This has been long overdue. My posts have paralyzed in wait for a soliloquy, a metaphor, a simile, about you. Past posts have been close, "Spread the Love" was in preparation for you, "Crushed" was scared of you, "We're Just Friends" was for you, and "Lightbulb" was in spite, yet inspired still, by you.
But this post is you. This is Love.
You, Love, have always been there, disguised in a slough
Of faces, ballads, flowers, and sunsets.
But it's always been you.
I have never been ready,
Never quite understood,
How to greet you, or treat you, or if I should
Because if I didn't know how
What made me think that I could
Dabble in Love, which appears like magic
When I'm no magician
And the tricks up my sleeve
Are unknown to me.
But Love, what you've taught me
Is that the show will go on
Love will continue its trickery
With me to tag along
So I'll reach in my hat
Fishing for a bunny
Even though you can't assure me
I won't pull out a rat.
With its pink wiggly tail
and its squeak squeak squeak
which sounds a lot like weak weak weak
Love, you taught me that a rat is not a fail
But that I should hold it by the tail and bow anyway
And as I look at my feet
I see how far I've walked
But my soul and my shoes are not worn yet
I still have places to go and people to meet
So I look back up at the audience before me
Who just witnessed my rat of a bunny
And as they clap politely
I know there are other fish in the sea
Other shows to be had
There is more to this trickery
Love will turn up again
As it always had
And I know that is true
Because when I look at you
I know I have found it once more.
This is love.
~Kat
"Nothing is more practical than finding God, falling in Love in a quite absolute, final way. What you are in love with, what seizes your imagination, will affect everything. It will decide what will get you out of bed in the morning, what you do with your evenings, how you spend your weekends, what your read, whom you know, and what amazes you with joy and gratitude. Fall in love, stay in love, and it will decide everything."
~Fr. Pedro Arrupe
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
Save Me.
For those of you who aren't already aware of the "Save Our Neighborhood" situation with the lights, what's going on is that the school wants to add lights, and a new PA system and possibly a parking structure in order to have night games and practices. The neighborhood doesn't want that because of the noise and the loss in property values.
In most recent news, lights are not going to be at the Homecoming game this year, so it will have to be during the day. Many Pointers are up in arms and blaming it on the "Save Our Neighborhood" group.
This is how I respond.
Dear Save Our Neighborhood Assholes,
How dare you take away our precious night games? It’s our senior year, we are teenagers and we want to have some fun while the fun still lasts. I can’t believe you all took away our one existing night, the Homecoming game. We have horrible school spirit as it is, and now nobody’s going to come out for the day game. The lights were going to save everything, and now we can’t have it for even one night.
Let’s walk out. Let’s all meander around the neighborhood, show them just how reckless and noisy teenagers can be. Let’s give them something real to complain about. We’ll show them how to rally together and make something happen.
We only have four years of high school, and because of you people, we can’t make the most of it. Because all you hoity-toity home owners made the stupid decision to buy a house next a high school, what did you think was going to happen? This isn’t the 1970’s anymore. It’s not like the student population hasn’t grown at all, or that most of the kids don’t have to drive to school. It’s not like you have to deal with trying to find a parking space. It’s not like you’re missing out on having an enjoyable Friday night.
You all are just being myopic. Just concerned with yourselves, and your property value, and your quiet neighborhood. You just want to be able to go for walks with your little shih-tzus without all of our crappy old cars that we pay for and maintain ourselves lining your streets. Plus, it’s all the same people that are parking out front of your house all day 5 days a week anyway. Who cares if they are still there for another 3 hours or so after dark? And you can’t blame us for who comes to use the field on the weekends, that’s out of our control. By law they have to loan the field out, and the money that comes in from those renters will help pay for needs the school has and better our experiences. That’s right, I’m not just a stupid teenager, I went to the meetings.
You just can’t understand our struggle. Can’t understand what it’s like to be a high school student without night games. We’ve sacrificed for the neighborhood since the beginning, agreeing to have only one night game a year. We’ve really done you a favor. All we’re asking is for it to be returned.
