I Am Me

I take a step inside the great space before me, my shoe rubbing off dust from the wooden floor. Tranquility surrounds me; it prevails. The only sound that I can hear is the pounding of my heart and the symphony of whispering voices in my mind.

I take another step, aligning my other foot with the one in front of me. This time the heel of my shoe collides with the wooden floor, making a soft clacking sound. I slowly lift my head to look about. The pink wallpaper implies only one thing—feminism. I personally have a deep-seated aversion for the feministic color; I have always thought that the lighter, softer its shade, the duller it is than black itself. And the walls are not the only ones in this horrifying color, the pillows and the sheets are pink as well. Temporarily reducing the disappointment, the furniture and the rest are plain white—the desk and the chair, the window pane, the curtains, the bed. I do not know how I enjoyed living here for twenty years—seven thousand, three hundred and five days to be precise, but I am positive that the greatest moments in my life have been in this particular room.

A frameless mirror hangs on the wall beside me. I face it just to observe a lady I have never been certain I comprehensively knew. I stare at her from head to toe: her black, wavy hair is neatly tied up in a bundle like it has always been; she is wearing a simple, scarlet dress given to her by her caring parents; and those benevolent, black shoes—those shiny flats that she cannot stand wearing for too long for her ankles have been squeezed to fit in. She most definitely looks like a woman, always has acted like one since she could say “please” and “thank you”; though still, she herself is not entirely convinced she had been one.

I walk away from the mirror, pull the chair from under the desk, and sit gracefully on it, with great poise and everything I have been obligated to live upon. The silver-edged envelope laid on the table catches my eyes, so I take and open it. I sigh, and then smile. It used to mean everything to me, well not really to me, but to my parents, and I thought that nothing could make me more contented than seeing my parents pleased. But now that I have it, I do not know exactly why I am not that satisfied with what I have achieved.

It is my birthday today. My parents, relatives and friends never fail to remember. But just awhile ago, everyone I saw today in the party came to greet me in my seemingly utmost accomplishment. It was as if the convention was for this trivial matter, and not because I turned twenty today. Frankly, I was a bit exasperated in the unanticipated occasion. It seemed as if they were rubbing it in my face. It made me want to step back. No one just understands, no one will ever understand. I do not know if I am immature or simply different.



She raised her palm in the air, faster than anyone else in the solemn room. Discipline hovered over those speedy, little hands that failed to be quicker than hers.


“Sophia?” Mrs. Styx called her name in that raising tone of terror.
All eyes shifted from the teacher to the girl at the last row—some gave a stare of awe, many a look of disgust—everyone
anticipating an accurate answer.

The lass put down her palm and folded it in with her other hand on her lap. She looked straight at the woman waiting before her. Her hazel eyes struggled for contact through the variety of countenances that surrounded her; but as they rolled a bit to the left, the shadowed face of a girl staring at her with deep admiration troubled her greatly. After a swift moment, Sophia’s focus blurred back through the crowd.

“One hundred and seventy-six?” Sophia replied, throwing an impassive gaze at her tutor.

“One hundred and seventy-five, Sophia,” the educator corrected, and then she went on with her tedious lesson. After her speech she handed out a test.

Sophia bowed her head and silently finished her examination. The bell rang. Not a word, not a look around, Sophia took her test, stood up, and passed the paper. Just as the others, she went out of the room for lunch. But when it was time for science class, she did not show up. Neither did she appear in any of the remaining classes. Sophia had seemingly vanished for the rest of the day.

After school Sophia was in the principal’s office, sitting on one of the red, velvet chairs that showed the authority of the lavish place. The principal’s desk was slanted beside Sophia’s chair. In front of her another girl sat apprehensively. The girl was much tense that it contrasted greatly with Sophia’s calm behavior. The principal bowed her head. Her eyes roamed above her spectacles and glanced at the girls. She cleared her throat and uttered steadily to the woman standing beside her.

“What seems to be the problem with these two, Mrs. Styx?”

“These two fourth-graders have cut classes. They were caught in the playground folding papers.” Mrs. Styx handed to the principal colourful, small paper figures—one seemingly amateur, the other beautifully folded.
The principal looked at the anxious young woman. “You have caused another trouble, Miss Saki. I always keep on asking you if you understand why your father will spend everything he has just so you can study here and have the best tutoring; but apparently, you still do not comprehend no matter how many times I have told you. Nothing seems to get into your head, foolish kid.” She looked fiercely at Sophia. “Miss Tennyson is it true? You have cut classes?”
Sophia blankly stared at Mrs. Lennon. The other girl just bowed her head in disgrace.

