Friday, 5 September 2014

A Second Too Late (Poem)

Note: Heyyyy guyss :) I apologize greatly for not updating for a long time! I have been really busy with exams and assignments! Anyways, as you already know, we are doing Australian poetry for English this term. Below is a poem i recently wrote for my English assignment. It's based on the character from the story 'The Drover's Wife' by Henry Lawson. A brief info of her character is: a mother, strong, independent, hard working, loves her children very much and lives in the isolated outback of Australia. She's poor and lives alone with her kids while her husband (a drover) is away droving (driving animals, especially cattle or sheep, over long distances). Lastly, the scene of this poem is not part of the real short story. Enjoy!! :D

A Second Too Late 

She sat at the entrance,
Of her rundown shack,
Listening and waiting,
For her husband to come back.

She sighed and stood up,
Knowing that he won’t,
And realised that for another day,
She would be alone.

She dusted the lingering sadness,
Clean from her pale face,
And once again put up a barrier,
To endure the rest of the day.

Her name was rung in the dusty air,
And she turned to see a toothless grin,
There stood her dear son Tommy,
With mud covering his skin.

“Mama there’s a snake!”
He exclaimed with a smile,
Then dashed around the small shack,
Without waiting for a while.

She panicked for Tommy’s safety,
As she pledged to keep him safe,
Running her fastest to catch up to him,
Only to arrive a second too late.

She scooped him up in her arms,
And ran for dear life,
Hoping to find someone, anyone,
To help a drover’s wife.

She collapsed on the dirt ground,
After running for several miles,
Tears flowing for the first time in years,
As she held her dying child.

She weakly stood up a second time,
Trying her hardest to be composed,
Only to crumble and weep some more,
As she realised Tommy’s eyes were closed.

Friday, 1 August 2014

The Darkness is Me (Poem)

Note: Heyyy guysss~ :) It's been awhile and as you can see, this is the second poem I wrote and posted :) I don't know but i just feel like I'm in the mood for poetry since this term, for English, we are doing Poetry :) This poem is about being consumed by the darkness  that is hiding deep within all our minds. Basically it's kind of like losing your sanity and feeling as if you're not you anymore...Anyways, you'll see it in the poem! Enjoy! :))

The Darkness is Me

I'm surrounded by darkness,
I wonder why,
I cannot see anything,
Am i blind?

I feel like I'm being consumed,
From the head to the ground,
Somebody please help me,
I feel like I'm being drowned.

Is this a nightmare?
I can't open my eyes,
I'm scared, I'm crying,
Am I going to die?

I hear voices from a distance,
It must be mom and dad,
But they are crying loudly,
Have I been bad?

I hear another voice, 
That sounds just like me,
Who is that person,
Controlling my body?

I can't scream,
I can't shout,
I cry for anyone,
To let me out.

Someone please help me,
I can't control my hands,
I'm going to hurt the people I love,
I don't understand.

I'm confused and scared,
My body won't listen,
My parents aren't moving,
And I feel so shaken.

My vision clears and there's blood,
But I finally feel free,
Not knowing that the darkness,
Was actually me. 

Monday, 28 July 2014

Another Hand (Scary Monsters Poem)

Another Hand

They hide in your closet
They hide behind your door
You know they are close
When you hear tapping on the floor.

You hear voices from the darkness
Whispering for you to come
You shut your eyes and ears
Hearing your heart beat thrum.

There are shadows on your walls
That disappear when you turn
They run around to taunt you
But they're closeness become a concern.

There's scraping on the wooden floor
But fear is holding back curiosity
So you lie as still as possible
Hoping it will disappear quickly.

You hear loud breathing in the silence
But it isn't yours
Then you hear constant clicking
Of the closing and opening of doors

All of a sudden the noise comes to a stop
And the silence suffocates you
But you dare not make a sound
Silently wishing this nightmare isn't true.

Then something is heard
And your ears perk up to the sound
Listening closely and carefully 
For the noise to be found.

You're scared to look 
When you suddenly hear your door open
Slowly creaking and squeaking
As your whole body is frozen.

You quickly reach over for your lamp
Before they get to you
But as your hand lands on the switch
You feel another hand there too.

