It's been an interesting semester. It's been a semester of turning 18, figuring out how to be responsible for myself, missing my family, being in a singles ward for the first time, college dating, college homework, college professors.
Transitioning from a child to an adult: not as scary as I thought it would be, more exciting than anything else.
Turning 18: I have a whole blog post dedicated to that!
Missing my family: I'm not homesick, but I miss my family a lot. It's kinda strangely sad to think that their lives are going on without me. I'm super glad that I can skype and snapchat them, though.
Being in a singles ward for the first time: Pretty overwhelming. In a normal ward, there are a limited number of people your age, and those are the people that you become friends with, and/or date. Now, everyone is a potential friend and/or someone to date. My teachers and leaders are mostly my own age, so that makes them easier to understand and connect to.
College dating: Again, overwhelming. There are so many people at BYU, and pretty much all of them extremely good people. Luckily I'm not worried about serious dating at this point, but instead just getting to know people. I can imagine that it will be a challenge, when I do start thinking about dating more seriously, to sift through the vast number of available people.
College homework: So much harder than high school homework. So much more than there was in high school. Especially for classes with reading, and math and science classes. It's been tough, but I'm learning to manage my time more effectively.
College professors: in general, much less lenient with deadlines than high school teachers. In larger classes, the professors are much harder to get to know personally, but in small classes it seems easier, perhaps because adult students can connect better with their professors than teenage students.
It's been a long semester, but at the same time, it's flown by. Now I just have to do this 7 more times before I graduate!
Friday, December 4, 2015
Dealing with stress
You know all those 'lifehacks' for dealing with stress that you hear about? Meditate, read scriptures, go for a walk, etc. Well most of the time, my stress is centered around not having enough time to do everything I need to do, so I've never thought these would be at all useful, as they just take up time.
Yesterday was one of those times. I had just found out that I had a week's worth of chem homework due that day from that thanksgiving break that I hadn't seen when I had checked before, and this was on top of a many other things going on that day that I was stressed about.
I was not in a good state of mind. I had so much to do but couldn't do anything, and as time went on with me not being productive, my frustration rose, to the point where I felt that I was constantly on the verge of tears. I had felt like this before, but usually just decided to go to bed, and would wake up feeling much better.
This time, going to bed wasn't an option. So, I decided to say a prayer, listen to a song that always makes me feel amazing, and practice the piano. It's incredible what the Spirit and music can do for your mood. My problems didn't go away afterwards, but I almost magically was able to approach them with a positive state of mind, and was happy for the rest of the day.
Yesterday was one of those times. I had just found out that I had a week's worth of chem homework due that day from that thanksgiving break that I hadn't seen when I had checked before, and this was on top of a many other things going on that day that I was stressed about.
I was not in a good state of mind. I had so much to do but couldn't do anything, and as time went on with me not being productive, my frustration rose, to the point where I felt that I was constantly on the verge of tears. I had felt like this before, but usually just decided to go to bed, and would wake up feeling much better.
This time, going to bed wasn't an option. So, I decided to say a prayer, listen to a song that always makes me feel amazing, and practice the piano. It's incredible what the Spirit and music can do for your mood. My problems didn't go away afterwards, but I almost magically was able to approach them with a positive state of mind, and was happy for the rest of the day.
One of the many places I get to call home
Two weeks from today, I'll be back in the Netherlands! Now of course what I'm most excited about is seeing my family and my best friends, but for this post I'll focus on what I miss about Netherlands and so am excited to experience again.
I love how beautiful the neighborhood we live in is. There are huge trees everywhere in Wassenaar and a forest in the middle that we bike through to go anywhere. The forest used to be part of different estates, and there are two castles hidden in the trees that you catch glimpses of during the winter when the trees are empty of leaves. The whole country is beautiful, especially in the spring when the tulips and daffodils are in bloom.
I love how easy it is to get around. I don't have a driver's license (the legal driving age in the Netherlands is 18, so I was never able to get one), and I feel kind of stuck here, but in Holland I was never ever limited. From my house, it takes 20 minutes to bike into the Hague and 40 to bike to Leiden, both places I went regularly. If I didn't want to bike or I wanted to go farther, such as to Amsterdam, there were buses and trains and trams galore. Biking and taking public transportation is so easy that even my parents rarely use their cars. My mom bikes or takes the bus with my siblings to school, and my dad takes the train or bike to work. The only time we ever really drive is when going to church and Mutual. I miss it.
I love the little, private shops that are the norm rather than the exception. In the center of town there is the Langstraat, which means "long street." No bikes or cars can travel on this street–which is lined by shops–it's just for walking. Teenagers hang out here, couples go here for dates, moms come here to shop. There are a few chain stores along Langstraat, such as Hema, a Dutch department store, but the majority of shops are boutiques. There's a candy shop that I go to almost every time I'm on Langstraat. It's packed with all sorts of candy, chocolate, dutch licorice, the best stroopwaffels I've ever had, trinkets, and Dutch china, and it always smells amazing. The owner is the only person I ever see behind the counter, and he is so friendly to everyone. His store is my favorite on the Langstraat.
