Final

Mari Nakamitsu

7 April 2011

J. Shimabukuro

Creative Non-Fiction

I enter the room and become lost in time.  Everything is motionless as small specks of dust, indiscriminant, float and glide while bathed in light.  There are birds calling for one another outside the window and everything is shrouded in warm air.  From the moment I met her I knew what part of my life would be.  (THESIS) It is because of her that I knew I would work with therapy dogs in my work (THESIS).  She was something special and someone I knew I could count on.  When everything seemed unstable, she was a rock, ever quiet, ever listening and always there.  She would never get tired of me, complain or judge and sometimes that’s what people need.  Even when I knew I was wrong, I just needed someone to talk to. 

Ever since I can remember, I have always wanted a dog, something that most kids want.  I watch/ed a lot of documentaries on animals and especially liked the ones about dogs.  I knew everything about them and to this day am still expanding my reservoirs of knowledge on this subject.  I did not really care what kind of dog, as long as it was a dog.  I was six years old when my mom finally conceded and decided that perhaps I was ready for a dog.  My mom was tireless in her research for the perfect breed.  We went to the Humane Society countless numbers of times but never found the perfect dog for us.  We searched through breeders of all kinds of dogs and still never found the one for us.  Until one day we looked at some Yorkshire Terrier puppies, (or Yorkies) and we found her.  Since then, Yorkies have gained incredible popularity among celebrities and women as small dogs that just look cute.  But trust me, though they are small and cute, they are still terriers at heart.  Terriers derived from the latin word “terra” or earth, bred for hunting small vermin, and known for their intelligence and tenacity.  She was a terrier in every sense of the word.  As soon as she saw us, she perked up and got excited, walking upon her brothers and sisters in the process.  Others might think that she is just a hyper dog, but in life she was not at all very excitable or hyper.  My mom knew this was the dog for us.  She was interested in us, not dominant, overly hyper or aggressive.  We took her home with us. 

I spent 14 years with her and grew very attached to the dog that was always at my side whether I was watching tv, reading, or walking around the house.  I always felt more secure with her around me.  Whenever I felt afraid she would always check it out first and I would then follow confidently, knowing if she is not afraid then there is no reason for me to be either.  She would only bark if there was someone she did not recognize in our driveway, or if she needed her water or food bowl filled.  Being an only child, she was like the sibling I never had.  I liked having her presence around me.  She was the catalyst to me wanting to incorporate dog therapy in my work whatever it may be.  I researched animal therapy and just by walking on the street with her, if was apparent, dogs make people feel better.  Petting a dog and releasing your emotions onto it makes people less stressed and more at ease.  It was just relaxing to me to watch her sunbathe in the back room, sprawled out on her side in the golden sun, at ease.  She made me understand life better and feel more relaxed.  Dogs will not tell people your secrets, your hopes and dreams and they are loyal to the end.  I knew that people used dogs for therapy, but I thought to myself, “not enough”.

I want to become a geriatric social worker, somewhere I can help the elderly live a more peaceful life, the best that they can until the inevitable.  Having a dog with bring unity and peace, encouraging them to talk and interact with someone.  Besides that they will be getting some physical therapy as well that will not seem so mechanical and harsh.  By simply taking a walk or throwing a ball with a dog will help them and not make it feel like such a chore.  A lot of people in nursing homes do not get visitors or regular visitors, having a dog there all the time will make things less lonely and will allow the people to interact with someone all the time  and make them feel more secure. 

It is my first dog, Brownie that made me know that this is what I want to do in life.  I want to help people and dogs because I understand the powerful connection between them and realize that I want to incorporate strongly, therapy dogs in my life’s work.      

Undecided FD4

Mari Nakamitsu

5 April 2011

Creative Non-Fiction                       

J. Shimabukuro

Undecided

It’s something that has been bothering me for a while, more than just the daily struggles of being irritated that I experience most of the time.  I hear her voice, echoed through the glass of my drink.  When I think of her, which has become increasingly often lately, silence falls enough for the clink of the ice melting to indicate the passage of time.  We have known each other for eight years and been through a lot.  Surely most of our time spent together was seemingly the most difficult portion of our lives, learning to deal with ourselves and discovering who we are, though never finding it until afterward.  I have discovered this now.  I wish I could share it with her, I wish she could understand.  (THESIS) Those who seek a difficult path, elect their lives to remain difficult (THESIS).  I saw her a week after my birthday, she came to drop off my present.

