As I left the evocative surroundings of my native hometown of Ikorodu, Nigeria, I immediately knew of the harsh cold weather that awaited me in Canberra, Australia.
I woke up with a tremendous pain in my head. "Uggh," I said. It’s going to be another one of these days. I got out of the warmth of my bed, and into what felt life the usual winter harshness of my unorganised and cluttered room, but for some reason, it felt even colder today. I put my winter coat over my trashy, blue t-shirt and went to the thermostat. There was a note taped to the thermostat; it read, "Dear Tool, here’s what you get for being born, Love, Your Brother ". I flipped over the note to see how cold he made it. I turned the thermostat back to the normal temperature, and went to the computer room to check the weather and the current affairs in Nigeria. While logging on, I thought about my life back in Nigeria, and how it has changed since arriving in Australia. My mum held a managerial position at work, my dad was heavily involved in the field of Medicine and my older brother was just familiarising himself to t...
Every cold Alberta winter, or dry summer, makes me long for the East Coast. When I grow tired of the brown dirty hills of Alberta, I can close my eyes and picture being back in New Brunswick, bright green meadows and clear rivers. I miss how the fog creeps into your yard in the early mornings, the bittersweet smell of the sea that never could be washed out, I miss the feeling of home. As a child, my family and I would road trip, traveling East to the sea. I remember how the vastness of Alberta would change into the golden prairies of Saskatchewan, then shift into the forested hills of Ontario, and finally the calm rocky shores of New Brunswick. I remember the house we lived in, white paint peeling off the sides of the house, a Canadian and Arcadian flag flying on the porch (put there by my historian of a cousin), floral green wallpaper clashing with antique, mismatched furniture. That house has been in my family for generations, each of our stories have been told, beautiful new memories have been made there. I miss it so much. I miss the beach side bonfires, sparks drifting so far away they became stars, the rainy marketplace days, coming home and smelling like fish. The Alberta cold makes my heartache, I want to go home. My home is a comfortable old cabin, where I grew to not be scared of a
Lawson depicts Australia in “Out back” as a bleak environment where there are “stifling noon’s” and the soil experiences “withering weeks of drought”. The description created with these examples provides images of Australia as being almost unbearable to live in, sterile and desolate. Regardless of all this the shearer still is prepared to face tough conditions to look for work. The poet is focusing on the daily hardships that the low class have to withstand just for work and basic needs; this is evident in line 10 “all day long in the dust and heat when summer is on the track” and line 11 “with stinted stomachs and blistered feet, they carry their swags out bag” this is a clear understanding of the lengths people would go for jobs regardless of Australia’s punishing weather and
The book titled Beyond Bars: Rejoining Society After Prison offers invaluable lessons of how both men and women may successfully depart prison and return to society. The book was written by Jeffrey Ross and Stephen Richards, both of whom are college professors and criminal justice experts. The population of prisons across the United States has increased dramatically in recent decades despite overall crime rates decreasing during the same time period. Approximately seven million American people are in some form of correctional custody. Between the years1980 and 2000, America’s prison population increased by 500 percent. During the same time period, the number of prisons grew by 300 percent (Ross and Richards, xii). Close to 50 percent of people admitted to confinement have previously served time, exemplifying that the criminal justice system “recycles” inmates through the system again and again (Ross and Richards, xi). Unfortunately, many convicts simply do not remember how to or are ill-equipped to return to society once their sentence ends. Ross and Richards, through their valuable lessons within their book, seek to lessen the problems that ex-prisoners may face when released from prison.
In the town of Sebewaing not much goes on, and not much will. but recently, in the past few years, things in Sebewaing has been seaming to change that. But, back to my story, my grandfather and I just finished installing the new support beam when, now our immediate family started to show up, as they usually do. “Jesus, don’t they ever stay home?” Grandpa said. You see, my Grandpa is a crotchety old man, but for good reason. I seen my sister and her now fiance walking up too go inside the house but, this time it seemed very peculiar; prior to me going in the house, I seen my sisters fiance look at me with an estranged look. My grandpa instructed me to go take out the trash for him which I did happily, about 5 minutes later I came into the house and looked around, “What the hell is up with everyone?” I asked myself. I discovered while looking around that everyone had an eerie look on their faces, as if someone just died. I sat down and
I am a Japanese-American, growing up I never felt like I belonged in either one. I never felt that I was fully Japanese because I did not have all of the same beliefs and traditions as other Japanese people. Nor did I feel fully American because I fully do not believe in all of the American beliefs. I saw myself relating more to the Japanese culture because it taught me to be more respectful to my elders and other people in the community. Growing up I had to assimilate to the prevailing culture because people were bantering me because I had unusual views than they did. It was hard for me growing up; I was trying to identify myself as either a Japanese boy or an American boy while I was at school and at home. At school I had to be this normal American boy, while at home, I had to be a Japanese boy. I felt like two different people. This also tied into me having an awkward relationship with other kids my age especially the girls. I would ask my parents if it was okay for me to date, their response was “as long they are some sort of Asian, then it is okay.” Today my parents do not believe in that saying, they just want to see me in high spirits, but as I was growing up it was hard for me to find a girl that I liked that fit my family standards I always found myself fond of another race other than my own and my parents were not too thrilled with the choices I made when it came to girls when I was an adolescent.
