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Claudia¡¯s Web of Wonder
My name is Claudia Jo and I am in 9th grade. As a teenage girl, I have lots of wonders and stories to share. I discover something new about the world almost every day and at the same time reveal little bits of myself in every second between my discoveries. I believe that everyone is equal no matter who they are and where they are in life and for that reason, I support things that build up peace and equality. I meet other great people who believe in the same act so together, we can make a change. By spreading my words and sharing my voice, I hope revealing myself will allow me to discover something else about this world.

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Forever

±Û¾´ÀÌ : Claudia Jo ³¯Â¥ : 2017-04-17 (¿ù) 15:22:09


Title Dream - Copy.jpg

 

¡°I¡¯m too old,¡± she says as she cries in pain. She is lying on the couch in the living room and I am massaging her legs as well as her feet. ¡°I want to live at least until you give birth to your first baby, but I don¡¯t know - I¡¯m just too old.¡±

 

Is she? Is she really that old? Is the 40-something year old mother of mine really old?

 

¡°Mom! You need to stop saying that! If you call yourself old in your mid-40¡¯s, what are you going to say when you turn grandmother¡¯s age?¡± She looks at me funny, but I¡¯m being serious she calls herself old more than my grandmother says it, which just doesn¡¯t make any sense.

 

¡°Well, by then I guess I¡¯ll just be worried that I¡¯ll soon¡¯¡¯

 

¡°No! Why do you make yourself ill?¡± I am exasperated - why is she like this? ¡°You sound like you have cancer or something don¡¯t think you¡¯re near death just because you have some aches and pains. .¡± She is about to say something but I feel as if I can¡¯t breathe and I walk away from herI can¡¯t deal with her anymore.

 

My bedroom window is open and the cool air soothes me. I sitnot on on a chairbut on the floor to flush my mind. There, I stare at the picture my mom took with her very old-fashioned digital camera.

 

It hangs on my wall right above my bed: my mother took it about seven years ago and in it, she has captured a moment of my best friend and me, on the floor, laughing with delirium. The picture was taken in our old houseI remember because of the gray carpet. It was right in front of our door and as my friend was about to leave, she gave me a big hug and tackled me on to the floor. We both laughed like crazy, while my mom decided to preserve the memory with a single picture.

 

I lie back on the floor and close my eyes.

 

I love having friends to my house or going over to somebody else¡¯s house because as an only child of Korean born parents, I feel isolated most of the time. I feel alone now. My mother would freak out whenever I went to my best friend¡¯s house because she was the owner of three cats, and my mother has a strong mysterious aversion to cats. I smile, remembering that sometimes her dramatic reaction to things can make me me laugh. If only I had taken secret pictures of all her reactions and made them into a collection so that I could look at them whenever I¡¯m having negative feelings towards her.

 

When I was small, I was in-love with my mother and while being an only child was not the easiest thing, it definitely had its moments. I loved my family -- my parents were more than just parents to me -- sometimes making the isolation inside me go away. My dad would always play with me, read a book to me, or just do anything that would amuse me, even if he was busy. My mom bought me a lot of things to make me smile -- she never let me down, except when she couldn¡¯t - or wouldn¡¯t - play with me.

 

My mom never touched a single toy from my room. She was always busy, and as a fashion designer, she went on a lot of business trips for fashion shows. But when I was naive and little, I didn¡¯t care about that at all. I just hated that she would leave me with my dad because of a stupid fashion show. I always missed her and cried every day she was gone.

 

So I took it out on my dad. He wasn¡¯t enough -- my nose would bleed every night, he never made good food, and the memory of my mom made things even worse. When will she come back? Is she okay? Will she ever come back? All those questions running through my teeny, four year old brain, drove me insane. When I finally got to see her at the airport, I saw nothing and no one but my mom. As soon as she got off the plane and walked through the doors of the airport, I would rush up to her as fast as I could and hug her. Those hugs were as strong as lightning and so affectionate it always made one of us cry. I don¡¯t know which of us did first, but I remember it as a good, sweet cry. If the hugs were a little stronger, it could¡¯ve tripped my mom over. I¡¯m crying now.

 

I see her face, the drama of her joy. Click. A secret picture. What happened to my mom? Why is she worrying about being old? Why are her expectations so high that she makes herself sick?

 

Although my eyes are stinging with tears, I open them and can still envision all the old memories. My memories lead me to stand up and open the second to last drawer of my closet, where I put my clothes. I see a blue, yellowish blanket that has cute little animal-like creatures, making a pattern. This was and is not just a blanket -- it¡¯s a blanket made from the hands of my mom. She made it for me when I was just a baby -- there¡¯s even a small picture of me lying down on the blanket.

