Final Memoir

The day was young, the air was fresh, and it was five o'clock in the morning. This morning in late January was a special day. I stretched and yawned, attempting to leave the warmth of the cozy blanket. I then pulled myself, in a zombie nature, out of the bed and into motion toward the door. I slumped into the shower and turned the water on. The hot water and steam cleared all my nightmares away and woke me up. I finished quickly, put on my makeup, and got dressed. Warm jacket, dark blue jeans, mismatched socks, a cozy long sleeved shirt, and my worn in black converse. We were ready for the road.
The drive was long and windy. Across the middle of the island, we drove through Waimea to a range of magnificent escapades on the side of the mountain. With hills, trails, stables, sections, and a warm little cottage for the workers and visitors, this place was a real horse range. Acres and acres of beautiful bright green grass that reminded us of Willy Wonka’s edible grass room. It was the first time I was going to ride a horse in a long time.
Although the activity we were about to do was exciting enough itself, this day was not important just because of that. It was my best friend’s birthday. Not just any birthday, though. The last birthday we would celebrate together. She was moving soon after, and we all knew we wouldn’t be seeing each other for a while. The situation gave me a bitter-sweet feeling. Like a sour patch kid. It was sad that she was leaving, but it just made us appreciate the time we had left together. So, we were delighted to spend this beautiful sunny day together to celebrate.
We didn’t really think about it until we got there. We didn’t think about the fact that horses are big. Horses are tremendously big. We didn’t think about how it may be scary to get on these large, magnificent animals. When we saw the horses, we looked at each other and laughed. We both could tell each other's thoughts from the faces we displayed. We shared a petrified feeling. They were giant; about 8 times our sizes. The bubbly worker called the birthday girl first to get up on her new friend. She shivered and cringed, then walked down and got on the small podium. “It isn’t so bad”, she reassured me. Then went her dad, followed by her sister, me, mariah, and her mom. She was right; it wasn’t so bad. It was really cool. The woman guided us through section upon section, giving us tips on how to ride the horses.
Across green meadows, we trotted, galloped, and cantered on the horses. When we cantered, we laughed so hard, just trying to hold on for our lives. I almost flew off of my horse, so when we stopped I was relieved. It was so fun! My horse was a medium size and caramel brown, with a beautiful white mane. She was stronger than she looked. All of our horses seemed to match us, and had such funny attitudes that seemed to coincidentally match their riders. We were having so much fun. I was so happy to enjoy this time with her. I loved her family so much. They we like my second family. I had been through so much with her, and she has helped me overcome so many struggles. I had even lived at her house at one time for months when I needed a place to go and support. I was sad to see her leaving.
This experience was so great. As we rode on our horses, we laughed and joked and enjoyed the morning sun. “Working up an appetite?”, her dad asked everyone as we came closer to the end of the long trail. We all responded quickly with a yes and trotted into the gate. One by one, we got off our horses, with the help of the worker. As they got down from their horses, I looked upon the green grass and stared out as far as I could see across the ocean. I thought about how far she would be. I thought about how I wouldn’t see her for a while, and wouldn’t celebrate her birthday with her next year. It made me feel an empty feeling, suddenly, in my heart. I then realized how great of a day I had, and the sad feelings shifted to a growing feeling of gratitude. I was so lucky to have had such an amazing day with my best friend, and I knew I would cherish this day forever.

What's stuck in my brain is...

Eating frosted animal cookies with sprinkles within the freshly painted walls of our kindergarten classroom. Fresh faces, young voices, little feet pittering across the butterfly rug. Alphabet on the walls and innocence in the air.

Joyfully pretending to be the blonde Barbies in our little seven year old hands. Picking and choosing who will be who, as every other child argued, we just laughed endlessly as our imaginative play pretend story unfolded.

Her three word attempt to dry my tears caused by the wretched, old lunchlady in second grade. The principal told me to get napkins from the small separate table which was usually off limits to students, but forgot to inform the senseless, power-tripped woman with a nasty mole the size of Africa. The words were all I needed to hear to cheer up and smile. "Mo-leh, mo-leh, mo-leh..."

The anxious first day of fourth grade and locking eyes with a familiar face. "Hey, I know you.." we exchanged simultaneously as the rest of the children settled along, sharing stories of their summer vacations. I knew on this day that I had found my best friend, and we just clicked.

Our first sleepover, or as I like to call it, the day of unrelenting laughter. Laughter for hours upon hours. Laughter at me. Laughter at her. Laughter at her brothers' unexpected eruption into her room to tell us unkind words I mustn't repeat, which made us laugh even harder.

The blindfold over her green eyes and freckled face as she "perfected" the blindfolded makeover on my chubby, rosy-cheeked face. I soon appeared to myself the worst and best I had ever looked. Worst for my terrible makeup job, but best for the glowing smile on my face and exploding laughter from each of our mouths. My turn...

Running freely through the freezing cold field of sprinklers and freshly cut grass. Faces beaming, hearts alive, skin as cold as snow. Her cousin was just like us, but was leaving soon for California. We chuckled our hearts out on that field as the other children watched, making fun of us. Not a care in the world, we walked up the stairs and into our cars, soaking wet with excitement and exhaustion.

