Love of Mine

First off, I would like to thank God, our Heavenly Father, for giving us the ability to love. This is first and foremost my intention of writing this.

Quite simply put, I am in love.

The great part about my being in love is that it is with the most amazingly gorgeous, sweet, caring, kind, and loving woman on Earth! Liz is my home away from home. My fantasy. My dream. My cheesy romance novel sealed with a genuine kiss. And I hers. I would lay down all of my hopes and dreams just to let her know how much I love her. There is a really awesome part to all of this:

I get to wake up next to her in 178 days.

I get to serve her, comfort her in times of great need. All because God allowed me to do so. He put such an amazing woman in my life. She has truly helped me become a more stable human being, grounded in love and hope.

There is so much to marriage, as I have been researching and learning from other couples around me. It's so much more than the physical. It's the emotional bond we will share together. It's the moments when I dread going clothes shopping, yet I do it for her. It's embracing the extra special, intimate moments, and learning from the hard moments.

Let me tell you why I am so apt in wanting to serve Liz wholeheartedly:

There is something about the way she smiles that makes me think of summertime and shooting stars.
Something about the way she tells me she loves me that makes me feel the pangs of first-love butterflies.
There's something about the way she wraps her arms around me that makes me want to ask her to dance with me.
Something about the way her eyes align with mine that makes my boyish mind want to know more.
There's just something about Liz that makes me feel young again, and alive in the concept of Love.

Because I know Liz will inevitably read this, I want to say this to you, my love:
I promise I will use every breath that you don't take away to tell you how much I love you.

On How the Current of Life Changes

If life is an ocean of happenstance, the current has definitely changed in my ocean. God has begun to uproot me, to teach me new things. Enough analogy though, simplicity is a virtue:

I have worked myself to my core to get through school, and I am finally here. All of the knowledge and hard work has finally come to a culmination. I choose to thank God. He has given me the patience and diligence to get through this, and I owe it all to Him. But life as we know it sometimes throws us a curveball. My studies have demanded so much time from me that I have to be away from church a lot of times. Relationships I have with my brothers and sisters in Christ are being put to the test. But I must say something in regard to this: If it's God's will, so be it. I was called to the field of education, and I must be diligent in said calling. It pains me to know that I could be spending time with the people I love instead, but I know deep down I was meant to do this. To be a revealer of knowledge somehow. To teach and to learn. To support the love of my life. All in the name of the One who created us.

It's humbling to know that I will struggle in life. That I will always attempt to understand, but never be understood, unless of course it's in the classroom. I feel as though when I step through the doors in an educational setting, I receive this profound burst of knowledge that I may only attribute to God's will. He has a plan for every single one of us, because He loves every single one of us just the same. There is something more.

I want to know that something.

To wrap this all up nice and neat in a pretty little package for everyone, I will quote a man who said it better than I ever will:

"There is no teaching without learning."-Paolo Freire

My Pedagogical Philosophy (Teaching Autobiography)

Autobiography

My aspiration to enter the field of professional education began with a rather unsettling event in my early high school career. It was the first day of my freshman year of high school. I was faced with the daunting task of completing the dreaded Honors English course with a passing grade of C or better. As I entered my second period English classroom, I noticed the walls were riddled with Shakespeare posters and other literary paraphernalia. I quietly chose my seat at the front of the classroom and awaited the instructor’s arrival. The look on every students face shared the same tense expression. Once the instructor arrived, she went right to business with role call, not asking for any short tales of the splendor of our two-and-a-half month break. I remember the teacher’s first words after taking the attendance:

“If you are expecting to simply pass this course with a B, you should think about transferring out, this is an extensive course in English Literature.”

These words of advice worked to their contrary, I was then motivated to strive my hardest to be an exceptional English student.

I began to truly value the work of the English teacher in my senior English class. It was just a general Senior English course, no AP or Honors preface tacked on. The thing I valued most about my Senior English class was that the instructor allowed the class to have a voice in the writing we turned in. Peer groups in which we were encouraged to share our thoughts with one another were administered weekly. I began to value the concept of group work as a means to allow students to develop an authoritative voice in their writing. I carried my Senior English teacher’s ideas of peer evaluation into my work as an afterschool instructor at Boys and Girls Club of Garden Grove, where I worked for a year and a half, aiding students in their writing skills five days a week.