“Well?” Mrs. Styx said impatiently.

“Yes, Mrs. Lennon,” Sophia answered bluntly.

“Then I am very disappointed with you, Miss Tennyson.” Mrs. Lennon sighed. “You have never had an absent from any class since you started studying here six years ago, and you have wasted your perfect attendance for some foolish skill? If it can be called a skill at all.” Mrs. Lennon looked repugnantly at the piece of paper that Sophia’s hands have struggled to perfectly fold.

“It’s art and it is a talent. It’s called origami, Principal Lennon,” Sophia said clenching her fists against her lap.

“I do not care what it is called, Miss Tennyson. It is gibberish. Now, remember, to stay away from school means staying away from an auspicious future. If you skip classes, especially science class, then you will not learn anything. Tell me, huh, Miss Tennyson, did you learn anything while you lingered with paper?”

“I am glad that you asked, Madam. Why, yes, I was learning something,” Sophia said in a wittily incisive manner. “I learned so much from Satsuma. She told me about this Japanese art—its history, why she loves it so much. She told me Abe no Seimei’s story…”

Mrs. Lennon and Mrs. Styx were caught off guard at Sophia’s retort.

“Nonsense!” Mrs. Lennon interrupted crossly. “All I know is that you learned how to retort against your authority! What will your mother say about this?!”

Sophia bit her tongue to calm herself down. Then she tried to speak again—steadily.

“Oh, no, Principal Lennon. I have no intention to make it seem as if I were speaking against you. I was merely answering your question. And you have nothing to worry about, Madam. My mother will have nothing against origami. She loves art herself.”

“Enough, Miss Tennyson!” Mrs. Styx butted in. “You come here every day for a proper education, do you understand?”

“What is proper education, Mrs. Styx?” Sophia asked her outraged tutor. “If education is simply learning,” Sophia started again, shifting her animated eyes from Mrs. Styx to Principal Lennon, “then I do not believe that it is locked down within the walls of a classroom. There is much to learn from outside these walls. After all, what do teachers claim to teach in classes—from the structures of an atom to the vastness of the universe? We students must have the opportunity to observe on our own. Ah, observation, a skill that most people neglect. If it were not for Galileo, learners would still accept the hilarious theory of Ptolemy. But still, how sure are we that Galileo has struck the truth?”

“Well, go fly yourself in space and do your observation!” Mrs. Lennon snapped, and then she cleared her throat.

“Scientists know what they are doing. Yes, still they were vulnerable to make mistakes. It seems so. But in fact, those mistakes were just steps to obtain the truth, and eventually, when nothing can be refuted, a matter is finally confirmed—just like it is verified that the planets do revolve around the sun; something is added to the knowledge in this world. You should see why we are giving significance to science and mathematics. Unlike arts, science is something that really has worth. Give science more of your attention, Miss Tennyson, if you clearly cannot give it all. And strive to understand that science and arts are two incongruous things. They just can never be put together—intellectuality and insanity.”

“I am afraid that I will have to disagree with you, Mrs. Lennon. The two are more like a paradox. Origami is an art that represents an object using geometric folds and crease patterns. It is undeniably arithmetical because only one piece of paper is used to form a variety of shapes without gluing or cutting the paper.”
Mrs. Lennon and Mrs. Styx glared at the child. They seemed to be stopping themselves from saying something.

“And then there are the people of numbers,” Sophia continued. “Scientists are indeed the most imaginative people I have ever read about. For example, geometricians have created and believed in such formations as points and lines and planes. If you contemplate about it, they are artist themselves. In short, scientists are 'insanely' sane, while artists are 'sanely' insane.”

There was a pause for awhile. Sophia sighed and began to speak again in a clearer, softer voice.

“I am not degrading the school. Oh no, Mrs. Lennon. The school is important for the social life of individuals, so, I will never try to mortify the school.”

Mrs. Lennon sighed intolerantly. “I do not understand you, Sophia. What are you trying to tell us? That this school is a joke? That what we’re doing for you is a joke?!”

“No, Mrs. Lennon. Of course not. I was simply telling you that Satsuma and I were doing exactly what we were ought to do—learn,” Sophia said.

Mrs. Lennon sternly stood up. She walked out the room silently. Mrs. Styx sighed and eventually excused Sophia and Satsuma.

The next day had arrived, and because Sophia and Satsuma were not called for any reprimand, everything was back to normal—the same old routine of a presumably firm education. The discussion was a sensation among the students at the school for a month, but such a retort was never again heard from Sophia until she finally graduated from the building.