Just let us have the lights. We are only in high school for four years, and it’s supposed to be the best years of our lives. And then we’re going to be gone and going off to college and it’s all going to be over. We’re going to be getting a job that we have to work really hard at to become successful and live the dream. We’re going to get married, and have a dog, and move into a nice quiet neighborhood in a nice house that we paid for and earned. We’re going to enjoy the rest of our lives with our kids and our grandkids, going on nice walks to unwind after a stressful day at work. And we’re going to be smart, and not move next to a high school with rowdy kids crowding our space, ya know?
And we are going to look back at our high school years and remember how much they sucked because we didn’t have school spirit, or a night game for our last Homecoming, or lights for our field, and we are going to remember that it’s all your faults because you just thought of yourselves, and your perfect little houses, and quiet neighborhood.
Insincerely,
The class of 2014
~Kat
P.S. I've done my research on satire.
In most recent news, lights are not going to be at the Homecoming game this year, so it will have to be during the day. Many Pointers are up in arms and blaming it on the "Save Our Neighborhood" group.
This is how I respond.
Dear Save Our Neighborhood Assholes,
How dare you take away our precious night games? It’s our senior year, we are teenagers and we want to have some fun while the fun still lasts. I can’t believe you all took away our one existing night, the Homecoming game. We have horrible school spirit as it is, and now nobody’s going to come out for the day game. The lights were going to save everything, and now we can’t have it for even one night.
Let’s walk out. Let’s all meander around the neighborhood, show them just how reckless and noisy teenagers can be. Let’s give them something real to complain about. We’ll show them how to rally together and make something happen.
We only have four years of high school, and because of you people, we can’t make the most of it. Because all you hoity-toity home owners made the stupid decision to buy a house next a high school, what did you think was going to happen? This isn’t the 1970’s anymore. It’s not like the student population hasn’t grown at all, or that most of the kids don’t have to drive to school. It’s not like you have to deal with trying to find a parking space. It’s not like you’re missing out on having an enjoyable Friday night.
You all are just being myopic. Just concerned with yourselves, and your property value, and your quiet neighborhood. You just want to be able to go for walks with your little shih-tzus without all of our crappy old cars that we pay for and maintain ourselves lining your streets. Plus, it’s all the same people that are parking out front of your house all day 5 days a week anyway. Who cares if they are still there for another 3 hours or so after dark? And you can’t blame us for who comes to use the field on the weekends, that’s out of our control. By law they have to loan the field out, and the money that comes in from those renters will help pay for needs the school has and better our experiences. That’s right, I’m not just a stupid teenager, I went to the meetings.
You just can’t understand our struggle. Can’t understand what it’s like to be a high school student without night games. We’ve sacrificed for the neighborhood since the beginning, agreeing to have only one night game a year. We’ve really done you a favor. All we’re asking is for it to be returned.
Just let us have the lights. We are only in high school for four years, and it’s supposed to be the best years of our lives. And then we’re going to be gone and going off to college and it’s all going to be over. We’re going to be getting a job that we have to work really hard at to become successful and live the dream. We’re going to get married, and have a dog, and move into a nice quiet neighborhood in a nice house that we paid for and earned. We’re going to enjoy the rest of our lives with our kids and our grandkids, going on nice walks to unwind after a stressful day at work. And we’re going to be smart, and not move next to a high school with rowdy kids crowding our space, ya know?
And we are going to look back at our high school years and remember how much they sucked because we didn’t have school spirit, or a night game for our last Homecoming, or lights for our field, and we are going to remember that it’s all your faults because you just thought of yourselves, and your perfect little houses, and quiet neighborhood.
Insincerely,
The class of 2014
~Kat
P.S. I've done my research on satire.
Thursday, October 17, 2013
Pop Ups
Every time I click on a link a big box gets in my way. It tells me "You won!" or "Download me!" A new tab will come up, and redirect me to a page I didn't ask to see. I have to sift through all the traps just to get here. My own blog is booby trapped.
And just like my laptop, I can't seem to get anything done without something popping up in my path. It tells me lies, that it will give me just what I need, just five more minutes, you can finish that later. Then five minutes turn to ten and the pop up has morphed into a whole new direction and before I know it, I'm caught up in a new program. The homework doesn't get done, the bed is unmade, the books are left lonely on the shelf. And then finally when the weight of tomorrow is too much for me to handle today, I peak out over the dirty clothes and pile of prayers left unsaid, searching for some kind of firewall or virus protection to keep my world from decaying into an abyss of pop-ups and opportunities missed.