Flying through the air for a mere thirty seconds, only about 1000 times. From the twenty-foot height of the neighbor's broken down treehouse we glided again and again to the dirty, old mattress below; the only zip line we had ever experienced.

Her embrace on the night of Halloween. My mother had fallen and been taken by the ambulance to the ER. As I sat on her soft bed, warm tears rolling off my cheeks, she wrapped me into her glittered arms and soothed my worry, our uncomfortable fairy attires scratching and stretching to come off.

The days we spent playing mariokart for hours. Racing, screaming, crashing, laughing, and winning. I thought her flat television screen would explode; it would've if it could've been as enthusiastic as we were. We screeched in horror at our losses, and rejoiced loudly at our victories. The neighbors would sometimes reply back with a "whoo-hoo!" or "shut the...". We couldn't contain our raging childhood adrenaline, not for a moment.

Sneaking out of my house. Creek, creek, creek- the window couldn't be quiet like us. Stealth bombers, we'd say. Jump. Up the dark, deserted street we ran into the night, senselessly laughing once we were far enough from my sleeping house. Uncharted fun, hearts beating hard. Hurrying back to my house by dawn, we laughed and laughed and laughed until we almost wet ourselves. Back up my stairs we went. I will never forget the moment I looked back at her. She was laughing so hard, with all her might trying to contain herself. She thought I was mad at her for a moment, telling her to be quiet, but much to her surprise, she looked up and saw me laughing harder than she was. We erupted, laughing harder than we've ever laughed before. How did we get into my house that night??

The night I called. We hadn't had a sleepover in months, if not a year. I missed her. She missed me. I ran up my street and called her. She knew of my problems at home, but I never said too much over the years. As they picked me up on that wretched night, I knew I was loved. I got into her room and saw her face. I broke. She held me, this strong, amazing, friend of mine.

The day she told me she was moving. As she had gotten older, her relatives slowly disappeared to the mainland or to heaven above. It was time for her family to move. It wasn't going to be for a while, so I didn't fret. Time and time passed, and we just enjoyed it as it went.

It broke my heart she was leaving, and slowly ate me more and more as time closed in. She had been my best friend, and pretty much my only friend for most of my life. Through good and bad times, we stuck together and grew into the people we are today. Though at some times we drifted, we always came back to each other, and things were always the same.

The last day I walked into her house. Things were packed. The white walls were empty. The clean floor was habited by boxes, soon to be gone. The large house was spotless and almost barren. We joked like normal, but the tone of the room was like pressure 4000 ft. under the sea, urging to compound in. It had not hit me until that moment that she would be thousands of miles away and so out of reach. Humbled by the sight, I thanked the God I once knew for the times we had. The memories we shared. The love we had found and the friendship we raised. I loved her more than anything. As I said my final goodbyes, I stared into that green-eyed freckled face, and felt as if the pressure of the room finally gave, and my heart had collapsed in with it. I realized as we stood there, in each others tight embrace, that this would not be the last time I saw my best friend. I knew this because friendships like ours are 1 in infinity, and we could never permanently separate, because we will always be in each others' hearts.

 

Session 3 Reflection

In class, we are about to write memoirs. Memoirs are not very hard to write, but I would say the biggest difficulty about them is choosing what the topic will be. Another difficulty is the much needed use of describing words while writing one to keep the reader engaged. Memoirs are memorable by the way the author ties the story in. The author of a memoir must keep it interesting for a reader to remember it.

In a memoir, you want to use a lot of imagery and describing words. To make a memoir memorable, you must use words to appeal to the readers senses. You want to make the reader picture the memory and be able to imagine the scene. You want to capture the memory from all senses to make the reader intrigued to read on. I like to use a lot of sensory words in my writing in general, so I don't believe this will be much of a challenge for me.

There are many topics a memoir could be written about. You can choose to write on a subject to trigger the readers' emotions, or write on a subject to keep the reader on their toes. I could write a memoir on experiences in school, childhood memories, or from experiences which have changed my life and made me the person I am today. I have a wide array of topics which I am choosing from to write about.

My Interview With Mi Madre

     My mother has been the most influential person in my life. We laugh, we fight, she keeps me in line. She works hard in everything she does, including her job. She is the executive assistant to the C.E.O. and part owner of Hualalai Resort. She has always been one I admire for a multitude of reasons, although we don't always get along so peachy.

     

Question: How would you like to be remembered?

Her answer: As a mother, wife, daughter, sister, friend, and assistant, it is important to be a strong woman. I would like to be remembered as the strong woman I am. Throughout my life, I have been through quite a bit. My strength has grown strong, and I hope to pass this on to my children to carry with them in the future. There is still much I will face in this life, but I know I can get through it.

Why'd I choose this question?: I chose this question because my mother's answer inspired me. I admire her strength and hope to be like her as I age. I appreciate my mother so much, and her message really sunk in after completing this interview. Her message to me was to be strong, that she loves me, and that I can overcome all of the many obstacles I face. She really touched my heart with a comment she has ever known, and that she was proud of my ability to stay strong through the many tough things I have experienced in my life. It reminded me that she does recognize me and that she loves me. The hardest thing about this activity was breaking the ice to ask these questions. It felt somewhat awkward to interview my mother. It felt this way because it is not an activity I would usually be asked to do.