Friday, June 25, 2010
52 weeks. 260 lists. 1 year of gratitude.
Friday, June 4, 2010
My Purpose
I love the privacy that my journal holds. I feel no reason to hold myself back in my comments there. The purpose of it is not to inform anyone of anything. It is 1) to let myself express my uncensored thoughts on anything, anytime and 2) to give me something concrete to show how I have changed as time goes by. Just tonight I looked back on a few of the entries I wrote six months ago and I can tell how much I have changed by then. Just think how much that change will be years from now, and I will have a way to measure it. I will be able to look back on my thoughts at a specific moment in time and think 'Wow. I have grown up since then. I am so glad that I am where I am today.' When I have those moments, I will write them down. I will write them down for myself. Uncensored. A method of remembering myself as I once was.
Kara might say that I should try to live more in the present. She says that I spend too much time in my past and my future. I agree. I do spend more time than I should worrying about where I will be years from now or brooding over decisions that I made long ago. Sometimes I need to pull myself out of my thoughts and just live. There are other times, though, when looking back at how I once was helps me to keep moving forward. I look back on things I said or did and I realize then that I can not make the same mistakes again. Or I see that there is a purpose to the path that I am on. These moments help me keep moving forward when other things are telling me to stop. These things tell me that it would be so much easier to remain stagnant in my life. There would be no problem to stay as I am, to stand and watch as others pass me by. See, now? These moments of reflection are my motivation. They are my reason in times of doubt.
That is why I write in my journal every night and why I only write here every so often. I am a naturally born writer. Just ask anyone in my family, it's in my genes. What I have realized though, is that my purpose in writing doesn't always have to be to impress or entertain an audience. My writing has just as much meaning, often more, when I am writing purely for myself. I can be selfish in my writing without hurting those around me. I can transcribe my own thoughts without any intention of sharing them with anyone else and still have them mean something. My words are just as valuable in my journal, read by only me, as they are on this blog where anyone can access them.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
The End is Here
I knew instantly that there is really only one person that would read my blog in San Antonio. mL, who was my best friend when she lived in Utah, moved there about a year ago. We talk sometimes and are possibly planning a trip for me to visit her in August, but for the most part we now live completely separate lives. There was a time, two years ago, when I would go to her house for an afternoon and end up leaving two days later. We had inside jokes coming out our ears and we were making plans for summer and for high school.
The other day I was listening to a song that I love in the car. As I was listening (and singing along) I realized that it had originally came out when I was in junior high. It was tied to that time for me. I was suddenly thinking of my friends from that time and what I was doing. It made me think of the day, almost four years ago, that I spent with Manda and Tanoya. We walked around as we looked through our yearbooks and eventually ended up at Barnes Park for a barbecue their family was having. I have not seen Tanoya in over two years. I have not spent a day with Manda in at least one year, probably longer than that.
Two years from now I will be finished with my first year of college. So much will change between now and then. Kara and I have talked about what we are going to do then, but neither of us really have any idea. It is impossible to plan two years ahead. I could be going to Utah State and I could be studying psychology but I could also be going to any other university or no university. I have no idea what is going to happen and at this point I shouldn't be worried about it. There is no way that I can know or even plan for what will happen to me in two years. I just have to live my life in the present.
It is the first day of the last week of my second to last year of high school. I am in my second period class, Newspaper Editors, and I am simply sitting here waiting for the bell to ring so that I can go to psychology. In ten minutes I will head upstairs to my next class and at noon I will come downstairs and get back on this computer. Tonight I will go to the yearbook stomp and tomorrow I will go to school. That is really as far ahead as I need to plan, for now.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Getting Closer
Wait. School ends in two weeks.
That means that I have a lot of writing to do.
See, I have never liked the very impersonal way that most people sign yearbooks. It is inevitable, of course, when someone you don't really know very well asks you to sign theirs, but when you are signing a book that belongs to a friend you should put more into it than 'H.A.G.S.' or 'you're awesome'. The whole purpose of having people sign your yearbook is so that you can look through it years later and remember them.
