ENG 273 FD#1: Forgetting To Remember You

Kristine Asato

September 16, 2010

FD#1

Forgetting to Remember You

I saw another person whose name I couldn’t remember, but whose face I hadn’t forgotten.  [THESIS] We were all here for the same reason, to remember.  [THESIS] The room probably surpassed the fire codes maximum capacity, but no one was in a rush to leave anytime soon.  I found a place next to my brother against the wall; there were no seats exposed.  I took the program and saw my uncle’s face smiling back at me.  His face had grown slender from the cancer that had invaded. I was probably 12 when I last saw my uncle, over a decade ago; I thought he had more time.

There were no other colors in the room, just different tints of black and white.  Sort of like an old picture film, and probably just as gloomy.  We were gathered here today to remember.  It wasn’t just my uncle, we gathered to remember all the people we had forgotten existed over the years. 

I closed my eyes, and went back and revisited my church, where we first met my uncle.  I vaguely remember how he would take his place at the head of the entire sermon.  I could hear his voice, and I remembered.  So alive and so filled with such kindness, he could probably turn you Christian with just one song.  It mad me believe in God, and all his powers.  As I opened my eyes, everyone slowly stood up, as requested by the man on the microphone.  I was back in my black and white picture film.  Awaken from the dead was his voice completely naïve to any cancer, sounding on the speakers.  It wrapped the entire sermon in a holy embrace, and I could feel the tears confine me.  The people in their black attire raised their hands high.  It was as if their voices would be carried straight into the heavens.   How eerie it was to have the past put right in front of me, almost forcing me to remember everything I had forgotten. 

Now the only sound was the pastor’s voice marked with a recognizable bravado, similar to Martin Luther King Jr.  The pastor read a passage, probably from the bible or maybe he made it up.  I didn’t go to church enough to be able to tell the difference anymore.  Going on with the accustomed, loving father and husband, he was a man of God whose time had come to be with the Lord.  I knew all to well the jargon that would be made to comfort the loss of this man.  17 years ago, the same monologue was made for my father.  I don’t remember my father, and I regret not remembering my Uncle.

The service came to an end with the walk down the isle to give condolences to the family.  It was here I embraced my aunty whose husband she had lost, and my friend who was now without his father.  The touch mingled our tears as she cried for the time she spent, and I cried for the time I had lost.  I gave them a small pat on the back as my apology for missing out on their lives.  It was after the procession that I saw an old childhood friend.  We were neighbors until we were 15.  We had gone to the same middle school and adjacent high schools, yet I wondered how we had lost touch.  And I regretted not knowing who these people were anymore. 

My uncle had brought people together in church through his songs, so I’m told.  Yet even after death, he had managed to do it again. By some act of God, all these people were not just here to see my uncle off.  It was how I knew my uncle had gone to a better place. My uncle had brought us all back together.  Bridges were reestablished and phone numbers were exchanged.  There was an affirmation that we had acknowledged each other’s existence, because one day we will cease to.

If I could be measured, by the tears people shed for me when I died I’d hope there’d be enough to fill a cup.  I wondered how many people I knew well enough for them to make a trip out to my funeral.  Technology has made things more accessible for everyone to keep in touch, and I was ashamed at how seldom I took advantage of the new age. I thanked my uncle for reminding me of the people I needed to treasure, people that may need me, and that I may need someday.  I picked up the phone and reacquainted with a close friend I hadn’t seen or talked to in sometime. I realized I didn’t want the next time to be an old picture film. 

Log of Completed Activities
X Aug 24t- Intro to Paper #1. Read the “Guidelines for Paper #1″ by midnight. (Confirmation reply required.)
X  Aug. 25W- Laulima Discussion: Who Am I? Post your response by midnight.
L  Aug 27F- Complete readings for Paper #1 Confirmation reply required.
L  Aug 30M- Set up your blog for class papers.  After you’re done, go to Laulima. In the forum “My Blog Is Ready,” post the URL for your blog and invite classmates to visit and post comments.
L  Sep. 2T- Laulima Discussion: Discuss essays by Ehrlich and Legler.
L  Sep. 7t- Laulima Discussion: Discuss essays by Gilb and Whitehead.
L  Sep. 10F- Review Draft #1 (RD1) due. [50 pts] Read the guidelines. Confirmation reply required.
X  Sep. 13M- RD1 Evaluations due. [50 pts] Read the guidelines. Confirmation reply required.
X  Sep. 16T- Final Draft #1 (FD1) due [100 pts] Read the guidelines. Confirmation reply required.