I miss Dutch food, the pannekoeken (big thin pancakes), poffridges (tiny fat pancakes), stroopwaffels (basically ambrosia), and hagelslag (chocolate sprinkles that go with everything). I miss the Dutch street signs and city names, like Scheveningen (a city), and Verlengde Kerkeboslaan (the street I live on), the coughing, guttural "G" sound in every other word, and how accomplished I felt when my pronunciation of Dutch names was approved by my Dutch friends. I miss the people, although it did take a while to get used to how direct they are. You always know the opinion of a Dutchie. I miss how you have to go uphill to get to the beach, how in some places the bike paths are wider than the roads, how you could by a dozen roses for 5€ ($5.50), and the cobblestone streets in the center of town.
Holland will always have a special place in my heart.
I love how beautiful the neighborhood we live in is. There are huge trees everywhere in Wassenaar and a forest in the middle that we bike through to go anywhere. The forest used to be part of different estates, and there are two castles hidden in the trees that you catch glimpses of during the winter when the trees are empty of leaves. The whole country is beautiful, especially in the spring when the tulips and daffodils are in bloom.
I love how easy it is to get around. I don't have a driver's license (the legal driving age in the Netherlands is 18, so I was never able to get one), and I feel kind of stuck here, but in Holland I was never ever limited. From my house, it takes 20 minutes to bike into the Hague and 40 to bike to Leiden, both places I went regularly. If I didn't want to bike or I wanted to go farther, such as to Amsterdam, there were buses and trains and trams galore. Biking and taking public transportation is so easy that even my parents rarely use their cars. My mom bikes or takes the bus with my siblings to school, and my dad takes the train or bike to work. The only time we ever really drive is when going to church and Mutual. I miss it.
I love the little, private shops that are the norm rather than the exception. In the center of town there is the Langstraat, which means "long street." No bikes or cars can travel on this street–which is lined by shops–it's just for walking. Teenagers hang out here, couples go here for dates, moms come here to shop. There are a few chain stores along Langstraat, such as Hema, a Dutch department store, but the majority of shops are boutiques. There's a candy shop that I go to almost every time I'm on Langstraat. It's packed with all sorts of candy, chocolate, dutch licorice, the best stroopwaffels I've ever had, trinkets, and Dutch china, and it always smells amazing. The owner is the only person I ever see behind the counter, and he is so friendly to everyone. His store is my favorite on the Langstraat.
I miss Dutch food, the pannekoeken (big thin pancakes), poffridges (tiny fat pancakes), stroopwaffels (basically ambrosia), and hagelslag (chocolate sprinkles that go with everything). I miss the Dutch street signs and city names, like Scheveningen (a city), and Verlengde Kerkeboslaan (the street I live on), the coughing, guttural "G" sound in every other word, and how accomplished I felt when my pronunciation of Dutch names was approved by my Dutch friends. I miss the people, although it did take a while to get used to how direct they are. You always know the opinion of a Dutchie. I miss how you have to go uphill to get to the beach, how in some places the bike paths are wider than the roads, how you could by a dozen roses for 5€ ($5.50), and the cobblestone streets in the center of town.
Holland will always have a special place in my heart.
Reflections on turning 18
And finally, I'm 18! It's taken way too long.
Do I feel any different? No. Growing up, I always assumed that the day I turned eighteen would be the day I considered myself an adult. But of course that's not it at all, as the day you turn 18 is arbitrary. I really started to feel like an adult after I moved out over the summer. Once I started getting used to doing "adult" things, such as paying for all my own food, looking for a job, planning out what the next couple years of my life are going to be like, deciding when to go to the dentist/doctor, I started feeling like an adult. And honestly, all that stuff wasn't as hard as I had anticipated it would be.
But hey, at least the government recognizes me as an adult. And it's so nice to be able to have a checking account totally independent of my parents, to be able to vote, and donate blood, and to be legally responsible for myself.
But even though I don't really feel different, at the same time, turning 18 is kind of scary. My childhood is officially over; there's no going back. And of course this is exciting; I'm on the cusp of young adulthood, with innumerable amazing experiences ahead of me. But at the same time, my childhood was amazing, and it's sad to think life will never be like that again.
Do I feel any different? No. Growing up, I always assumed that the day I turned eighteen would be the day I considered myself an adult. But of course that's not it at all, as the day you turn 18 is arbitrary. I really started to feel like an adult after I moved out over the summer. Once I started getting used to doing "adult" things, such as paying for all my own food, looking for a job, planning out what the next couple years of my life are going to be like, deciding when to go to the dentist/doctor, I started feeling like an adult. And honestly, all that stuff wasn't as hard as I had anticipated it would be.
But hey, at least the government recognizes me as an adult. And it's so nice to be able to have a checking account totally independent of my parents, to be able to vote, and donate blood, and to be legally responsible for myself.
But even though I don't really feel different, at the same time, turning 18 is kind of scary. My childhood is officially over; there's no going back. And of course this is exciting; I'm on the cusp of young adulthood, with innumerable amazing experiences ahead of me. But at the same time, my childhood was amazing, and it's sad to think life will never be like that again.
Sharing the Book of Mormon with my best friend
Sharing the Book of Mormon with my best friend is extremely exciting but also terrifying.
This best friend of mine is the most intelligent person I know, and also one of the most rational and logical. When I saw him last, which was when we were saying goodbye as I was moving from Holland to BYU and he was moving from Holland to the UK, I gave him a Book of Mormon with a note bearing my testimony and imploring him to read it. Since then, he's started reading it daily, and asking me questions.