My solution to this dilemma is that I write letters to my closest friends for them to keep with their yearbooks. This started in 9th grade when I promised all of my friends that I would write them a novel in their yearbooks. Not very many people actually got novel length signing that year because I was in Washington DC on the last day of school, but I did write pretty lengthy posts in my Science Olympiad friends' yearbooks.
Last year, I decided that, instead of taking so much time on yearbook signing day to write a more meaningful note to my friends, I would type the letters up before hand and put them in an envelope that they could keep with their yearbooks. It was a good idea, but I started it too late and only got a letter done for my closest friend.
This year, I have at least six letters that I need to write. I have already started the one that is probably going to be the longest and most complicated of them all, but I really need to get to work on the others. I really only have 9 or 10 days at the most to get them done.
Summer is almost here and I will be in Hawaii in two weeks and five days!
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
The World Moved On
It got me thinking.
When my dad moved to California two years ago I was not aware how much our communication would change. He is a computer programmer and so we have always been very knowledgeable about the technology that was out there and have utilized it. However, as my dad is no longer within a 45 minute drive from my house, we no longer communicate as we did when he lived in Salt Lake.
Years ago most of my communication with my dad occurred either through the phone or in person. Seeing as we only see each other 3 or 4 times a year, I don't really talk to my dad in person much. However, I do talk to him through email, text, twitter, facebook, and the occasional video chat.
It's odd, isn't it? How much communication has changed.
On a slightly different note, the title of this post comes from Stephen King's Dark Tower series. I have recently started the second series of this tale and have loved it so far. I particularly love every time he talks about how the world has moved on and how things were before the world moved on. I just thought that I would share that with you.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Still a year away...
There is one sentence in that post that particularly interests me. I was talking about how I never got homework in my favorite class, science, but I got homework in all of my other classes. What I found weird was that I can not at all think now how science could possibly be my favorite subject. I think, in reality, that the last time that I enjoyed science was in Mrs. Nelson's class in 8th grade. By the time I got into 9th grade I think that I just had not realized yet that I was enjoying english a lot more than I had ever enjoyed science.
Now, I am not quite sure what my favorite subject is or will be come next year. I still love english, but my english class this year has been almost unbearable. I do not really like that teacher and we have not really done anything that came close to being as interesting as reading The Pigman, Stargirl, or Great Expectations was in 9th grade. Maybe that is because the function of my english class this year was to teach me about rhetorical devices, but still, is there not any way that my teacher could have made it more interesting? There has to be.
Really, my favorite class this year has been AP Psychology. Since I was a baby I have loved watching people. I learned how to turn on the tv by watching my relatives use the remote. The subject just clicks in my mind more than anything else has. As I am learning new things about people and the way they interact with each other I am finding that I can apply everything I learn to the real world. It just seems to be the most practical thing I have ever learned. I can use it in any situation.
Does that mean that I love psychology more than I love english? I do not think so. I still love to read and write and learn about writing. I just do not like to spend my time in a class where all we do is listen to the teacher debate life with his favorite student. I can not stand to sit in a class where I could be learning something to better my writing and do busy work. It is just so ridiculous.
If I were to be put in a science classroom now, not only would I probably not understand what was going on, but I would be bored out of my mind. It is not who I am anymore. The person I am now is not nearly as defined as the person I was in junior high. I do not fit into a category as I did back then. I love it. I am more of a person than I was back then. I have interests that are more diverse and I have opinions that are informed and refined. I am not definite. I do not even always know who I am. In junior high I determined my friends and my future off of the group that I seemed to be. I was not an individual. Part of that, I think, was that I was afraid of being rejected by my peers. That is not so much the case anymore. I am alright with whoever decides to accept me. I am not worried about not fitting in.
I think that is one of the reasons that I have become so bored with high school. I am done with the groups that form by default. I no longer want to impress the people that I once thought of as my friends. If they do not like me for who I am, if they do not want to know be better, then so be it. I am completely alright with that. I just want to move on.