During those early years, when we first met, I thought she was kind of strange to be honest.  Not necessarily in a bad way, I just thought that she was a little immature and excitable.  Like it or not, we somehow ended up together in a lot of our classes.  She was never in my homeroom, our last names were too far apart.  My other best friend at the time was chipping away at me because of her mental illness.  Although I knew she could not help but lie all the time, I was wearing thin of being lied to my face about everything, no matter how little.  Eventually our relationship became neglected and we both left it unattended.  It was ok with me though, because I had already found this new friend.  Over the years we bonded and she always seemed to have some kind of problem.  I always stuck it out with her and I always made sure to be there for her no matter what.  During this time and to this day, for the most part, my problems stay my own and I am very much fine with that.  She was there for my minor difficulties that I experienced and I was there for all of her difficulties.  Whenever she had a problem, I always knew the right things to say to make her feel better or to help her solve her problems.  I chose to figure out my problems for myself for the most part and I do not regret anything.  Perhaps it was good for me to have figured out things for myself. 

Sometimes I wonder what went wrong.  Although she did have some issues, I was always there for her even when her own family wasn’t.  Everything I thought she did would wear off with maturity, like most, but somehow it hasn’t.  Perhaps her psychological issues are more deeply rooted than I thought.  By now, I thought, all of this would fade away as she grew into herself.  But everything just kept getting worse.  She was always crazy for boys, she always had a crush on someone.  I could never talk to her about those kinds of things because I was never really interested in boys or love or dating or anything like that.  It may sound strange but until I met my boyfriend, I thought that I was asexual and had no interest in men or women or relationships at all.  Perhaps I thought this because no one ever liked me and I was sure that I was just really ugly, therefore I concluded that I should be asexual and that I was.  Mostly, she struggled with those feelings and that was the source of her problems, even today.  It was freshman year I think, the first guy she went out with.  He was a friend of our other friend.  I did not like him especially; he was kind of a jerk.  He turned out to be a jerk too.  They dated on and off for a few months, he was not very nice to her at all.  She just could not let him go so easily though, I never understood why, he had no redeeming qualities so I always thought she would dump him, but she never did.  Little did I know that this first boyfriend was going to be very mild from what was to come after we graduated.            

Over the years of high school the boys she dated became worse and worse.  She only dated one boy that was nice.  This guy broke up with her because she was cutting herself and he told her that he could not help her and be with her when she is like that, he told her he would always care for her and be her friend but could not date her right now.  By him doing that I knew that he was smart and kind and was the only person that was “good” for her.  After him she “dated” someone even worse than all the others.  It was senior year.  I put quotes around dated, because she was the “other woman”.  He had a girlfriend whom he had cheated on with other women besides my friend.  I don’t think that she ever admitted that she was the other woman, she always refers to him as her “ex” even though they never technically dated.  After she gathered the courage to not see him anymore (after his girlfriend found out about her) because of her guilt, she stated that she should be single for a while.  I agreed with her since she started dating she just went through one relationship after another. 

Next thing I knew, literally like the next week or so, she asked me if she should go out with this other guy that she met.  He sounded fishy, but I told her she should go on one date with him to see if he was nice and if she liked him.  I found out from her later that people who knew him and also knew her warned her about dating him because he was a mean, violent person.  She reveled in the fact that he was this kind of person who people warned her about.  I am not sure if she thought that he just had a “bad boy” reputation and was really the sensitive type like in stories or what she thought was great about this idea.  When I heard this I told her that I did not think dating him was a good idea, but like always she blew off my advice as well as the advice of the other friends she had around her.  I figured she would get over this relationship eventually like she had the last one and all the others, I thought it would just take a while like her other relationship ending had.  This relationship is still going on to this day. 

He began isolating her and telling her that everything in her life was stupid and insignificant.  He told her that her friends are stupid and the things she thought and liked were stupid.  Of course knowing this I became concerned and wondered why she could not see the things that I saw.  I devoted a lot of time to researching abusive relationships.  Everything that he did added up and coincided with abusive relationships including the high and low points in their relationship.  Now, I understand that in every relationship there are rough patches, there are higher and lower points.  However this was different, the high and low points were extreme and frequent, one could even calculate when the high and low points were going to be, like every few months or so.  I researched the cycle of abuse and what abusers say and do.  Everything that I learned about was true about their relationship.  He would manipulate her into blaming herself or to making excuses for the way he behaved.  He would hit her and then cry to her about how sorry he was.  This made me sick.  Especially when I knew it was her choice to keep taking him back.  Even now as I type, I get angry, my stomach twisting into knots.  She makes me upset for staying with him and not seeing what he’s doing and he makes me angry for hurting her.  I try not to think about it, but she is my best friend after all.  For the past year and a half I have tried talking to her about this as many different ways as I can, but to no avail. 