The thing is, he's only reading it an academic point of view, to gain better insight into my religion. But I want him to feel the Spirit and start reading it with the intention of finding out if it's true. I want it so much it hurts. Because I know that if he does, Heavenly Father will reveal the truth of the Book of Mormon to him. I have absolute faith that He will. I just need my friend to consider the possibility that it's true and ask sincerely. And then if he does, and joins the church, his life will be immeasurably blessed, and there's nothing more I could want for him than that.
But it seems like he'll never make the jump from reading it educationally to reading it to find out if it's true. And in the meantime, he asks me questions, questions that I can't always answer, like "Why did Nephi have to kill Laban, instead of getting the plates some other way? If murder is morally wrong, and God's laws never change, why did he command Nephi to do this?" And I'm afraid he'll be totally turned off by something he finds, and think me blind for believing in it, and never consider if the church is actually true.
All I can do is pray, pray as hard as I can that he'll feel the Spirit, and maybe drop subtle hints here and there.
This best friend of mine is the most intelligent person I know, and also one of the most rational and logical. When I saw him last, which was when we were saying goodbye as I was moving from Holland to BYU and he was moving from Holland to the UK, I gave him a Book of Mormon with a note bearing my testimony and imploring him to read it. Since then, he's started reading it daily, and asking me questions.
The thing is, he's only reading it an academic point of view, to gain better insight into my religion. But I want him to feel the Spirit and start reading it with the intention of finding out if it's true. I want it so much it hurts. Because I know that if he does, Heavenly Father will reveal the truth of the Book of Mormon to him. I have absolute faith that He will. I just need my friend to consider the possibility that it's true and ask sincerely. And then if he does, and joins the church, his life will be immeasurably blessed, and there's nothing more I could want for him than that.
But it seems like he'll never make the jump from reading it educationally to reading it to find out if it's true. And in the meantime, he asks me questions, questions that I can't always answer, like "Why did Nephi have to kill Laban, instead of getting the plates some other way? If murder is morally wrong, and God's laws never change, why did he command Nephi to do this?" And I'm afraid he'll be totally turned off by something he finds, and think me blind for believing in it, and never consider if the church is actually true.
All I can do is pray, pray as hard as I can that he'll feel the Spirit, and maybe drop subtle hints here and there.
On speaking another language.
To me, speaking a second language seems like a superpower. You have this ability that not everyone has, you can communicate with people that others can't communicate with. It's pretty cool.
I've always been envious of my friends who grow up bilingual or trilingual (having lived internationally, the majority of my friends have this superpower). They speak multiple languages better than I ever could if I started now, even if I work for years and years, and they can do it without even trying. I've had to earn the superpower the hard way.
But it's totally worth it. Being able to understand, speak, and even think in Spanish is exhilarating to me. Having conversations in Spanish with native speakers is one of the most rewarding things I've ever done. And I wish that more people could appreciate how worthwhile learning another language can be. My hypothesis is that if everyone in America learned Spanish–and not just what they teach in high school, but actually learned it–they would be much more welcoming to Hispanic immigrants, because they would have something that they worked hard for in common with them. But maybe that's just me. I know that I feel a connection with native Spanish speakers and have a much greater interest in Spanish speaking countries than I did before I was proficient in the language. I felt the same thing when I was learning Malay.
The next language I'm planning on learning is Arabic. I can't wait to get started :)
I've always been envious of my friends who grow up bilingual or trilingual (having lived internationally, the majority of my friends have this superpower). They speak multiple languages better than I ever could if I started now, even if I work for years and years, and they can do it without even trying. I've had to earn the superpower the hard way.
But it's totally worth it. Being able to understand, speak, and even think in Spanish is exhilarating to me. Having conversations in Spanish with native speakers is one of the most rewarding things I've ever done. And I wish that more people could appreciate how worthwhile learning another language can be. My hypothesis is that if everyone in America learned Spanish–and not just what they teach in high school, but actually learned it–they would be much more welcoming to Hispanic immigrants, because they would have something that they worked hard for in common with them. But maybe that's just me. I know that I feel a connection with native Spanish speakers and have a much greater interest in Spanish speaking countries than I did before I was proficient in the language. I felt the same thing when I was learning Malay.
The next language I'm planning on learning is Arabic. I can't wait to get started :)
My love-hate relationship with music.
My family is an extremely musical family. Playing instruments is what we do, and we all play them well, and play them together. (Here's a youtube link of me and all my siblings playing violin together at our school in Holland: https://youtu.be/Qc69S-PAUR0?t=68) It's never been a choice, growing up, of whether or not any of us would take music lessons. We always would. Piano and violin lessons simultaneously until about high school, and then we choose one.
We play together as a family, as shown in the video, and it looks fun, but practicing is not. Trying to get 6 kids to do something they don't want to do for more than an hour at a time, to be quiet when other people are playing, to not run off and get distracted, to not goof off on their instruments, and to come up with creative ideas is nigh on impossible. Family practice sessions were rarely fun.
I never was good at practicing. I never liked practicing. But since when I was young, I was very gifted for my age at the piano and violin, I always felt the pressure of not squandering my talent. Of becoming the best. This pressure didn't come from my parents, but rather myself and my teachers. And when I was 11, still getting used to balancing school and practicing after being homeschooled my whole life, my younger brother started to get better at the piano than I was. Now, as a 11 year old, there isn't much worse than seeing a younger sibling do better than you at something you work extremely hard at. So for a while, I pushed myself harder, but eventually, after realizing that I wasn't going to be able to get back ahead, I abandoned ship. Not totally, because again, ditching music isn't allowed in my family, but I stopped acting like I cared about the piano. So I refocused on violin, and progressed more in violin than I ever had before. My teacher told me "You have the potential to be one of the best. You just need to work harder." So I tried, for years. I worked and I practiced and I gave performances and I practiced more, but I started to get sick of it. I realized that I would never be able to work hard enough to compete with the best violinists. That was a tough realization for me, but it was a good one to have.