I am ready for the rest of my life to begin.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Life
I am also actually looking forward to school next year. This year isn't even over yet and I want to be a senior. The reason: even though there is not Psychology class for me to take next year, the classes I have on my schedule seem more promising than the ones I am taking this year ever did. Not only are we going to have a newspaper staff that actually wants to write, but the other editors on the staff actually like me and I them (minus one who happens to have very low power because he is going to be a Junior.)
Other than that... Well, I guess I have summer to look forward to. That means getting a job and relearning how to drive (I haven't driven in months and I am actually pretty nervous to get back on the road.) I am determined to spend more time reading and writing this summer. I don't know what I did last summer. I guess I spent most of it talking to and hanging out with someone who hardly acknowledges my existence these days. Well, I am not making that mistake again this summer. Or ever, hopefully. This summer is all about my family and my true friends. I am done wasting my time.
I am very happy with my life, lately. I know that I was really weird for a while, but I've gotten myself out of that now. I'm out of the rut that had me hating my life and pushing away the people in my life that really matter. I know who and what are important and I have re focused my priorities. In fact, I think this is the best I have been in years and I plan on keeping it that way.
P.S. Thanks for letting me hijack your laptop, Emily.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Vira's Beginning
So, I said that I was going to post more of my story. Here it is. I'm not if I like it yet, but I'm still working on getting to where it will merge with the plot that I came up with in Moab. It's coming together slowly but surely. Let me know what you think.
“Virginia, darling?” Her mother was calling her from the kitchen, as she did every morning. “Virginia, come to breakfast. Your father made French toast.”
In her bedroom, Virginia sighed. French toast was their Monday breakfast, Tuesday breakfast was blueberry pancakes, Wednesday was apple cinnamon oatmeal and so on. There was not a single morning that was unpredictable in the Atley household. In fact, Virginia’s mother prided herself on how precise and structured their life was. The way they acted suggested that they were not the average, middle class family that they actually were but instead some privileged, rich, high society family with the obligations to create such a strict agenda. As it was, Virginia’s family did not have any obligations. They hardly had any friends and they were not involved in the community. Still, Virginia woke every morning knowing exactly what her day held in store.
Looking in the mirror, she frowned at her appearance. It was not that she was dressed by her mother, exactly, but that she was so used to her parents’ constant influence on her life that she felt odd wearing anything that her mother had not approved. Virginia looked her age, wore styles that were popular amongst her peers, but she always felt that it wasn’t really her (not that she would know what was really her if it was staring her in the face.) She looked completely average. She had plain, flat brown hair and wore very little make up to cover her plain features. There were plenty of girls at school who looked just like her.
Speaking of school, it was now nearly seven o’clock and if she didn’t get to her breakfast soon she would have to wait until lunch to eat. Virginia pushed her hair behind her ears and grabbed her book bag (a very common, yet stylish shoulder bag) before heading down the hall to the kitchen. Her parents, as well as her younger sister, Maia, were already sitting at the breakfast table. Virginia stopped at the end of the hall and observed them for a moment. They each seemed so wrapped up in their morning routine.
Mark Atley was a business man of some form. His own family was not really sure what exactly he did, other than that it allowed him to work regular hours and required a lot of paper work. He was about six feet tall and was of average build. His brown hair and blue eyes made him unlikely to be picked out in a crowd. Overall, Mark was an average man. This morning, like every morning before, Mark was eating his breakfast while pouring over the latest news via his iPhone. Virginia wanted to laugh at how modernly clichéd her father was. She could just imagine a newspaper in his hands instead of the small device that seemed to contain her father’s world. In her imagination he would turn to her and smile with perfectly straight, bleach white teeth. “Good morning dearest daughter,” Mark would say. “Did you sleep well?” In reality, Mark continued to stare at his iPhone.
