WHY?

My aunt yells at me in the backseat, she goes back to sleep. I try to sneak in my cherry pop crackers into my mouth. As I try to take another piece, she wakes up and snatch my bag away from me. My aunt yells, “What do you think you’re doing?”

She crumples up what was left, and I am left to wonder why she got angry, and confused. She goes back to sleep. I try to eat another; my stomach is ruffling from the uneaten breakfast my mother made just for me before I was bantered by aunt to leave. I am thinking about the food in my head and about how hungry I am, so instead I took out a wide ruled classic composition notebook from my new bag that my mom recently bought me. I start to draw what I was feeling inside, by using the words I wanted to say but, I couldn’t say out loud. The gentle smooth pen pierced into the paper as I glide my pen to shape the words:

 

“WHY?”

 

Soon I made sharp turns and smooth U-turns. It was like I was breathing everything came naturally as I find different ways to take out my anger, it felt like second nature and Everything flowed, all those those confusing feelings came out on paper.

Then- I feel a rough tap on my shoulder,

 

“That’s it. Get out of this car.’ “NOW.”

 

I wait outside wondering if I was going to be allowed back on the car, as my paper was falling out of my notebook until I felt a gentle tap. My uncle motioned his hands toward the front of the car, and I see the car seat waiting for me as my aunt points toward it, eagerly wanting to go to sleep. he suggested. I remember the serene morning blue sky, and the crisp cold air brushing against my cheeks, while I was drawing whatever I could that morning that was inside me. I couldn’t figure out what I was doing, but I had a feeling that I just had to do it, because it was getting to finally release my breath. Suddenly, I hear the sirens rushing towards the back of the car and all I could hear my aunt yelling at me and my uncle. The louder she yelled the harder my pen went against the paper. I was catching up with my anger, all the rage that I was holding inside me was coming out onto a paper. The car came to sharp stop, and if my seat wasn’t strapped against the car seat, I would’ve flown out the window. The policeman that was driving the car, came up to the window and lectured my aunt and uncle about having a minor in the front seat. My aunt went oblivious about having me in the front seat, she convinced the officer that I pleaded them to allow me to sit in the front. I got a stern talking to while my aunt was preparing to yell at me right when the officer left.

 

“Why are you so stupid?’, “Next time when I tell you to be quiet, just sit still and let me sleep.’ “Your just like your father, never know how to follow directions.”, ‘Do your parents not teach you how to behave?”

 

Finally, I got to school and my aunt told me to get out and that she wad going to speak to my mother about my behavior. I lugged my bag upstairs to my classroom and I sat in my desk alone, while I write in my notebook and drew what those words in my head were feeling. My teacher came from behind her desk, and asked me

 

“What are you doing today?”

I didn’t respond.

“Do you mind if I look?”

I motioned my notebook towards her

“Well, I love your calligraphy”

I looked at her, confused and questioned

“What is calligraphy?”

“It’s a way that people like to make their words into art, to show how they feel.’ Would you like to talk about what happened this morning?”

 

I stay silent and I go back to drawing, trying to hint that I was uncomfortable. And my teacher quickly called a lady from the office and she came to talk to me for a relatively long time. After we talked, I was told to sit in a room full of art supplies. And while I was continuing my art piece, I start to hear my mother’s voice coming from the other side of the door. She comes in. All I can think about is how much I wanted to hug her, and cry.

 

Now, I use hand lettering in my notes and draw during lectures, as it gives me an escape because I get frustrated sometimes. I am now a much more vocal person, as I don’t really enjoy being pulled out of class, because I don’t like the attention. But I found a way to express how I feel.

 

Reflection:

The Writing style that I proposed was a narrative about a time in my life where I struggled with expressing my feelings using words, because I barely understood my own feelings to begin with. What motivated me as a writer, was how I used art to get through my emotions, and also to maybe give an understanding to other people on how I think. I tend to come off as blunt, or rude to some due to my quick responses and wit. I thought it would be helpful to give an explanation or a little part of past to demonstrate the reason behind the madness that goes on in my head. A potential audience that I was aiming for was for anyone who struggles with explaining their feelings or opening up to someone due to the incapability to understand human emotions, along with a more mature audience. The following narrative was to express how I can define my emotions and myself through writing and doing it well would benefit me when I am talking to others and being open with the possible idea that I can widen my vocabulary. The way I wrote my narrative was to convey the feelings I had when I was younger, therefore my language is not as advanced because, it wouldn’t make sense for a young girl to be using advanced vocabulary.