This semester marks the longest time I've ever gone without taking private music lessons. I miss it way more than I thought I would. I'm very glad that I decided so long ago not to make a career out of music, because I've realized that if I made music performance my career, it would stop being my hobby. I wouldn't be able to go and play the violin when I am stressed, because music would be a source of stress. I wouldn't be able to accompany my friends on the piano or learn pieces to play in sacrament meeting, because I would be so loaded down with other work. So, even though I haven't enjoyed every moment, I'm really happy with where I am with music. I cherish the memories of performing with my family (not so much the memories of practicing.)
And I'll definitely make my future family a musical one.
We play together as a family, as shown in the video, and it looks fun, but practicing is not. Trying to get 6 kids to do something they don't want to do for more than an hour at a time, to be quiet when other people are playing, to not run off and get distracted, to not goof off on their instruments, and to come up with creative ideas is nigh on impossible. Family practice sessions were rarely fun.
I never was good at practicing. I never liked practicing. But since when I was young, I was very gifted for my age at the piano and violin, I always felt the pressure of not squandering my talent. Of becoming the best. This pressure didn't come from my parents, but rather myself and my teachers. And when I was 11, still getting used to balancing school and practicing after being homeschooled my whole life, my younger brother started to get better at the piano than I was. Now, as a 11 year old, there isn't much worse than seeing a younger sibling do better than you at something you work extremely hard at. So for a while, I pushed myself harder, but eventually, after realizing that I wasn't going to be able to get back ahead, I abandoned ship. Not totally, because again, ditching music isn't allowed in my family, but I stopped acting like I cared about the piano. So I refocused on violin, and progressed more in violin than I ever had before. My teacher told me "You have the potential to be one of the best. You just need to work harder." So I tried, for years. I worked and I practiced and I gave performances and I practiced more, but I started to get sick of it. I realized that I would never be able to work hard enough to compete with the best violinists. That was a tough realization for me, but it was a good one to have.
This semester marks the longest time I've ever gone without taking private music lessons. I miss it way more than I thought I would. I'm very glad that I decided so long ago not to make a career out of music, because I've realized that if I made music performance my career, it would stop being my hobby. I wouldn't be able to go and play the violin when I am stressed, because music would be a source of stress. I wouldn't be able to accompany my friends on the piano or learn pieces to play in sacrament meeting, because I would be so loaded down with other work. So, even though I haven't enjoyed every moment, I'm really happy with where I am with music. I cherish the memories of performing with my family (not so much the memories of practicing.)
And I'll definitely make my future family a musical one.
On Popularity
This is me reflecting back on high school and my views on 'being popular'.
I was never one of the cool kids, one of those that could do no wrong and captured people's attention when they spoke, were invited to every party, and always seemed to be having so much fun. I had really good friends who I loved and felt totally comfortable around, but I always sort of felt envious of those who I felt were more popular than I was. But looking back, I'm really glad I was with the friends I had, instead of those that I wanted.
Cause here's the thing. Being obsessed with popularity is a terrible thing. It makes you see people as objects–either step stools to make yourself more popular, or not even worth your time. So you ignore some and idolize some and resent some because they have what you don't. And I just know that even if I had ended up hanging out with the people I so desperately wanted to, I would never feel like I really fit in. I would always be trying desperately to impress them, to be funny, sassy, entertaining, cool, and someone I'm not. I would never really be able to be myself, the person who spins in circles down the hallway of my high school, who sings broadway songs at the top of my lungs and was never afraid to tell my friends that no, I wouldn't be going to that party, or that I'd rather watch a different movie. When I'm with people I'm not intimidated by, I have so much more fun.
I just wish I could have appreciated that in high school.
I was never one of the cool kids, one of those that could do no wrong and captured people's attention when they spoke, were invited to every party, and always seemed to be having so much fun. I had really good friends who I loved and felt totally comfortable around, but I always sort of felt envious of those who I felt were more popular than I was. But looking back, I'm really glad I was with the friends I had, instead of those that I wanted.
Cause here's the thing. Being obsessed with popularity is a terrible thing. It makes you see people as objects–either step stools to make yourself more popular, or not even worth your time. So you ignore some and idolize some and resent some because they have what you don't. And I just know that even if I had ended up hanging out with the people I so desperately wanted to, I would never feel like I really fit in. I would always be trying desperately to impress them, to be funny, sassy, entertaining, cool, and someone I'm not. I would never really be able to be myself, the person who spins in circles down the hallway of my high school, who sings broadway songs at the top of my lungs and was never afraid to tell my friends that no, I wouldn't be going to that party, or that I'd rather watch a different movie. When I'm with people I'm not intimidated by, I have so much more fun.
I just wish I could have appreciated that in high school.
Thursday, December 3, 2015
Thoughts about Rhetorical Analysis
Note: This was a draft that I half-wrote back when we were writing our rhetorical analyses but didn't publish. Now I've finished it and published it.
