savvywriting

[savvywriting]

Childhood and Houses

My Childhood told by the houses I lived in (Written 8/24/18)

In my nineteen years of life I have lived in six houses. Random and highly specific circumstances have caused my family to move to different houses, all within the same zip code. I’ve often referenced that each house tells a different story of my life, given the small-time span of formative years I’ve spent in them. The first house, the house I was born and breed in, seems like a fairytale. I was too young to see any holes in my life or my parents’. My parents wanted me to explore anything and everything. I was allowed to play with my food at our dinner table so I could express creativity. My mom worked night shifts as a nurse on the weekends, so I was with my dad while she slept during the day. We’d watch classic Disney movies and the bounty hunter show The Dog so my dad could show me what would happen if I go down the wrong road in life. My childhood wasn’t sheltered, but it was idyllic because in that house I knew I was loved so much.

The second house was across the street from our first one, we bought it and rented the first house out to our neighbor. It had a layout perfect for a kid. I had an almost closet-like-door I could go through to get to my parents’ room if I got scared during the night. The whole house and our giant, Atlanta-tree-covered, backyard was my playground. Man, did I play. My parents wanted me to be able to make a toy out of anything and my dad and I would go to our basement workshop and make castles. That sums up my entertainment as a child; watching shark week and building castles with my dad, playing dress up and walking in the creek with my mom, and carving tiny cities out of Styrofoam packaging. When I think of my happy place, I think of our little green house on North Parkwood Road.

The third house we moved into was because of a sharp and harsh change I didn’t see coming. My parents got divorced. It’s a modern-day staple in so many kids’ lives now, but that doesn’t make it easier. Looking back, I’m grateful they did. While having a nuclear family is ideal, it was better for us as a family. I have friends whose parents won’t be in the same room as each other, but my parents are close friends. My dad even stayed with my mom, stepdad, and I after he got knee surgery since he couldn’t go up the stairs to his apartment. But during that time, it was marked by challenges. I don’t like thinking of my time in the small, cramped house on Ridgeland Avenue. My mom, who I lived with, had very little money from the divorce and our second house didn’t sell for nearly enough as we hoped. After all, it was 2008. At nine years old, I felt helpless. My mom was sad, my dad was in a bad mood, and we were barely getting by. It was so contrasting to the amazing reality I had before. But, like all hard things, it passed.

My mom got remarried, and with my now-stepdad’s combined income we moved into an incredible townhouse in the center of the city. I was thirteen so I had the freedom to walk down town and hangout with my friends and to school. It was around this time that my feminism kicked in. I started to notice the world around me and the impacts the smallest characteristics have on my life. I was becoming curious. When I was fourteen my mom told me that I wasn’t allowed to walk with less than two female friends after dark. Even though we lived in the safest neighborhood in Atlanta, being a girl, especially a young one, came with grave risks. Race and class had never been something I’d seen. I grew up in an extremely liberal, diverse, immigrant and refugee populated, tight-knit community. I went to an I.B. school starting in kindergarten and my parents took me to political events for equality starting at three months old. I never met people who were racist or sexist. I knew they existed, but I never saw them. But at fifteen, the cracks began to show. I learned that my family in Mississippi, whom I spent many of my summers with running through country valleys and jumping into the lake on a hot southern-summer day, had view-points that I couldn’t separate them from. That was the hardest part for me, I loved my family so much, I knew they weren’t bad people. However, to this day it’s still hard to ignore what they say, in the limited time I’m grateful to spend with them, and have a good conscience. 

The summer before my sixteenth birthday we moved for a number of reasons. I switched to a private school so we moved to not pay the high taxes of our county’s great public school system. I was about to start driving and getting in and out of our complex on one of the busiest streets in Atlanta was not going to happen. So, we went to what we called “an in-between house” for about a year and a half. This house marked a story where I had to grow up. I learned about credit scores and college applications, housing properties and ramifications of bad behavior in the real world, from my older stepbrothers. I also got treatment for something that I had been struggling with for years, anorexia. My parents didn’t know about it for the longest of time but they helped me help myself. I had to learn to take care of myself and be away from home for treatment. I had a family member who had was an alcoholic so I had to learn to swallow my pride and do what’s best for everyone else. 

When we moved, we moved. For the first time, I felt privileged. We bought a very nice house in a very poor neighborhood because it was cheaper. There isn’t much to write about this story, it’s still pretty new. What I do know is the underlined feeling of guilt I have that my neighbors struggle to put food on the table and we live in a fully furnished three-story house.

My childhood helped me realize that chapters end, but your story never comes to a close. So, thank you to North Parkwood Road, Ridgeland Avenue, Clairemont Road, Royal Bluff Street, and Crescentwood Lane for your lessons. I’ll be a 30030 child forever.

[savvywriting]

ENG 101: Letter to an Author

English 101 Fall 2018 assignment to write a letter to an author we read in class about a specific piece of their work

Dear Mr. Leonhardt, In your article, “Inequality has been going on forever… but that doesn’t mean it’s inevitable,” you use both facts and optimism in your favor. While many people find optimism to be unrealistic, I admire and search for it. One of the most important things someone, let alone a writer, can do is look for the light at the end of a dark tunnel. You discuss how there is a relationship between the rich and poor that has the potential to balance well. Despite how irritating one might find that relation, it’s hard to argue against when the facts are written in a way to lead up to a bigger picture. Many people will just spew facts onto a page with no format, such as piece that has an introduction and then just a list of facts, but in order to be effective they need to be in writing, not bullet points. By structuring paragraphs and forming sentences, the reader is able to connect with the author and see the correlation between the writing and real life. I find that you did just that in your writing style. Of the topics you presented, I found education to be the most pressing. I believe that education is one of the best powers a person can I have. In order to get out of cycle of poverty, a person needs to break that cycle. I would like to elaborate on your stance. You pointed out that, “When a society become more educated, many of its less-wealthy citizens quickly acquire an ephemeral but nonetheless crucial form of capital, knowledge, that can bring enormous returns.” (Leonhardt, 2018, pg. 545) These returns can be in both a general capital, such as profit, or a more philosophical capital, like knowledge. As you suggest, there are immediate benefits to education, like the rising standard of living or the creation of new jobs in the workforce. Whether in a third world country in Asia or back here in North Carolina, education is a pathway to a better life. As you made sure to stress, “The pay gap between college graduates and everyone else in this country is at an all-time high.”( Leonhardt, 2018, pg. 546) With education comes access to tools and knowledge that play a large role improving one’s housing, health, and other crucial necessities they may have been previously lacking.  Simple things like affording plumping, electricity, or insurance improves quality of life. Education continues to be the main contributor to evolving society, because it has no limits. Education can benefit the young and the old, the rich and the poor. The article also noted that, “…They become those children in the small village who attended school, went off to work in a factory, …economic leaps above their parents”( Leonhardt, 2018, pg. 546) The creation of new and efficient jobs has historically come from better access to education. Without technological education, companies, like Facebook, would not have formed, thus not inventing the millions of jobs within it. Right now, the world is leaning away from industries like farming and factories, and towards media and service work. The material and the immaterial of our economy. In under-developed countries, like mentioned in that excerpt, education is the difference between life and death. Literacy is a privilege and if you are able to attain it the career opportunities offered increase drastically. By learning to read, people become eligible for a number of jobs, such as business or government work, and receive a significantly higher income and access to more resources. Just having a smart phone, itself can give you access to the internet, communication, and a camera. No one illiterate would be able to afford, let alone navigate, an IPhone. Tying back to your writing style, it was evident that you take facts seriously. Your writing asserts the necessity for facts, as you mention other writing works within it, and doesn’t fall short. My main critique is that you implore the information that could be valuable on a daily basis. You state how inequality isn’t inevitable but name nothing we, as individuals, can do to contribute. I’m sure facts could be a reaffirming resource and create a dialogue on economic standards. You could expand on education reform techniques that work economically, physically, and indefinitely. Such as re-zoning, lowering higher education costs, more resources in school (i.e. up-to-date textbooks, computers, money for departments other than athletic) and retention rates. All of those little things add up to make a substantial difference in our economy and society. Offering training for workers whose jobs are going out of business and being replaced with technology offers a wider scale of diversity amongst businesses and corporations. As well as, expanding the workforce itself. Day to day, enriching the educational culture and simple tasks, like quality and free tutoring, can make an impact in students’ lives. By investing in the student, you’re investing in the economy. My conclusion, then, is that writing has a power to delegate the work’s connection to the audience. Through your writing, I’ve seen that the audience has the power to choose which topics of discussion they take home, as I did with education, and for which they leave. As you said, “Rising inequality is a trend, but it is one we have helped to create and one we can still change.” (Leonhardt, 2018, pg. 546)