At the other end of the table, Mira Atley was looking as pristine as any housewife would dream to. She was a pretty thing. Her blond hair and green eyes were unique to anyone Virginia had ever known. She was slim and just short enough that, with heels, she was just under five foot seven. When Mira was around friends or other company she was often the prettiest person around. When she was around her family she often looked as dull as Mark. Virginia thought that the routine of their lives must have become boring after 18 years, especially when Mira had once been a cheerleader and was apparently the life of every party. Virginia could not imagine her mother as anything but they orderly woman sitting at the table, slowly and delicately eating her toast. She almost laughed at the contrast between her mother and herself, but didn’t.
It was then that Virginia realized that Maia was staring at her. It was odd how the two sisters seemed to look as different as their mother and father. She had always thought that her dark hair and green eyes could never compete with Maia’s blond hair blue eyed look. If Maia had been looking to compete, that is. Virginia never understood her sister. Maia seemed to be completely content with living under the rules set by their parents. Virginia wondered if she came off that way herself. She dressed the way her parents approved of, as Maia did. She made friends with the girls her mother liked, as Maia always had.
Maybe it was that, unlike Virginia, Maia did seem to be the modern teenager. She listened to music, but nothing of the rock or pop variety. Maia preferred Mozart and Bach to Taylor Swift and Coldplay. She read a lot more than most 15 year olds did. She also didn’t have nearly as many friends as the other girls her age had and she seemed completely fine with that. Virginia often wanted to get into her head. There had to be something more to her sister than this robot girl she appeared to be. She wondered if Maia perhaps felt as trapped in her life as Virginia felt in her own. Maia smiled at her before looking back to her breakfast and reading what was no doubt another novel by Jane Austen or one of the Bronte sisters.
“Morning,” Virginia said as she set her bag down by her chair and sat down. In front of her was a plate of French toast smothered in maple syrup and powdered sugar. It looked good. She knew it would taste good. That was the one thing about her family’s routine, there was never anything really unexpected in her life.
“Now, Virginia, you really need to keep to your schedule. You are more late for breakfast every day. We’re all worried about you,” Mira looked honestly concerned.
Virginia wanted to laugh. She had never been on time for breakfast. The others all sat down to eat at promptly 7:30. They ate slowly as they went about their individual tasks. Virginia would show up about 15 minutes before Mark would drive them to school and her mother would tell her that she needed to get back to her schedule and that they were all worried about her. “I’m sorry, mom. I’ll get up earlier tomorrow.” Virginia would reply. Mira would nod before finishing her breakfast and moving on to clean the kitchen.
It seemed absurd. Her mother did not realize that Virginia’s morning schedule had been different from the rest of the family’s for four years now. She had been in middle school when she had decided that it would not do her any harm to sleep in later and spend only 15 minutes rather than 45 on her breakfast. It had been the one move of independence she had made in her 17 years of life. Well, whoever she was, at least she knew that she liked to sleep in late and preferred to eat without doing other things at the same time. Again, Virginia wondered if Maia was as confused about her identity as she was.
As Mark announced that it was about time to head off for the day, Mira pulled Virginia aside. This was something odd. This was not part of her meticulous mother’s routine. Virginia was not sure what to expect of the following conversation. It was a first for her and possibly even a first for the Atley household.
“Virginia, I wanted to talk to you away from Maia and your father. I really have been worried about you, darling. You seem to be a little out of control. Mrs. Kreely has even commented that you grade in Chemistry is slipping. This is not like you, dear…” Virginia would have spoken, but sensed that her mother had more to say. “I know that you were heartbroken when David broke up with you, but Virginia, you are so much stronger than that. You can pull out of this, I know you can. I’m here for you. That’s what mothers are for. You need to talk to me.”
David. She should have known.
Virginia’s first and only boyfriend at this point in her life had been a senior name David Pavlo. They had met in their Biology class the year before and were fast friends. When the homecoming dance had come around in October, no one was surprised that David had asked her to go with him. After the dance David had asked her out again and again and again. Soon they were inseparable. For a time Virginia had even considered herself in love with him.