I think my enjoyment of this assignment will depend largely on how engaged I am with the speech. This means I'll need to pick a speech that either I love or I hate or I'm very interested in the topic. Or I can find a speech that's easy to write about and just plug through the assignment without actually learning anything new. Obviously that's not my first preference.
The two speeches I'm considering writing about are 'We should all be feminists' by Chimimanda Adiche, which was a TED talk, and Donald Trump's presidential bid announcement speech. Here's why I would pick either one:
'We should all be feminists' is a speech about a topic that I care about–feminism–by a woman from extremely different circumstances than me. Feminism is important to me, but as an American woman in university I am not treated differently than men on a regular basis. However Adiche, an African woman who lives in Nigeria, absolutely is. She is extremely passionate about feminism, and this comes through in her speech, and it would be very interesting and inspiring to analyze.
Donald Trump's speech would be somewhat less inspiring, but still interesting. I can't stand Donald Trump. Listening to the man makes me nauseous. And I have a really hard time understanding why he's popular. I'm sure it has something to do with the way he speaks, so I'm thinking that perhaps clues lie in this speech. Hopefully analyzing his announcement speech would help me solve the mystery.
I think my enjoyment of this assignment will depend largely on how engaged I am with the speech. This means I'll need to pick a speech that either I love or I hate or I'm very interested in the topic. Or I can find a speech that's easy to write about and just plug through the assignment without actually learning anything new. Obviously that's not my first preference.
The two speeches I'm considering writing about are 'We should all be feminists' by Chimimanda Adiche, which was a TED talk, and Donald Trump's presidential bid announcement speech. Here's why I would pick either one:
'We should all be feminists' is a speech about a topic that I care about–feminism–by a woman from extremely different circumstances than me. Feminism is important to me, but as an American woman in university I am not treated differently than men on a regular basis. However Adiche, an African woman who lives in Nigeria, absolutely is. She is extremely passionate about feminism, and this comes through in her speech, and it would be very interesting and inspiring to analyze.
Donald Trump's speech would be somewhat less inspiring, but still interesting. I can't stand Donald Trump. Listening to the man makes me nauseous. And I have a really hard time understanding why he's popular. I'm sure it has something to do with the way he speaks, so I'm thinking that perhaps clues lie in this speech. Hopefully analyzing his announcement speech would help me solve the mystery.
Wednesday, December 2, 2015
BYU tutoring: one of the scariest experiences of my entire life.
About halfway through the semester, I decided to do something that terrified me: I decided to sign up to be a tutor through Yserve for classes that I had taken the AP equivalent of. I wanted to do some sort of service, but at the same time don't have a lot of extra time, so I figured that a couple of hours a week would be doable. I signed up to tutor chemistry, but secretly hoped that no-one would ever sign up for a tutoring session so I could say "At least I tried" and never have to put any effort in. To my dismay, people did want chemistry tutors.
When the first person signed up for a tutoring session, I was terrified. What if I have no clue how to help? What if I tell her the wrong thing? What if I'm intimidated and can't think straight? What if this person is like 6 years older than me and doesn't want to listen to a freshman 17 year-old? I compiled a pretty extensive list of everything that could go wrong. But when we met up, I discovered something: I'm pretty good at tutoring chemistry.
I'm pretty good at not just giving a tutee the answer, but instead giving them clues about how to find it or how to think about the question in a different way. I'm pretty good at explaining important concepts in a way that's easy to understand and using analogies. And strangely enough, something that helps me be a good tutor is the fact that I'm not very good at chemistry! When I learned all the things that I'm now helping other people learn, I had a really hard time understanding the concepts. Now I understand them fine, but I remember exactly why I found them difficult and what eventually helped me grasp them. I think that makes me a better tutor than someone who found a topic so easy that they don't get what's so hard about it.
So anyway, I love tutoring chem now. I've taught three different people (four, as of tomorrow) and received really good feedback from them. Helping someone understand something they didn't before is extremely rewarding, I've found, and a good tutoring session makes my whole day.
When the first person signed up for a tutoring session, I was terrified. What if I have no clue how to help? What if I tell her the wrong thing? What if I'm intimidated and can't think straight? What if this person is like 6 years older than me and doesn't want to listen to a freshman 17 year-old? I compiled a pretty extensive list of everything that could go wrong. But when we met up, I discovered something: I'm pretty good at tutoring chemistry.
I'm pretty good at not just giving a tutee the answer, but instead giving them clues about how to find it or how to think about the question in a different way. I'm pretty good at explaining important concepts in a way that's easy to understand and using analogies. And strangely enough, something that helps me be a good tutor is the fact that I'm not very good at chemistry! When I learned all the things that I'm now helping other people learn, I had a really hard time understanding the concepts. Now I understand them fine, but I remember exactly why I found them difficult and what eventually helped me grasp them. I think that makes me a better tutor than someone who found a topic so easy that they don't get what's so hard about it.
So anyway, I love tutoring chem now. I've taught three different people (four, as of tomorrow) and received really good feedback from them. Helping someone understand something they didn't before is extremely rewarding, I've found, and a good tutoring session makes my whole day.
Reflection on Personal Narrative
I really enjoyed writing my Personal Narrative story, and I think it turned out well.
I liked the challenge of 'showing,' rather than 'telling', and found that it really did make for a much more capturing story. I've had trouble in the past using flowery descriptive language when that was the expectation, because I always felt like it was overdone and cheesy. Besides, 'showing' rather than 'telling' can capture the feeling/atmosphere of a situation so much more effectively than simply saying "there was tension in the air," for example.