[savvywriting]

ENG 101: Dialogue Essay

In my English 101 class in Fall 2018, we were assigned to write a dialogue between two authors we discussed.

Dialogue: Stephen King and Gladwell As always, customer service was awful. Gladwell had been waiting for the young lady to come back with his coffee. If the coffee wasn’t so overwhelmingly delicious, he’d have been long gone by now. The people around him had the kind of volume of speech that cumulated into white noise. The light in shop was dim, but bright enough for reading. Everyone around him seemed to either be in a rush or have nothing to do at all. To his right he saw a young girl curled up on a chair, rapidly flipping through a book and sipping a to-go cup of coffee. To his left there was a group of men wearing business-casual attire and laughing a bit too loudly. Glancing over at a newspaper, he saw the title jump out, “Do you need to read to start a revolution?” Seriously? “I’m assuming by the look on your face you’ve read the title of that paper?” A voice said from behind Gladwell. He turned around to see none other than Stephen King standing in line behind him.

“Well yeah- it’s ridiculous,” Gladwell responded after a moment of oh my lord, it’s Stephen king monologue. “How can you expect to write about it if you can’t read it? History is written for a reason.” King inquired sarcastically. “Oh, unless you’re tweeting, don’t get me started on that!” Gladwell exclaimed, his voice rising an octave. “Actually, I think I’d like to hear that,” King pressed excitedly. Gladwell looked back towards the counter. There was still no sign of the barista. Well, if he insists… “I wrote a paper back in 2010,” Gladwell started, “It was about how the revolution will not be tweeted. While there is more social media these days it comes back to the fact that twitter is a tool, not the revolution itself. Looking back at Moldova, it was named The Twitter Revolution yet no change actually took place. In fact, almost no one on the scene even had a twitter account to begin with.” “It’s truly amazing the power of words,” King responded thoughtfully. He continued, “I doubt the people involved really read about social change and revolutions. If they had, perhaps they could have found a more effective way of bringing about transformation. I wrote an article once about how reading improves your writing, I guess that can apply to even tweets. By reading books, heck even Time Magazine, you can see the methods used for lasting social change in the past.” “I mean technically you have to write a tweet!” Gladwell joked, laughing at the thought of a tweet being considered valid literature. There’s no college course on the etiquette of constructing a tweet. Heck, the president probably uses Twitter more than the population of country combined. “I mean not to say that good things haven’t been brought about because of social media. Remember the bone-marrow guy?” “Oh yes!” King laughed, “If it wasn’t for the grapevine and passionate people on social media, then that poor guy would have never found a donor. It was heartwarming to see so many people putting in the time to make that happen. I suppose a little effort really does go a long way. Once again, if more people were to read articles on acts of kindness like this, it would bring a chain reaction. After all, reading induces action.” “That’s true,” Gladwell replied, “But with the vast amount of information coming to someone by a cell-phone, how do we know what’s real? What will actually have some degree of impact?” “I had a time with my son a while back,” King spoke, “He wanted to play and instrument, and, of course, I was very excited, but once he had the instrument he wasn’t so fascinated anymore. We had to force him to practice. I think that now people have resources like twitter it’s easier for them to not have to do any real-life activism. It is much easier to view life from a distance, though the screen, so to speak. Only actual circumstances will force them to act, as I did with my son.” “I can see that,” Gladwell rubbed his stubble-clad chin, “I suppose in most cases of activism you hear the pattern of ‘I didn’t realize how big of an issue this was until it affected me’ rhetoric. My paper outlined the dangers of social media induced activism. It’s clearly a two-way street, however. Just caring about an issue is better than nothing at all.” “Perhaps reading more engaging and truthful political content online will push people to reflect more before tweeting. Perhaps adding a sort of process to tweeting. This could make people reflect before they press the post button.” King agreed, “A main reason Martin Luther King jr. was so successful was how well-read he was and his ability to make ethical and knowledgeable decisions. “Excuse me, sir?” Gladwell turned to see the college-age barista back, holding a steaming cappuccino. Gladwell looked around once again, the girl from earlier was nowhere to be seen, her coffee gone without a trace. The business men were long gone, probably back to the office. They’d moved on to the next part of the day. As incredible as it was to have a philosophical literature discuss with the Stephen King, he should probably move on too. Research won’t conduct itself. Paying for the coffee, Gladwell responded, “if only a there was a manual on how to tweet effectively, then people would really improve their writing from reading.” “Yes, maybe that will be my next novel.” King said with a humorous expression. “Well, it’s been a pleasure,” Gladwell said, as they parted ways. “Truly a great way to start my morning,” King said, now waiting for his coffee. He looked around. The subdued light was perfectly matched by atmosphere of readers. On his right King saw a group of students counting their cash together, desperate for more caffeine. To his left, a small girl tugging on her mom’s hand while begging for a cookie on display. Now where was the barista? If the coffee wasn’t so great, he would be leaving right now.

Works Cited Gladwell, Malcom. “Small Change: Why the Revolution Will Not Be Tweeted.”

King, Stephen. “Reading to Write.”

[savvywriting]

Town Hall Statement

My Congress rep, Hank Johnson, held a town hall. I delivered this statement as a reaction to the “Heart Beat Bill” here in Georgia

As a young Georgian woman, H.B. 481 or the “Heart Beat Bill” is absolutely terrifying. Right now, myself and women all across both Georgia and our country are feeling violated, unheard, and unimportant. Many of the women I have talked to here in Georgia fear that the next step will be banning birth control or a bill like the one recently passed in Alabama. Essentially, this feels like the prequel of the Handmaid’s Tale. As a singular Congressman, I know that alone there is very little you can do. I do appreciate your actions in co-sponsoring the Women’s Health Protection Act and working to ensure access to and funding of contraception.

Given all that, there are factors that make the “heartbeat bill” so dangerous. One being sexual education in schools. Georgia is absent from the list of states which has sexual education as part of the National Curriculum. Students learn about the reproductive system from biology textbooks; however, nobody is speaking to them about safe sex, contraception, and human sexuality. In 2015 1,449 minors gave birth in Georgia and183 girls left school due to marriage. The youngest of them was 13 years old. 