The most important observation I made as an after school instructor was how much students enjoyed talking about their work. I would spend one of the four hours we had together helping the students with their assignments, most of which were writing assignments. My first thought was to let them come to me, so that we could address any issues together. I learned, through careful observation, that many of the students were intimidated at the thought of approaching me. I spent some time adjusting the students into groups where they could share about their ideas, and immediately, I could see the cogs turning. I was then able to develop a system in which the students could edit each other’s work and approach me with any questions that weren’t answered from the group work. By the end of my first school year, I had accomplished something with my students that I never thought I could: I helped build their confidence as writers. My experience as an after school instructor led me to think back upon what my freshman Honors English teacher had said. It was no wonder that many of us left the class with a satisfactory grade, we had no confidence in our voice as writers.

I have held firm to the notion that students should feel comfortable in the classroom setting. The area in which a student learns should be an environment that is welcoming and enriching. Students need edification, not intimidation, in order to effectively function in the classroom. Our students must be built up in confidence, not dragged down in embarrassment.

Ultimately, my goal is to enter the education system with a positive outlook on what our students can accomplish. I believe that students have the unique ability to command the power of written word. Students have much to say, and should not be intimidated to let their voice be heard. In fact, this power lies within us all, educators and students alike. Peer review has, in the past, revealed to me that students delight in the chance to share ideas with one another. We all have the ability to positively impact the classroom with enriching ideas. Students will always be the next generation, and we, as educators, must do our best to help them realize their full potential as educated individuals. After all, if we cannot hear the students’ voices, how will we ever know what the next generation has to offer?

Life

O, Life,

We watch it pass us by,

On wings of steel in the sky.

Our hope is in one another, and nothing else,

We hold tight to our memories,

Because they are all we have left.

It is our hope in the darkest hour,

That binds us together,

For we are nothing without one another.

O, blissful life,

What are we without the ones we trust,

Stranded somewhere out at sea,

With wounds that will not heal.

O, desolate darkness,

Where has your sting gone?

The light you fight has you far outweighed,

Even when all seems faint,

The pillar of life shall be replaced.

O, Daunting Death,

When this land threatens to fade to gray,

We shall swim for the chapel,

Against the current of our dismay.

Volume 2: Letters Burning

Letters Burning

Dear Friend,

I don’t know what to do anymore. I had another accident. Set some kid’s hair on fire. I can’t seem to control it. One second, my day’s going perfectly fine and the next, my hands are soaked in flame. What good is the power to produce fire if you can’t control it? Mom says I’m headed straight to jail if I don’t get a grip on it. You know what? She’s probably right. But I don’t want to go to jail. I’m 18 for pete’s sake. My mom’s concerned because even the doctor says he’s unsure of my “condition”. We’ve even had weird men in business suits come to our door. Mom always tells them to screw off, in the most polite words.

Back to the kid. He’s talking to me about how he and his dad went deep-sea fishing over the weekend. Now, I don’t have a dad. The bastard walked out on my mom and I when I was a year old. So when this kid’s yackin’ about his dad, his words hit me like a bullet out of a handgun. As you can imagine, this doesn’t make me too happy.

Some people say my eyes turn red when it happens. Others say my hair bursts into flames. I think the latter is bullcrap. My hair on fire? What a bunch of phonies. But the reason I believe the talk about my eyes is because my mom says it’s true. Her word means the world to me. She’s all I got left. Hell, no one wants to be friends with the boy who sets people on fire. I digress.

The kid looks at me with wide eyes. I can see the fear taking form. I can still hear his voice:

“Don…Don’t do this. I know what you’re thinking, but don’t…”

“How could you possibly know what I’m thinking? You don’t know my pain. Here, let me give you a taste.” I replied.

Next thing I know, the kid’s on the pavement, rolling around, his hair in flames.