♥

The tale is real. Sophia was a frank and brave girl who had only a tad of sensitivity. But something had greatly troubled her in the following years after she had finished her primary education. Like Satsuma, she also had had a secret passion that she did not disclose to her family—writing. She wrote fiction, stories that had seemed real to her. But when she had entered middle school, her parents found out and they greatly disapproved it. She had tried to take a stand. She thought that her parents would understand, but they just urged Sophia to study hard for a medical degree. She had succeeded in pleasing her parents. Maybe it was against her will. I remember her. I remember every little thing that she was made of—mostly courage and honesty. I wonder now where she had been all of those years.

I look again at the envelope enclosed in my hands. Shifting away from the horrible memory, I turn my head and my eyes have landed on something worse. The mirror that has watched me was waiting for my glance. It is standing in front of me, threatening me to look deeper into the reflection of the glass and to try to search for Sophia. But I cannot find her. I guess she was left afraid. I guess she ran away from everything she used to be—from everything she used to believe. I guess she was confused, just like me—and you. I guess she was forced to do the things she never wanted to do. Or could other people really push her away from the things she had wanted to do? Can she lose the accountability of everything that she had done—and does? If she chooses to fight again, will it not be too late? She was her, but—I am me.

Just a short story I wrote when I was in ninth grade... Hehe... My one and only short story though. I had a hard time doing this, why? 'Coz my plots always ended up as novel plots, and I am so not gonna write long...get bored. ...hehehehehe

Hello there. I shall be reviewing you today. (:

I'd like to start off with that there's nothing enormous that jumped out at me technically speaking. The choice of vocabulary was a little elaborate but still understandable to an average person. Even so I think it would be a good idea for you to proofread a little bit and find where you've mentioned a certain word or idea too many times. Also look out for places where you're being too specific and try to be a little less roundabout, especially when it comes to symbolism. Try reading aloud and see if you notice anything strange.

However, even with that being said, the thing about this piece that stands out the me the most is how dry it is. It has the technicalities right but it lacks the emotion. Your description doesn't express your viewpoint character at all and I felt absolutely no connection with your work. While you've done a good job describing the surroundings your prose lacks personality, and that's what's really hurting your story in the beginning. Ask yourself if there are specific words that your viewpoint character would use when describing things. It'll say a lot about her and your introduction won't seem so bland.

The next thing that stood out to me was the main conflict of the flashback. It's a quarrel over origami, which then goes into a whole science vs. art argument. The discussion comes off as preachy because schools already know the benefits of art for education. Everything Sophia said is common knowledge, especially the part about how science and art are connected with one another. Only a fool would blindly deny it (emphasis on blindly), which is exactly what the principal and teacher have done here. This makes them flat and stereotypical characters and shatters the illusion of a fictional story. Now, I think this would have been a lot more interesting if you had taken a little time to think through their arguments. You can have them disagree with Sophia on anything you want, even the connection between art and science, but their arguments must be believably justified. Without proper justification you'll have flat characters. Nothing more.

Similarly, Sophia's parents disapprove her love of writing. This doesn't make any sense because writing is the only way a person will improve their skills with English. It's educational, and they obviously want their daughter to be smart and successful. Why else would they encourage her to get a law degree? They don't have any reason to oppose her writing. This is coming off as a quick way to give Sophia a hard childhood.

Another thing that really jumped at me was Sophia's dialogue. She's a fourth grader, but she doesn't sound like one. Even if she did receive an advanced education, even if she is different or gifted, it's too much. In fact, it sounds like she rehearsed her arguments or had someone else do it for her. I cannot imagine a nine or ten-year-old logically supporting her side of an argument so elegantly on the spot. Most people can't do that unless it's a topic they've debated for years, and I doubt Sophia has that experience. You can only take talent so far too.

Overall, I don't believe this piece has all that much potential as far as the art vs. science idea goes, but it is a great opportunity to learn how to convincingly characterize people from different schools of thought. I'd be impressed if you pulled that off for this idea, actually. Just keep on trying all sorts of things and see what works best for you, and don't be afraid to look at some situations sideways.

Feel free to PM me with any questions or comments. Keep writing!

--Dover

Celdover wrote:Hello there. I shall be reviewing you today. (:

I'd like to start off with that there's nothing enormous that jumped out at me technically speaking. The choice of vocabulary was a little elaborate but still understandable to an average person. Even so I think it would be a good idea for you to proofread a little bit and find where you've mentioned a certain word or idea too many times. Also look out for places where you're being too specific and try to be a little less roundabout, especially when it comes to symbolism. Try reading aloud and see if you notice anything strange.