David’s love for Virginia ended at the start of the final term. For a month he avoided her calls and blamed all of their cancelled dates on student groups or soccer practice. They still walked through the halls together. They still talked to each other constantly when they were together, but he had stopped seeking her out. They only were together when she went looking for him. That’s when Virginia had decided that she couldn’t be part of their relationship any longer. It was too difficult to keep what they had going when only one person was even trying. She was unhappy. It was the beginning of all of her unhappiness, really. David had made her realize that she was no longer happy with her life. Then she had broken up with him.
Virginia had not realized that the rumors that had been going around school about how David had broken up with her because he realized that he did not want to be more than just friends with her had gotten all the way to her mother’s ears. When Mira had asked Virginia why David was no longer around, Virginia had merely said that they were no longer together, that they had decided that their relationship was not what they had wanted. She had given her mother no clue as to who had broken up with whom.
She sighed but did not bother to correct Mira. Her mother could think whatever she wanted about David Pavlo. “Mom, I’m not upset about David. I swear. School has just been difficult lately because it is the end of the year and I am just so ready for it to be summer. I promise that I will try harder.”
Mira did not look convinced, but Mark was calling for Virginia from the garage. “Alright,” she sounded weary. “Just know that you can talk to me, Virginia. I love you and I want you to be happy.” Virginia smiled. “Now, hurry up, your father is waiting. Have a good day!” Virginia turned away, rolling her eyes. She had never understood how her mother was able to change moods so quickly. Virginia thought all of it was rather disingenuous.
“Gin, if we’re late I’m going to blame you.” Maia complained. Maia had never been late for school without having planned it in advance. Virginia’s new yearning for a little bit of disorder caused her to wish for a traffic accident or some other delay that would cause them to be late for class. Though, simply making Maia late for class didn’t seem like enough chaos for her.
“Maia, you are such a drama queen. You are still going to be the first one to class, I’m sure. You aren’t going to lose your gold star, so stop whining.” Maia glared back at her from the front seat. It was no secret in their family that Maia and Virginia did not get along well at all. It seemed to be the one crack in her mother’s perfect dream. It didn’t even seem to be much to Mira. Her daughters could barely stand to be in the same room, but they followed the routine and they knew how to create the image of a perfect family. That, after all, was what was important.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Why I Write
(A picture of me from 2006)Have you ever written something and then months or years later come back to it and read it to find that, not only do you not remember it, but that it doesn't actually seem like it is something that you wrote? You read and you think 'Wow. These are some really good ideas. If only I could remember having them.'
Take, for instance, my first post on the Honors English board discussing the definition of a classic novel:
To me a classic has to be something that could be read over and over again. Something someone could still be surprised about even after they've read it five or six times. A classic has to be something that makes you think about what's going on, and possibly compare things that are going on in the book to those things that are going on in your life, or in the lives of those around you. I think The Count of Monte Cristo does this. So far it has made me wonder about a lot of things. I love it when a book gets me thinking about the time era it was written in, and I think that's part of the definition of a classic. I don't think Harry Potter could really fit into that though, mostly because it doesn't really make you think about what was going on in the world when it was written. Sure I think that people will still be reading the Harry Potter books years and years from now, but I don't think it will ever be considered a classic along with the Twilight series and Eragon. I think the definition of a classic would be a book that inspires someone to think about different issues, or things involving the book, and also one that is know worldwide and is passed through generations- that is my definition of a classic.
While looking at some stories people I know have posted on the internet I came across this quote:
"A classic is classic not because it conforms to certain structural rules, or fits certain definitions (of which its author had quite probably never heard). It is classic because of a certain eternal and irrepressible freshness." -Edith Wharton
I found that I really liked how Edith Wharton (though I don't know who that is) described the definition of a classic. You can't say a book is a classic because of this and that. A book is a classic because for some reason, whatever it may be, it remains timeless. People read it and enjoy it just as much no matter how many years it's been since it was written.
