Birthday Cake Remix.

Dear World Wide Web,
Today while my mother was “conversing” with the chief cake decorator of Publix about my sweet sixteen cake, I realized something. ( Well, my mother’s level of volume in that store my be considered shouting by those with normal levels of hearing....) I realized that my life is almost like the gargantuan and highly unnecessary three tier cake we were ordering: completely up to me.
When we began the cake ordering process, my mother and I were directed towards the book of preselected cake designs. Naturally, I went ahead and began looking through the book to find the perfect cake while my mother and the chief of cake decorating began “conversing” about how much a cake for two hundred people would cost. Then my mother asked the decorator if we could change the colors and designs of the cake to our liking. Right when I turned to look at the decorator, I caught her say the three letter word I was hoping for: yes. It was at that exact moment when I had an epiphany fit for the big screen.
A moment where everything around me became nothing more than soft hums, my surroundings faded to black, and the usually whimsical sound of Whitney Houston’s number one hit playing suddenly became awfully intense. I finally realized that lump of information that I’ve been trying to put my finger on for years. Like the famous quote in Julius Caesar, "Men at some time are masters of their fates: The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings." Suddenly it all made sense! Of course they would let me pick the color of the fondant, the color of the icing, and the size of the cake, there is no way I would be happy with anything that was preselected for me. Then when I realized that, I couldn’t help but laugh. Though, that had to be stifled because my mother was giving me the “laugh one more time and you won’t have lungs when you wake up tomorrow” look.
After my mom was done guessing cake prices with the chief cake decorator, I told my mother that there was NO way we were doing the rainbow cake that we picked out, I really wanted a custom cake of my favorite colors and designs. She shot me a quizzical look and I stood there triumphantly knowing that if I had not said anything, then the predetermined cake of disgust would be sitting in my backyard on June 5th. We changed the orders for the cake and walked to the car. It was then I jumped into the driving seat of my life and the car.
I put my indicator on and turned out of the neighborhood Publix. As I did, my eyes glazed the horizon and I couldn’t help but smile because I have my whole life ahead of me and I will not let anyone make choices for me, even if it does come in a convenient, predetermined, nicely shaped cake decorating book.

Carpe Diem,
DECAFdork

R.S.V.P.

Dear World Wide Web,
Every time May 12th rolls around I become a year older. It’s my born day, birthday, date of birth, day of birthing, and coming into the world day! Whatever you want to call it, my mom will only remember my birth as, “ The in vitro fertilization that caused me to lose a day and a half of sleep.” However, this year is completely different story.
For the past few months she has not been yelling at me about cleaning up after myself, dressing like a man, or calling me fat. Instead, she has been heckling me with guest lists, caterers, music selections, and cotton candy machines. This June 5th is the celebration of the sixteenth anniversary of, “The in vitro fertilization that caused her to lose a day and a half of sleep.” That’s right, it is the big one six.
It still has not hit me that on June 5, 2010, two hundred people are flocking to our modest home to celebrate my birthday with us. Seriously, I’m not exaggerating, my mom and I counted the R.S.V.P’d guests so we could place an order for the caterer and the cake; when I found out two hundred people were coming to our house, my mouth literally dropped to the floor.
I was shocked! My mom began to list who was flying in when and when we were supposed to pick them all up from the airport and to my surprise, I started to cry. It was such an overwhelming moment for me. I seriously left the living room and locked myself in my room and spent hours bawling. My mom could not figure out why I was crying for such a long time, but here is something to think about. It is a really overwhelming moment when you realize that there are people, no matter where they are, love you for you. I always knew that I had a big group of loving family and friends, but I had no idea that they would all be prepared to fly from as far as Pasadena, California to spend a day what was once just a nominal to me.
With the birthday party coming up, I asked my mom what the big deal about this party was. She looked at me square in the face and began to stroke my hair as she tried to steady her voice. She told me, “Raysoo, your father and I love you very much and we cannot believe how quickly time has passed. We wanted to have this party so we could make sure we were not hallucinating and everyone else we knew could see that you are growing up too fast.” Again, someone opened the flood gates in my tear ducts as I clutched on to my Ammu as she tried to calm me down. I never really realized how important this tradition is to my family, all I can do is just smile and remind myself how blessed I am for such a loving family.
Moral of the story here is that at some point we all cry. For example during this party planning period, all of my family members have cried at least once.My dad started tearing up when he saw how much the bill was going to be, my mom cried when I tried on my birthday outfit, and Zahara cried when she found out how many presents I am going to get.