However, even with that being said, the thing about this piece that stands out the me the most is how dry it is. It has the technicalities right but it lacks the emotion. Your description doesn't express your viewpoint character at all and I felt absolutely no connection with your work. While you've done a good job describing the surroundings your prose lacks personality, and that's what's really hurting your story in the beginning. Ask yourself if there are specific words that your viewpoint character would use when describing things. It'll say a lot about her and your introduction won't seem so bland.

The next thing that stood out to me was the main conflict of the flashback. It's a quarrel over origami, which then goes into a whole science vs. art argument. The discussion comes off as preachy because schools already know the benefits of art for education. Everything Sophia said is common knowledge, especially the part about how science and art are connected with one another. Only a fool would blindly deny it (emphasis on blindly), which is exactly what the principal and teacher have done here. This makes them flat and stereotypical characters and shatters the illusion of a fictional story. Now, I think this would have been a lot more interesting if you had taken a little time to think through their arguments. You can have them disagree with Sophia on anything you want, even the connection between art and science, but their arguments must be believably justified. Without proper justification you'll have flat characters. Nothing more.

Similarly, Sophia's parents disapprove her love of writing. This doesn't make any sense because writing is the only way a person will improve their skills with English. It's educational, and they obviously want their daughter to be smart and successful. Why else would they encourage her to get a law degree? They don't have any reason to oppose her writing. This is coming off as a quick way to give Sophia a hard childhood.

Another thing that really jumped at me was Sophia's dialogue. She's a fourth grader, but she doesn't sound like one. Even if she did receive an advanced education, even if she is different or gifted, it's too much. In fact, it sounds like she rehearsed her arguments or had someone else do it for her. I cannot imagine a nine or ten-year-old logically supporting her side of an argument so elegantly on the spot. Most people can't do that unless it's a topic they've debated for years, and I doubt Sophia has that experience. You can only take talent so far too.

Overall, I don't believe this piece has all that much potential as far as the art vs. science idea goes, but it is a great opportunity to learn how to convincingly characterize people from different schools of thought. I'd be impressed if you pulled that off for this idea, actually. Just keep on trying all sorts of things and see what works best for you, and don't be afraid to look at some situations sideways.

Feel free to PM me with any questions or comments. Keep writing!

--Dover

Hello, Dover!
So, it was such a boring piece? LOL
I wrote this when I was your age. L-D
Twas my first short piece, and it's very memorable.
Though, yes. I have my own way of implying things; even if I have to make drama a silly satire, I will. And I don't know why...

About Sophia, I deliberately made her character dry.
Now, about the flashback. Sophia, though she used a third person view, was still telling the story, wasn't she? She loved writing. (I forgot to tell she loved creative writing. Maybe that brought up the confusion of what law connected with writing? LOL)
I wanted my reader to think, "Wait, maybe she exaggerated the story." as you said, a nine or a ten-year-old can't do that. And the way she remembers things was maybe just exaggerated?

I'm very happy about the way people react to this story. Haha! Each review is different.
And I thank you for this review, and I accept it as a constructive criticism. (Though there was no strength found, was there? XD )
It's true, there're million ways to understand a story! And all is based on how a person think.. )

Thanks again for taking the time to review this! Yes, I'm still writing. Hope I post a new one soon. I am beginning to miss writing.

An old piece? Great, I'll treat it like it's brand new and you're actually going to edit it.

I loved the emotional flatness of this piece. My style at its most honest is either like this - drab and slightly archaic, or grotesque black humor. I'm glad someone else writes like this, although I do not suspect you of grotesque black humor, but who knows. Maybe not now but in 2-3 years, when the maturity crisis has to be grapled with:)
BTW, I love monologues in which people expound theories about life, which is why I love traditional pre-soap opera science fiction, it's either all about snappy adventures, or endless monologues and dilogues about various aspect of life, the universe and everything else. Same reason for my love of the 19th century Russian novel. If only all literature was like this...
Anyway, here's my sentence by sentence critique:

I take another step, aligning my other foot with the one in front of me. This time the heel of my shoe has collided with the wooden floor, making a soft clacking sound - I think "collides" is a better choice, and a small explanation as to why, could be hidden in something like "with greater force"

Temporarily reducing the disappointment - something is off key here. Perhaps 'partially softening the...' or something. I think I get your meaning, that it balances the pink ghastliness, but a certain rephrasing would definitely reduce the disappointment ;D

and everything I have been obligated to live upon - 'live up to'?

Her hazel eyes struggled for contact through the variety of countenances that surrounded her; but as they rolled a bit to the left, the shadowed countenance of a girl staring at her with deep admiration troubled her greatly. But after a swift moment, Sophia’s focus blurred back through the crowd. - two 'countenances' and two consecutive dividing 'buts' which seems to crowd each other's space

Mrs. Lennon looked repugnantly - with repugnance perhaps? Or disdain? Or contempt?