Blink. Refresh. This is water.
Once upon a time there was a fish. His name was Larry. Larry lived on a desk, his neighbor was a mason jar of sketch pencils. He had a balanced three-flake-a-day diet. Sometimes he would splurge and eat a dust mote. Larry couldn't believe his life, he wasn't just any other fish in the sea. He got to live on a desk.
One day the hands came, like they do on a daily basis, and they scooped Larry up and put him in a bag. Larry was a very lucky fish, he had helpful hands to clean his bowl. But Larry never saw the bowl, or the sketch pencils and mason jar again. When the hands came back, he was taken to a new place, with new neighbors. He no longer lived in a bowl, but in a tank with a bright white light and a big black box that whirred and snarled and shot out bubbles at Larry. He had new neighbors, a clock radio that flashed blue symbols that he was sure could only mean something evil and he was scared. These were new waters.
New waters, but this is still water. The same water Larry's been swimming in his whole little fishy life. His gills still work. The hands still provide him with a balanced three-flake-a-day diet.
Larry's problem is that he can't trust himself. He doesn't see that this is water. He's been swimming the whole time, his gills have always worked, and they will continue to work even in the tank. There is nothing to be afraid of. Just keep swimmin'.
My computer's problem is that it doesn't have a proper virus protector, and the pop-ups are redirecting the direction the rainbow wheel has been spinning so diligently over.
My problem is that I can't easily face my problems. That is without turning myself into a fish or a computer. But I can choose my own reality. I'm not being bagged up and taken tank to tank by the hands. I'm not infected by a computer hacker outside of my control. I can stop all the pop-ups in my life, just as soon as I can hit the red X.
Discipline is just choosing between what you want now and what you want most...
Blink. Refresh. This is water.
~Kat
And just like my laptop, I can't seem to get anything done without something popping up in my path. It tells me lies, that it will give me just what I need, just five more minutes, you can finish that later. Then five minutes turn to ten and the pop up has morphed into a whole new direction and before I know it, I'm caught up in a new program. The homework doesn't get done, the bed is unmade, the books are left lonely on the shelf. And then finally when the weight of tomorrow is too much for me to handle today, I peak out over the dirty clothes and pile of prayers left unsaid, searching for some kind of firewall or virus protection to keep my world from decaying into an abyss of pop-ups and opportunities missed.
Blink. Refresh. This is water.
Once upon a time there was a fish. His name was Larry. Larry lived on a desk, his neighbor was a mason jar of sketch pencils. He had a balanced three-flake-a-day diet. Sometimes he would splurge and eat a dust mote. Larry couldn't believe his life, he wasn't just any other fish in the sea. He got to live on a desk.
One day the hands came, like they do on a daily basis, and they scooped Larry up and put him in a bag. Larry was a very lucky fish, he had helpful hands to clean his bowl. But Larry never saw the bowl, or the sketch pencils and mason jar again. When the hands came back, he was taken to a new place, with new neighbors. He no longer lived in a bowl, but in a tank with a bright white light and a big black box that whirred and snarled and shot out bubbles at Larry. He had new neighbors, a clock radio that flashed blue symbols that he was sure could only mean something evil and he was scared. These were new waters.
New waters, but this is still water. The same water Larry's been swimming in his whole little fishy life. His gills still work. The hands still provide him with a balanced three-flake-a-day diet.
Larry's problem is that he can't trust himself. He doesn't see that this is water. He's been swimming the whole time, his gills have always worked, and they will continue to work even in the tank. There is nothing to be afraid of. Just keep swimmin'.
My computer's problem is that it doesn't have a proper virus protector, and the pop-ups are redirecting the direction the rainbow wheel has been spinning so diligently over.
My problem is that I can't easily face my problems. That is without turning myself into a fish or a computer. But I can choose my own reality. I'm not being bagged up and taken tank to tank by the hands. I'm not infected by a computer hacker outside of my control. I can stop all the pop-ups in my life, just as soon as I can hit the red X.