Even though the writing isn't really great, the thoughts and ideas behind this post are something that I really like. I also really like and agree with the quote that I used. However, I don't at all remember looking for or finding the quote. I don't remember what spurred me to write what I did. My second post from that class, discussing what makes a good book, is even better:
The best book I've ever read would definitely have to be the Talisman by Stephen King. The reason it was such a good book was because by the end of the book I felt as if I was right there with the main character. It took me a long time to read it, not because it's a really long book, it is, but because I started to read it when I was about ten. I read the first chapter or so, and then I didn't think about it for another year. I read the first chapter again, but I still wasn't interested in it. Then my mom downloaded the audiobook version of it the year I started seventh grade. I put it on my ipod and listened to the first chapter remembering how different I was when I started the book years before.
The reason this book was so great is because I really got into the story, the characters, the sounds, the smells, the sights. It was as if I was in the story, and that's why I loved it. There was a great deal of action, and it felt as if the story went on for decades. That's what a good book is to me. A great story that makes you feel almost like you're really there. Like the characters are your best friends, or your worst enemies, or the weirdest strangers you've ever seen. Sometimes you get so worried about what's going to happen that your not sure if you can finish it, but you have too. You can't put the book down.
It can't be a story that you read once and is really good, but then you go to read it again and its boring. For it to really be a genuinely great book you have to be able to read it time and time again without ever getting bored. You have to be able to feel the same things again and again when you read it, it has to feel as if you're going to a familiar place when you pick it up again. The story has to make you feel as if you are going home. That is what I think makes a good book.
I really loved reading this post again. Not only did I agree with what I said and still find it like I was reading it for the first time, but it reminded me of how much I loved reading The Talisman and, in fact, made me want to read the book again.
I guess that's just one reason why I love to write. I love that I can look back at the things I wrote, whether they are fiction or not, and just imagine how I was back then. I love that it gives me a fresh view on myself. I love that my thoughts and ideas are preserved in the things I write because even if I still know what my thoughts on certain things used to be, there is no way for my mind to preserve the words I would have used to express my thoughts. It's like, in everything I write I save myself, who I am at the moment that I am writing.
(A picture
of me from February, 2010)That is the purpose of this blog. It is me; the different versions of me that have evolved over the last three years. My ideas have changed and I have changed so much in that time. My purposes for writing have even changed somewhat. The one thing that has stayed the same, though, is that I do write. That will always be the case.
"There's nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein."
"Don't get it right, just get it written."
Monday, April 12, 2010
Revising Something Old
Monday, March 29, 2010
Link to My Past
Monday, March 22, 2010
The Beginning of Something Big
So, I sat down at my laptop about ten minutes ago, determined to write something. This is what I came up with:
Do you know what it feels like to be watched by everyone you know? Have you ever felt like you had to do something, like you had to be a certain kind of person because it was expected of you? A lot of people would just chalk that up to peer pressure, but I am talking about more than that. I am not asking if you have ever felt pressured into doing something wrong. I’m asking if you know what it feels like to not know who you are because all your life you’ve followed the expectations of others.
Yes?
No?
Well, I do. For the first fifteen years of my life I only did what I was supposed to. My friends were people who I thought my parents would approve of. I took classes that would lead me toward the career they wanted for me. I only liked guys who I believe my father would like. My clothes and my bedroom constantly mimicked the tastes of my mother.
Then, one day, I asked myself a question: Who am I? When I could not even come up with an answer, I decided that it was time to change. I would no longer be the result of my family’s expectations. That was the day everything changed.
My name is Virginia Marie Atley and this is my story.
I'm not sure how much I like it yet, but I'm thinking that it is a prologue to a story that I sort of started about a month ago and am now going to try to actually do something with. The whole reason I started this piece today is that I was thinking about nicknames for the name Virginia (ever the Harry Potter fanatic, I was contemplating whether or not I liked the name Virginia or Ginevra better for Ginny,) and I thought of one that I have never really heard before but instantly loved: Vira (pronounced veer-a.)