She thought that her parents would understood - I don't need to say anything, mechanical mistake

I remember every little thing that she was made of—courage and honesty - I think you should either add at least one other element, something like 'frail quiet beauty', I don't know, or just make it 'the things she was made of'

The last paragraph seems a little rushed and seems to have a hint of pathos in comparison to the rest of the text, some tweaking to align it with the rest would do wonders.

So, to summarise: great little melancholy, emotionaly repressed piece. Write a dozen more and you'll have a wonderful collection for connoisseurs of bleak intelligent nostalgic prose

Hello,

I am here as requested. I am sorry to say i can not offer anything more than what has been said. If I was to give you a review it would probably just save me time copying and pasting celdovers'.

It is a good piece and I would like to see more of your work so feel free to drop another request sometime.

Sorry I copuld not be of any more assistance.

~Retro Disco666

jashbagabaldo wrote:

I AM ME
by Abigail “Jash” Bagabaldo

Spoiler

First post ever! XD

I take a step inside the great space before me, my shoe rubbing off dust from the wooden floor. Tranquillity You have an extra L in tranquilitysurrounds me; it prevails. The only sound that I can hear is the pounding of my heart and the symphony of whispering voices in my mind.This part is good.

I take another step, aligning my other foot with the one in front of me. This time the heel of my shoe has collided with the wooden floor, making a soft clacking sound. I slowly lift my head to look about. The pink wallpaper implies only one thing—feminism. I personally have a deep-seated aversion for the feministic color; I have always thought that the lighter, softer its shade, the duller it is than black itself.I don't understand this sentence.What exactly are you saying here? And the walls are not the only ones in this horrifying color, the pillows and the sheets are pink as well. Temporarily reducing the disappointment, the furniture and the rest are plain white—the desk and the chair, the window pane, the curtains, the bed. I do not know how I enjoyed living here for twenty years—seven thousand, three hundred and five days to be precise, but I am positive that the greatest moments in my life have been in this particular room.

A framelessI think this should be two words. mirror hangs on the wall beside me. I face it just to observe a lady I have never been certain I comprehensively knew. I stare at her from head to toe: her black, wavy hair is neatly tied up in a bundle like it has always been; she is wearing a simple, scarlet dress given to her by her caring parents; and those benevolent, black shoes—those shiny flats that she cannot stand wearing for too long for her ankles have been squeezed to fit in. She most definitely looks like a woman, always has acted like one since she could say “please” and “thank you”; though still, she herself is not entirely convinced she had been one.

I walk away from the mirror, pull the chair from under the desk, and sit gracefully on it, with great poise and everything I have been obligated to live upon. The silver-edged envelope laid on the table catches my eyes, so I take and open it. I sigh, and then smile. It used to mean everything to me, well not really to me, but to my parents, and I thought that nothing could make me more contented than seeing my parents pleased. But now that I have it, I do not know exactly why I am not that satisfied with what I have achieved.

It is my birthday today. My parents, relatives and friends never fail to remember. But just awhile ago, everyone I saw today in the party had come to greet me in my seemingly utmost accomplishment. It was as if the convention was for this trivial matter, and not because I turned twenty today. Frankly, I was a bit exasperated in the unanticipated occasion. It seemed as if they were rubbing it in my face. It made me want to step back. No one just understands, no one will ever understand. I do not know if I am immature or simply different.

♥

She raised her palm in the air, faster than anyone else in the solemn room. Discipline hovered over those speedy, little hands that failed to be quicker than hers.

“Sophia?” Mrs. Styx called her name in that raising tone of terror.

All eyes shifted from the teacher to the girl at the last row—some gave a stare of awe, many a look of disgust—everyone anticipated for an accurate answer.

The lass put down her palm and folded it in with her other hand on her lap. She looked straight at the woman waiting before her. Her hazel eyes struggled for contact through the variety of countenances that surrounded her; but as they rolled a bit to the left, the shadowed countenance of a girl staring at her with deep admiration troubled her greatly. But after a swift moment, Sophia’s focus blurred back through the crowd.

“One hundred and seventy-six?” Sophia replied, throwing an impassive gaze at her tutor.

“One hundred and seventy-five, Sophia,” the educator corrected, and then she went on with her tedious lesson. She handed out a test after her speech.