Friday, 18 July 2014

To Kill a Mockingbird - The Trial (written in 10th grade)

Atticus Finch

Atticus Finch (left) and Mayella Ewell (on the chair)

Note: Hey guys, this is a journal I wrote at school a couple of months ago. It's based off from the story and characters of To Kill A Mockingbird but the journal i have written is not part of the real story, but is my own. This is written in the point-of-view of Mayella Ewell :) For those who haven't read the book or seen the movie, she is a female character in the story. So far, all you need to know is that Mayella has framed a black man named Tom Robinson for sexually harassing her when in fact, it was the other way. Mayella was forced to lie by her father, Bob Ewell, who blackmails her into lying by physical abuse. Both suspects are being questioned by Atticus Finch, a lawyer, at a court for Tom Robinson's trial.

P.S This story is set back in the day when the whites did not accept the black community and they're always separated. So in other words, it was segregated. So a white person and black person being intimate was, although not a crime, but was considered shameful in the white society. For this reason, to avoid embarrassment, Mayella accuses Tom.

To Kill A Mockingbird - The Trial

Mayella's P.O.V
I don't know how long I've been staring at my hands, but I still couldn't believe today was the day; it was Tom Robinson's trial. I snapped my head towards the front of the court room as I hear my name being called. With hesitant and shaky steps, I walked towards the man holding the Bible. Placing my hand on the Bible, the man recites the oath in a fast pace while looking me in the eye. I nodded weakly in reply. I walked towards the chair in the front and as soon as i seated myself, the nerves kicked in with unimaginable force. I lightly touched my bruised eye only to stop when Mr. Finch cleared his throat as he stood up from his seat. The nerves consumed me faster this time and I was forced to look anywhere but him. When the questioning began, I felt hundreds of eyes observe my every move and body language. It felt as if their eyes could pierce through my soul and finally discover the ugly truth. I was bombarded with questions, after questions, after questions. Each one tearing out bits and pieces off of my sanity and self-control. 

Pools of tears threatened to escape from my eyes but i held them back with as much strength i could muster. I clasped my hands together to stop the shaking. Lies, after lies, after lies, poured out of my mouth and all I could feel was guilt; for committing the shameful sin of kissing a black man. Mr. Finch stood in front of me and I had realized that he was waiting patiently for me to answer one of his questions. As soon as i looked up for the first time, regret devoured me and finally, I couldn't take it any longer; i broke down into loud sobs with tears pooling down my face, right where i sat; in front of hundreds of eyes.

After the Trial

I stepped out of the court room with a relieved sigh but not relieved enough for the remaining negativity to disappear. Tom Robinson has been sentenced guilty, but why do i feel disappointed? I opposed his party after all. I noticed someone step out from the door only to realize that it was Mr. Finch. My breath hitched in my throat, expecting him to make a fool out of me for lying. Only, that never happened. "Good day, Miss Ewell. Take care on your may home now." He said politely, tipping his hat then walking away. 'Home', I thought. Home was waiting for me, but the thing is, I didn't want to go home. I have failed in keeping my emotions under control during the trial and something as simple as that, i failed miserably. Now, i had to suffer the wrath of my so-called father. Fear took over, and a hundred things of what revolting things he might do to punish me, formed in my head. Another man came out of the door and speak of the devil, it was the man himself; my father.

He looked down at me with such deadly and cold eyes that i was surprised daggers didn't shoot out from them. He raised his hand and a loud 'SMACK!' resounded in the air. My father had just slapped me, hard. I let out a cry of pain and noticed a few people, who had caught the shocking scene, stare with horror. My father dragged me back to the house by my hair, away from the spectators, and threw me in before slamming the door behind him. I cried loudly for the hundredth time today only to get a harder beating from my father. "You sad excuse of a daughter! You're an embarrassment to the family!" My father kept spitting curses at me and more were spat out after that. I got up swiftly and darted to my bedroom, slamming the door behind me. My legs gave out from under me and i slid down the door. More tears escaped as i blocked out the noise of my father pounding on my door.

While waiting for the banging to stop, i fell asleep in the process. When i opened my eyes again, it was dark outside. I rubbed my tired and puffy eyes and stood up, the weakness still lingering in my legs. Then, i heard a sound. Someone was banging on a door. No, not my door; the front door. I proceeded to cautiously walk out of my room only to find my father wasn't in the house anymore. Relief flooded me as i went to answer the door. It was the sheriff. "Miss Ewell! Your father. . .!" The sheriff panted loudly, "He. . .your father. . .HE'S DEAD!" I froze instantly after the news. Dead? Impossible! Loneliness consumed me. I'm alone. My father is dead. Without hearing the complete story from the Sheriff, i slammed the door in his face and locked it. I collapsed onto the floor. My. . .father is dead. Why. . .? How. . .? "Because of you..." the voice in my head whispered. My father is dead because of me. I hugged my knees and rocked back and forth; the voice getting louder by the second. The sanity i had left, now fading away.

