farahandthechocolatefactory

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Ernest Hemingway mastered “the principle of the iceberg.” This short story was written on a napkin and inspired by a bet made at dinner with close friends. This story, depending on the person reading, could mean an uncountable number of things. One of the most common elaborations of this story is that an infant has died and the impoverished mother has resorted to selling the belongings of her child that never was.

It could be related to another of Hemingway’s works, ‘Hills Like White Elephants’. It might be a mother whose expectations were destroyed by a father who does not want to succumb to the role. It could also be the doing of a father, overcome with the trauma of loosing both his child and it’s mother during the birthing process.

The painting by Caspar David Friedrich depicts a man with fiery, red hair standing on a cliff, looking over on a sea of thick, white fog. It is almost as if he is dragging on his last seconds of serenity before he jumps and ends his suffering. He looks over the fog for clarity in his decisions.

This analysis of the painting reminds me of a movie that I watched, called Dark Shadows. When Victoria Winters is put under a spell by a witch that was in love with Barnabas Collins. The witch leads Victoria to a cliff and the most she can manage to do herself is ask Barnabas to help her before she is forced to jump.

This idea is similar to short story I read called The Docks, about a boy who first meets a girl on a boardwalk and instantly falls in love with her, although will not tell her his name. he had gone there to end his life, the girl decides she doesn’t want to let him do it alone so she jumps with him. Before they jump, the boy reveals his name, Harry. I feel that this is like that instant of clarity or of thought. She was willing to give her life for a man she just met, the least he could give her is his name.

The American International School of Abu Dhabi. It may be my second year at this school, but if it weren’t for moving here i wouldn’t be the way I am now. My 9th grade English class may have been my favourite class that I’ve taken. besides the point that two of my best friends were in the class with me, our teacher was amazing, he might have been the best teacher I’ve ever had. We studied The Odyssey by Homer, at the end of the unit we were required to create a presentation about our personal odyssey’s. Grace Glides on Blistered Feet. My presentation was extremely emotional for me, but everyone was so supportive. When i wrote about everything I’ve been threw and how things made me feel, it was hard because I’m not usually one to express how i feel about a difficult time. It was one of my favourite memories because it showed that people did care about me.

Obsessed, a word people often use to describe me. I feel that this word has many different ways for interpretation. Preoccupy or fill the mind of someone continually and to a troubling extent. People I know, people I don’t, family members and friends. Every time I prepare my food, or my clothes, or anything really, there is one phrase I hear. “That seems a bit obsessive, doesn’t it?” Well, no it doesn’t, not to me anyway. To you it might, but not to me. If it’s anything, it’s not good enough. It’s not perfect. I know it never will be, but that wont stop me from trying. “Not everything has to be perfect, Farah.” That’s another one I get a lot. But, what if it does have to be perfect. What if that single little detail that’s slightly out of place will drive me absolutely insane, until I fix it, until i perfect it. What if I won’t be able to sleep, or eat, or concentrate on anything until it’s perfect. These are things people don’t understand when they see me rearranging my pencils on my desk, or when my mother watches me butter every inch of my toast. People don’t understand, they don’t believe how difficult and complex a lifestyle of this way is. There is no way to change it. We won’t get better. No matter how hard you try, it will only get worse. We can’t change who we are, and the more you try the more it hurts us to be like this. We know we’re obsessed, but we live with it.

Perfection can mean many different things

It effects people in different ways

Some strive to achieve it, and others to avoid it,

For some, it comes naturally

It’s a downward spiral from the time it first enters your life

First it’s a must, then a need

You get addicted, then obsessed

The only way for it to leave your mind

Is to fix it

Now

My mother is one of my greatest inspirations. She was the one who taught me how to read and write. I learn from her everyday. Ever since the beginning of time my mother has lead the way for my writing and has helped me make it better. My mother worked at a university teaching english as a second language, and I remember when I was a lot younger that she would sometimes bring home and extra test that her students had taken, from me to take. If i got all the questions right, she would let me help her grade the tests. I think my love of writing came from my love of reading, wishing to ZAP! into another world or dimension. I’m still trying to master my style of writing and how to get it out there.