Sophia bowed her head and silently finished her examination. The bell rang. Not a word, not a look around, Sophia took her test, stood up, and passed the paper. Just as the others, she went out of the room for lunch. But when it was time for science class, she did not show up. Neither did she appear in any of the remaining classes. Sophia had seemingly vanished for the rest of the day.

After school, Sophia was in the principal’s office, sitting on one of the red, velvet chairs that showed the authority of the lavish place. The principal’s desk was slanted beside Sophia’s chair. In front of her another girl sat apprehensively. The girl was much tense that it contrasted greatly with Sophia’s calm behavior. The principal bowed her head. Her eyes roamed above her spectacles and glanced at the girls. She cleared her throat and uttered steadily to the woman standing beside her.

“What seems to be the problem with these two, Mrs. Styx?”

“These two fourth-graders have cut classes. They were caught in the playground folding papers.” Mrs. Styx handed to the principal colourful, small paper figures—one seemingly amateur, the other beautifully folded.

The principal looked at the anxious young woman. “You have made another trouble, Miss Saki. I always keep on asking you if you understand why your father will spend everything he has just so you can study here and have the best tutoring; but apparently, you still do not comprehend no matter how many times I have told you. Nothing seems to get into your head foolish kid.” She looked fiercely at Sophia. “Miss Tennyson is it true? You have cut classes?”

Sophia blankly stared at Mrs. Lennon. The other girl just bowed her head in disgrace.

“Well?” Mrs. Styx said impatiently.

“Yes, Mrs. Lennon,” Sophia answered bluntly.

“Then I am very disappointed with you, Miss Tennyson.” Mrs. Lennon sighed. “You have never had an absent from any class since you have started studying here six years ago, and you have wasted your perfect attendance for some foolish skill? If it can be called a skill at all.” Mrs. Lennon looked repugnantly at the piece of paper that Sophia’s hands have struggled to perfectly fold.

“It’s art and it is a talent. It’s called origami, Principal Lennon,” Sophia said clenching her fists against her lap.

“I do not care what it is called, Miss Tennyson. It is gibberish. Now, remember, to stay away from school means staying away from an auspicious future. If you skip classes, especially science class, then you will not learn anything. Tell me, huh, Miss Tennyson, did you learn anything while you lingered with paper?”

“I am glad that you asked, Madam. Why, yes, I was learning something,” Sophia said in a wittily incisive manner. “I learned so much from Satsuma. She told me about this Japanese art—its history, why she loves it so much. She told me Abe no Seimei’s story…”

Mrs. Lennon and Mrs. Styx were caught off guard for Sophia’s retort.

“Nonsense!” Mrs. Lennon interrupted crossly. “All I know is that you learned how to retort against your authority! What will your mother say about this?!”

Sophia bit her tongue to calm herself down. Then she tried to speak again—steadily.

“Oh, no, Principal Lennon. I have no intention to make it seem as if I were speaking against you. I was merely answering your question. And you have nothing to worry about, Madam. My mother will have nothing against origami. She loves art herself.”

“Enough, Miss Tennyson!” Mrs. Styx butted in. “You come here every day for a proper education, do you understand?”

“What is proper education, Mrs. Styx?” Sophia asked her outraged tutor. “If education is simply learning,” Sophia started again, shifting her animated eyes from Mrs. Styx to Principal Lennon, “then I do not believe that it is locked down within the walls of a classroom. There is much to learn from outside these walls. After all, what do teachers claim to teach in classes—from the structures of an atom to the vastness of the universe? We students must have the opportunity to observe on our own. Ah, observation, a skill that most people neglect. If it were not for Galileo, learners I think there should be a would herestill accept the hilarious theory of Ptolemy. But still, how sure are we that Galileo has struck the truth?”

“Well, go fly yourself in space and do your observation!” Mrs. Lennon snapped, and then she cleared her throat. “Scientists know what they are doing. Yes, still they were vulnerable to make mistakes. It seems so. But in fact, those mistakes were just steps to obtain the truth, and eventually, when nothing can be refuted, a matter is finally confirmed—just like it is verified that the planets do revolve around the sun; something is added to the knowledge in this world. You should see why we are giving significance to science and mathematics. Unlike arts, science is something that really has worth. Give science more of your attention, Miss Tennyson, if you clearly cannot give it all. And strive to understand that science and arts are two incongruous things. They just can never be put together—intellectuality and insanity.”

“I am afraid that I will have to disagree with you, Mrs. Lennon. The two are more like a paradox. Origami is an art that represents an object using geometric folds and crease patterns. It is undeniably arithmetical because only one piece of paper is used to form a variety of shapes without gluing or cutting the paper.”

Mrs. Lennon and Mrs. Styx glared at the child. They seemed to be stopping themselves from saying something.