HB 406, “…requires age-appropriate sexual abuse and assault awareness and prevention education in kindergarten through grade 12. This also provides that professional learning and in-service training may include programs on sexual abuse and assault awareness and prevention.” HB 406 failed and was adjourned in Georgia. 

The effect of the failure of this bill is evident in a variety of students’ experiences. I remember our health classes being separated by gender on certain days. Us girls were lectured on sex and essentially told that it’s all on us to not be teases since boys can’t control themselves. I remember our P.E. coach telling us that when he sees girls wearing scarves to school he knows what that “actually means” and that we don’t want to have “that type of reputation.” We later found out the boys watched a documentary on bullying during this same time. 

When outside abstinence-only programs come into schools, girls will be referred to as “chewed up pieces of gum” or “used tape.” Because who would want a piece of gum that has already been chewed? And what happens to tape once it has been used and tries to work again? It loses its bonding. Students want a better education on these matters. However, it is lawmakers and adults with personal beliefs and agendas who prevent this better education. Students are constituents and by not listening to them, lawmakers are not doing their job, which is to represent them. How can we call ourselves a democracy when students, who are people, are ignored? In that case, it is not “by the people, for the people.” 

Just last December, teenagers in Fulton county called for better sex education. Vox-Atlanta conducted a survey of teenagers who said that they:

• Place a high importance on protection from STDs and unwanted teen pregnancies; • Were not educated well regarding puberty and the spread of HIV; • Truly do want to see improvement in the sex-ed classes, and • Want their parents to initiate awkward but important conversations about sexual health.

Given all this, it is important to take action. The Georgia Coalition1 for Advancing Sex Education is one of many organizations looking for factually and medically accurate, diverse, LBGT inclusive, and realistic prevention sexual education curriculum in schools. I urge for both you and your Georgia colleagues in Washington to consider this level of sex-ed in schools a top priority and work with organizations such as the Georgia Coalition1. In doing so, to stop having abstinence-only curriculum, provide accurate information, and dismiss the allowance of outside groups, such as Choosing the Best and the National Abstinence Clearing House to come into our public schools. A large amount of these programs is religion-based, primarily Christian, which goes against the constitution in regard to “separation of church and state” as public schools are government entities. 

If you ask students, they want better education and it has been proven to lower abortion rates. With this new bill, this cause is more important than ever.

Resources Blackman, Kate, and Samantha Scotti. “State Policies on Sex Education in Schools.” National Conference of State Legislatures, NCSL, 21 Mar. 2019, www.ncsl.org/research/health/state-policies-on-sex-education-in-schools.aspx. Georgia Coalition for Advancing Sex Education, georgiacase.org/. Tbilisi, JAMnews |. “Sexual Education in Georgia: Who Is against Having It Included in the School Curricula.” JAMnews, 10 June 2019, jam-news.net/sexual-education-in-georgia-who-is-against-having-it-included-in-the-school-curricula/. “Teens Call for Better Sex Ed in Georgia and Fulton County.” VOX ATL, 7 Dec. 2018, voxatl.org/better-sex-ed-georgia/.

[savvywriting]

Molly Weasley Character Analysis

Hey all!

This is a research paper I wrote on Molly Weasley for school. The Harry Potter universe has always been extremely important to me, so I worked so so so hard on this. I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 1509 words

^The bibliography is included in that, but is not attached to this post

Written on June 27th, 2017 by Savannah Henry

If reblogged please credit “Savannah Henry // Savvywriting” as the author, thanks!!

Character Analysis: Molly Weasley

The Harry Potter book series’ character Molly Weasley shows that women are capable of many expectations at once. Molly Weasley is a mother of seven, a house wife, an important member in a resistance group, a solider, and a talented witch. Many people believe that a woman cannot be a good mother and a feminist, or cannot be intelligent and maternal. However, Molly Weasley is able to do whatever she sets her mind to, and does it well.

Molly Weasley’s pride and joy is her family. In-fact her Boggart, a creature that takes the physical form one’s worst fear, is the death of her family. As a result, Molly has the mindset that she would mother the entire world if she could. Her compassionate family skills do not end with her children, she is known for caring for everyone. In book six, the Half Blood Prince, she is comforting the character Tonks at midnight after she has been rejected by the man she loves, Remus Lupin. Throughout the book, Molly is constantly forcing Tonks and Remus to interact with each other and ultimately is responsible for their admission of love to each other. Pretty much any occasion Molly Weasley is at, she makes sure that there is more than enough to eat for everyone. Harry’s seventeenth birthday in book seven, the Deathly Hallows, she makes a huge personalized birthday cake and feast for the party. During their time in the Order’s Head Quarters, Number Twelve Grimmald Place, Molly is constantly cleaning, cooking, and trying to make the cobweb infested darkness a home for everyone. When it comes to Molly Weasley’s mothering skills, she is most famous for her treatment of Harry Potter. Harry grew up unloved and neglected, Molly states he is a member of the Weasley family, and leaves no room for argument. At the end of the fourth book, The Goblet of Fire, Harry saw a friend die and was tortured by the man who killed his parents. What helped him the most was Molly’s hug in the hospital, for he had never been comforted like that before. “Mrs. Weasley set the potion down on the bedside cabinet, bent down, and put her arms around Harry. He had no memory of ever being hugged like this, as though by a mother. The full weight of everything he had seen that night seemed to fall in upon him as Mrs. Weasley held him to her. His mother’s face, his father’s voice, the sight of Cedric, dead on the ground, all started spinning in his head until he could hardly bear it, until he was screwing up his face against the howl of misery fighting to get out of him.” Molly Weasley proves how important love is.

Despite her strong character trait of compassion, Molly Weasley is powerful. She is powerful enough that in the fifth book, The Order of the Phoenix, Hermione Granger only has to threaten to write Molly in order to get her sons, Fred and George, to behave. “If you don’t stop doing it, I’m going to –’

‘Put us in detention?’ said Fred, in an I’d-like-to-see-you-try-it voice. ‘Make us write lines?’ said George, smirking.

Onlookers all over the room were laughing. Hermione drew herself up to her full height; her eyes were narrowed and her bushy hair seemed to crackle with electricity. ‘No,’ she said, her voice quivering with anger, ‘but I will write to your mother.’ ‘You wouldn’t,’ said George, horrified, taking a step back from her.”

           Of-course Molly’s moment of fame was dueling and killing Bellatrix, who had previously thought to be far too deranged and talented to kill, in order to protect her daughter. Molly Weasley was able to defeat a woman who had murdered several highly trained soldiers, famously skilled witches and wizards, and had tortured people into insanity. However, when looking into the complexity of Molly’s character it is no surprise she is able to do this. She obviously is exceptional at charms since she used so many for household chores, and she constantly took leadership in various projects. In the second book, The Chamber of Secrets, Molly sent her son Ron an angry howler, a letter that will speak loudly when opened, after he damaged his father’s flying car and school property. Throughout the series that specific howler is referenced as being terrifying. Molly Weasley is perfectly capable of being caring and intimately powerful.