I never thought that I would witness abuse or in a way be a part of it.  It feels like being involved with a drug addict.  I know how that feels like and the feeling is similar.  He has stopped hitting her (as far as I know) but he is still controlling her and being psychologically abusive, but she thinks her relationship is getting “so much better”.  It hurts me, depresses me, and makes me feel helpless and confused.  What am I supposed to do?  Tell someone?  I have no answers.  I’ve talked about it with her other friends and everyone else feels the same.  No one knows what to do because it’s not that she wants to get out of the relationship and cannot, she chooses and wants to stay.  She doesn’t understand what he’s doing to her and why the rest of us feel the way we do.  I am undecided.      

Log of Completed Activities

_X_ Apr. 7- Intro to Paper #4: Read Guidelines for Paper #4: Literary Journalism

_X_ Apr. 11- Complete readings for paper #4: chap. 15

_  Apr. 15- Laulima Discussion #1.

_X_ Apr. 21- Laulima Discussion #2.

_X_ Apr. 29- RD4 due [50 pts] Review the guidelines.

_X_ May 2- Submit three RD4 evaluations. [50 pts] Review the guidelines.

_L_ May 4-9- FD4 due [150 pts] Review the guidelines.

Undecided (RD4)

Mari Nakamitsu

26 April 2011

Creative Non-Fiction                       

J. Shimabukuro

Undecided

It’s something that has been bothering me for a while, more than just the daily struggles of being irritated that I experience most of the time.  I hear her voice, echoed through the glass of my drink.  When I think of her, which has become increasingly often lately, silence falls enough for the clink of the ice melting to indicate the passage of time.  We have known each other for eight years and been through a lot.  Surely most of our time spent together was seemingly the most difficult portion of our lives, learning to deal with ourselves and discovering who we are, though never finding it until afterward.  I have discovered this now.  I wish I could share it with her, I wish she could understand.  (THESIS) Those who have difficult paths, choose their lives to remain difficult (THESIS).  I saw her a week after my birthday, she came to drop off my present.

During those early years, when we first met, I thought she was kind of strange to be honest.  Not necessarily in a bad way, I just thought that she was a little immature and excitable.  Like it or not, we somehow ended up together in a lot of our classes.  She was never in my homeroom, our last names were too far apart.  My other best friend at the time was chipping away at me because of her mental illness.  Although I knew she could not help but lie all the time, I was wearing thin of being lied to my face about everything, no matter how little.  Eventually our relationship became neglected and we both left it unattended.  It was ok with me though, because I had already found this new friend.  Over the years we bonded and she always seemed to have some kind of problem.  I always stuck it out with her and I always made sure to be there for her no matter what.  During this time and to this day, for the most part, my problems stay my own and I am very much fine with that.  She was there for my minor difficulties that I experienced and I was there for all of her difficulties.  Whenever she had a problem, I always knew the right things to say to make her feel better or to help her solve her problems.  I chose to figure out my problems for myself for the most part and I do not regret anything.  Perhaps it was good for me to have figured out things for myself. 

Sometimes I wonder what went wrong.  Although she did have some issues, I was always there for her even when her own family wasn’t.  Everything I thought she did would wear off with maturity, like most, but somehow it hasn’t.  Perhaps her psychological issues are more deeply rooted than I thought.  By now, I thought, all of this would fade away as she grew into herself.  But everything just kept getting worse.  She was always crazy for boys, she always had a crush on someone.  I could never talk to her about those kinds of things because I was never really interested in boys or love or dating or anything like that.  It may sound strange but until I met my boyfriend, I thought that I was asexual and had no interest in men or women or relationships at all.  Perhaps I thought this because no one ever liked me and I was sure that I was just really ugly, therefore I concluded that I should be asexual and that I was.  Mostly, she struggled with those feelings and that was the source of her problems, even today.  It was freshman year I think, the first guy she went out with.  He was a friend of our other friend.  I did not like him especially; he was kind of a jerk.  He turned out to be a jerk too.  They dated on and off for a few months, he was not very nice to her at all.  She just could not let him go so easily though, I never understood why, he had no redeeming qualities so I always thought she would dump him, but she never did.  Little did I know that this first boyfriend was going to be very mild from what was to come after we graduated.            