ENG 215 FD#1: Ready Or Not Here We Come

Kristine Asato

September 16, 2010

FD#1

Ready Or Not Here We Come

Women have been able to take bolder steps in society in the last few decades.  There are now women lawyers and construction workers, and we are still are able to maintain the equilibrium of being nurses and teachers.  [THESIS] Throughout our lives women are put through a series of experiences that challenge our mental state.  [THESIS] Girls at a young age are more vulnerable to the pressures of society and the transition to adulthood.  Fortunately in some, these learning experiences can change women, and define them as a whole new person. 

As children, girls exemplify their personality traits.  Girls enjoy playing in the mud, and getting their knee’s scraped, the one trait they have is courage from fear.  They are filled with enough confidence that convinces them that one day, they will rule the world.  As a child, I dreamed of being a veterinarian, a musician, a basketball player, and one day I went so far as to dream that I would one day be a lawyer.  Somewhere between then and now, all those dreams went from actualities to completely beyond my reach.   But now, women have equal rights, and are well respected in numerous fields of study.  Some women grow into their shoes at a later age.  They realize their potential and see opportunities, and become the little girl that once dreamed of conquering the world. 

The transformation from girl to teen is inevitable, and traumatic to most.  During their teenage years, girls ride a rollercoaster of emotions and are just trying not to crash.  It is during this time that the little girl realizes that their lot in life is to be someone that pleases others, more specifically, men.  Women at this age yearn for the acceptance of their peers, and often lose their individuality.  “They try on new roles every week” says psychologist Mary Pipher (428). There is pressure to become someone they don’t even know, and are frustrated with their lack of answers. The psychological burden turns teenagers away from their parents, and forces them inward.  As everything around them changes, some teenagers search for some understanding, but retaliate instead.  This is when self-inflicted injuries, eating disorders, drugs, and thoughts of suicide occur. 

It is sad to say that some women never outgrow the mentality of their adolescent years.  Some women remain prone to the judgment of their peers, and are still unsure of whom they are.  Pipher claims that, “Many adult clients struggle with the same issues that overwhelmed them as adolescent girls.”(430) Pipher continues to access that some adults have succumb to the trauma and have accepted the mental instability.  These are the women who have stopped fighting for themselves.  Bottling up all their emotions, woman think it seems less stressful than dealing with it head on. They have conformed into a stereotype that society has dangled in the face of women decades. 

As women grow up, there is still more trauma ahead.  Those who have breached their adolescent years are still in for adulthood. One major difference is that women are no longer afraid to seek the advice of others.  My classmate Krizia Bawilan, says in her discussion that “One of the great solutions is to seek help…the only way to help get over trauma is to talk it out, learn to cope with those issues in a healthy way.”  The woman going through menopause is better prepared for the trauma that is about to unfold.  There is also a great deal of experience that can be used in this transition from adolescence to adulthood.  My classmate Shannon Guerrero explains that, “Life is full of lessons…it's what you do with what you already have that makes a person.”  With a little more advantage, women are able to face adulthood with the same conviction they had as a child.

Throughout our lives, women go through so much internally.  As children, girls have an overstock of curiosity and enthusiasm that leave them innocent.  Then through their adolescent years, teenage girls are introduced to a new world and are mentally challenged with its new rituals.  Most women grow immensely from their experiences, and are better women because of it.  They are able to share what they have learned throughout their years, to those willing to listen.  They are able to say they understand because plain and simply, they do.  These women also double as mentors to a future generation.  A traumatic experience helps us grow as a person, and women having to adjust to their gender role, grow the best.  Anyone who says different must be a man.  So ready or not world, a new woman is here.

Pipher, Mary.  “Sapling in the Storm.”  Dialogues.  An Argument Rhetoric and Reader Sixth Edition.  New York: Pearson Longman, 2009.  425-432.