"Fool. Shameful. Disgraceful. Disgusting." They kept on chanting, "Murderer...murderer..." Yes, i was a fool. I was a fool for kissing a black man. I was a disgrace for doing such a crime. Disgusting is what defines me. Moreover, shame is what's now consuming me whole. Shame on you, Mayella, shame on you. You're a fool and now. . .you're also a murderer. 

I laid there on the ground as crimson covered the floor, patiently waiting for the darkness to swallow me completely. And when it did, I welcomed it with open arms.

Thursday, 17 July 2014

The Personal Journal of Nicholas King (written in year 9)

The Personal Journal of Nicholas King

My Ruined Past...

21st October 1766 was the day i was born; the day i first set foot into this world. It was the day i first opened my eyes to see my mother grinning happily down at me; tears filling her eyes. I slowly grew up happily; not knowing the real dangers that lurk in the shadows of Britain. I grew up in a small town called Colchester, in good old Britain. I was a good boy. I always listened to what my parents had to say and always did as I was told. I was a guiltless and ingenuous child, who came from an affluent family of three. That all changed the night my mother was ruthlessly murdered right before my eyes.

No, my mother was not murdered by just anyone in particular; she was murdered by my own wretched FATHER! I would have never thought my father to be that sort of man. I always knew there was something different about him every night he came home from his stressful job. My father would always come home drunk to the limits very late at night every night. And in the morning. i would find a bruise under my mother's eye and a bloody lip. Every time I asked her about it, she would always respond with a kind smile and a pat on my head, telling me she's okay. Knowing the honest woman she was, i believed her. Not knowing that behind those twinkling dark brown orbs were emotions filled with fear and concern.

That night I was awoken from my slumber because of a terrible nightmare I had. Being the child I am, i couldn't fall back asleep without the presence of my mother with me. I crept down the small hallway, hoping not to make any loud noises, towards my parent's bedroom. To my disappointment, no one was there. 'Weird' I thought, 'I wonder where they could be?' 
I was instantly snapped out of my train of thoughts from a loud sound of shattering glass and a scream. "Mother?" I called out. I quickly ran to the kitchen only to find my drunken father with a bloody, shattered wine bottle and. . .a corpse; my dead mother's corpse. My whole world was shattered. As if snapped out of a trance, my father looked at me with crazed eyes and looked back at the corpse, realizing what he had done; he had killed his own lover in front of his own dear son. He came towards me. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?" he screamed. My body shook and my legs were frozen. When I could move again, I didn't hesitate, I RAN. I ran as fast and as far as I could, knowing that behind me was a madman of a murderer. And that murderer was my revolting FATHER, who killed my one and only mother. I was scarred for life.

9 Years Later - 13th May 1787

I grew up, I'm now a full grown man. I am no longer that weak little boy 9 years ago. I am a strong man with handsome features. But i was not just any man, I was a criminal. I stole food and money from people, I break into houses and I get chased by the police. It is what I have been for the past few years. I decided that I can no longer line on the streets of Britain and stay as a beggar. I had to make a move. So my choice was to become a thief. I've had a hard time trying to find paper and something to write with. And once I did, I started writing this. It's been years after my mother died. I never saw my father either since that night I ran away. And I don't plan on seeing him. I stood behind a barrel. hiding from the eyes of spectators, with my old friend Christopher. We've been working together for 4 years and stole food and money together. We hid and waited for the sheriff and his men to arrive. We needed their horses for our journey and the horses other men had were either sick or too old. The police always had the best horses. So we decided to take those no matter the risks.

When we were finally about to give up on waiting, we heard the clops of a few horses and the voices of about 3 to 4 men. 'Finally!" I thought. Once they stepped into the bar, we were going to make a run for it and take the horses in quick and fast movements. On the count of 3; 1. . .The men get off the horse; 2. . .They are walking towards the bar, nearing the door; 3! We jumped from our hiding positions and sprinted to the horses just as the police men stepped into the bar. We jumped on one each and made a run for it; hearing the faint shouts of men behind us. "We did it!" Christopher laughed. I smiled triumphantly. When we thought we were far enough, we stopped at a river stream and hopped off our saddles. We took a long drink before filling our bottles and having a small snack; feeding our new horses too. We were interrupted by the sound of rustling leaves. We froze.