Over the years of high school the boys she dated became worse and worse.  She only dated one boy that was nice.  This guy broke up with her because she was cutting herself and he told her that he could not help her and be with her when she is like that, he told her he would always care for her and be her friend but could not date her right now.  By him doing that I knew that he was smart and kind and was the only person that was “good” for her.  After him she “dated” someone even worse than all the others.  It was senior year.  I put quotes around dated, because she was the “other woman”.  He had a girlfriend whom he had cheated on with other women besides my friend.  I don’t think that she ever admitted that she was the other woman, she always refers to him as her “ex” even though they never technically dated.  After she gathered the courage to not see him anymore (after his girlfriend found out about her) because of her guilt, she stated that she should be single for a while.  I agreed with her since she started dating she just went through one relationship after another. 

Next thing I knew, literally like the next week or so, she asked me if she should go out with this other guy that she met.  He sounded fishy, but I told her she should go on one date with him to see if he was nice and if she liked him.  I found out from her later that people who knew him and also knew her warned her about dating him because he was a mean, violent person.  She reveled in the fact that he was this kind of person who people warned her about.  I am not sure if she thought that he just had a “bad boy” reputation and was really the sensitive type like in stories or what she thought was great about this idea.  When I heard this I told her that I did not think dating him was a good idea, but like always she blew off my advice as well as the advice of the other friends she had around her.  I figured she would get over this relationship eventually like she had the last one and all the others, I thought it would just take a while like her other relationship ending had.  This relationship is still going on to this day. 

He began isolating her and telling her that everything in her life was stupid and insignificant.  He told her that her friends are stupid and the things she thought and liked were stupid.  Of course knowing this I became concerned and wondered why she could not see the things that I saw.  I devoted a lot of time to researching abusive relationships.  Everything that he did added up and coincided with abusive relationships including the high and low points in their relationship.  Now, I understand that in every relationship there are rough patches, there are higher and lower points.  However this was different, the high and low points were extreme and frequent, one could even calculate when the high and low points were going to be, like every few months or so.  I researched the cycle of abuse and what abusers say and do.  Everything that I learned about was true about their relationship.  He would manipulate her into blaming herself or to making excuses for the way he behaved.  He would hit her and then cry to her about how sorry he was.  This made me sick.  Especially when I knew it was her choice to keep taking him back.  Even now as I type, I get angry, my stomach twisting into knots.  She makes me upset for staying with him and not seeing what he’s doing and he makes me angry for hurting her.  I try not to think about it, but she is my best friend after all.  For the past year and a half I have tried talking to her about this as many different ways as I can, but to no avail. 

I never thought that I would witness abuse or in a way be a part of it.  It feels like being involved with a drug addict.  I know how that feels like and the feeling is similar.  He has stopped hitting her (as far as I know) but he is still controlling her and being psychologically abusive, but she thinks her relationship is getting “so much better”.  It hurts me, depresses me, and makes me feel helpless and confused.  What am I supposed to do?  Tell someone?  I have no answers.  I’ve talked about it with her other friends and everyone else feels the same.  No one knows what to do because it’s not that she wants to get out of the relationship and cannot, she chooses and wants to stay.  She doesn’t understand what he’s doing to her and why the rest of us feel the way we do.  I am undecided.      

A Potential Paralysis (FD3)

Mari Nakamitsu

6April 2011

Creative Non-Fiction

J. Shimabukuro

A Potential Paralysis

Daily, people test me, potentially knowingly or unknowingly.  It is most likely the latter.  Often throughout the day I have the sensation of various degrees of nagging pains throughout my neck and shoulders, brought on by the frustration of the seemingly complete imbeciles that I (barely) interact with daily.  (THESIS) I have recently decided to become more tolerant of others as I have recognized my inherent and drastic impatience for people (THESIS).  I understand that some things I mutter about others under my breath as I walk by are genuinely mean, impatient and judgmental.  However, it seems just so difficult for me to think otherwise or hold my piece and not say aloud.  I mean, people don’t mean to do anything to me at all (mostly) but my underlying crabby-ness and slight paranoia of what others think is simply overpowering at times.

When there are too many people and or stimuli in a given area that seems too small for the population, I literally feel nauseated.  Seeing vast amounts of people crawling around gives me a similar feeling to when I see an ant swarm around a dead carcass.  Why?  I really have no idea.  Granted I’m awkward socially, usually when people speak to me my mind goes completely blank except for “stoptalkingtomestoptalkingtomestoptalkingtome”.