Discipline is just choosing between what you want now and what you want most...
Blink. Refresh. This is water.
~Kat
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
Head v. Heart
"Think of a time when your emotions (your heart) conflicted with what you know (your head)."
I immediately thought uh, boys. Then I quickly thought that was dumb, for obvious cliched reasons. Then I thought, well, college and majors. That's the big one for me right now. But as of right now, there is still no resolution between my math/science brain and my creative writing/music brain that experts say aren't supposed to live inside the same head. Or else. I'm quickly learning just how difficult that "or else" can be.
So in an effort to answer the prompt with a resolution and not just circuitous "I don't know, but maybe..." Here is how I have handled this conflict before, in a high stress environment, when a decision had to be made in the moment:
Before I was Kat Shaw. Before the blog, the self-confidence, self-identity, and forward thinking, I had to learn who "Kat Shaw" was. This was one of those learning experiences.
Poetry Club Symposium, sophomore year.
The spotlight was too bright. The room was too full. The pool of peers, and ultimate judges, was too deep and dark. The fire and brimstone performance before me, preaching about struggle and hurt I was too young and sophomoric to understand, left the stage smoldering. A clammy Katherine Shaw stepped up to share her little poem about "nice guys."
Two stanzas in I got burned. The words were clinging to my tongue, the electrical synapses in my brain were static. The next line wouldn't come for the life of me.
Head: nothing.
Heart: run.
So after playing the part of the deer in headlights for a few moments, that's just what I did. I ran backstage and frantically asked my fellow poets what the next line was to my poem. Of course, they didn't know. It was my poem.
Heart: You're done for. Prepare to be the Point Loma, not so poetic, pariah. I hope you have a bag for your head.
Head finally decided to join the conversation after being fashionably late.
Head: Go back out there. Take a deep breath. Ask the audience to start over. They got out of class for this, they won't say no.
With Heart kicking and screaming inside my chest, I stepped back out onto the stage. It was considerably cooler after being stagnant so long.
Miraculously, the world did not end.
But my poem did :)
~Kat
P.S. If you're having any internal conflicts like this, and your internal organs are conversational like mine are, I really found this prompt beneficial to look back on how I handled things in the past to help how I will handle them now. I still don't know whether to follow my heart or my head with something as big as my future career and the college to get me there, but I can assure you, you all will be the first to know when I do.
I immediately thought uh, boys. Then I quickly thought that was dumb, for obvious cliched reasons. Then I thought, well, college and majors. That's the big one for me right now. But as of right now, there is still no resolution between my math/science brain and my creative writing/music brain that experts say aren't supposed to live inside the same head. Or else. I'm quickly learning just how difficult that "or else" can be.
So in an effort to answer the prompt with a resolution and not just circuitous "I don't know, but maybe..." Here is how I have handled this conflict before, in a high stress environment, when a decision had to be made in the moment:
Before I was Kat Shaw. Before the blog, the self-confidence, self-identity, and forward thinking, I had to learn who "Kat Shaw" was. This was one of those learning experiences.
Poetry Club Symposium, sophomore year.
The spotlight was too bright. The room was too full. The pool of peers, and ultimate judges, was too deep and dark. The fire and brimstone performance before me, preaching about struggle and hurt I was too young and sophomoric to understand, left the stage smoldering. A clammy Katherine Shaw stepped up to share her little poem about "nice guys."
Two stanzas in I got burned. The words were clinging to my tongue, the electrical synapses in my brain were static. The next line wouldn't come for the life of me.
Head: nothing.
Heart: run.
So after playing the part of the deer in headlights for a few moments, that's just what I did. I ran backstage and frantically asked my fellow poets what the next line was to my poem. Of course, they didn't know. It was my poem.
Heart: You're done for. Prepare to be the Point Loma, not so poetic, pariah. I hope you have a bag for your head.
Head finally decided to join the conversation after being fashionably late.
Head: Go back out there. Take a deep breath. Ask the audience to start over. They got out of class for this, they won't say no.
With Heart kicking and screaming inside my chest, I stepped back out onto the stage. It was considerably cooler after being stagnant so long.
Miraculously, the world did not end.