“And then there are the people of numbers,” Sophia continued. “Scientists are indeed the most imaginative people I have ever read about. For example, geometricians have created and believed in such formations as points and lines and planes. If you contemplate about it, they are artist themselves. In short, scientists are 'insanely' sane, while artists are 'sanely' insane.”

There was a pause for awhile. Sophia sighed and began to speak again in a clearer, softer voice.

“I am not degrading the school. Oh no, Mrs. Lennon. The school is important for the social life of individuals, so, I will never try to mortifyThis word sounds odd here. the school.”

Mrs. Lennon sighed intolerantly. “I do not understand you, Sophia. What are you trying to tell us? That this school is a joke? That what we’re doing for you is a joke?!”

“No, Mrs. Lennon. Of course not. I was simply telling you that Satsuma and I were doing exactly what we were ought to do—learn,” Sophia said.

Mrs. Lennon sternly stood up. She walked out the room silently. Mrs. Styx sighed and eventually excused Sophia and Satsuma.

The next day had arrived, and because Sophia and Satsuma were not called for any reprimand, everything was back to normal—the same old routine of a presumably firm education. The discussion was a sensation among the students at the school for a month, but such a retort was never again heard from Sophia until she finally graduated from the building.

♥

The tale is real. Sophia was a frank and brave girl who had only a tad of sensitivity. But something had greatly troubled her in the following years after she had finished her primary education. Like Satsuma, she also had had a secret passion that she did not disclose to her family—writing. She wrote fiction, stories that had seemed real to her. But when she had entered middle school, her parents found out and they greatly disapproved it. She had tried to take a stand. She thought that her parents would understood, but they just urged Sophia to study hard for a medical degree. She had succeeded in pleasing her parents. Maybe it was against her will. I remember her. I remember every little thing that she was made of—courage and honesty. I wonder now where she had been all of those years.

I look again at the envelope enclosed in my hands. Shifting away from the horrible memoryWhy was it a horrible memory?, I turn my head and my eyes have landed only on something worse. The mirror that has watched me was waiting for my glance. It is standing in front of me, threatening me to look deeper into the reflection of the glass and to try searching for Sophia. But I cannot find her. I guess she was left afraid. I guess she ran away from everything she used to be—from everything she used to believe. I guess she was confused, just like me—and you. I guess she was forced to do the things she never wanted to do. Or could other people really push her away from the things she had wanted to do? Can she lose the accountability of everything that she had done—and does? If she chooses to fight again, will it not be too late? She was her, but—I am me.This last part is confusing. Is Sophia the one speaking?

© 2009 Abigail Jashael "Jash" Bagabaldo

This is interesting. I could identify with the unknown speaker. Some parts were a little confusing, but the piece flowed really well. Keep going!
P.S I hope this helped. I'm sorry if I'm repeating anything that's already been said. I wanted to make my own impressions of the piece without any outside influence, so I didn't read anyone else's post.

Hi! Jessica here for my review!

First of all, I think everybody covered most of the nitpicks. : ) I think this is actually very interesting. You use a lot of details and interesting word choice that I like very much.


I think you could have described how the characters looked just a bit more. Right now, there probobly isn't a very accurate picture in reader's mind when reading, so I suggest adding depth to most of the characters and showing us what they look like and other stuff like that. Paint a picture in our minds!


I think you could have made it a more of a type of story that the reader sits or stands of whatever for as long as it takes to finish reading it because it pulls the reader in. : D That would have been awesome! Though, I still enjoyed it very much.


The last sentence and first sentence of a story is pretty important in my opinion, of course. Each should be interesting, the first should keep the reader wanting more and the last, you pretty much have two choices; Cliff Hanger or a good ending with an explanation and that concludes the story well. : )

Overall, this is very well written! Hope I helped, and I hope you continue writing!

- Jessica

Hello there, Jashy!

I'm here to review as requested. I'm glad to be reviewing something of yours for a change! You've already gotten some nice reviews here, so as I always say, I'll try not to simply repeat everything that's already been said. h, and I love the little heart things you did between flashbacks... How did you do that?

An interesting thing about this piece is the distant fell of your characters, and how different people react to it. Dover, for example, wants you to put more emotion in this. I, on the other hand, like the distant feel to it. Besides, you said you purposely made Sophia kind of dry. I think it's very clever what you did because the point of this story, I think, is that Sophia's lost herself. Therefore, she's distant from her true self. Therefore, the dryness suits it well. Your grammar was actually very good, and so was your spelling and vocabulary. It's very impressive considering English isn't your first language.