I realized just how bad my memory is. The story I wrote about happened this spring–not long ago at all. But still, to remember the details of Samir's story I had to email my dad to get him to help me. And I entirely fudged some details. I wish the story was a little more accurate to what actually happened. Man, I gotta keep a journal.
Not outrightly stating the central message was a challenge, and I overcompensated by making the central message pretty hard to figure out. I'll have to do better at that in the future. But overall I'm pretty proud of my end result!
I liked the challenge of 'showing,' rather than 'telling', and found that it really did make for a much more capturing story. I've had trouble in the past using flowery descriptive language when that was the expectation, because I always felt like it was overdone and cheesy. Besides, 'showing' rather than 'telling' can capture the feeling/atmosphere of a situation so much more effectively than simply saying "there was tension in the air," for example.
I realized just how bad my memory is. The story I wrote about happened this spring–not long ago at all. But still, to remember the details of Samir's story I had to email my dad to get him to help me. And I entirely fudged some details. I wish the story was a little more accurate to what actually happened. Man, I gotta keep a journal.
Not outrightly stating the central message was a challenge, and I overcompensated by making the central message pretty hard to figure out. I'll have to do better at that in the future. But overall I'm pretty proud of my end result!
Monday, November 30, 2015
Discovering Egypt: Personal narrative
Emily Schaumann
Lori Steadman
Writing 150
November 29, 2015
Discovering Egypt
I braced for impact as we hit the landing strip. Out my window was a vast swath of desert and through the window on the other side of the plane I could see sprawling, bustling Cairo, the same color as the endless sand that threatened to bury it. We would only be in Cairo for a short time before heading to Luxor, but I wanted to see the pyramids. As we walked out of the airport, I saw a glimpse of them and ran ahead to get a better view, bumping into passerby. When I finally ran up to where I could get a better view, I realized that what I thought was had been the pyramids was simply the pointed top of a hotel. Disappointed, I headed back towards my family, angrily deflecting a hawker selling street food.
“Don’t worry,” said my mom. “We’ll see the pyramids. But this afternoon we have to head to Luxor.” And so we did, and arrived in Luxor tired, hungry, and already dusty, soon realizing that there was no escaping the dust that pervaded the air.
“Good morning,” I heard behind me. I turned around to see a man step out of the crowd of Arabs, a head taller than the rest, and inadvertently stepped back before realizing his attention was directed toward my father.
“My name is Samir Abbass. I will be your tour guide for the week. And your name is?”
“Erik Schaumann,” my father responded. Samir repeated the name, pronouncing it with surprising ease, and then asked each of our names, repeating them in his Arabic accent.
And off we headed to the Egyptian museum in our clunky van, the only thing that would hold all 8 of my family plus Samir and the driver. Samir pointed out the landmarks and beautiful buildings as we passed them, but I zoned out, staring out the window of the masses of people with dark skin and long robes, upset that my mom wouldn’t let me read my book.
The Egyptian museum was, I had to admit, fascinating. Even Anna, who usually seemed determined to not enjoy anything she was subjected to, soon dropped the moody teenage persona we were used to seeing, and wandered over to the mummies, exclaiming ‘Just think, these were actual people, who lived and breathed and had families and favorite colors and secret crushes and were afraid of death. I wonder what they would have thought of us gawking at their corpses three thousand years after they’d died.’
Samir made up stories about them, based on the hieroglyphics on their coffins. One was a noblewoman, he deciphered, and he spun a tale about her being killed after she chased after her cat into the busy street. One was a young prince, who had only been 7 when he died from a mysterious disease. “See the coins in his coffin?” Samir said. “See his gold-lined sarcophagus? This boy lived in luxury.” Samir sent my youngest siblings on treasure hunts to find specific artifacts around the museum, and described to my parents what the hieroglyphs on the walls meant.
On the way home, I looked up from my book, my attention distracted by the tense atmosphere from the front seat. I saw Samir talking in earnest while my parents listened tersely. What were they talking about? I inched closer to listen.
"I had decided to infiltrate the protesters, so I snuck towards Tarir square, trying to stay out of sight of the police. I was almost there when I saw the flames coming from the direction of the Egyptian museum, and suddenly my plan was forgotten in the face of this new catastrophe; Was the museum on fire? I dashed towards it, feeling the air get hotter with every step, until I was at the museum and, with a breath of relief saw that it was not the museum that was on fire, but the building next to it."
"My relief was short-lived, though, and was replaced with dread as I realized that the museum was in terrible danger - the fire would soon spread, and even if it didn't there were no guards protecting it- anyone could damage it or steal the ancient artifacts. So back out into the rioting streets I went, to search desperately for something that could put out the fire, and recruiting anyone I could find to protect the museum."
As Samir continued, I wondered what he had experienced and why. Did he not fear for his life? Or if not for his own life, the fact that sacrificing his life would mean abandoning his family? It was just a museum, I thought to myself. Containing artifacts, things. Certainly no-one would risk their life to protect objects. But Samir went on with his story, never mentioning concern for his safety, just that of the museums and the relics inside it. There must have been something I was missing.