Then I began thinking of the rest of the name and for some reason I came up with Virginia (Vira) Marie Atley. I instantly knew that this is the name that I should have been using with that character that I created about a month ago. I like it. Vira Atley just has a very nice ring to me.
On top of all of that, I was looking through some folders on my laptop today and I realized that I really don't write at all anymore. There are tons of files no bigger than 50-5000 words on my computer that demonstrate how much I loved to write when I was younger. My new goal is to accumulate more of these partially written files, because, even if I'm not finishing what I am writing, I am thinking about it. I am using my imagination when I am writing and I am enjoying the stories, characters, places, etc. that I am creating. It makes me happy.
Friday, March 12, 2010
< rant >
Monday, March 8, 2010
A New Journey, A New Me
Friday, March 5, 2010
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
The Ghetto of Warsaw: A Whisper of the Past
For my US History class we have been studying WWII. We have to do a project every term that includes an essay, a visual, and a presentation. As usual, I willingly wrote the essay for my group and was pretty proud of my last paragraph. I figured that I would put it up here because I think it is the most meaningful piece I have written in a long time (at least on this blog.) So here it is. Let me know what you think.
The Ghetto of Warsaw: A Whisper of the Past
The Warsaw Ghetto, or Jüdischer Wohnbezirk (Jewish Quarters) according to the Nazis, was established on October 12, 1940, when a decree ordered 113,000 Poles to make room for the 400,000 Jews in an area of only 2.4% of Warsaw. Living conditions were incredibly poor and not many survived it. Jews had to resort to smuggling food. Councils and police forces of their own people were created to enforce Nazi regulations. In the end, when the Nazis tried to move all of the Jews out of the ghetto and into the Treblinka extermination camp, an uprising that would become the biggest single retaliation during the war began. The Warsaw Ghetto was a place where hundreds of thousands came to live and were forced into deah.
In October of 1940, thousands of Jews were brought into the Warsaw Ghetto. From that point on they were to have extremely limited contact with the outside world. Over 400,000 people had been crowded into an area that was only meant to house 160,000. As more and more time passed, the living conditions became worse and worse. On November 16, 1940 a wall, topped with glass and barbed wire, was built around the ghetto to keep them from leaving. Before then the death toll was already at 445. By August of 1941 almost 6,000 people had died.
Jews in the ghetto were given food rations that did not even fulfill 10% of what a normal person requires. This caused smuggling to start very early on. If the people living in the ghetto had not been able to get hold of outside food, they all would have died from starvation very early on. Often the smugglers were children between the ages of 5 and 6. They would smuggle the food through the walls, the gates, the sewers, houses on the borders of the ghetto, etc. The Nazis often caught and killed the smugglers but the smuggling never stopped. Even after one particular slaughter of 100 people near Warsaw, the smuggling never stopped. It was one of the most basic things that they could do in hopes of surviving.
For other issues within the ghetto, the Jews had their own councils and law enforcement. The Judenraete (Jewish Council) was first created by the Germans before their occupation of Warsaw in order to enforce German regulations. They were also in charge of handing over lists of names for deportation to extermination camps. Some were killed for refusing to do so and others committed suicide to keep from having to do it. These councils were very controversial because the people on them were forced to implement Nazi policies. It was believed by some, however, that compliance with the Germans would ensure that at least part of the population would survive. The councils were also in charge of selecting the Jewish Police.
The Jewish Police were established for four main purposes: to direct traffic in the streets, supervise garbage collection and the clearing of snow and dirt from the streets, supervise the sanitation of buildings, and prevent crime and run a court to take care of conflicts that arose inside of the ghetto. The Judenraete was given a list of guidelines from which they were supposed to recruit men for the police. However, these guidelines were not closely followed. Even though the police were supposed to be another department of the Judenraete, the councils believed that the Germans would use them in order to enforce their policies more directly.