I don't have much to say about this when it comes to critiques. Everything seems to have been covered, to be honest. There is something I'd like to mention though. My only real problem with this was the fact that, at times, some of the parts in this felt unnecessary. The discussion about the art and science thing, for example. What I noticed was that you said the point, but then you kind of extended it, and it got a tad bit boring after a while. Try and remember that if a part isn't entirely necessary in your story, or doesn't add to it, you don't need it.

I liked the idea of cutting class because of the origami passion, but I don't think you needed to go into such a full blown conversation about it. I was beginning to get tempted to skim through the conversation about the origami, science, and art thing, which isn't a very good sign. You can make the principal come across as one dimensional and single minded with one effective line, not a few paragraphs. I do think you should keep the argument because it shows off Sophia's character well. I just think you should consider making sure it doesn't take up so much space. Sorry if I'm not making sense...! Basically, I think that you should consider cutting down the argument with the principal a bit.

Other than that, there isn't really anything I have to say that hasn't already been said. You were my age when you wrote this, right? I think it's very good for fourteen years old, I must say! I really liked your MC even though she was rather distant, so it's very clever how you made me feel connected to her, although you'd purposely made her rather dry. If you take into consideration what us reviewers have said, and edit this up a bit, this could be a really lovely piece of writing. Sorry I wasn't an awful lot of help!

Keep writing,

xoxo Skins

Hey Puppets! Daddy's here to review.
Now, I didn't read the previous post since I'm in a hurry so forgive me if this is a bit repeated.

Tranquillity surrounds me; it prevails.

*Tranquility

And the walls are not the only ones in this horrifying color, the pillows and the sheets are pink as well.

Whoo! Pink! XD

scarlet dress given to her by her caring parents; and those benevolent, black shoes—those shiny flats that she cannot stand wearing for too long for her ankles have been squeezed to fit in.

Try not to overuse the semicolons.

All eyes shifted from the teacher to the girl at the last row—some gave a stare of awe, many a look of disgust—everyone anticipated for an accurate answer.

I would omit the 'for' here. Leave it as just anticipated an accurate answer.

“One hundred and seventy-five, Sophia,” the educator corrected, and then she went on with her tedious lesson. She handed out a test after her speech.

That part seems a bit abrupt. Maybe you should change it?

In front of her another girl sat apprehensively. The girl was much tense that it contrasted greatly with Sophia’s calm behaviour.

*Behavior

The principal looked at the anxious young woman. “You have made another trouble, Miss Saki. I always keep on asking you if you understand why your father will spend everything he has just so you can study here and have the best tutoring; but apparently, you still do not comprehend no matter how many times I have told you. Nothing seems to get into your head foolish kid.” She looked fiercely at Sophia. “Miss Tennyson is it true? You have cut classes?”

I've found you to have a bit of wording problem. At least, sometimes.
"You have made another trouble."
Should be:
"You have caused more trouble."
There are different ways to state this but this was the best I could word it without changing the entire thing.

Mrs. Lennon and Mrs. Styx were caught off guard for Sophia’s retort.

I think you meant, "at S
ophia's retort"

“What is proper education, Mrs. Styx?” Sophia asked her outraged tutor. “If education is simply learning,” Sophia started again, shifting her animated eyes from Mrs. Styx to Principal Lennon, “then I do not believe that it is locked down within the walls of a classroom. There is much to learn from outside these walls. After all, what do teachers claim to teach in classes—from the structures of an atom to the vastness of the universe? We students must have the opportunity to observe on our own. Ah, observation, a skill that most people neglect. If it were not for Galileo, learners still accept the hilarious theory of Ptolemy. But still, how sure are we that Galileo has struck the truth?”

I already love your character.


Overall, Puppets, this was beautiful story. Deep and imaginative, strong with a sense of justice and understanding at what people choose to believe and how humans perceive education and life. Sad part is, I can understand how your character feels. My parents also disregard art and creativity, they want me to go into the medical field too, possibly as a nurse or a physical therapist. (Not going to, though.)
Anyway, your writing again is amazing but there are parts where I find your words forced, some which you try to make more intelligent but it backfires but it's not that big of a problem. In fact, I truly enjoyed reading this, there were some very charming parts and the ending was nice. Although, a bit confusing. Was the girl there her friend? Relative? What does the house have to do with it all? Is Sophia still alive? What time period is this taking place in? I thought it was modern but then you told us about Sophia which seems to sound like some sort of English boarding school for young ladies. Nonetheless, this was great. I liked it a lot. ^^ Good job, son. I'm proud. =D
Much love,

-Shear

P.S. Sorry for the hasty review. Will make it up next time. ^^