           Most important of all these points, Molly Weasley’s morals never waiver. Her son Percy left the family in the Order of the Phoenix after being convinced the Weasley’s were wrong about the return of Voldemort, and he refused to have anything to with them. Percy even went as far as to work against them with the government, the Ministry of Magic. There are many times in the following books where Molly is shown devastated from this, often to the point of tears. Ultimately Molly does let it be, knowing as parent that some lessons cannot be taught. Another moral is that family is family, no matter how rich or poor. The Weasley family is known for being poor, but that doesn’t stop Molly Weasley from making sure her seven children and husband have everything they need. Even if it means giving hand-me-downs and shopping at second hand stores, her family will always be provided for. Speaking of family, in The Order of the Phoenix, Molly is adamant with Harry’s godfather, Sirius Black, that Harry needs to still be sheltered somewhat and that he is still too young for the dangers of war. “He’s not a child!’ said Sirius impatiently. ‘He’s not an adult either!’ said Mrs. Weasley, the color rising in her cheeks. ‘He’s not James, Sirius!’ ‘I’m perfectly clear who he is, thanks, Molly,’ said Sirius coldly. ‘I’m not sure you are!’ said Mrs. Weasley. ‘Sometimes, the way you talk about him, it’s as though you think you’ve got your best friend back!’ Even though the circumstances were tense Molly Weasley put her foot down when it came to the raising of Harry, whom she thought of as a son. Lastly, Molly Weasley knows admitting when you are wrong is just as important as being brave. During the Goblet of Fire an incorrect and biased article is written on Harry and Ron’s best friend Hermione Granger, stating she romantically used Harry due to his fame. Molly gave Hermione the cold shoulder for a little while, before realizing the article was wrong. She then made it up to Hermione and treated her better. Molly’s son Bill was engaged to the beautiful French young woman Fleur, whom Molly did not approve of. When tragedy struck and Bill’s face was scarred by a werewolf, Molly realized she was wrong about Fleur’s love for Bill then proceeded to change her behavior. ‘You thought I would not weesh to marry him? Or per’aps, you ’oped?’ said Fleur, her nostrils flaring. ‘What do I care how ’e looks? I am good-looking enough for both of us, I theenk! All these scars show is zat my husband is brave! And I shall do zat!’ she added fiercely, pushing Mrs. Weasley aside and snatching the ointment from her. Mrs. Weasley fell back against her husband and watched Fleur mopping up Bill’s wounds with a most curious expression upon her face. Nobody said anything; Harry did not dare move. Like everybody else, he was waiting for the explosion. ‘Our Great Auntie Muriel,’ said Mrs. Weasley after a long pause, ‘has a very beautiful tiara – goblin-made – which I am sure I could persuade her to lend you for the wedding. She is very fond of Bill, you know, and it would look lovely with your hair.’ ‘Thank you,’ said Fleur stiffly. ‘I am sure zat will be lovely.’ And then – Harry did not quite see how it happened – both women were crying and hugging each other.”

 Molly Weasley bends all expectations of how a mother, feminist, leader, and role model should be. We can all learn from Molly that one title does not define who we are. As a character, Molly Weasley is a prime woman of importance and a source for the future of feminism throughout generations.

[savvywriting]

Why Books Matter

This is a short piece I’ve written on why reading is so important today. 

Enjoy

Why Books Matter.

 It’s not improbable to believe that there is a book out there for everyone, it’s only unaccepted. A book can be more than paper with crisp printed words – no a book is more than paper with crisp printed words. A good book is not just a story, it’s a re-telling of someone’s imagination. The worlds that fiction creates aren’t calculated with a computer. These worlds that are processed in our brains, are produced in someone else’s. That life changing quote your putting in a social media bio, someone’s mind came up with that. That quote is more than just letters.

           That’s why reading is so important. All of these stories are told through the eyes of someone else. When you read a good book, you see an experience through another person’s eyes. Unfortunately, not many people realize the community reading creates. Some of the experiences I’ve received are just unreal. In the reading community there are author talks, literary based events, giveaways, recommendations, and so many other positive moments. Basically, you delve into discussion on diverse topics that are often over looked.

           Today, those discussions are so significant. Regardless of your reaction to the outcome of this election, there is no denying the miscommunication and lack of understanding. Though to be honest, there are some situations that an outsider just cannot fully understand. What will count is being knowledgeable. While educating yourself on the facts and history of things is important, being aware of them is crucial. A textbook or a news broadcast isn’t going to do the same thing as walking in another’s shoes, stories will.

           If we could all see our fear through another’s eyes, life would be so different. Right now, so many people are watching the conflict on a screen. What if you were experiencing the conflict? It might make you uncomfortable, but sometimes that needs to happen.

           So I firmly believe a solution to our hatred is reading. If we can all just pick up a book outside of our comfort zone, imagine the lives that would change. For some people finding an eye opening book may take a while, but it’s so worth it. We need to go out and explore the world outside our own, I suggest starting in the bookstore.

[savvywriting]

Pride

I am writing a poem for every Seven Deadly Sins...

Only I’m not using the name of the sin in the poem.

This is Pride.

Savannah Henry

01/30/2017

It is something

Seen,

Heard,

And read.

It is something represents itself effortlessly.

Although,

It is not created simply.

When you see it,

There is typically a hard earned accomplishment.

An accomplishment that shines through the atmosphere.

Or,

When you see it,

There is an overly boastful presence,

An infuriating attitude.

When you hear it,

There is loud trumpet,

Waking you up to a better reality.

Or,

When you hear it…

There is voice so loud,

Shouting obnoxious propaganda.

When you read it,

The character screams truth,

A truth ready to be catapulted to success.

Or,

The scene lays out a trap,

A trap meant to communicate less than truth.

It may seem to have potential for positivity,

But the sin is morphed through different sentence,

To hide the raw purpose.

[savvywriting]

Write My Lie

Write My Lie

01/28/2017

If I were to write myself as a lie,

How would I be described?

I’d say the obvious,

I’m consistently confident,

I’m always witty when social,

I’m always able to create,

I have no mental weakness.

But when I think hard about what I’m not,

When I challenge the clear,

I see more.

I see that I am not inconsiderate,

I see that I am not the weeds in a garden,

I see that I do not consider myself the sun in our solar system,

I see that I am not blind to the endangered environment,

I see that I am not deaf to the cries of fear,

I see that I do not mask hope with agenda,

I see that I am not well developed roots in lost cause.

I see that I am change.

[savvywriting]

The Time of a Healer

Hey there. This is a story I wrote for my creative writing class, enjoy!

January 4th, 2017

I was used to staring at the floor by now. I seemed to be able to hide myself by memorizing the dents and scratches on the school’s tiled floor. I’d like to believe that by keeping my head down I was invisible. Of course, that’s not realistic. I’m still found. Her voice slashes my view away from the school’s shoe base. When I say “her” I refer to the vain of my existence, the one person whose words are equivalent to being stoned with rocks.

Kata.  

           She’s the bully loved by many. Kata somehow tears down my self-esteem on a schedule, but is still applauded for her stellar grades, and above beyond volunteer hours. You’d think that someone with that royal level of popularity would have something better to do than verbally shred me like an expired license. She’s always able to make a window of time for me. She’s able to because I’m me. Julia Azar. Julia whose skin under her eyes are darker than a haunted house on Halloween. Julia who’s not seen for her talents, but for her small physical abnormality pointed out by the champion of beauty at school. Julia Azar is the girl who’s under eye skin resembles a night sky without stars.

           “Do you just not sleep or something?” Kata laughs, “or are you clumsy enough to get two black eyes?” Her words move the tectonic plate layered in my brains, resulting in a violent shake of my confidence.