 

I need that picture in my hands -- I try to find it in the drawer but it¡¯s not there. I go over to my pink shelf and there I see it. The little picture had been framed inside a fluffy, white pillow-like stand, matching with the mood of the picture. I stare at it deeply for a good five seconds, committing it to memory, before closing my eyes again to truly envision it. For some reason, I have trouble envisioning Claudia the baby in my mind¡¯s eye. But I see something. A man holding a baby, rocking it slowly, showing a great example of a father. Showing all of the hopes of a Korean man providing the American dream. The mother has brought a small blanket and laid it down on the bed. The father then carefully places the baby above the blanket, making her feel comfort at last. The baby falls in deep sleep and the blanket becomes her lullaby. The mother then takes out the same digital camera and the ¡°click¡± makes the baby wake up. But thank god, the baby doesn¡¯t look startled; she looks peaceful and dreamy.

 

I open my eyes again and feel the bright light shining through my face. Did the same type of light shine through my face when I was born or when that camera snapped a picture in front of my face? I¡¯m starting to wonder where and when all this started--or when it ended.

 

¡°Claudia! Come downstairs!¡± I hear my mom calling me with her loud voice. Did I do something wrong? No, that must be her usual voice. I open the door and start walking down the stairs. Then I think about the way my mom calls me or says my name. I remember her saying it in a different way ever since I was young. And it wasn¡¯t just because of her Korean accent -- it was because she tried to add some kind of exaggeration or affection in her voice whenever she called me. She didn¡¯t exactly call me ¡°Claudia¡± but instead, ¡°Crowdee¡± or ¡°Claudee¡±. It¡¯s funny, and sometimes embarrassing, to be honest. That¡¯s not how people call my name or are supposed to call my name, but my mom decides to anyway. I hit the bottom of the stairs and there I see my mom holding my dog.

 

¡°Take the dog out please?¡± Normally I would groan, but today I cherish any excuse to move out of my current state of thinking. Maybe the air, the really fresh, outside air will make me think of other things. I take our dog out of her arms and put the leash on him, heading out to the other side. I don¡¯t respond to the look of anguish on her face that I have retreated from her. Click.


FullSizeRender.jpg

 

The scent of fresh air and flesh makes me realize that there are other people walking too. At this time of day, it¡¯s usually quiet - with barely any cars passing by. I walk out of our driveway and onto the street. There¡¯s a man complaining into his phone about a wrecked car, and how he might lose his job, while on the other corner, there are two women, nearly jogging and talking about their husband and kids. I¡¯m walking alone with my dog wagging his tail and I feel calm again. I decide to walk another block and let my dog enjoy this time a little longer instead of going back and forth a hundred times. The sound of nature makes me want to close my eyes but I know how idiotic it is to do that on the street, especially since today¡¯s a different day. Right then I see a little girl--maybe about four or five years old--running across the street, towards me.

 

¡°Doggy! Mom, look there¡¯s a dog!¡± My dog started to bark and growl. Oh why, please don¡¯t make the little girl scared!

 

¡°No! Come here, Marcia -- you¡¯re going to be in big trouble if you don¡¯t listen to mommy!¡± The mother grabs the little girl away and yells at her to teach her manners and safety. The little girl cries and they walk in the opposite direction, holding hands. I go back to walking my dog and have the thought of when my mom yelled at me that one time I attempted to open the car door as she was driving. I was about six years old and didn¡¯t know how dangerous it is to do such thing or even realize how stupid it is to try to walk out of a car when it¡¯s in motion. I thought it was okay to do that since we were about a block away from home and I wanted to get out so badly. I cried when my mom yelled at me back then, but now I understand why she did what she did.. It was all for my own good and when she yelled at me that time, she didn¡¯t yell at me because she hated me, but because she was worried about me.

 

I was such a stupid kid--I probably still am now but better than before. Maybe that¡¯s why she worries.

 

It¡¯s getting dark and I forgot to walk back to my house after walking that one block--now I walked about three blocks in total! I have to go back fast before my mom starts worrying. What if she¡¯s outside looking for me? Or called me at least? Right then I take out my phone from my pocket and see that there are two missed calls from her. Oh no, please don¡¯t go out looking for me, I¡¯m fine!

 

¡°Crowdee! Where are you?¡± That¡¯s my mom! The same voice, and the same way she calls me, there she is! Outside, yelling my name.