Not as caffeinated,
DECAFdork

Talent Shmalent

Dear World Wide Web,
Dressed in my favorite white dress accessorized with obvious confidence, I marched out of the car as I told my mother jokingly, “Make sure you stick around after the show, I will try to sign you an autograph or something.” Little did I know that the next 3 and a half hours of practicing scales and memorizing lyrics were going to be what I would later recall to be, “Butterflies in my stomach on steroids.” After the endless waiting, I heard my name announced on the mic and made my way to the center stage. The lights were glaring, the audience was packed, and my dress was beginning to bind. I looked to my guitarist and gave him the nod to start playing. He strummed the first chord with ease and I shook off my fears....
Wait, let’s back up a little. You may be somewhat confused about what I am talking about.
In January, the president of Key Club at our school announced that we were having our annual talent show. I slumped down in my chair and pretended not to hear the announcement and as I did, the person sitting next to me remarked, “I can’t imagine how difficult that would be! I mean...all of those people.” I looked at him blankly and said, “Yeah, I would never do that.” He then cocked his head to the side and asked, “Wait, what the heck would you even do?” As he sat there waiting for an answer, I decided not to continue the conversation. I simply shrugged my shoulders and went on listening to the morning announcements. The rest of the day went on normally until my friend dared me to go sign up and audition for the show as a joke.
I was excited for the auditions because it was going to be hilarious! I did not question my act for ONE moment. That is of course, until the actual day of auditions. I was so sure of my rap, I knew that they would love me! However, as the school day came to a close, I found myself becoming slightly nervous and during the last period of the day I was paralyzed with fear. Though I was friends with everyone on the panel for judging, I was incredibly nervous about my rap.
I entered the theater at precisely 3 p.m. on a sunny Friday afternoon awaiting my opportunity to display my talent for “spitting rhymes.” As the audition process went on, I witnessed my peers display countless talents, further discouraging my decision to audition: even if it was a joke. Finally, after waiting what seemed to be an eternity, my moment presented itself. I readied myself on stage for my audition and the nerves were getting worse. One of the members of the panel asked me what my talent was and to my surprise, I could not formulate an answer. They stared at me as I felt the room spin, sweat droplets form, and my sophisticated vernacular disappearing. The one word I could muster was, “Sing.”

The nervousness began to abate.

They asked me, “ What do you think you’ll sing today,” I thought about it and calmly answered, “Put Your Records On by Corinne Bailey Rae.” I saw looks of incertitude reverberate throughout the small crowd and then judges cued me to start.
I began to sing the song accapello style and the room stood still, the sweat evaporated, and my words were intelligible. The nerves had completely subsided! I had always loved singing and sang anywhere and everywhere, but never did I consider it a talent. As the song came to a close I looked to my friend to see her response and much to my surprise her mouth was wide open. She told me as we were leaving the auditorium, “ Dude, you sing? When did that happen?” I shrugged and said, “What are you talking about?” She stared at me in disbelief, “ I can’t believe you never told me you sang, or that you LIKED to sing.” She was joking but I never really considered singing in front of people before.
After being notified that we were all in the talent show, my friends and I practiced during lunch so we could evaluate each other’s performances. The more I practiced, the more I found how much I loved to sing and just perform.
FAST-FORWARD TO PRESENT TIME
I began to belt my heart out and for 3 minutes I felt something I had never felt before: comfortable in my own skin. To my dismay, the song ended and my friends and family rose to their feet to commend me on my triumph. During the intermission I rushed to my mom to ask her honest opinion, she hugged me and told me that she was glad I did not embarrass her in front of her friends. I hugged her back and the nerves that had attacked me during the auditions began to rise again, but these were different nerves. These were the nerves responsible for me telling my mother, “Mom, I don’t care. I’m finally home.” She then responded that we wouldn’t be home for another 20 minutes. I rolled my eyes at her because I know what I meant and I mean it.
I’m finally home.