Bawilan, Krizia.  “causes and solutions of gender role trauma” Group Discussion 7 Sep. 2010. English 215W. 16 Sep. 2010

Guerrero, Shannon.  “Causes & Solutions”  Group Discussion 7 Sep. 2010.  English 215W 16 Sep. 2010

ENG 215 RD Paper #1

Kristine Asato

ENG 215

Professor Shimabukuro

September 10, 2010

RD Paper #1

Ready or Not Here We Comes.

You would assume that as women we have enough to deal with as far as our gender role in society.  But to top things off, at a young age we deal with our menstruation cycle and later succumb to the scrutiny of dealing with a bigger bra size as we develop into early woman hood.  As we mature into our life, we undergo a series of emotional ups and downs from high school drama to pregnancy, and the exhaustion of childbirth.  When our life has settled, and we have grown comfortable in our skin, there is one more surprise for left for us, menopause.  Throughout our lives women are put through a series of experiences that challenge our mental state, but through these learning experiences we can be define as a whole new person.   

At an early childhood age, the female gender is struck with her menstruation cycle.  A stepping-stone in a woman’s life yes, but unfortunately some lacked this vital information and tumbled into a chaotic situation.  When my mother’s time had come for her cycle to begin, it came as a complete shock.  “I saw the blood and thought I was going to die” my mother Deb had told me this story a few times growing up.  She sat there experiencing her near death experience.   Ironically it was my grandfather who took on the role as a mother and sat down to explain what was happening.  The scare left my mother slightly traumatized, but wiser.   When my time came, I was well informed thanks to my mother.   My mother sat me down at a very early age making sure I knew what was in store for me.  She had learned from her mother’s mishap and was one step to a better mother. 

Today’s society has considerably lessened the tension of the female role.  We are no longer just nurses or maids.  Throughout the years, women have fought for equal rights, and deserve to be respected and considered on the same level as a man.  We strive to be doctors, construction workers, and even women of the law reaching as high as the Supreme Court. When the world tells them no, they say why the hell not.  In colleges both women and men are present in all different majors.  Compared to earlier years “…the gender imbalance in the overall college makes departments so segregated that campus life just ain’t what it sued to be.” (Vickers 473).   Studies have shown that, although the population of men outweighs women, more women are searching for higher education.  Taking advantage of more opportunities, women have made themselves stronger because of past belittlement. 

During their adolescent years, teenage girls, ride a rollercoaster of emotions as they try not to crash during their high school days.  This ride takes them through a series of insecurities, and a lower level of optimism.  The ride is so fast that young teenagers can’t always comprehend what is going on.  A traumatic experience as they realize they enjoy the company of boys, and outgrow their t-shirt and sneakers look as they move on to halters and high heels.  Unfortunately “They crash and burn in a social and developmental Bermuda Triangle.”  (Pipher 427).  They become lost in the blur that is the symbolic Bermuda Triangle, and focus more on becoming someone that is wanted by the opposite sex.  Women at this age yearn for the acceptance of their peers, and often lose their individuality.  But growing out of this comes with age.  After the ride, and the crash, if they have uncovered their lost individuality, and are able to find themselves again, they have a better picture of themselves than anyone they tried to please in earlier years. 

Its time to have a child, raise a family, retain a well established job, and deal with even more gender role trauma.  According to a Maxim magazine analysis researcher Peter Jackson “men and women are [represented as] polar opposites in terms of their sexual identities and desires.”  Speaking strictly for the support of the magazine itself, the statement also takes a stab at an average working mother.  Following the statement made by Jackson, there is no such thing as a male at-home-mother, or a workingwoman bringing home the bacon.  When a woman goes through menopause, she relies on the support of everyone who surrounds her.  But women have past the stereotype through the work force, and have a better perspective of them from their high school roller coaster experience.  The woman going through menopause can now face anything.  The traumatic experiences that women faced in life have made them better for themselves, and teachers for future generations.  They are able to share their finding to others, if they are willing to listen, but we are not dismayed to realize that the new generation is not to eager to learn.  We have been there, and we know what they’re going through.  We understand, and are better mentors because of it.  The scale of their experiences, are used as a meter to show how much they have grown.  A traumatic experience helps us grow as a person, and women having to adjust to their gender role, grow the best.  So ready or not world, a new woman is here. 

