
When did you first start preparing leche flan?
How long have you been making it?
Was it difficult for you to make at first?
When do you think is the most appropriate occasion to prepare the dish?
What do you like about making leche flan?
Are there any experiences you would like to share about your connection with this food?