But my poem did :)
~Kat
P.S. If you're having any internal conflicts like this, and your internal organs are conversational like mine are, I really found this prompt beneficial to look back on how I handled things in the past to help how I will handle them now. I still don't know whether to follow my heart or my head with something as big as my future career and the college to get me there, but I can assure you, you all will be the first to know when I do.
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
If I Should Have a Son
If I should have a son, by the time he's one year old, he would know that Dada could be just as comforting as Mama. By the time he's three, he would know that "please" and "thank you" are the magic beans that grow success and that if he ever falls from that bean stalk, it is okay to cry because nothing can grow without a little bit of watering. Before he enters Kindergarten, he will know that girls play differently than boys, and that they need to be protected just like Daddy does for Mommy. He might make a mistake every once in a while, but when he does, he will have the tell-tale face of guilt because his Mommy taught him right from wrong. And he will learn that an "I'm sorry" will shake that guilt away like an Etch-a-Sketch.
If I should have a son, by the time he starts high school, he will have learned that you can't go anywhere without a door opened for you, which you should always remember to be grateful for. He will also learn that sometimes you have to be the one to make the first push, but in either case, he will know that the right thing to do is to hold the door open for whomever may follow him.
If I should have a son, and if he should fall in love, I would tell him that girls are like buried treasure. Pirates will try to steal their worth, but he will know that the pirate life is not for me. Those doubloons will stay buried until she maps out the key to her heart for the man she will marry. He will know that that man won't always be him. But I'll tell him, when it's time, he will know from the protective nature to guard that "X marks the spot" with his life. He will know that to love is to sacrifice, and that if it was easy, everyone would have it.
If I should have a son, God help me, because growing up in a house of girls doesn't exactly lend me the qualifications to discover the mystery of the Y-chromosome, and my name isn't Nancy Drew.
But even if I should have a son, I would make sure that he would know that cussing is the crutch of the conversationally crippled, and that in this family, it's never been able to roll of the tongue gracefully anyway. He would know that if he needs to get in a fight to impress his friends, they aren't really his friends; they are just looking for you to get hurt. And he would NEVER spend his entire ceramic's class talking with his friend about boobs. Especially when you have to talk around the girl sitting between you in class.
Because if that girl was your mother, I can tell you right now, she didn't appreciate it.
If I should have a son, he would at the very least, know that.
~Kat
If I should have a son, by the time he starts high school, he will have learned that you can't go anywhere without a door opened for you, which you should always remember to be grateful for. He will also learn that sometimes you have to be the one to make the first push, but in either case, he will know that the right thing to do is to hold the door open for whomever may follow him.
If I should have a son, and if he should fall in love, I would tell him that girls are like buried treasure. Pirates will try to steal their worth, but he will know that the pirate life is not for me. Those doubloons will stay buried until she maps out the key to her heart for the man she will marry. He will know that that man won't always be him. But I'll tell him, when it's time, he will know from the protective nature to guard that "X marks the spot" with his life. He will know that to love is to sacrifice, and that if it was easy, everyone would have it.
If I should have a son, God help me, because growing up in a house of girls doesn't exactly lend me the qualifications to discover the mystery of the Y-chromosome, and my name isn't Nancy Drew.
But even if I should have a son, I would make sure that he would know that cussing is the crutch of the conversationally crippled, and that in this family, it's never been able to roll of the tongue gracefully anyway. He would know that if he needs to get in a fight to impress his friends, they aren't really his friends; they are just looking for you to get hurt. And he would NEVER spend his entire ceramic's class talking with his friend about boobs. Especially when you have to talk around the girl sitting between you in class.
Because if that girl was your mother, I can tell you right now, she didn't appreciate it.
If I should have a son, he would at the very least, know that.
~Kat
Friday, September 6, 2013
"Miss Kat! Tell me a story!"
I hear this often from the four year old boy and two year old girl whom I babysit for. It was pretty scary the first time they asked me. Talk about being put on the spot. And they read Dr. Seuss, talk about high expectations. Try to think for a few minutes? Nope, ain't no four year old got time for that. You have thirty seconds. Go.
By now I've gotten to the point where I can roll with the punches, especially once I figured out that if there are dinosaurs or sharks in the story it's immediately a hit.