I don’t remember exactly how my love for writing first made an appearance in my life, but it has definitely made it a more colourful and magical one. Much like my love for music, writing is something I take with me wherever I go. I narrate my days almost subconsciously, thinking up ways I could change the words, make it more interesting. It can be hard for me to sit down and try to think of something to write, the juices seem to stop flowing sometimes, but other times the words jump out at me and I have to write it down as soon as I can, or it’s gone.

Writing took a much more spiritual level in my life not so long ago. I went through difficult times and discovered things about myself I didn’t already know. I woke up almost everyday not wanting to get out of bed because I was so scared of what would happen and what people would think about me. I was extremely anxious and I didn’t think anyone understood how it felt. That was one of the only times I took to, a sort of, journal writing. My mother told me everyday to right how I was feeling out of ten, and explain why I felt like this so I could further understand how my brain worked. I realised, later on, that what I wrote was much like what I liked to read. I started to dig deeper into me to find where the emotions came from and how to get them onto paper so other people understood how it felt to go through certain things. 

I love reading. Books about almost everything. For me, it’s not what the books about as much as how the book was written. Authors like F. Scott Fitzgerald are people I take inspiration from because of their way with words. It fascinates me how easily he makes something merely average into something extraordinary. His use of descriptive language is absolutely magnificent. I love to read books that feel almost dreamlike, and that is what I try to produce. 

My writing style is like a balloon amongst a pile of rocks. I write about things a lot of people wouldn’t understand. Sometimes it doesn’t even get written, it just floats around in my head for a couple days slowly fading away. I feel as though people would enjoy reading things I’ve written because they are very personal. I don’t really know how to write anything that everyone I meet would like, but does anybody? I just hope that one day, what i have written will get out, and people will be able to relate to it, or at least understand and appreciate what it feels like to be scared of what the day has to offer. 

Thank you soo much for taking time out of your day to read this, please comment how you feel about reading and writing and let me know more about yourselves. Until next time. xxx

 

Hey there, and welcome to my blog, where i will share with you all of my deepest darkest secrets, no just kidding.  So I thought it would be a good idea to introduce myself to you for my first post here, even though you probably already know me. I am a 14 year old girl in highschool. I live in the UAE and I’ve lived here since I was around a year old. Although I’m not from here, I come from the magical, mystical, mysterious land of the United Kingdom, I say mysterious because I don’t seem to go very often, definitely not as much as I’d like to. I’m also from the deepest jungles of a country in North Africa, called Algeria, I love hearing stories about when my father was young and living there, all of the mischiefs him and his siblings and cousins would get up to during their free time. I was born in the western suburbs of Paris, France, in a place called Saint-Germain-en-Laye, I didn’t live there very long though.

Something that is a really big part of my life is music, just like many other people, but I feel like for me it’s different. I use music for almost everything I love to do. I am a figure skater, so with the skating comes along the music and learning how your body works and moves to it best to enhance your talent, while you are gaining and perfecting a skill that not everyone has the chance to acquire. Figure skating, as many people would assume does come hand-in-hand with dance. Dance is a passion of mine, I use it to express how I’m feeling, to release stress or anger. I feel that it is one of the most effective antidepressants out there, because because with dance you can completely let go of all emotions or thoughts and completely lose yourself while finding yourself in the process. I’ve tried to describe my style of dance to people when they’ve asked, but I’ve never found the right words. I’ve thought it was a kind of a cross between Pina Bausch, modern ballet, and contemporary, I haven’t quite figured it out yet but I’m hoping to get back to you about that.

So that was a little snippet of me and my life, please please please comment me questions or about ANYTHING (It’ll make me feel loved), and tell me about your wonderful selves. Thank you so much for reading, see you soon. xxxx