Later in the afternoon, my dad and I went out to walk around Luxor. We walked past a dusty family of four piled on a puttering moped, two men leading a donkey loaded down with reeds through the streets, one talking animatedly and the other laughing at his friend’s story, and dozens of owners of the hundreds of enormous but empty boats on the river trying to convince us to take a day trip down the Nile. Samir had told us how 5 years ago, before the revolution, Luxor had been a bustling hub of tourists, and every boat that was now perpetually tied to the bank, paint peeling, would have been filled with lights and food and music.
“Excuse me, sir,” said a young Egyptian. “Will you and daughter like to ride in my carriage?” My father politely declined, and continued walking. I followed suit.
“Please, ten Egyptian pound only for one ride around Luxor. The price is not much because no business. See? Luxor is empty. No-one ride my carriage. 1 US Dollar only, please!”
As my dad declined again, a little more firmly, I studied the young man’s face, wondering what his life had been like 5 years ago, in the heyday of Luxor. If his now bony horses had been plump and glossy, if he had lines of tourists waiting for his carriage. Did he participate in the Tahrir square riots? If he had, would he have known what effect they would have on his livelihood? If he had known, would he still have rioted? I wondered at how different his life was from mine as we turned to head back to the hotel.
Central message: Because of Samir and specifically his story I began to see and care about each person as a person instead of simply part of a larger group/culture.
Wednesday, November 18, 2015
Samir's Story
I looked up from my book, my attention distracted by the tense atmosphere from the front seat, and I saw Samir talking in earnest while my parents listened tersely. What were they talking about? I inched closer to listen.
"I had decided to infiltrate the protesters, so I snuck towards Tarir square, trying to stay out of sight of the police. I was almost there when I saw the flames coming from the direction of the Egyptian museum, and suddenly my plan was forgotten in the face of this new catastrophe; Was the museum on fire? I dashed towards it, feeling the air get hotter with every step, until I was at the museum and, with a breath of relief saw that it was not the museum that was on fire, but the building next to it."
"My relief was short-lived, though, and was replaced with dread as I realized that the museum was in terrible danger - the fire would soon spread, and even if it didn't there were no guards protecting it- anyone could damage it or steal the ancient artifacts. So back out into the rioting streets I went, to search desperately for something that could put out the fire, and recruiting anyone I could find to protect the museum."
As Samir continued, I looked closely at his face, wondering what this man had experienced and why. Did he not fear for his life? Or if not for his own life, the fact that sacrificing his life would mean abandoning his family? It was just a museum, I thought to myself. Containing artifacts, things. Certainly no-one would risk their life to protect objects. But Samir went on, never mentioning concern for his safety, just that of the museums and the relics inside it. There must have been something I was missing.
Wednesday, November 11, 2015
Personal Narrative
Ideas I could write about:
The one time I've been bullied that I'll never forget
Hurricane Katrina
Moving to Brunei
Holland
Some adventure that happened on vacation
Breaking up with my first boyfriend
Peru
Leaving home/coming to college
How can I decide??
The one time I've been bullied that I'll never forget
Hurricane Katrina
Moving to Brunei
Holland
Some adventure that happened on vacation
Breaking up with my first boyfriend
Peru
Leaving home/coming to college
How can I decide??
Wednesday, October 14, 2015
Research Paper
There are a whole lot of things I could research, so I'm having somewhat of a hard time figuring out what topic to choose. Most of the topics I've thought of have much to do with my childhood. Until I was about 10, I was homeschooled, along with my school-aged siblings. Then we became expatriates, first in Brunei (a tiny country in South East Asia), and then in Holland. Throughout my childhood, my family has always been very musical; we have practiced together, performed together, and generally bonded over music. So some of the topics I'm thinking of are:
-How music affects family bonds, or how music affects the development of children
-The effectiveness and lifelong effects of being homeschooled
-Lifelong effects of living outside one's home country
All of these would be extremely interesting to look into. Researching music and development would be very useful for me as a private music teacher. I will research homeschooling extensively at some point, because I would like to homeschool my children. It would be fascinating to find out how similar my experiences have been with other expats, and to gain perspective on how much of who I am is because of having lived abroad.
But I could take a historical perspective. I have ancestors who were in the first settlements at Plymouth, and an epic poem, the Courtship of Miles Standish by Hendry Wadsworth Longfellow, was written about two of my ancestors. That could be a great jumping-off point for a historical paper on life in Plymouth, or romance in the 1600s.
This is going to be a tough decision.
UPDATE:
For now, I'm going with the historical option. I've done some research into the story of John And Priscilla Alden (my ancestors who lived in Plymouth and feature in Longfellow's poem), and they had an extremely interesting story, at least according to the poem.
I could possibly discuss how accurate the poem is in retelling the actual story, or I could research romance in the 1600s, and how important it was. I think the second one sounds a bit more interesting.
UPDATE:
For now, I'm going with the historical option. I've done some research into the story of John And Priscilla Alden (my ancestors who lived in Plymouth and feature in Longfellow's poem), and they had an extremely interesting story, at least according to the poem.
I could possibly discuss how accurate the poem is in retelling the actual story, or I could research romance in the 1600s, and how important it was. I think the second one sounds a bit more interesting.
Wednesday, October 7, 2015
General Conference: Why the church?
In recent years I have had many conversation with friends who are spiritual or even Christian, but don't agree with any religious institutions, or don't think that they should even exist. Often they prefer instead to come to their own conclusions about religion and develop a relationship with God on their own terms, instead of (how some see it) their spirituality being dictated by a religious institution. So I was excited to realize that Elder Christofferson was presenting his ideas on the subject.