We turned around quickly to hear the loud bang of a gun fire. "CHRISTOPHER!" I exclaimed. Thump; Christopher's body fell limp to the ground. With trembling hands, i hopelessly tried to stop the blood. "Don't. . .don't die on me, Christ." My voice trembled with every word. With no strength left to speak, Christopher just smiled at me; blood dripping from the corners of his mouth. "Grab that young man." One of the men ordered. Before i could protest, i was pulled back by two pairs of arms and both of my hands were immediately chained. Not a step, two rifles were aimed towards me. "Don't move." One of them commanded."We've got one of them. Let's move on." The Sheriff instructed. "Sir, what about the blonde fellow we shot?" a soldier asked.
"Leave him. There isn't much time left for him now." He said without remorse. All i knew next was that i was being pulled away by my chains along with the policemen; slowly getting dragged away from my dying fellow. Every step that i took, every jingle my chains made, i could see my dear friend in the distance slowly closing his eyes. . .forever.

20th May 1787

I was awoken from my slumber by a banging on my cell door. "Lunch time!" a hairy man, preferably the cook, shouted. A plate, of what i assumed was food, was pushed under my dirty cell door and stopped in front of me. I took one look at my plate of food and thought, 'The cook either didn't know how to cook or he did not cook at all'. I had to eat to survive, so i didn't care what he put on the plate anymore. When i felt as if i had enough, I pushed my plate aside and rendered it for the man in the cell alongside my own. "Thank you, my lad!" he whispered in appreciation; gobbling up the remaining food. I forced a fake smile. 'This was going to be a long journey' I thought, 'Hopefully not too long.' the cells were utterly disgusting and highly unhygienic. Every day there was a foul smell coming from every cell on this miserable ship.

It's been at least a week ago that we left Potsmouth. Since then, i haven't has a single all-nighter, for the sea won't give us a break. They should at least clean the cells every once in a while. The ship's so filthy it created diseases. Moth of the men and children have already perished in just a matter of days. I leaned against the wall. my chains clinking together, and wiped the sweat beans off my forehead. It was always so hot and humid in here that anyone could pass out from dehydration. There was barely any space for all of us. The ship seemed big, but the deck surely isn't big enough. I scratched through my dark hair; feeling the familiar parasites crawling on my scalp. I scanned the decks; looking over the many rats that occupied the decks with us. Suddenly, an extremely foul smell hit my nose. I looked to my right to see the body who was once a man, but now a rotting corpse. I couldn't take it any further; i disgorged.

2nd June 1787

This is the 5th time I've been let out of my cell and onto the deck of the ship. I breathed in  deeply the slightly smoky air and slowly let it out. I dusted off the filth off my old clothes; failing miserably. But I didn't care; not anymore. My feelings have died long ago; after the second person i cared most died in front of my eyes. All of the prisoners were let out to take a breather or to expel feces from their bodies. I apologize for my rudeness, but yes, I am one of those people. We were almost nearing our destination as I scanned the scene around me to find the land that the soldiers name Santa Cruz, Tenerife.

3rd June 1787

We have arrived at our destination. All of us were chained by our hands and feet; each one of us standing behind the other. If i'm not wrong, there were about 85 constables and 20 commanders on our ship, about 150 male convicts and 15 children convicts. One by one, a man in a neat and clean uniform came up to each convict, handing a small bowl of water and food. It was finally my turn. The man shoved the food and water into my hands, spilling most of it onto the ground. "Hurry up and eat up!" he spat at me. When he turned away from me, I quickly wiped my face with my dirty sleeve and devoured my food. This was what I had to experience every day. Most of the soldiers hated us; it was obvious. Every now and then, I would peak through a pole in the wall to see men carrying dead corpses and those dead corpses were casted off the ship and into the sea. I missed being the little boy I used to be before my mother died. I missed my mother; I missed her embrace.