When people are blocking my way, my first reaction is “holy sh**, get out of the way” (usually there is more profanity).  I promise I don’t have any kind of problem exactly with people, just an incredibly short fuse, and I really need to get over it, in the worst way possible.  Car rides with my grandfather are hell.  Between all the farting, burping, whistling, there is this really especially annoying noise he makes, the noise one makes when one have something stuck in ones teeth, that sucking sound.  I hate it.  He usually hasn’t even eaten anything and the rate of its occurrence is increasing, it has snowballed into a habit.  Usually in about 2 seconds he does one of those intolerable sounds, spiraling me into a depraved, desperate suicidal state.  I try covering my ears.  I still hear it.  There is nothing that I can do except to get closer to my breaking point, digging my nails into the unfortunate, unarmored, car seat.  Sometimes I wonder why God wants me to die of a brain aneurism.  I live in a constant uptight, on edge, adrenaline fueled state.  I attribute my many pains, stomach and sleep problems to this anxiety filled way of life.  There are other reasons for my pain though, very good reasons, but that is not the point.  Even as I type this I can feel the trace surges of adrenaline circulating through my body as I even think about me being angry.

For some reason, I have a sort of phobia toward people in a way.  I’m was never a sort of person that thrived on having many friends, I had a few good friends and I always liked it that way.  During my first year of college however, I had a difficult time.  I had no friends that year.  At all.  This was all because I was (and still am) afraid to talk to people.  Most of the time, I decide not to say anything at all because a lot of the time people misunderstand what I mean.  I have a pretty good dark sense of humor.  When I talk to new people who do not know this fact about me, people have the wrong idea.  Most of the times that I have done this, I make myself look like either a) a potential serial killer or b) just plain weird, either of which makes me feel like I’ve just made a complete moron out of myself.  So most times I choose to stay quiet.  Doing this “quiet person act” usually works out for me.  All throughout my school life, I have made friends without having to talk to them first.  This makes me sound pompous and makes others think that I think I’m too good to talk to other people.  I see how this can look that way, but honestly I really do not mean any sort of negativity, I’m just too awkward!

I have known this trait for a long time and up until now I have never really decided to do anything about it.  The catalyst for this event was my boyfriend of 4 years.  In the past I placed the same judgment on him as I did with everyone else, except he was closer to me so that meant I could be harsher on him.  I always said I would try not to do that but I never really put it into action and tried really hard to be more understanding.  I also realized that when I go back to the mainland I want to have friends and enjoy my time there instead of just trying to finish school as fast as I can.  Throughout my life I have just tried to get through things to get to the next step.  But now I realize that at this rate, I will always be doing just that, trying to get to the next step, until the day I die and realize that I never really enjoyed many things in my life.  I need to be open and understanding, not rip people’s heads off because I do not control them and I need to be ok with that.  In the past few months I have really tried to step down and release my grip a little on my life and not have a breakdown when plans change.  I know I will always be a type A personality and these traits will still linger because that is who I am.  However I am learning and putting into practice to not be so extreme and to just be myself.  If people do not like who I am I need to feel ok with that because not everyone will get along with me or understand my kind of personality.

             

Log of Completed Activities

__X_ Mar. 3- Intro to Paper #3: Personal Essay.

_X__ Mar. 7- Complete readings: all of chapter 12.

__X_ Mar. 10- Laulima Discussion 1: “Chimera“

__X_ Mar. 14- Laulima Discussion 2: “Notes of a Native Speaker“

_X__ Mar. 16- Laulima Discussion 3: “Under the Influence“

___ Mar. 18- Laulima Discussion 4: “Being Brians“

_X__ Mar. 29- Laulima Discussion 5: “Warring Memories“ and “Snakebit“

__X_ Apr. 1- RD3 due [50 pts]

__X_ Apr. 4- Submit three RD3 evaluations. [50 pts] Review the guidelines.

__X_ Apr. 6 - FD3 due [125 pts] You can submit it anytime during this period.

A Potential Paralysis (RD3)

Mari Nakamitsu

31 March 2011

Creative Non-Fiction

J. Shimabukuro

A Potential Paralysis

Daily, people test me, potentially knowingly or unknowingly.  It is most likely the latter.  Often throughout the day I have the sensation of various degrees of nagging pains throughout my neck and shoulders, brought on by the frustration of the seemingly complete imbeciles that I (barely) interact with daily.  (THESIS) It is recent that I have decided to put my plan into action, to learn and to become more tolerant of people, as I realize my drastic intolerance for others (THESIS).  I understand that some things I mutter about others under my breath as I walk by are genuinely mean, impatient and judgemental.  However, it seems just so difficult for me to think otherwise or hold my piece and not say aloud.  I mean, people don’t mean to do anything to me at all (mostly) but my underlying crabby-ness and slight paranoia of what others think is simply overpowering at times.