So now, here I am, in the damn police station. They say the kid’s ok, but he lost all of his hair. Go figure, it WAS on fire, for god’s sake. Luckily, they let me keep my journal. There’s nothing else to do here. That’s it for today, though. I’ll write again soon.

-Daniel.

Dear Friend,

A lot has happened since I last wrote. Can you guess where I am now? You got it. Jail. They threw me in here for assault with a deadly weapon. I assume I am that deadly weapon. I wonder how that looks on the police report. I ended up receiving two years in here. Two years of my life, wasted because some loudmouth didn’t know when to shut his trap. The judge said the reason I got two years was because I am a potential threat to society. So they want to rehabilitate me or something, I guess. How am I going to be rehabilitated when I’m stuck in here with a bunch of criminals? But I’m stuck here, no matter what I think. This is only day three of my two year stay. What a drag. Anyway, it’s meal time. I’ll write soon.

-Daniel.

Dear Friend,

Some very unfortunate news reached me today. They are giving me extra time in here. They say they haven’t seen “enough progress”, whatever the hell that means. So my stay has been extended. Welcome to the gloomiest place on earth. Now, my time is up to ten years, depending on my so-called “progress”. I don’t know what progress they want, I haven’t had an accident since I got arrested. So I have to sit here, rotting in this damn cell. I need a plan, some way to get out of here faster. I’ll be good if I have to. Let’s just hope I can be real good.

-Daniel.

Dear Friend,

I have met a new friend, and he sure as hell isn’t made out of 100 sheets of paper and cheap cardstock covers. The guy’s name is Jack, and I’ve come to find that he is special too. After I told him what I was in for, he was happy as hell to tell his whole life story. I thought MY power was inconvenient. He told me he has strange dreams, and they all come true:

“Sorta like seeing into the future.” he explained.

He said he’s seen his family die in his dreams, and it happened for real soon after. I explained to him that I could relate, that my grandparents died when I was younger. That is, I could relate all the way up to the crazy dream crap. Apparently, the doctors didn’t know what to make of Jack’s dreams, so they declared him insane. Of all places, they threw him in this dump of a prison. He was vague on the details of his arrest, but man this guy went through some crap. That’s all I’ve got for today.

-Daniel.

Dear Friend,

Jack filled me in on some pretty outrageous stuff today. He finally opened up to me about his arrest. He said that legally, the government had to declare him insane in order to put him away, but really, they had a whole hidden agenda as to why they threw him in here. Jack said that the government had sent out an organization to look for people like us. He called it “The Harvest Organization”. The Organization’s job was to find all of us “special” people and lock us up, nice and tight. He said they were building a lab somewhere and eventually they’d drag us there to run crazy tests on us. What a strange day this has been. I’m going to go mull things over a bit. I’ll write back soon.

-Daniel.

Dear Friend,

There has been some strange crap going on here. Jack and I have been getting visits from some hot shots in black suits. Today, one of the black-clad bastards called me into the little booth at the end of my cellblock. This guy had a tape recorder sitting on a table in the middle of the room.

“Come, sit down with me Daniel, let’s talk.” he said with a stupid grin on his face.

“What the hell do you want with me?” I asked him as I sat down.

“To ask a few questions, that’s all, Daniel.”

The big fake said my name about 200 times. What a schmo. He asked me a bunch of questions about my childhood and when I learned I had a special ability. I wanted to hit him…so bad.

When I went down to the cafeteria at dinner, Jack asked what happened. When I told him about the inquisitive idiot, he just about had a heart attack. He assured me that the man was from the Harvest Organization:

“They must be evaluating us to prepare for further testing. They must be nearing completion of the lab!”

So, as you can imagine, sleep isn’t coming easy to me tonight. I’ve got so much crap brewing in my head. Time to take it easy. More soon.

-Daniel.

Dear Friend,

Still no accidents since I got arrested. Today, I talked to the warden, and he told me not to get anxious. That I should maintain my composure. I gave him my two cents about composure. He didn’t like that too much. I guess this is good, though. I used to set off my ability with anger. Now, I seem to be able to control my ability by setting aside my anger. The silent monster still sleeps inside me. I’m actually beginning to think I may be able to use these powers to my advantage.