           Later on, my mom finds me in a fort of self-hate. The mirror in my ballerina pink room is covered with a bedsheet, and I’m reading a magazine article on painting my face with concealer. Her soft drum beat of her footsteps becomes louder, and somewhere in my mind I register it. Though, I am too engrossed in a feeling of familiar failure to react. My mom’s French manicure grabs the teen-beauty-heartthrob-collage of words from me. I’d say my reaction of teenage annoyance is valid.

            My mom is always the person who I come to, and she still manages her composure. She’s always so strong for other people, therefore my hero. Yes, my mom is my hero.

           Her eyes bounce to the magazine article, the concealer in my hand, and then to me. Only now there’s something new sparkling in her eyes, and I can’t decide if I like it or not.

           “We need to discuss something” her eyes announce with the words dancing in her exhale of breath. I don’t think I like this new gaze.

           My mom sits me down and over the next hour I realize that my family is either certifiably insane, or thinks I’m very gullible. My mother says that according to my genetics my dark under eye circles makes me some kind of ancient healer. This type of healer tends to injuries and emotional damage of those hurt in selfless acts. If this was true, I’d basically be a mythical badass. Sadly, I think my mother is doing some weird analogy to make me feel better; deeper truth to trigger confidence. Throughout my mother explaining my glorifying Lebanese heritage she sees my expression of continuing disbelief.

           Finally, she sighs out “I understand you think I’m lying to you,” I let out an eye roll, “but you’ll see the truth tomorrow.” I’m then wrapped in a comforting awkwardly positioned hug. I’m separated from the loving embrace as my mom lightly walks out of my room, closing the door behind her.

           Hours later, I’m staring at my ceiling. It’s funny how at school I look down, but I end the day looking up. With my tranquilizing floral duvet neatly creased around me, my pillow opens my dreams.

           I feel the light on my eyelids before they open. I feel the hot sun resting on my skin. I feel the warmth dancing through my bones. I do my typical morning routine of procrastinating through thoughts to opening my eyes. As I think I realize that my room is always cold in the morning. Anxious curiosity tears my vision open.

Horror seeps around me as I realize this is not my room.

I’m covered in a light cotton sheet, now sitting up on an oak bed. As my vision focuses I see that the room I’m in is covered in patterned curtain like fabrics. If I wasn’t horrified, I’d probably recognize the beauty of the room. However, I am terrified. Suddenly over aware of every one of my senses, hear feel a gush of wind and the quiet sound of someone walking in through the curtain.

“Hi Julia” a soft yet confident voice says as I sharply whip my head around. It’s a young woman speaking, she can’t be older than nineteen. Her stained oak hued hair goes to her shoulders of the small frame. A stormy sky gray contrasting silk and linen dress covers her lightly tanned body. What I notice most is her face. What I notice immediately is that under her dazzlingly shaped hazel eyes are darkly tinted skin. That’s a first to see, I think. Despite her peculiarity of a facial feature, she is absolutely beautiful.

“I’m assuming you’re confused” she smiles. I slowly nod my head, unable to have the paralyzing intimated thoughts roll off my tongue.

“I’m Beth,” she begins “I know your mother told you the story of your eyes last night. I don’t blame you for not believing her, it sounds like a prank a first.” No kidding. “I can tell you’re putting the piecing in your head together right now” Beth kindly humors, “Your mother told you the truth. You’re a healer, you have abilities to make the world a stronger and loving place. You can heal the heroes, you’re a true gift.”

“I’m really overwhelmed” I’m able to admit. I can admit it, because despite the insanity of the situation I feel so right­.

“I’ll tell you what’s going on, and then you ask away,” Beth sits on the bed I’ve unknowingly occupied “although I doubt you’ll have any questions. Our girls rarely do.”

She speaks swiftly yet comfortingly now. “You’re currently here with eleven other girls, two mentors, and I –the guide. We’re all bound together by our spirit, physically shown through our under eyes. Outside this structured tent is a hidden dessert. We’re invisible to the outside world and provided with everything we need. Despite the climate surrounding us, you’ll never be too hot, or too cold for that matter. Starting today, you’ll be learning how to capture your gifts and control them to heal our patients. When you’re training here is complete, you can choose to go home or travel where needed as an official healer. Training usually lasts eight days. Any questions now?”

Despite the confusion that an outsider may acknowledge, I have no questions. It’s almost is I’ve always known this, and I just got a refresher.

So I shake my head, feeling my lips tug up while doing so. Beth back beams at me.

I’m then given a small tour of the site and introduced to the rest of the group. After I’m given an identical outfit to Beth and all the others, the training begins.

The training hasn’t been brutal. In many narratives, the protagonist will talk about how much harder the training is than they would ever expect. At first I was mildly concerned that I would be put in a situation that I couldn’t handle, but that didn’t happen. I’ve been here for six days now, and so far everything has come naturally to me. Every tradition and ritual has easily floated through me, empowering me. For the first time in so long, I’m not thinking about my appearance. Instead I’m thinking about who I am on the inside, and how I have a purpose.

I actually feel beautiful, which is why I’m making the decision to continue my work as a healer.

I’m now sitting with Beth and the two mentors, Roan and Maxine. Around me are curtains similar to the ones in the tent I woke up in. Fascinating patterns that leave me curious are blowing towards me by the presence of the wind. Everything feels so right.

“Today we’ll be discussing your test, should you pass the journey of healing may begin” Maxine addresses. Maxine had the darkest shade of red hair, and always sported a new henna tattoo every day. Roan had long wavy sandy blonde hair running down her back, and had her always had her nails painted. The nail polish reminds me of my mom back at home. I’ve noticed that I’m seeing people for more than just their under eyes. I see so much more in people, which I pride.

“This will test your ability to heal both mind and body, and use will power in your emotions” Maxine finishes.

“There are some girls who are unable to complete this test, it is extremely difficult” Roan warns.”

“I’ll do my best,” I smile through my anxiety.

“Julia your test is to heal the spirit of Kata Anderson,” Maxine’s voice cuts through my newly found confidence. I’m gazed at with empathy by the three women in the room.

“Julia, your final test is to be selfless to someone who has been selfish” Beth informs me calmly.

“She’s the reason I hated my appearance a week ago” I find myself whispering, horrified.

“She has been horrible to you, we know” Roan tells me softly, “but the true value of a healer is being able to help anyone and everyone.”

“Julia, she has problem which will be releveled.” Beth says quietly as she lightly squeezes my shaking hand, “if you help her you will become a healer.”

I take deep breath full of knowledge and nod my head, feeling insecurity resurface.

 I’m sitting on a bench in a park. I think it’s kind of funny, because so many event happen at parks in stories. A first kiss, a heart to heart, friends making up, slow walks, playgrounds… it just keeps going. This however is none of that. What’s about to happen is not the Disney land fireworks of a first kiss, or romantic comedy where you run into an old love. This is going to be a forced interaction of misery. I don’t even know why I’m here, but I’m here. I’m here sitting on a wooden bench breathing the crisp Sunday morning air, and I’m waiting.

Time ticks and steadily continues, and so does the waiting. I’m watching a toddler playing with her mother. She’s dressed in an outfit she obviously picked out herself, and can’t be more than three. Her father is pushing her on the swing, calling her beautiful princess, while her mother takes pictures with her phone. The little girl’s giggles and squeals surround my mind, reminding me of my family dinners. The dinners filled with laughter and horrible puns about food, the rare time when I don’t think about my appearance.