            When there are too many people and or stimuli in a given area that seems too small for the population, I literally feel nauseated.  Seeing vast amounts of people crawling around gives me a similar feeling to when I see an ant swarm around a dead carcass.  Why?  I really have no idea.  Granted I’m awkward socially, usually when people speak to me my mind goes completely blank except for “stoptalkingtomestoptalkingtomestoptalkingtome”.

When people are blocking my way, my first reaction is “holy sh**, get out of the way” (usually there is more profanity).  I promise I don’t have any kind of problem exactly with people, just an incredibly short fuse, and I really need to get over it, in the worst way possible.  Car rides with my grandfather are hell.  Between all the farting, burping, whistling, there is this really especially annoying noise he makes, the noise one makes when one have something stuck in ones teeth, that sucking sound.  I hate it.  He usually hasn’t even eaten anything and the rate of its occurrence is increasing, it has snowballed into a habit.  Usually in about 2 seconds he does one of those intolerable sounds, spiraling me into a depraved, desperate suicidal state.  I try covering my ears.  I still hear it.  There is nothing that I can do except to get closer to my breaking point, digging my nails into the unfortunate, unarmored, car seat.  Sometimes I wonder why God wants me to die of a brain aneurism.  I live in a constant uptight, on edge, adrenaline fueled state.  I attribute my many pains, stomach and sleep problems to this anxiety filled way of life.  There are other reasons for my pain though, very good reasons, but that is not the point.  Even as I type this I can feel the trace surges of adrenaline circulating through my body as I even think about me being angry.

            For some reason, I have a sort of phobia toward people in a way.  I’m was never a sort of person that thrived on having many friends, I had a few good friends and I always liked it that way.  During my first year of college however, I had a difficult time.  I had no friends that year.  At all.  This was all because I was (and still am) afraid to talk to people.  Most of the time I decide not to say anything at all because a lot of the time people misunderstand what I mean.  I have a pretty good dark sense of humor.  When I talk to new people who do not know this fact about me, people have the wrong idea.  Most of the times that I have done this, I make myself look like either a) a potential serial killer or b) just plain weird, either of which makes me feel like I’ve just made a complete moron out of myself.  So most times I choose to stay quiet.  Doing this “quiet person act” usually works out for me.  All throughout my school life, I have made friends without having to talk to them first.  This makes me sound pompous and makes others think that I think I’m too good to talk to other people.  I see how this can look that way, but honestly I really do not mean any sort of negativity, I’m just too awkward!

            I have known this trait for a long time and up until now I have never really decided to do anything about it.  The catalyst for this event was my boyfriend of 4 years.  In the past I placed the same judgement on him as I did with everyone else, except he was closer to me so that meant I could be more harsh on him.  I always said I would try not to do that but I never really put it into action and tried really hard to be more understanding.  I also realized that when I go back to the mainland I want to have friends and enjoy my time there instead of just trying to finish school as fast as I can.  Throughout my life I have just tried to get through things to get to the next step.  But now I realize that at this rate, I will always be doing just that, trying to get to the next step, until the day I die and realize that I never really enjoyed many things in my life.  I need to be open and understanding, not rip people’s heads off because I do not control them and I need to be ok with that.  In the past few months I have really tried to step down and release my grip a little on my life and not have a breakdown when plans change.  I know I will always be a type A personality and these traits will still linger because that is who I am.  However I am learning and putting into practice to not be so extreme and to just be myself.  If people do not like who I am I need to feel ok with that because not everyone will get along with me or understand my kind of personality.

             

The Side I Knew (FD2)

Mari Nakamitsu

1 March 2011

Creative Non-Fiction

J. Shimabukuro

The Side I Knew

            He was just really a kid at heart.  There were endless amounts of senseless stories, games, made up words and immature jokes.  A trail of laughter wound among us and followed wherever we went.  He was my first “friend” in a kid sort of sense though he was an adult.  He just thought like a kid.  (THESIS) He has taught me many important lessons in my journey in life and I am grateful for him because of that (THESIS).  It is now that when I look at him in faded photos of my youth I see a different person. The image I see is now skewed, opposed to the one I viewed as a child.  It seems like a canvas, ceasingly  blending together the past and the present, what I knew then and what I know now.  I never remember looking up to him as an example of a person I wanted to become when I was older… wait, that’s a lie.  I admired; and still do; his compassion and trusting nature for people as well as his creativity and ability to understand.  I never forgot that person.  For a while as I grew older it had become buried deeply within me.  The scent of sweat and motor oil followed him and his hands were always covered in paint.  The only things that he liked more than motorcycles was airbrushing and spending time with me his one and only, (at the time) and favorite niece.  Beautiful amber, gold and pink sunsets captured upon strands of cotton to enchant the eyes.  Each work of art etched with careful, sun-tanned hands, dry from years of craft.  That was the person I remembered and cherished the most not the person that I grew to know.

