A Dream on a Plate

She says, I wish I was the best cook in the world. Noris has worked with us for four years, trying to help her family with the money. When my family and I go on vacations, she leaves too for a rest and to give the money to her family. They live in a poor village. She grabs the spatula and scrambles the eggs in the frying pan and looks out the window.

I want to go to a cooking school so I can become a chef, she says and puts the spatual on her chin and imagines herself, inside her resturant, at the kitchen, working hard to make her costumer happy with her food. Then, she puts the spatula on the frying pan and sighs.

Lets try this new recipe, she says, but I need to get some onion and eggs. What would you like for lunch? Look, what about this fish and tomato sauce, or a pasta with white sauce and salmon? This white chocolate cake looks too complicated. I’d better not do it.

Noris who works hard everyday is flipping through the pages of a cooking magazine, looking at new things, new creations. Washing the dishes after dinner with a frown on her face, realizing that she is just a housekeeper, but I know she is more than that.

An Important Day

It was around 6:30 in the morning and I opened my eyes. I saw mom next to me snorring as always so I went to sleep again. Later at 7:45 mom woke me up and asked me if I wanted to go to walk with her. I was to tired so I said no and went back to sleep again. Then at 9:15 I woke up, got out of bed and took a shower.
I went to the kitchen but before, I went to get my present for mothers day in my closet. I took it out and went to the kitchen.
"Mom, are you in here?" and I see mom come out of the laundry room all wet.
"Mom, here, happy mothers day!" I handed over my present and she opened it like a little kid in their birthday party. She started to read my vignette.
" Oh my! It's so beautiful. Thank you so much, I love it." She hugged me and kissed my forehead. Then my mom, my brother, my maid and I started to get ready for a party we had with the daughters of a friend of my mom that was in a trip. She left her daughters alone with the nanny and the gandma. So we thought of celebrating this day with them.
So the went on really fast and I had fun as I played with the two girls: We went on bycicle, we ate pizza and chocolate, we gave the presents to their nanny and grandma, and at the end, we went to buy the last decorations for the house.
It was a great day, and I had fun. Happy Mothers day(Although it was yesterday)!

The Rhythm of Words

My parents always say I can't do my homework while listening to music. I don't mind cause music always gives me an idea. Each melody makes me think of my past. For example...

If there is a slow song, just like Claire de Lune by Debussy, it reminds me of the times in Nicaragua I would see the sun set of the ocean and the waves crashing on the yellow sand.

If it was Good Girls Go Bad by Cobra Starship, i would remember the sleep overs I have had with my friends.

Each songs makes me think of my past or something funny that happened before. It changes my mood when I don't want to do homework, but instead I realize I just finished it. Music makes me write a lot and makes me do things in a happier way.

I love to listen to music when writing. Its just like having your words in your paper flow in a rhythm and you think about the music. Its the same as doing it without music, but in a fun way.

My Heart, My Sound

Italy, the boot of Europe is where you find my town,

Don't worry, this place wont make you frown.

Italy is what makes your heart pound,

Italy is what always makes sound.

From Rome, to Pisa, and then Florence to Sicily,

Make that trip with your whole family.

Italy is what makes your heart pound,

Italy is what always makes sound.

Pizza and pasta you eat a ton,

See the food there is always the number one.

Italy is what makes your heart pound,

Italy is what always makes sound.

Your trip ends here, no more Italy, you start to cry.

Come next year, for now say bye bye.

A Letter to a Friend

Dear Sheryl,

How are you? I'm fine. I have to tell you everything about my school, Balboa Academy. The school has an estimate of 700 to 800 students. In 7th grade you are put in different classes with different students.

What teachers expect from you is that you heed what the teacher says, don't bring sham work, come in a precise time, do not disrupt the class, don't agitate people from their work, no menial work, and the more industrious your work is, the better.

With your classmates, you would realize some are nice and others are just different. Some of them can infuriate you or pop up with something irrelevant, and can be obnoxious. That is what happens almost everyday.

In P.E., we play different games or we run. When running, you have to toil as much as you can and cannot capitulate. Just like a treck, and in the end, you end up tired and you move ungainly until you get to your next class.

You know that school is a prier, but in my experience, this school is different.

Sincerely,

Caterina Aragon

P.S: I know that this Friday is your birthday, but still, happy birthday!

A Letter To be Read

Carl, now he is 14, but still has one problem. He stays in his room alone looking out the window. He is shy, but there in front of him, a notebook lays there opened with a pencil by its side, and in the notebook, he draws. He draws what he sees, what comes out of his mind. Dragons, flowers, the beach or sometimes he would draw his little chihuahua.

He takes it everywhere, and when somebody gets close to him and asks him something, he closes his note book, screams, and leaves running.

Carl, the talented, the sensible, the one who doesn't talk, doesn't know we want to be his friends.

I had an idea that would free him from the box that keeps him captures. I would write him letters. Letters that would tell him that we could trade drawing, and then like that, we were friends.

Although years have passed, he writes me in hotmail and he scans his picture just like before.

He doesn't talk to people, he just keeps quiet. With me, a letter is always there in my inbox. Letters that are read everyday with a picture from him.

School in Two Ways

I like school a lot, and it’s the best place you can go to for learning, but it wasn’t like this all the time. Now I get excided when school starts and I’m in a new grade and I meet new people, but before, my parents and teachers would get mad at me because I would cry all day long when I came to school.

It all started when I was in Haiti. I was 2 ½ years old and I was going to go at pre-kinder. Obviously I didn’t want to go to school because I wouldn’t see mom and dad, so I started to cry.

Mom would hold me in her arms and I would cry all over her shirt, and when mom left me at school, I was lonely. I would cry, and cry, and it went on for a couple of weeks. The director would call my mom saying,

“Why don’t you give some discipline on you children Mrs. Tallarico? You should show your daughter some manures. This is unacceptable for a child that has been in school for more than one week to still be crying.” And so on and so forth.

My mom came up with this idea to come and eat with me at lunch time-that was the end of school-. Then I stopped crying because I knew my mom was going to eat with me.

Sometimes it wasn’t always mom, it was also dad, and then we would wait for my brother at his school and then we would go home.