I’m still contently watching the family dynamic when my eyes focus in on Kata sitting on a similar bench watching the scene too. Only while I have a small smile on my lips, she has small tears on her cheek. Kata’s face is blotchy like kid’s painting experimenting with reds. Small dots of mascara dot under her lower eyelashes, and her blonde hair is limply falling past her back. For the first time ever, she doesn’t look like the arrogant yet loveable perfect student. She’s not on her perfect stand, instead Kata’s on a bench crying.

The hardest part is forcing myself to stand up. My bones are trying to glue me to the wood, and my brain is screaming “DANGER”. Somehow though, once I start walking it becomes easier. The same feeling that happens when I’m in the secluded desert while I’m healing overcomes. Before I know it, I’m sitting on the bench with her.

Kata looks at me, and for a half second looks as if she’ll throw an insult at my face, but she doesn’t. Instead she speaks in small curiously quivering voice.

“Where were you last week?”

I wasn’t expecting that. Why would the sun of the solar system notice a small ring around Saturn?

“I was visiting somewhere I might be moving to soon” I half-truth.

           Kata’s eyes grow as big as the Grinch’s heart.

           “You’re moving?” she asks, shocked.

           “Well yeah, I mean maybe.” My mind is swimming in more confusing waters now.

           “But if you move… what will I do?” her voice is in a whisper, more to herself than me.

           Here it is, what might help me pass my test and be rid of her forever, “What’s going on?”

           I expect her to darkly laugh or roll her eyes. Instead she looks over at the playground family, who are now beginning to walk away. The girl on her father’s back and the mother throwing her head back in laughter off of something that was said.

           “I’ve never had something like that before,” gesturing towards them “my mom still has to approve my outfits.”

           “Why?” I ask, my voice now expressing my confusion.

           “Appearance is everything, my family lives by that. My appearance never seems to match up though.”

           “But Kata, I mean… you’re perfect.”

           Now she lets out a dark laugh, but it’s quieter than expected. Honestly the laugh resembles an ironic chuckle. Kata doesn’t respond to that verbally, instead shaking her head once while a few salty tears make their way down her face.

           My shock is wearing off and I’m able to say something that has more than a ‘W’ word.

           “I think you’re beautiful,” I start off softly as she continues looking at the playground, “I mean everyone does… If anything I’ve envied you for years.”

           Kata’s head stays bowed but she whispers “That was the point.”

           “Wait-what?” I find myself saying out loud instead of in my head.

           “I wanted someone to be jealous of me, to think that highly of me,” Kata looks at me before she continues, “You were shy and seemed insecure, I thought a jab or two might boost my confidence. And well- it did. The way you’d look at me like I was above you, it made me feel beautiful when nothing else did. I guess I got a little carried away, and before I knew it middle school and most of high school had gone by. It went by so fast, too fast.”

           I don’t know what I feel, let alone what to respond. Is this real?

           “God,” Kata throws her head back in a groan, “I don’t even know why I’m telling you this! We’ve never even had an actual conversation.”

           Right then and there I’m hit with an odd type of energy, like I know exactly what to say. So I say it. “I’ve recently made some new friends who’ve helped me realize that life has so much more to offer than looks. When I surround myself with people like that, I feel unstoppable.” I say honestly. “And you have so much more than your looks. Maybe that what your family thinks comes first, but it’s not. The teacher’s like you because you’re a good student and volunteer a lot, other kids like you because your funny and just likeable. I mean even after the stuff you’ve said to me, I can’t help but like you,” I chuckle, “pretty weird.”

           Kata then lets out a laugh, the same genuine one you can hear from across the cafeteria.

“People really think that?”

           “I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true” I laugh back, “it’s not like I owe you anything.”

           Then Kata looks at me, not in the judgmental eye glance way. In a humanizing big eyed childlike way.

           “I never thought you were ugly, to be honest I didn’t think about you in a physical appearance way at all. Just a selfish intention on my part.” She admits.

           My ears ring at those words. “Just remember that there’s a lot about you other than you’re looks, and you’ll be just fine.”

           Kata smiles at me,

           I smile back.

  It’s not until later that I realize that I had done my job, I healed. I didn’t even notice I was doing healing either, it all just happened. I know I can go back to my mom, back to school, back to Kata, and things would be different. Now though, that’s just not my home. My home is where my gifts are needed, and there’s nothing left for me in a building for eight hours a day. As I’ve told my mentors, it’s time for me to move on.

           I’m ready to start my new voyage through the waters of change.

[savvywriting]

Common App Essay

This is the essay I wrote for the Common App for college applications. I’m really proud of it! I worked very hard on it, and it really connects me to my passion of volunteering and my goals to one day go into the peace corps.

a common app essay

October 2016

If reblogged please credit me (Savannah Henry)

 Students don’t typically have the time to work in their community. From standardized tests to managing a sleep schedule, a lot is expected of us. This is one reason I’ve distanced myself from normal. Being normal has never worked well for me. Through challenges and mistakes, I’ve realized that volunteering is what I am made to do. I find my passion, happiness, and education in volunteering. Without the moments of helping others, I wouldn’t be myself.

I have always defined my past as my contribution to the world, remembering the previous years based off of the opportunities I took. I’ve stepped away from the normal standards of education, and focused my time on ways to give back. After suffering from some health problems early on in high school, I created my own education. I enrolled at my current school, where scheduling and coursework are flexible and self-paced. While I was educated academically, I found I learned the most within my community. The children I’ve guided have taught me that there are so many reasons to smile. I’ve learned through the refugees I’ve spoken to that the world is bigger than you think. I’ve learned from the animals I’ve fed that our environment is so precious. I’ve learned from my travels that language barriers just teach us new ways to communicate.  

           To me, volunteering means pushing myself away from normal. Volunteering is separating myself from pity and moving towards empathy. Volunteering is not being able to fully understand the world, but to listen to what the world needs. Volunteering is taking action and putting strength into your own hands. Volunteering is taking that strength and sharing it with others. The most important aspect of my application I need express is that I hear the world. I hear the people standing up for their rights. I’m not going to ignore them. I also hear the people being forced to sit down. I’m not going pretend they are not there. I hear the parts of the world that are forgotten. I’m not going to forget. I hear the laughter of innocent children not yet plagued by safety concerns. I’m not going to let them experience that fear. I am going to help others hear the world. I am going to advocate the bravery of volunteering. I’m going to reach far and wide and tell people the importance of compassion. I am going to reach my goals.

           I’ve worked to reach my goals by taking opportunities to go on the path to them. I took environmental science as my choice class. I chose that so I can grasp the concepts of how our world creates and maintains. I took world religion as an elective so that I have no bias between religions. I participated in an international summer program at Emory University called Youth Theological Initiative. In this program I explored interfaith connections and social justice. I also interned at a hair salon for kids to gain communication experience.

           There are so many ways to volunteer, and I am lucky to know that. It would be amazing if more young people were diversely educated on the types of community service. I want to spread the reality of peace. I want to tell the world about the small movements that make the world a better place. Volunteering needs to become mainstream so that we can find ways to constantly improve our world so that we do not become apathetic.