            My hands gripped the rubber and steel as the powerful engine roared beneath me.  I felt free, frightened and powerful at the age of 7.  How could I feel too scared?  My protector was behind me, reassuring me and cheering me on.  Dangerous? What can I say?  He was a real kid inside.  I roared off (or what it seemed to me) down the desolate parking lot, gravel spinning and flicking to all sides beneath tires.  I pulled on the brakes and tipped to the side, my leg barely holding up the bike and me.  A hand reached out to my shoulder and the weight of the heavy steel lifted off my leg.  There were smiles and “you’ve done great” along with loads of other praise.  I felt as proud as could be, knowing that I tried something and did great.  Though I had ridden with him and his wife (my other pal) since I was 2, I had never done it on my own.  Only after I had learned to ride a 2 wheeler proficiently was I allowed undertake a feat such as this.  I was happy; he always understood and knew what to say.    

            After those kid times of him constantly being there ended, I slowly started to see him less and less.  While I was getting older, I had other friends to hang out with outside of school but on the weekends I wondered what happened to him.  I still saw him from time to time.  At the beginning it became from every other day to once a week, then once every other week to once a month to once every few months to not at all.  To this day the last time I saw him was at my graduation, 2 years ago.   This time it is because he physically cannot see me.  He’s not allowed to leave the place he is in.  I finally knew the truth when I got to high school, when the visits really became infrequent.  Instead of a source of happiness and security for me, he became a source of disappointment and anxiety.  I wondered what he was doing, if he was alive, and how selfish he was being.  Watching “Intervention” did not especially help either, superficial and stupid as it seems.  I was always interested in things like that, documentaries and the like.  Maybe I watched because I understood the feeling, maybe I watched to understand more of why.  I always said I would take care of him since I was little, I felt as if I had failed in life.  I always came second to the substance, just like everything else in his life.  I stayed angry for a while.  When I saw him on the football field as I came down the steps from graduating high school I did not feel anger or resentment, I could not feel that way.  He was still my friend, he was still the person that was there for me a lot in life.  Most of all I had to thank him for keeping me on the right path, from being curious and straying from what I really wanted out of life.  Doing what he had done to my family was too painful, something I was not willing to take the risk for “just to try it”.  In some study I found that those teenagers who did not experiment were found to be “maladjusted people”.  If that study is right than so be it.  If that study is right then we all should be maladjusted because there are those (in increasing number) that fall through the cracks; where it is not just an experiment any longer but a way of life.  One of my most trusted companions fell through and tore through the hearts of all those involved.  It was not fair, but nothing in life is. 

            Now looking at things this way, I am glad that things turned out the way that they did in my life.  He is safe now, locked up, but safe.  Hopefully he can turn around though he is older now.  I have gotten over my anger and sadness.  Now when I look at those pictures I choose to see the person I remembered him the most as.  I look back and remember all the good things he taught me to do.  I remember that without his examples, positive and negative, I would not be the person I am today.  Everything in life makes you stronger.  He had a warm heart and he always meant well.  Everyone has their weaknesses and strengths and I learned from his.  But most of all what I understood about him was that he was giving and kind.  It was warm out and getting dark, his hand was at the edge of my bicycle seat, then pushing me off and cheering me on.  I trusted him.  I knew he would never let me fall and he did not let me down.  I learned to ride that day, a sort of new freedom as a child.  I look in his eyes and see purity and trustworthiness, the side I knew long ago, the side I know is still somewhere in there.   

Log of Completed Activities

_X__ Feb. 4 – Intro to paper #2: Portraits

__X_ Feb. 7- Complete readings – all of chap. 13. Optional: “Cucarachas” by Madeline Sonik.

__X_ Feb. 10- Laulima Discussion: Portraits by Lee and Simic.

_X__ Feb. 14- Laulima Discussion: Portraits by Steinbach and Toth.