Everyone loves a story. Stories have been around for as long as there were people to dictate them. Stories will be around for as long as there are people to listen. There will always be a demand for writers. Yet, I'm still hesitant to declare myself an English major. I'm still leading myself down the road of being in school for a million years after high school graduation majoring in Health Science.
I've always had an interest in medicine, inspired by my mom, a nurse. I've always been pretty good at math and science in school, even enjoyed it most of the time.
But something that I enjoy all the time: English class. It has always been my favorite, every year since Kindergarten. I look forward to that class like a child would look forward to their birthday. I dabble into writing exercises and new techniques like college students might dabble into promiscuity. I re-read my old work like someone might dream of the "glory days" and gaze nostalgically upon their pee-wee soccer trophies.
You could say I love it.
I just finished the first week of my Senior year, and yes it has met my high expectations. It's challenging, but it's easy enough to digest so that I don't have to wait a half hour before I go swimming and have fun. I have some very interesting classes, with great attention-getting teachers.
The top two things I learned this week:
One, stories have a lot more to them than what meets the eye and they have a lot more to say than what seeps between your ears. They are important, important enough to require all citizens of the United States to study them for their first twelve years of schooling, if not more.
Two, if what you love is not "worth your time," then what is? "The only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do... Don't settle."-Steve Jobs
And both of these things came from my English class.
I would hope after 12 years of English class I would know how to read a sign, if only I was courageous enough to follow it.
~Kat
By now I've gotten to the point where I can roll with the punches, especially once I figured out that if there are dinosaurs or sharks in the story it's immediately a hit.
Everyone loves a story. Stories have been around for as long as there were people to dictate them. Stories will be around for as long as there are people to listen. There will always be a demand for writers. Yet, I'm still hesitant to declare myself an English major. I'm still leading myself down the road of being in school for a million years after high school graduation majoring in Health Science.
I've always had an interest in medicine, inspired by my mom, a nurse. I've always been pretty good at math and science in school, even enjoyed it most of the time.
But something that I enjoy all the time: English class. It has always been my favorite, every year since Kindergarten. I look forward to that class like a child would look forward to their birthday. I dabble into writing exercises and new techniques like college students might dabble into promiscuity. I re-read my old work like someone might dream of the "glory days" and gaze nostalgically upon their pee-wee soccer trophies.
You could say I love it.
I just finished the first week of my Senior year, and yes it has met my high expectations. It's challenging, but it's easy enough to digest so that I don't have to wait a half hour before I go swimming and have fun. I have some very interesting classes, with great attention-getting teachers.
The top two things I learned this week:
One, stories have a lot more to them than what meets the eye and they have a lot more to say than what seeps between your ears. They are important, important enough to require all citizens of the United States to study them for their first twelve years of schooling, if not more.
Two, if what you love is not "worth your time," then what is? "The only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do... Don't settle."-Steve Jobs
And both of these things came from my English class.
I would hope after 12 years of English class I would know how to read a sign, if only I was courageous enough to follow it.
~Kat
Thursday, August 29, 2013
To Student Entering Ms.Beltran's Class
Number one: You have just won the lottery. You were "randomly" chosen to be sitting in that seat, in this class, with these people, and that teacher, for which you have seriously lucked out. You'll realize how lucky you are soon enough, for there are many lessons you will learn in this class that you will carry with you the rest of your life. I say with no exaggeration that you will be changed, in some way, by the end of the year. Don't fight it, embrace it. You being in this class is not as "random" as it may seem, you probably need this class more than you know.
Number two: This is not an English class. Read it on your schedule: AP English LANGUAGE. Notice "language" in all caps. This is a class where you learn how to communicate effectively in the world. Whether that be at a job/college interview, a debate, a Facebook status, or effectively dumping a boyfriend/girlfriend (Hint: Don't text them). Everything you learn in this class is useful, so pay attention. Ms. Beltran is not the kind of teacher who is going to feed you bullshit to up her test grades, she is a smart woman and well aware of what a glorious waste of time that would be for both of you.