Not as caffeinated,
DECAFdork

Reality of Violence

Dear World Wide Web,
In the very first pages of the book A long way gone, Ishmael Beah reminisces over a moment he shared with some of his friends after his long journey had finally come to a conclusion. I am ashamed to admit that when I first read the response his friends had to “seeing people running around with guns and shooting each other,” I laughed. Though after diving into the book and really absorbing the grave effects violence can have on one’s mentality, I regretted laughing instantly. Violence is an issue that is taken far too lightly in many countries including the United States and the response Ishmael’s friend had is one of many examples.
At first I felt that his friends’ response to “ seeing people running around with guns and shooting each other,” was hilarious but then after reading the book and thinking about why that comment was farcical, I simply could not come up with an answer. I thought about it for a substantial amount of time and have come to this conclusion: they were ignorant and so was I. Though I have no idea who exactly was taking a part of the conversation or what terrors each of his friends have faced in their lives; I know I am right. What is sadder is that I cannot blame them (or myself) for being ignorant. This is because the influences around them and ultimately us have imposed this thought that violence is “cool.” Though if they knew the horrific savagery and tragedy that Ishmael had to face at an appalling age, their jokes and smiles would quickly fade. In short, I detest what his friends said (and my reaction), but cannot say I am completely colored shocked by their (and my) response.
I do not necessarily think that all students here in the United States share the same responses to violence. I believe that initial responses depend on the perspective students have on violence. I personally think that these perspectives can be shaped by suffering a loss due to violence, witnessing a cruel act, etc. Though these are horrible things to say and think about, it is absolutely true. When is the last time you were caught in the middle of a crossfire, violent car jacking, or witnessed someone being shot right in front of you? Most likely the response will be, “Well in this one movie....”

This is exactly my point.

Until now I never realized how twisted laughing at violence is. When we see movies or read about violence in a book, it is such a surreal event that it does not even register that everyday people just like YOU and ME are getting hurt out there in the cold and unforgiving world and somehow we laugh about it. Even in the first chapter of the book, Ishmael Beah talk about how he thought the war was,

“...happening in a faraway and different land. It wasn’t until refugees started passing through our town that we began to see that it was actually taking place in our country.....At times I thought that some of the stories the passerby told were exaggerated.The only wars I knew of were those that I had read about in books or seen in movies such as Rambo: First Blood, and the one in neighboring Liberia that I had heard about on the BBC news.” (Beah 1-2)

It is not until Ishmael is forced to face the harsh realities of the war that he begins to understand that wars and violence are not like the movies where the protagonist prevails and lives a carefree life after his victory, it is much more complex than that. I am not saying by any means I understand completely what Ishmael has been through or have witnessed any of these things, I just understand the situation better.

I believe that something that the media has attributed to the thinking that violence is, “cool.” The media, which consists of movies, books, magazines, tv, etc., have contoured the images we have of violence and have validated it to be an act of patriotism (the war), courage, and even strength. Though, what this book has shown me about violence is that we never see what happens to those effected by violence.

I know it’s a strange thought but take a moment to ruminate over this: Have you ever seen the tragedy, devastation or tears of the afflicted after a major battle scene? Me neither.

So I come to this conclusion internet world: if you still think violence is cool, you are lame.


Not as caffeinated,
DECAFdork