__X_ Feb. 18- Laulima Posting: Sample from Your Portrait.

__X_ Feb. 25- RD2 due [50 pts] Review the guidelines.

__X_ Feb. 28- Submit three RD2 evaluations. [50 pts] Review the guidelines.

__X_ Mar. 2-7 – FD2 due [125 pts] Review the guidelines.

The Side I Knew (RD2)

Mari Nakamitsu

24 February 2011

Creative Non-Fiction

J. Shimabukuro

The Side I Knew

            He was just a kid at heart.  There were senseless stories, games, made up words and immature jokes.  An endless trail of laughter wherever we went.  He was my first friend.  It is now that when I look at him in faded photos of my youth I see a different person.  I see a person different than the one I viewed as a child.  Though I never looked up to him as a person to become when I was older… wait, that’s a lie.  I admired; and still do; his compassion and trusting nature for people as well as his creativity and ability to understand.  I never forgot that person.  Though for a while it was buried deeply within me.  The scent of sweat and motor oil followed him and his hands were always covered in paint.  The only things that he liked more than motorcycles was airbrushing and spending time with me.  Beautiful amber, gold and pink sunsets captured upon strands of cotton to enchant the eyes.  Each work of art etched with careful, brown hands, dry from years of craft.  That was the person I remembered and cherished the most not the person that I grew to know.

            My hands gripped the rubber and steel as the powerful engine roared beneath me.  I felt free, frightened and powerful at the age of 7.  How could I feel too scared?  My protector was behind me, reassuring me and cheering me on.  Dangerous? What can I say?  He was a real kid inside.  I roared off (or what it seemed to me) down the desolate parking lot, gravel spinning and flicking to all sides beneath tires.  I pulled on the brakes and tipped to the side, my leg barely holding up the bike and me.  A hand reached out to my shoulder and the weight of the heavy steel lifted off my leg.  There were smiles and “you’ve done great” along with loads of other praise.  I felt as proud as could be, knowing that I tried something and did great.  Though I had ridden with him and his wife (my other pal) since I was 2, I had never done it on my own.  Only after I had learned to ride a 2 wheeler proficiently was I allowed undertake a feat such as this.  I was happy; he always understood and knew what to say.    

            After those kid times of him constantly being there I slowly started to see him less and less.  While I was getting older, I had other friends to hang out with outside of school but on the weekends I wondered what happened to him.  I still saw him from time to time.  At the beginning it became from every other day to once a week, then once every other week to once a month to once every few months to not at all.  To this day the last time I saw him was at my graduation, 2 years ago.  Though this time it was because he physically cannot see me.  I finally knew the truth when I got to high school and when the visits really became infrequent.  Instead of a source of happiness and security for me, he became a source of disappointment and anxiety.  I wondered what he was doing, if he was alive, and how selfish he was being.  Watching “Intervention” did not especially help either, superficial and stupid as it seems.  I was always interested in things like that, documentaries and the like.  Maybe I watched because I understood the feeling, maybe I watched to understand more of why.  I always said I would take care of him, I felt as if I had failed in life.  I always came second to the substance.  I stayed angry for a while.  Though when I saw him on the football field as a came down the steps from graduating high school I did not feel mad, I could not feel that way.  He was still my friend, he was still the person that was there for me in life.  Most of all I had to thank him for keeping me on the right path, from being curious and straying from what I really wanted out of life.  Doing what he had done to my family was too painful, something I was not willing to take the risk for “just to try it”.  In some study I found that those teenagers who did not experiment were found to be “maladjusted people”.  If that study is right than so be it.  If that study is right then we all should be maladjusted because there are those (in increasing number) that fall through the cracks; where it is not just an experiment any longer but a way of life.  One of my most trusted companions fell through and tore through the hearts of all those involved.  It was not fair, but nothing in life is. 

            Now looking at things this way, I am glad that things turned out the way that they did in my life.  He is safe now, locked up, but safe.  Hopefully he can turn around though he is older now.  I have gotten over my anger and sadness.  Now when I look at those pictures I choose to see the person I remembered him the most as.  I look back and remember all the good things he taught me to do.  I remember that without his examples, positive and negative, I would not be the person I am today.  Everything in life makes you stronger.  He had a warm heart and he always meant well.  Everyone has their weaknesses and strengths and I learned from his.  But most of all what I understood about him was that he was giving and kind.  It was warm out and getting dark, his hand was at the edge of my bicycle seat, then pushing me off and cheering me on.  I trusted him.  I knew he would never let me fall and he did not let me down.  I learned to ride that day.  I look in his eyes and see purity and trustworthiness, the side I knew long ago, the side I know is still somewhere in there.