-Daniel.

Dear Friend,

Jack’s gone mad. At least, I think he has. Today he told me that he had an important dream. He said he saw the prison burning down, and he and I were running for our lives. I told him there was no way I would ever use my power for that. I want to get out of here, not earn myself a life sentence. Besides I have learned to control my power. It will never control me again. I told him to keep his dreams to himself. Hell, I’m in a nightmare as it is.

-Daniel.

Dear Friend,

A prisoner was killed by a guard today. Bloodiest mess I’ve ever seen. Word around the prison is that the prisoner stabbed one of the guards. By the time I arrived on the scene after lunch, the guard was beating the hell out of the prisoner. Ruthless son-of-a-bitch. Nobody should be beat like that. Poor bastard. It took the janitor a few hours to clean the blood up off the floor. I’m glad that I’m now safe inside my cell. No need for any more blood to be spilled today. I’ll write again tomorrow.

-Daniel.

Dear Friend,

I’m now on the verge of terror. As we were coming in from our recreation time, I saw the guards dragging a prisoner into a room. I didn’t get a good look at his face, but I was soon informed that it was Jack. I could hear his screams through the door. I wish I could have helped him, but I have no power here, not if I want to get out in one piece.

Jack came to me at dinnertime and told me the whole story. He said he screamed in his sleep because of an awful dream he was having while taking a nap. The guards rushed in, clubs in hand, and dragged him out of his cell. He said they took him into a room and pumped electricity into his brain. I believe electroshock therapy was outlawed long ago, and it was surely never allowed in prisons. Jack thinks this is just the beginning. He said his dream showed prisoners being tortured in the most brutal ways imaginable. I can’t help thinking Jack’s insanity may have some truth behind it. So, I have decided that before this gets really ugly, to make an escape. When I do, they will all pay, dearly.

-Daniel.

Dear Friend,

Tomorrow night is the night we escape. Jack is excited that I am ready to take action. We decided during recreation time that we would make the escape during dinnertime. I can’t decide how I will go about accessing my power. I tried cooking up some angry thoughts, but it yielded no results. Have I really controlled it to the point of eliminating it? Let’s hope not. This has to happen. We have to get out of here. I’m not waiting for some white coat to come drag me off, or worse, a guard to beat me to death. I have to find a way to unleash the silent monster again. Our escape depends on it.

-Daniel.

Dear Friend,

It happened. The prison went up in flames. It happened so quickly. We were sitting down to dinner when it started. Jack got up to ask the presiding guard for a restroom break. As the guard turned to answer, I got up and leaped onto his back. He immediately called for backup. I searched my mind for an angry thought, something to kindle the fire, but nothing came. Jack was screaming at me as the entire cafeteria went into an uproar. I suddenly realized what I had to do. I immediately thought of my father, and how the bastard walked out on us. My mind immediately began to burn with anger. I heard the screams of the people around me, shouting about my burning red eyes. I touched my palm to the guard’s forehead and he screamed bloody murder. I dropped off his back and threatened him with a fistful of flame. I demanded his keys, which he handed to me. The other guards looked terrified, so we were able to slip by and unlock the main gate. Prisoners flowed through the doorway and ran for freedom. Hack and I stopped at the front gate and looked at each other. Time seemed to slow down. I looked in his eyes and felt a sudden rush of anger.

“I know what you are thinking, and you’re right Daniel. I am your father. My name is Michael.” he said.

I will never forget the look he gave me after that. It was a “hey, thanks for letting me out of this dump, I’ll catch ya later” kind of look. Then, he ran. He didn’t even look back. So typical of him, the son-of-a-bitch. I felt an immense amount of pain in my chest, and I felt my body temperature rising rapidly. I must have been burning at a thousand degrees. I screamed at the top of my lungs as a firestorm burst from my body, engulfing the prison in flames. If any prisoners were left in there, they were dead for sure. I looked back at the smoldering ashes of the prison. Then, I ran.

I am now in a small place outside of the prison. Here I must leave you, my friend. I cannot write about where I am going, but let’s just say I have a score to settle.

-Daniel.