 

¡°Yeah, I¡¯m coming, I¡¯m coming! I¡¯m here, I¡¯m fine, don¡¯t worry!¡± I let out a big sigh and feel relieved after all the ruminating. I walk--or more like run--down the street with my dog, towards my house. As I get closer, I see my mom standing there on the driveway, holding her phone and looking mad and worried at the same time. Click.

 

Once upon a time Claudia got lost near a restaurant and her mom almost had a heart attack. Her dad is a positive man with positive thoughts and never jumps to conclusions, thinking about horrible things. But her mom always jumps to conclusions and thinks about the worst things that could ever happen.. Claudia was fine - she had just wandered around the corner.

 

It can sometimes be understandable, but still I hate it when she gets worried because her worry is contagious. Only I don¡¯t worry about me - the focus is never on me - I worry about her being worried. All those times I was lost, or late, the first thing that came into my mind were my parents. I could see my mom worrying and going insane, while my dad calmed her down, reminding her that everything would be fine.

 

And now, as I see her face, all these thoughts are colliding through my head like clothes in a washing machine.

 

If it wasn¡¯t for her, I wouldn¡¯t be born.

 

If it wasn¡¯t for her, I wouldn¡¯t know how missing someone feels like.

 

If it weren¡¯t for her bravery, love, and affection, life wouldn¡¯t be enough for me.

 

Can I let go of those other moments when my own self-consciousness got in the way and I got embarrassed because of her?. In middle school whenever she came to pick me up and called my name out loud, whenever she held my hand tight in public, or even when she tells me how much she loves me in the middle of nowhere. Click.

 

And did I ever do the same for her? Give her the spontaneous, unconditional love that she so freely gives to me? What happened to me? Why am I so different now? Will I ever be able to simply accept her for the way she is, just as she accepts me?

 

We walk into our house and I immediately go to my room. As if in a trance, I open my computer and click on a video file. I know that when I click play and start watching this video, I¡¯m going to cry, but I am compelled to watch it. I press play and I see my younger self with a sad face. There were other kids too, around me, all wearing costumes -- halloween costumes. Everyone else looks overfilled with joy while I look like I¡¯m about to cry. My mother wasn¡¯t there. I skip the video forward a little until I reach to the point where my facial expression looks different. I look so happy -- like the other kids in the video before, but now I¡¯m somewhere else with someone else. I¡¯m with my mom.

 

We are at the airport and she¡¯s buying me ice cream -- those two forever favorite flavors: strawberry and mint chocolate. Then the ice cream is in front of me. But I¡¯m not eating it -- instead, I look sad again. What¡¯s the problem? Is it the ice cream? No, it¡¯s because my mom isn¡¯t feeding me. Wow, I was such a baby. But as I see the clip of my mom feeding me the ice cream and see so much happiness in both our faces, I want to go back.

 

I want to go back to my younger-self and just enjoy those moments. Every second I spent with my mom back then was filled with joy. It¡¯s so wildly different now. I hate myself for that and I feel embarrassed that I am embarrassed by her. It¡¯s not me who¡¯s controlling these feelings because I don¡¯t want to feel the way I feel. But it has to be me -- otherwise, who would be controlling my thoughts? It¡¯s me who¡¯s the problem, and it¡¯s me who has to change.

 

Her worry and drama is separate from me. She is her own person, I am my own person.

 

This time I am not embarrassed. The feeling of warmth and love heals my heart and makes me forget about all the bad memories. I know she has my best interests at heart. Click.

 

I go back downstairs and my mom is sitting on the couch, watching tv. She¡¯s telling me to go eat something she cooked and other things that have something to do with me. But my auditory sense is invisible now and all I see is my mom. I could see the anti-stress pills that she took on the table and I start to blame myself for every sorrow she went through. I lean my head against her shoulder and hug her at an odd angle. Nothing matters now because we still have our connection. This moment of silence will last until I feel calm again and until I feel enough warmth. But this connection doesn¡¯t have a time span. This connection that we have for each other, the love that we share won¡¯t be just for a moment -- no matter what happens, this love between us, will last forever.

 

 

Title Dream.jpg

Title: Dream
This shows a girl's imaginary dream. As strange things happen in dreams for most of us, I wanted to draw a piece where I can show what an ordinary, peculiar dream might look like in our vision and illusion.
The twirled and tangled hair, the flow of yellowish strings combined with music, and the turtles and abstract designed circles, all describes or portrays a peaceful dream in this one piece.

 

**

This writing piece (personal essay) has been awarded a silver key from the Scholastics Art and Writing Contest.
The artwork has been awarded a silver key from the Scholastics Art and Writing Contest.

 

 

 







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