[savvywriting]

The Tao and Our Leaders

This is an essay I wrote in AP Language. A prompt based analysis of  Lao-Tzu: The Tao

The Tao and Our Leaders: an essay

August 15, 2016

If reblogged please credit me (Savannah Henry)

Lao-Tzu: The Tao and Forgiveness

When I was in the fifth grade, I felt as though world was ending. The abundance of anxiety I felt was overwhelming. I remember my heart being like a rocket ship ready to take off; my eyes looking at the clock, hoping my time in class would be over soon. The Tao, in Chinese philosophy, promotes the principle of letting go and leadership through admittance of faults. Years later, I’ve only just started to relate to the Tao and forgiveness on this experience.

The Merriam Webster Dictionary website’s definition of anxiety is “an abnormal and overwhelming sense of apprehension and fear often marked by physiological signs, by doubt concerning the reality and nature of the threat, and by self-doubt about one's capacity to cope with it.” Before the fifth grade, I was one of the “good kids.” I was never yelled at or disciplined, because there was no need. I stayed on track and behaved. Something changed within the first weeks of fifth grade. Unlike the Tao, I couldn’t let go of the unknown. I developed a phobia of time. I had memories of being a little nervous about being late to little things, but this was not just nerves- it was horror. This new found shivering fear created a shift in my behavior. I was fidgety and uncomfortable all the time. My teacher noticed, and to my family’s and my worst nightmare, she did not accommodate me. To the contrary, her frustration with me translated to verbally bringing down my self-esteem. My classmates were initially shocked, though over time they adapted to the inappropriate form of lecture. We were too young to identify a proper leader, and too young to know the relief of forgiveness.  

Lao-Tzu states, “When they think that they know the answers, they are difficult to guide.” To follow this path set by the Tao, it is important to let go of your judgements and assumptions. As a society, those principles are everywhere. In a fifth grade class room with a map carpet the student is judged for not being able to identity the states. My teacher was unable to separate the reality of my anxiety to the judgement of being overly sensitive. That one year has affected me. When I start to feel the terror of my firework heart beating a bit too fast, I expect the worst to happen A teacher is a leader, and I have had great leaders. My seventh grade English teacher introduced me into the colorful world of reading through honesty. The Tao teaches the lesson that “When he makes a mistake, he realizes it. Having realized it, he admits it. Having admitted it, he corrects it.” 48 I’ve had teachers who have apologized for errors on grading my papers. In short, a leader who is at peace and highly respected admits his/her faults. Perhaps if my teacher had admitted her faults, the next few years would play out differently. There is also the possibility of my life continuing down the same journey. The Tao teaches us our lessons, including those of forgiveness.

A year went by and my anxiety fluctuated, ultimately putting me on medicine that improved my habits. I remember sitting in the beige-carpeted office being told I have an anxiety disorder, and the dots finally connected. The odd fear of time continued, and I recently was told I have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Looking back, I can see it now. The inability to let go and ignore what time it was.  The overwhelming sense of isolation that I felt every time I was away from a clock was indescribable. It was hard to come to terms with at first, especially after the fifth grade where there was no explanation. There was no way for me to accurately describe what was happening in my mind. I now find myself attempting to not look at the clock, in hopes of rebelling against my governed mind. However, every time my anxiety would spike up to an unrealistic level. My world had crashed down in the fifth grade, but this diagnoses felt like a new beginning. I was now able to relate to the Tao and forgiveness more than ever.

I also relate to Lao-Tzu’s lines, “When they think that they know the answers, people are difficult to guide… When they know that they don’t know, people can find their way.” 51 I genuinely believe that if my teacher had known that she was unaware of exactly what was happening with me, things would have been different. In situations addressing mental health, especially anxiety, it is important to accept the unknown. I find my anxiety wanting to be control of my life. The Tao teaches that in order to find one’s way in the problem, you have to understand you will not always know the exact answer. “The simplest pattern is the clearest. Content with an ordinary life” This verse relates to myself being content and accepting with my life, to be aware of my challenges and be prepared to face them. My experience in the fifth grade taught me that it’s okay to stand up for oneself, even if it’s a leader who is not in the right.

On the whole, the Tao is a key to forgiveness. From health to behavior, a good leader is raised by the wants of the people. A good teacher is responds to the concerns of their students. Finding answers can be difficult, so it’s crucial to be open minded and accepting of different possibilities. The Tao taught me to forgive my teacher for not being a perfect leader. I have admitted my faults and through that corrected them.

                                                Worked Cited

Jacobus, Lee A. A World of Ideas: Essential Readings for College Writers. Boston: Bedford/St.  

           Martin's, 2002. Print.

Jacobus, Lee A. A World of Ideas: Essential Readings for College Writers. Boston: Bedford/St.

           Martin's, 2002. Print.

Merriam-Webster. Merriam-Webster, n.d. Web. 17 Aug. 2016.

/.latest_citation_text

[savvywriting]

The Weapons of a Prince

This is an essay I wrote for an assignment in AP English Language. It is a prompted based analysis of the “Qualities of Prince” by  Machiavelli. 

The Weapons of a Prince

August 19, 2016

If reblogged please credit me (Savannah Henry)

The Qualities of a Prince: The Weapons of a Prince

A weak abundance of guns, shows strongly constructed power. The author of The Qualities of a Prince, Machiavelli, had a difficult experience with power. Machiavelli’s cynical attitude towards power resulted in his distrust of people. His negativity brought on conflict, whereas positivity is peace. Weapons only fuel the fire. A lot of people believe that without weapons, you are defenseless. Not all defenses are weapons.

Education is a defense that cannot be taken away. A prime example of the endless impact of education is a Malala Yousafzai, a nineteen-year-old Pakistani activist. Malala first spoke out for girls right as her own was being take away from her. Malala won a Nobel Peace Prize at seventeen and is a courageous showcase of passion and defense. As she said, “With guns you can kill terrorists, with education you can kill terrorism.” There are so many people who take their education for granted in the first world society. Terrorism has no simple answer that guaranteed to have success, and an automatic thought is to use weapons. However, giving children and even adults tools to learn will give them the chance to think for themselves. The ability to be able to think with an educated open mind is a domino effect, result after result. In The Qualities of a Prince, Machiavelli stares “A prince must not worry about the reproach of cruelty when it comes to keeping his subjects untied and loyal.” Assuming here that Machiavelli is approving the use of force to unite people, there is the lack of value of the human life. By providing children and adults with education you give them back the validation they have been robbed of. In summary, education can spare and improve lives, and combat terrorism effectively.

Another way to provide defense is through peaceful protest. Peaceful protest is an internationally praised form of change. Gandhi’s work in South Africa helped to start a movement of peaceful protest. Gandhi brought people of different options and backgrounds together peacefully. Gandhi did different types of peaceful protest. Such as hunger strikes, standing ground, letters, marches, and more. He said “You must be the change you wish to see in the world.” Referring to if a peaceful country or kingdom is wanted, leaders must set the example themselves. Peaceful protest in both South Africa and India protected the defenseless. As Machiavelli stated “When the prince is with his armies and has under his command a multitude of troops, then it is absolutely necessary that he not worry about being considered cruel.” 44. Here, Machiavelli made the point that to bring order to mass number of people, it doesn’t matter if the leader is feared. Whereas Gandhi brought hundreds together to fight oppression while being compassionate and careful. In short, peaceful protest defends the less able.