Number three: Ms. Beltran is a person outside of being your teacher. This may be difficult to realize, but she too has feelings, favorites, and hunger pangs in 4th period just like everybody else. She might not want to be there some days, just like you. But she doesn't get to check out, so you better not. She has two beautiful children she could be spending her day with (I'm sure you will see many pictures of them), but she's here in a stuffy room with a bunchy of smelly teenagers. For some reason she likes us and keeps coming back. She is also human, and makes mistakes, but she has the decency and respect for you that she will admit when a mistake is made. So try to look at things from her perspective sometimes, and not just with her but with all your teachers. You're life will be a lot more pleasant, trust me.
She is also very smart and has a lot to offer you. She was a student as well, and very successful. We all want to make it in life, get the good SAT scores, get into the college of our dreams, have the job of our dreams. Ms. Beltran has made it. She will help you make it, too if you let her. Ms. Beltran makes things happen.
And lastly some useful tips:
If she suggests you should do something (i.e. read an article, check out a blog, research a speech) that means do it. It could very easily be what tomorrow's entire class discussion is centered around. Don't be left in the dark twiddling your thumbs, and don't try to pretend that you did it either. She will know. She always knows.
Take her advice. You will regret not taking it later, and she won't hesitate to tell you "I told you so."
One thing she'll tell you to do is read a lot. You won't want to. Do it. If you want to learn how to communicate effectively, what better way than to witness how the pros do it. Plus you'll have something impressive to say in conversations. I definitely received and "I told you so" for this one. Don't get caught with your tail between your legs.
And I cannot stress this last thing more:
She will invest in you what you invest in her class. Probably more. Invest a lot, you get a lot out of it, and will love this class. Invest little, you will gain little, watch everyone around you getting more than you, and then this will just be another period you have to lug your 20 lb. backpack to.
Like anything, the choice is yours. Just make the right one.
Good luck, and enjoy
~Kat
Number two: This is not an English class. Read it on your schedule: AP English LANGUAGE. Notice "language" in all caps. This is a class where you learn how to communicate effectively in the world. Whether that be at a job/college interview, a debate, a Facebook status, or effectively dumping a boyfriend/girlfriend (Hint: Don't text them). Everything you learn in this class is useful, so pay attention. Ms. Beltran is not the kind of teacher who is going to feed you bullshit to up her test grades, she is a smart woman and well aware of what a glorious waste of time that would be for both of you.
Number three: Ms. Beltran is a person outside of being your teacher. This may be difficult to realize, but she too has feelings, favorites, and hunger pangs in 4th period just like everybody else. She might not want to be there some days, just like you. But she doesn't get to check out, so you better not. She has two beautiful children she could be spending her day with (I'm sure you will see many pictures of them), but she's here in a stuffy room with a bunchy of smelly teenagers. For some reason she likes us and keeps coming back. She is also human, and makes mistakes, but she has the decency and respect for you that she will admit when a mistake is made. So try to look at things from her perspective sometimes, and not just with her but with all your teachers. You're life will be a lot more pleasant, trust me.
She is also very smart and has a lot to offer you. She was a student as well, and very successful. We all want to make it in life, get the good SAT scores, get into the college of our dreams, have the job of our dreams. Ms. Beltran has made it. She will help you make it, too if you let her. Ms. Beltran makes things happen.
And lastly some useful tips:
If she suggests you should do something (i.e. read an article, check out a blog, research a speech) that means do it. It could very easily be what tomorrow's entire class discussion is centered around. Don't be left in the dark twiddling your thumbs, and don't try to pretend that you did it either. She will know. She always knows.
Take her advice. You will regret not taking it later, and she won't hesitate to tell you "I told you so."
One thing she'll tell you to do is read a lot. You won't want to. Do it. If you want to learn how to communicate effectively, what better way than to witness how the pros do it. Plus you'll have something impressive to say in conversations. I definitely received and "I told you so" for this one. Don't get caught with your tail between your legs.
And I cannot stress this last thing more:
She will invest in you what you invest in her class. Probably more. Invest a lot, you get a lot out of it, and will love this class. Invest little, you will gain little, watch everyone around you getting more than you, and then this will just be another period you have to lug your 20 lb. backpack to.
Like anything, the choice is yours. Just make the right one.
Good luck, and enjoy
~Kat
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