Elder Christofferson begins by giving some history to the church and explaining how the priesthood has been bestowed on individuals through family structures and then later through religious hierarchies. And indeed, it's hard to see why a Christian who acknowledges the need for priesthood (and the Bible makes it clear that priesthood is essential) would dispute the need for organized religion. Indeed, it's hard to see why any Christian would dispute the need for a church, when Christ Himself went to great lengths to organize one when He was on the earth.
Another excellent pint that Elder Christofferson brings up is the availability of a support network that a church can provide, as well as motivation and reminder to remain spiritual. It's very easy to fall away from striving for perfection without reminders or close friends doing the same. However within the church, if we stop showing up to sacrament meeting, someone will notice and reach out to us. That being said, it's all too easy to simply go through the motions, having all the appearance of a spiritual church member but not really feeling it.
A point he brought that I think is extremely apt is the fact that the gospel is what we must become converted to, net simply the Church. It's tempting to judge a person's testimony or devotion to the gospel based on how well it appears to us that they keep their commitments or magnify their callings or complete their home teaching, when really what is important is a person's personal testimony.
Elder Christofferson begins by giving some history to the church and explaining how the priesthood has been bestowed on individuals through family structures and then later through religious hierarchies. And indeed, it's hard to see why a Christian who acknowledges the need for priesthood (and the Bible makes it clear that priesthood is essential) would dispute the need for organized religion. Indeed, it's hard to see why any Christian would dispute the need for a church, when Christ Himself went to great lengths to organize one when He was on the earth.
Another excellent pint that Elder Christofferson brings up is the availability of a support network that a church can provide, as well as motivation and reminder to remain spiritual. It's very easy to fall away from striving for perfection without reminders or close friends doing the same. However within the church, if we stop showing up to sacrament meeting, someone will notice and reach out to us. That being said, it's all too easy to simply go through the motions, having all the appearance of a spiritual church member but not really feeling it.
A point he brought that I think is extremely apt is the fact that the gospel is what we must become converted to, net simply the Church. It's tempting to judge a person's testimony or devotion to the gospel based on how well it appears to us that they keep their commitments or magnify their callings or complete their home teaching, when really what is important is a person's personal testimony.
Wednesday, September 16, 2015
What I've learned from Mindful Writing
I've only ever been 'mindful' about my writing in English class, when writing stories, when writing papers, etc. In English class, I think about ethos, pathos, logos, audience, tone, etc. But outside class I never gave these things much conscious thought. I would write emails, messages, chemistry homework, journal entries, letters, cards, social media posts etc. all the time, not thinking much about how I was writing them or how to improve. But Mindful Writing made me realize that these basic elements of writing are applicable and necessary to all forms of writing. Even if it is simply a shopping list, the audience matters; a shopping list will look very different if it is intended for someone else to use, as opposed to just me. So I guess I was considering these elements of writing, or at least some of them, but not 'mindfully,' not consciously. Mindfully writing everything, not only English assignments, will improve how I write every day.
Wednesday, September 9, 2015
To Sweep the Earth with Things as They Really Are: a response to Elder Bednar's talks
The tone in the two talks contrasted greatly, as if Bednar’s first reaction to technology was negative, and then after considering its potential, he realized that perhaps he shouldn’t scare people away quite so firmly. Things As They Really Are raises an apostolic warning against technology, while To Sweep The Earth as with a Flood encourages Latter Day Saints to embrace it.
What stuck out to me the most in Things as They Really Are was the accuracy of some of Elder Bednar’s assessments and predictions, especially regarding the danger of investing too much time and especially emotion in video games and the like. He never explicitly states addiction, but he does mention ‘the addicting effect’ of video games. Although Internet and video game addiction wasn’t a mainstream idea or worry in 2009, when Elder Bednar gave this address, the problem and awareness of it has increased exponentially since then. Many studies have been are being carried out regarding internet and video game addiction, and they show that indeed, internet addiction is legitimate, showing many of the same symptoms and withdrawal effects of drugs.
Another accurate warning that Elder Bednar warned against is the danger of anonymity. Elder Bednar’s warning to ‘remember, however, that apostasy is not anonymous simply because it occurs in a blog or through a fabricated identity,’ applies even more today than it did when he gave it. Today, there is a culture among some internet users of ‘trolling,’ which to a large extent, consists of extreme cyberbullying, made possible by the disguise of anonymity. This type of cyberbullying has had disastrous consequences, including encouraging people to commit suicide, causing people to be afraid of speaking against social injustice, encouraging other internet users to cyberbully, and more. Elder Bednar’s warning has never been more true.
After the grave warning of the first talk, Bednar’s follow-up talk takes a much more optimistic tone. Whereas ‘Things as They Really Are’ warns of the negative implications of the modern world, ‘To Sweep the Earth with a Flood’ celebrates the possibilities. Elder Bednar starts off by outlining spiritual achievements, saying that “a whole and complete and perfect union, and welding together of dispensations, and keys, and powers, and glories should take place”. He then quotes Brigham Young, saying “Every discovery in science and art, that is really true and useful to mankind has been given by direct revelation from God,” suggesting that the development of technology was guided by God, then encouraging Church members to use technology and social media to spread the gospel online.
Taken together, the talks warn against using technology incorrectly, and instead gives us a better outlet than video games and constructing false identities: ‘becoming Facebook friends with the missionaries in your area on your own computers and sharing their gospel messages online.’
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