In a more recent example of defense comes social media. From Facebook and twitter to Instagram and blogging, many lives have been changed and word has been spread. Currently in the United States, there is the issue of police brutality and racism. The Black Lives Matter movement has spread through sharing stories on different media and social outlets. Time after time, death after death, the movement is constantly updated on reports. “Our courts and juries aren’t impartial arbiters — they exist inside society, not outside of it — and they can only provide as much justice as society is willing to give.” Says an unknown commenter on the Michael Brown death. This relates to Machiavelli’s point of not being able to trust the people, in reality this can be turned around.  Machiavelli advises that “…It is difficult to conspire against a man with a reputation and difficult to attack him.” If the movement’s projection has a genuine and honest yearning for change, it is hard to counteract it. Through social media, direct intentions are made clear, outlets for opinions and suggestions are given and stories are told. In brief, social media is a communication defense that changes people’s lives.

To conclude, Machiavelli makes it clear that he has a rightful distrust towards the people. However, the fact is that the people make the leaders who they are. Through reactions to peaceful protesting, public opinion on foreign affairs, and responses to power abuse. The amount the government is taken seriously is decided by the people. History provides that defense is accountable for more than just weapons.

             Work Cited

Boboltz, Sarah. "16 Quotes To Remind America That Black Lives Matter ..." Huffington Post. N.p., 12 Dec. 2014. Web. 25 Oct. 2016.

 Jacobus, Lee A. A World of Ideas: Essential Readings for College Writers. Boston: Bedford/St.  

           Martin's, 2002. Print.

 Yousafzai, Malala. "Quotes About Malala (7 Quotes) - Goodreads." Good Reads. N.p., n.d. Web. 25 Oct. 2016.

[savvywriting]

The First Time

The First Time: a poem

April 2016

If reblogged please credit me (Savannah Henry)

The first time I was told that I am not alone, was when I already felt deserted. I was told that when I had already felt the itch of loneliness persuade its way through my veins.

The first time I was told that grades don’t define me, was when I already felt foolish. I was told that when the pressure of my mind had pushed down my rationality.

The first time I was told that I am beautiful, was when I already felt hideous. I was told that as I had the compressing strain to to wear a different face.

The first time I was told, to follow my heart was when I was certain that my path was set in stone. I believed that my past was the only thing that set up my future.

The first time I was told that I have a gift, was when I felt robbed. I was told that when I had plummeted my aspirations too far down.

The last time I was told to be unashamedly postitive, was the first time I decided to lose the weakening negativity.

[savvywriting]

Stars

This is a small piece I wrote that I look to for inspiration. I’m not going to continue it, because it has served its purpose. I hope it helps you as it has helped me <3

Stars

2015

If reblogged please credit me (Savannah Henry)

She was a simple girl, yet her mind was ever changing. She was girl who had a lot to say, but could never let the words sing from her lips. She was a girl with lots of thoughts, that she believed didn’t matter.

I lay down on my bed, in pure wonder. I’m the kind of girl who wonders a bit to much, I wonder yet I never wander. A few years ago, I had put up some those glow in the dark generic childhood stars. However, that was three years ago and at the age of fourteen I thought it would give me some kind of superior nostalgia. Now at seventeen, the glue was crusted and every few nights one would fall and of course hit my face. A little bit of superior past was hitting my mind every few nights. It was a bad idea to put those over the head of my bed. I guess the idea that I had was that it would give me inspiring creative ideas. That somehow looking at fake sickeningly green stars. I turned my head to look out my window, shifting my gaze to the sky. The stars were clouded and not visible. That’s the city for you, rare stars. I started to close my eyes, relaxing to the night sky. As my eyes were barely open, my lids melting together, I saw it. A star, a bright glimmering star. I booted up in my head leaping towards the window to get a better look. Sadly, in my haste of tripping over a my converse and phone cord, it disappeared. I was scared I imagined it for a second. It left just as fast a it came. I couldn’t form that type of beauty in my head, it’s impossible do so. So I saw my first star, now I am determined to see more.

[savvywriting]

The Story of the Stairs

This is a story I have started. I’m not really sure where it’s going yet, but I’m dedicated to continue it. Enjoy my work in progress!

The Story of the Stairs: a short story

September 2016

If you reblog please credit me (Savannah Henry) 

The stairs have heard many stories. Their metal railings twisted around people’s secrets. The cracks in the floor boards sucked in conversation. The portraits on the speech stained walls eyed the speakers. The rusted marron door locked behind the passers, trapping their souls behind them. The stairs know me; I climb them every day. The stairs make me feel found, because I have never felt more lost in my own home.  

           This is the kind of story the stairs desire to tell. This is a story of many pieces, pieces that do not fit together in a puzzle. This is how the story begins.

           It’s a star shining night, perhaps that’s what woke me up. Although it is more likely it was my dreams mapping out a new world. I wouldn’t mind a world where the stairs could reply to me, and my speech wasn’t a one sided conversation. Sometimes I hear my parents talking about it, how I spend all my time sitting on the stairs. I’m not going to beg for sympathy and say that I have no friends, I have plenty at school. I’m not going to act like this is a modern twist Grimm Brother’s fairy tale, and say that I never have those friends over to my house.

           What I don’t have our stories. There used to be stories, but they seem to have all disappeared. It is always the little things noticed by unimportant people. In a long drawn fictional tale, I would notice this change and go to the top of a mountain and the world would change. This is no fictional tale, this is real. Only it doesn’t feel real anymore, because the past is gone. We learn about history in class, but we don’t learn the history. Our family scrapbooks have been replaced by candle collections and more. What is confusing me the most, is I’m the only one to seem to notice. Noticing this has left me numb, feeling insane.

           These thoughts have kept me up this star shining night. The stairs are the only thing that tell stories now. So I go to them. Before I know it, I’m tip toeing out of my room. It’s like my feet are in a trance, the kind you read about in phycology magazines. When I reach the stairs, I sit and feel the wood grazing against my body. Peace. I listen to the humming of stories I wish I was already told.

[savvywriting]

Friendship

This poem is dedicated to my close friend and fellow writer, Adele McLees

Friendship: a poem

11/22/2016

If reblogged please credit me (Savannah Henry)

Friendship is the comfort of reading in the rain.

Friendship is the collaboration of induvial minds.

Because friendship pulls the needle through the thread,

To sew a patch over the past.

Friendship is the laughter from a joke.

Friendship is the closing credits in a movie theater.

Because friendship bulldozes the negative,

And builds the positive truth.

Friendship is the mind being opened.

Friendship is the ending to a Disney adapted Fairy Tale.

Because friendship is not having the last piece of the puzzle,

So then creating a new puzzle.

Friendship is the perfect crease in origami.

Friendship lyrical music in a coffee shop.

In the end friendship is the same story,

Told in different mediums.

[savvywriting]

What I hold Dearest

This is inspired by my hope in my fellow humans, and my love of positivity

What I Hold Dearest: a poem

If reblogged please credit me (Savannah Henry)

I am handed the solar system.

Earth is held dearest,

Some of the residents wonder why.

 When slaves are traded,

When beautiful roses have thorns.

When there are colors the naked eye can’t see.

Humans have destroyed,

Some say.

Humans have killed,

Some say.

Humanity has disappeared,

More say.

 Yet in this murk,

There are those who shine.

There are animals grazing gently,

There are musicals,

Relating to the enterianed.

There are waterfalls,

Feeding into beauty.

Humanity has returned.

 So I am asked why.

So I answer,

With undoubted love and positivity.

There is no doubt that when humanity leaves one,

It creates another.

 I am handed the universe,

And this one I love the dearest.