5th July 1787 

The great heat suffocates us all. The storm we go through most of the nights beat upon us like ice and stone. Sleeping in a wet blanket and aching muscles isn't one of the best feelings any man has felt. The fleas were getting to me and it's getting harder and harder for me to write this journal without it getting ripped to shreds or confiscated. I wanted this precious journal to be safe, until the day I die. I wanted the person to read this; I wanted the person to see what I've been through my whole life. No, I don't want pity; I want to be known. I want to be known for the boy who ran away at the age of 10 and was alone for almost 10 years. And now, I've been caught for my sins and living on this filthy, good-for-nothing ship. Every now and then we were told to clean our cells and mop the decks. I wasn't used to this. I'm growing weaker and weaker by the day because of the lack of food I received everyday.
I felt sick to the pit of my stomach every time a man or child perished due to the filthiness of the ship. There probably won't be anymore convicts left by the time we arrive to our final destination.

15th September 1787

"Wake up! Wake up!" a soldier demanded. All of the men groaned from the lack of sleep. It was like this every morning. We were told to expel our wastes, drink water and eat some snacks as soon as the sun rose. "Land Ahoy!" the captain hollered. The captain's voice alerted us all and the crewmen ceased their tasks and ran towards the ships railings. To their utter surprise, they were welcomes by the Viceroy of Brazil, Rio De Janeiro. We all alighted the ship in our cuffs and chains. We were allowed to explore the foreign land on the condition we would bring back some rations and usable resources.
Night came very fast indeed, and soon, we were back on the sea.

20th November 1787

Table Mountains neared us as we came closer to our next destination, Cape Town. We were told to, once again, alight the ship to help with particular tasks. "You will all help with the restocking of animals!" the commander instructed. "Yes, sir!" we all responded in unison. We did as we were told; or we would be severely punished by the captain's men. By the end of the day, the Sirius (our ship), was completely filled with different varieties of animals. Sleep was hard to find; as the sounds of the animals filled my ear, reminding me of the farm I lived on when I was just a boy.

1st January 1788

We have arrived on the lands of Van Dieman's Land. The weather was scorching hot and the land was quite dry. It seemed as if there was no or little population. The commander informed us that we would start labor first thing tomorrow morning. The following day came in a flash, as the ship has suffered much upon arriving here. I watched as a few men were shipped for slacking off and being lazy; like they were told not to be. "Get back to work!" a man with a whip spat. "Yes, sir" We all responded monotonously. For weeks, we worked until the ship looked good as new; ready to sail the seas once again.

26th January 1788

"Sir, we have arrived! We have arrived at our last destination!" a crewman hollered. I awoke with aching muscles and groaned; rubbing my tired, bloodshot eyes. We were given a quick meal and bathroom break before we were all aligned in a straight line; cuffed and chained from head to toe. 'So this must be where i shall stay for the rest of my life?' I asked mentally. We stepped off the monstrous ship and onto the grassy land of Botany Bay. I looked up into the clear sky and let out a huge breath of air. This must be it; I finally feel at peace.

4th June 1788

I wiped the sweat beans that escapes from my skin as I laid down the last brick for the afternoon. Every since we all arrived here, we were put to work the next day; working for the constables to build a new colony for them. I promised myself I would never involve myself in any crime again.

26th August 1789

I am very proud to say that I am now a very successful man indeed. I'm currently employed in a carpentry association. Due to the hard labor I had experienced over the last few years, I have learned a lot. I thought I was going to finally give up on my freedom when one day, I was finally set free on the condition that i never be involved in any crimes ever again. When i was released, i worked hard and with determination every single day to transform myself into a completely different man. And I did. To be honest, I never thought life could be this satisfying after what happened in the past. I am now forever in gratitude for the first fleet. It has transformed me into the strong man I am today. 

My dear mother and Christopher, I hope you are proud of me.

Note: Heyyy guys :) sorry i haven't been updating in a while :( A lot of school related stuff. . . Anyways, i hope you enjoyed this journal i wrote when i was in grade 9 :) The character 'Nicholas King' is made up but the story is related to the convicts in Britain on the First Fleet to Botany Bay :) 
Anyways, I'll try to update as soon as possible! Bye! xx 


Wednesday, 11 June 2014

Abortion Speech (written in 10th grade)

Abortion (Silent Killing)
What if I told you that, at this very moment, someone was deciding whether you would live or die? What if I told you that not for a single second, were you given the right to determine your own future or even given the choice to live? And what if I told you, you were powerless to change anything? My fellow classmates and Teacher, I stand before you today, to inform you that thousands of children all around the world are right now in that very situation. Someone is choosing, without even knowing them, whether they are going to live or die. That someone is their beloved mother. And that choice…is ABORTION. Every single day, the lives of a hundred and fifty thousand children are destroyed through abortion. This means that five thousand precious lives are lost every hour. All those treasured souls…gone. All those dreams and wishes…gone. And all that hope in the future…gone; in just the click of a finger.