Australia as a country is commonly known by foreigners for its vast expanses of empty space. It is first entwined in the film when Lady Ashley asks the drover how long it’s going to take to get to Faraway Downs and the Drover replies, “We’ve been on it for the past 2 days.” The camera then zooms out to show the dust trail they have left through the immense empty desert. The emptiness of this remarkable land is strongly emphasised again while they are traveling through the Never Never Desert. While displaying the magnificent open land, they zoom in with the cameras to show the heat and sweat of the outback and then zoom back out to show all the dead trees and dust. The film makers also show the main characters struggling to survive through the desert without water to further illustrate how tough it is to stay alive in such an unforgiving land. Though we Aussies don’t all live in the bush, it can still reaches scorching temperatures of 40 degrees in places such as Rockhampton but we don’t give up and move to somewhere that is cooler, we stay and try our hardest to live like any other normal group of people. This same theory has been cleverly used by the directors of this film when Lady Ashley decides to stay and protect her land instead of flying back to England and selling Faraway Downs. To add to this,
The visual imagery through the descriptive language paints an image of crops starting to grow in the shade and suburban areas. The harsh, unforgiving and dangerous Australian environment is illustrated through Henry Lawson’s short story ‘In a Dry Season’ through descriptive language and visual
When I walked inside the front door something didn’t seem right. The feeling of sorrow overwhelmed the house. It was so thick I could literally feel it in the air. Everyone was motionless. They were sulking;I was befuddled. The most energetic people in the world, doing absolutely nothing. I repeatedly asked them what was wrong. After an hour or so, my dad pulled me aside. He said that my Aunt Feli had passed away last night. My mind went for a loop, I was so confused. I thought that he was joking, so I replied “You’re lying, don’t mess with me like that.” and punched his shoulder softly while I chuckled. My dad quickly started tearing up and said, “There...
Seventeen years ago, I came bounding into a world of love and laughter. I was the first child, the first grandchild, the first niece, and the primary focus of my entire extended family. Although they were not married, my parents were young and energetic and had every good intention for their new baby girl. I grew up with opportunities for intellectual and spiritual growth, secure in the knowledge that I was loved, free from fear, and confident that my world was close to perfect. And I was the center of a world that had meaning only in terms of its effect on me-- what I could see from a height of three feet and what I could comprehend with the intellect and emotions of a child. This state of innocence persisted through my early teens, but changed dramatically in the spring of my sophomore year of high school. My beloved father was dying of AIDS.
I woke up to the sound of my mom calling my name. ‘’Just five more minutes,’’ I said as I pulled the covers over my head. ‘’We’re going to Yosemite.’’ my mom said. My mom finally dragged me out of bed. I trudged into the bathroom and then brushed my teeth and got dressed. ‘’Well look who got up.’’ my grandma yelled. My sister ruffled my hair. ‘’Hey bro.’’ my sister said sitting down for breakfast. I went and joined her. “Do you want cereal or french toast?” asked my grandma. “I’ll have cereal please.” I said. We all ate breakfast and packed some backpacks with waters and got on the road by 8:30. My sister sang a song I didn’t recognize. “What song is that?” I asked. “Heart of gold” she replied. “Never heard of it” I said. We pulled up to the
I stood at the end of the driveway with a bag of clothes and my little sisters by my side. My dad pulled up, we got in the truck, and we drove about 10 minutes until we got to his shop. This would seem like a normal day, but things were different this time. We weren 't at the shop to ride the four wheelers around or to play basketball in the garage or to mess with the pinball machines. There was a gloomy feel about everything around us. Even though I didn’t say anything, I knew things were changing.
My brother who was already was living in America picked me from the Dallas Fort Worth airport. As my we drove away from the Airport towards his house where I would abode for a while, the smooth drive fascinated me; I was accustomed to potholes on the road in my home country. Deep in my mind I kept pondering how I will be able to survive in this cold, only to be amazed on arrival at the warmth I found inside the house. Out of curiosity I asked my niece, “why is it so warm in here?”, my niece answered with a smile “the heat is running aunty” whatever she meant I did not understand, although she spoke in English she had an American accent which took me long to adapt and decipher.
Yohan, I think it is a good thing that you are firm in your beliefs. There are many people who are changing what they believe in because they want to agree with society. Being open to new things is a great characteristic to have as a person and a social worker. Even though you stick to your beliefs, you are not afraid of learning new things and that is a great thing. Many people are so stuck in their ways that they are afraid of change because they believe in will change their perspective when in reality it broadens them.
At times, the snow was falling so heavily you could hardly see the streetlights that glistened like beacons in a sea of snow. With the landscape draped in white, the trees hanging over as to almost touch the ground, homes pillowed in a fluffy white shroud, winter had surely arrived and with a vengeance.
I remember the day well. There was a disturbance of some sort in the house of which I had taken part. I am not sure whether I was the malefactor or was the beneficiary, probably a quarrel with my brothers, but I do remember what happened thereafter. After my rebuke, I walked through the back door and proceeded to the garage. In those days, and even now, the garage was not meant for cars but for storage, so there were boxes upon boxes of stored junk. Upon entering, I moved a few boxes away, found a familiar hole where my brothers and I used to go and hide, bellied myself on the dusty flour, and crawled about three and one half feet under stored chairs and one desk to my destination—a hidden spot in the far corner of garage. None would find me there! Immediately I began to cry. “No one loves me!” and “Everybody hates me!” were the phrases that I would say. Tears flowing, I would condemn the world for its hatred and console myself with the words I knew too well, “It’s okay. You can survive though no one understands you.” How hopeless words can console is a mystery—but truth switches places with lies when you’re deceived.