There was a draw for Jewish men to be a part of the police, though. The Jewish Police was a protected organization. Being part of it not only was likely to keep them from forced labor, but it also made them less likely to be deported and gave them the possibility of earning food and money. In early 1942, however, the Nazis began deporting Jews from the ghetto to a extermination camp in Treblinka. When this happened many of the Jewish police had to decide whether to stay with the police or not. Many left to show their alliance to their families and the entire population as they were being deported. Still others remained with the Jewish police until the final days of the ghetto’s existence, continuing to implement Nazi demands.
The Warsaw Ghetto Uprising began on January 18, 1943 in reaction to the increasing amount of Jews that the Nazis were deporting to Treblinka. They believed that they were merely being sent to labor camps and not to their deaths. During the first two months of the extermination process, about 300,000 residents of the ghetto were killed. When the Jews realized what was going on they decided to revolt. They did not have many weapons and many did not actually fight. However, they managed to stop the deportations for a time and only 5,000 instead of the planned 8,000 were taken at the time.
The fighting commenced again on April 19, 1943. The Germans planned to finish their plan for extermination within the next three days, but an ambush by the Jews set them back once again. The Jews continued to defend their territory for ten days. In fact, two boys climbed to the top of a building and raised both the Polish flag and a blue and white banner symbolic of the fighting Jews. The Germans were unable to remove the flags for four days. On the 29th many of the Jewish leaders were dead and the rest of the fighters fled into hiding. It was not until May 8 that the Germans found the Jewish command post and killed many of the remaining fighters. Officially, the uprising ended on May 16, 1943. Gunshots were heard inside of the ghetto through that summer, however. The final fight occurred on June 5, 1943 and was between the Germans and a group of armed criminals affiliated with the Jewish resistance.
What was once the biggest Jüdischer Wohnbezirk (Jewish Quarter) in all of Europe is now nothing more than renovated buildings, a single piece of wall, and several memorials. To the uninformed eye it looks as regular as any other city in the world. Children play, people walk their dogs, cars drive through the streets. The pain, the suffering, the bloodshed, and the injustice that occurred not yet 80 years ago is now no more than a whisper in the city of Warsaw.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Routine
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Another Year of Change
More than that, however, is that while reading those two posts I can see how much I have changed. I can see how different I am now from the girl I was in 9th grade. I know I've said this all before, but tonight just seems like a good time to say it all again. I mean, at the end of 2007 my dad still lived in Utah. At the end of 2007 I was not at all sure just who I was. I have learned a lot about my own beliefs about the world and the Universe since 2007. At the end of 2008 I believed that I had changed into more of a base of the person I would be for the rest of my life. Now I know that wasn't true. I also believed at 2008 that I knew what I wanted to do with my life. I had decided that I wanted to go to SUU and major in English and while that is still true.. I am not as sure, now, that I want to become an English teacher. More and more I see myself going in a different direction.
So, at the end of 2009, as at the end of 2007 and 2008, I am a new person.
What happened this year that made that happen? Well, 2009 has been a year of great (and when I say great I mean more in amount than in quality) changes for me. Some were big and some were... Not so big. There were some changes that were profound and others that won't matter to me ten or even two years down the road. This year has also been a year of loss and the changes that came with that(My great grandma and one of my friends passed away, my best friend moved, my new best friend ignored me until we were no longer friends, I got in my first car accident.) I also believe (and some would probably say otherwise) that I learned a lot about responsibility this year.
If there is one thing that 2009 has been it is eventful. My littlest sisters turned thirteen this year; my oldest sister turned 19. I became FBLA Reporter and Editor-in-Chief of the school newspaper.
So anyway, my New Year's resolution this year writing a journal. On paper. Which means that I won't be writing on here as much... Though I will still write at least once a month. I have my reasons. Mostly, I don't want to have to be careful with my thoughts and I want to have an actual record of my life.
HAPPY NEW YEAR! MAKE 2010 A GREAT YEAR!!!