Abortion is one of the most controversial issues that exist today in our society. Did you know that there are about 3,700 abortions a day in the US and about 190,000 abortions take place in England and Wales every year? Did you know that this year there has been a total of over 18 million abortions worldwide? Shocking, isn’t it? Some people may think, “Oh, it’s not really killing. After all, a foetus isn’t human…right?” That is in fact, incorrect. Just because a foetus does not have the ability to talk or do the things we do, does not mean it isn’t considered human. The word “foetus” comes from the Latin, word meaning “young one” or “young child”.  So why do people still insist in believing a “foetus” is not a human, or a living thing? It was scientifically proven that children while in the uterus, start perceiving things at an early stage. On the sixth week, their heart starts beating, and their brain begins to function. No matter how a child looks like in a womb, no matter how undeveloped its consciousness and nervous system is, a child is a child and to us, a child is a human being.  

I know some people may say that the mother has the right to abort her child. After all, her life is dramatically impacted by having a baby. But I'm asking you to think about the child’s rights that were never considered. No matter what rights the mother has, it doesn't mean we can deny the rights of the foetus? After all, it was the mother’s choice to do things that resulted in her pregnancy. However, we must remember that with our rights and our choices, come responsibilities, and we can’t take someone else' rights away to avoid it.

Most women think that abortion is the easiest way out. But is it really? Abortion does not progress without affecting the women’s health. Most people don’t know that although the child is the one being affected most, going through something as painful and difficult as abortion, can also effect the mother negatively. According to recent research, abortions cause a significant risk of ectopic pregnancy; this is the process in which the foetus develops outside the mother’s womb. This type of pregnancy is life-threatening for the mother. Abortion can also cause other diseases such as infertility (the inability to produce an offspring) and can, in addition, develop a greater risk of breast cancer. Statistics show that the risk of ectopic pregnancy can increase by 30% after a single abortion and will greatly increase to 160% after two or more.

But perhaps the worst effects aren’t the physical damages, but the emotional ones. Although an abortion may seem to be an option for underage mothers, or victims of rape, killing the baby does not free a woman. Did you know that women who’ve had an abortion tend to have more mood disorders that are substantial enough to provoke them to harm themselves? Study shows that within the first weeks after abortion, 40- 60% of women were reported showing negative reactions such as guilt, nervous disorders, sleeping disturbances and regret. In addition, women who’ve had an abortion are five times more likely to have problems with drug and alcohol abuse. Abortion leaves a woman feeling lost and uncertain about their future. Research shows that almost one-third of all women who had an abortion are dissatisfied with their decision. So, is abortion really the “cure” every woman is looking for?

I have read a story on a website called Silent No More Awareness. This story is about a woman named Sharon Osbourne who, like many other millions of women around the world, has undergone the agonizing and strenuous process of abortion. The following is what she has quoted about her experience:

“I had an abortion at 17 and it was the worst thing I ever did. I would never recommend it to anyone because it comes back to haunt you. When I tried to have children, I lost three - I think it was because something had happened to my cervix during the abortion.”
Sharon’s story is just one of the many heart-wrenching stories that needs to be heard, because most stories like these, aren’t heard at all.

My fellow classmates and teacher, I conclude this speech by saying that, as a former foetus, I strongly oppose the act of abortion. As I stated before, abortion is just another form of murder; a crime that is thought to be wrong in so many ways but are still performed by millions of women around the world each year. Abortion does not only affect the child’s life heavily, but also affects the mother’s health physically and emotionally. So to answer my previous question, no, abortion is definitely not a cure.

I know that for some of you, as soon as you walk out that door or as soon as this speech is over, everything I have just said will either be forgotten or it won’t matter anymore. After all, we are just a bunch of 14 and 15 years-olds right? All we mostly care about now is school, homework, Facebook, music, celebrities and fashion. However, if you all walk away with anything after this speech, walk away with the words of Horton. You know him. The elephant who risked his life for a tiny little speck in the movie Horton Hears a Who? Remember him and his famous words:

“Even though you can’t see them or hear them at all, a person’s a person…no matter how small.”