Eng 273N RD Paper #1

Kristine Asato

ENG 273N

Professor Shimabukuro

August 9, 2010
RD Paper #1

Forgetting to Remember You

I saw another person whose names I couldn’t remember, but whose face I hadn’t forgotten.  [THESIS] We were all here for the same reason, to remember.  [THESIS].  The room probably surpassed the fire codes maximum capacity, but no one was in a rush to leave anytime soon.  I knew this place well enough to drive myself. I found a place next to my brother against the wall and he handed me the program and I looked down to see my uncle’s face had grown slender from the cancer.  The only sound was the pastor’s voice marked with a recognizable bravado, similar to Martin Luther King, as he read a passage probably from the bible, or maybe he made it up.  I didn’t go to church enough to be able to tell the difference anymore.  I was probably 12 when I last saw my uncle, over a decade ago; I thought he had more time.

I almost didn’t come.  I’m not exactly sure why, maybe because I didn’t want to revisit the awareness of this reality. I had seen many family members off from here before, it almost seemed like we were regulars.  A loving father and husband, leaving his children behind, a man of God whose time had come to be with the Lord. I knew all to well the jargon that would be made to comfort the loss of this man.  17 years ago, the same monologue was made for my father.  I don’t remember my father, and I regret not remembering my Uncle. 


We are gathered here today, to remember.  It wasn’t just to remember Malcolm, that’s my uncle’s name; I realized it was to remember everyone else as well.  These people who probably haven’t seen each other in years, were all here for the same reason, and for that reason only.  It was pitiful that we became so busy we greeted old friends like mere acquaintances from a forgotten time in our life.  We had forgotten how to say hi to each other. 

I let my mind wander; I didn’t want to cry.  Someone in here must be a doctor, I wondered if his patients would come when he died.  If they did, he must’ve been a good doctor.  And the lady whose students would grow up to become successful, they’d probably be at her ceremony too.  I wondered if these people would all be at each other’s funerals when the time came.  The schedule goes, weddings, birthdays, high school reunions, holidays, and funerals.  These were the only excuses we used to keep in touch with one another.

Everyone slowly stood up, as requested by the man on the microphone.  A chord struck by a solemn guitar that rang of a church hymn and I imagined the isles filled with bibles.  The people in their black attire raised their hands as if their voice would be carried through them and up into the heaven to be heard by Malcolm.  That’s when I heard his voice, and I saw what they had displayed next to his pictures.  It was my uncles voice, as if awaken from the dead.  How eerie it must have been to hear him and know that he would never be heard as he was now.  A strong voice naïve to any cancer rang out in the speakers surrounding the crowd that had gathered.  Vaguely I remembered, the times we routinely paid a visit to God every Sunday, as my uncle led us in songs of His praise. 

The service came to an end with the traditional walk down the isle to give your condolences to the family of the deceased.  It was here I embraced my aunty who had just lost her husband, and her son, my friend who had just lost his dad. I could feel them before anyone else had a chance to see, the tears that had escaped.  A slow embrace mingled our tears as she cried for the time she spent, and I cried for the time I had lost.  She looked exactly the same, and he was all grown up. I had missed out on their lives.  And I regretted not knowing who they were anymore.   I saw a childhood friend we were neighbors until I was 15.  We had gone to the same middle school and adjacent high schools, yet I wondered how we had lost touch.  

My uncle brought people together.  In church through his songs, so I’m told, and he has done it again.  By some act of God, all these people were here to see my uncle off into an unforeseen world.  My uncle had brought us all back together.  Bridges were reestablished, phone numbers exchanged, and the affirmation that we had acknowledge each other’s existence, because one day we will cease to.   

If I could be measured, by the tears people shed for me when I died I’d hope there’d be enough to fill a cup.  I wondered about how many people I knew well enough for them to make a trip out to my funeral.  Technology has made things more accessible for everyone to keep in touch, and I was ashamed at how seldom I took advantage of the new age.  I picked up my phone, and sent a text to a friend I had forgotten in the past few months, things weren’t good on her end.  I thanked my uncle for reminding me of the people I needed to treasure, people that may need me, and that I may need someday.