Loading...

Random stuff Illaria writes!

Tree Sustainability Project

Above is my, how to phrase this, ✨creative✨ drawing of a flower coming out of a heart. If you don’t understand the metaphor, I’ve so helpfully provided an explanation (in cool font so you don’t miss it) that Plants are Life. 

Smokey the Bear can vouch for that, since, when he was a cub, he grew up surrounded by plants (well, most of us suburban children did too, but Smokey the Bear especially) and was alive. But then, one tragic day, a careless camper decided that it was time to watch the world burn (not really, they did it by accident), and so the world did burn (Smokey’s world, not the entire world). Animals leapt from the flames, but through the haze and smoke, spreading with the speed and ruthlessness of a silent assassin, animals sometimes ran into the flames. So, what was the solution? We can look to Smokey for an easy and fool-proof solution- hug a tree, and if you wish and you hope, then perhaps you could manage to stay alive- Smokey certainly did (but he’s a bear, and- I hope- you’re a human, so perhaps don’t use this method of you ever find yourself in the midst of a forest fire). This led to him being a nationwide icon of prevention of accidental forest fires (and sometimes arson) and of the protection of trees.

And because Smokey the Bear, a fascinating creature, spoke about trees, I would like to present to you… 10 fun facts about trees (despite being about trees, they really are fun):

  • Some trees have been to the moon.
  • Planting trees can reduce energy costs (you know I’ll be planting tons of trees).
  • Trees can help reduce stress (here I come, trees!).
  • Trees didn’t exist for the first 90% of Earth’s history…
  • There were 26 feet tall fungi instead!
  • Trees can communicate with each other through an underground connection made of still fungi.
  • Trees can fight crime… There’s a correlation (not causation, so it may not be for sure) between lower crime rate and cities with trees.
  • Trees have been worshipped for a long time.
  • There are 422 times as many trees on Earth as people (sounds a bit like Alaska’s people population compared to the elk population… They multiply).
  • Global forests removed about one-third of risk fuel emissions annually from 1990 to 2007.

 

Citing my sources because I’m not a plagiarizer (wondering if that’s even a word):

 

The importance of learning about trees (not just entertaining fun facts) is that trees are relevant to our lives – responsible for providing a third of the world’s oxygen and also making sure our water is high quality and safe to drink, so it’s important to know how to keep trees safe and prevent destruction of trees.

So, the question would be… Who’s going to make sure that the trees are kept safe, and prevent the destruction of them? Who’s going to conserve these beautiful leafy greens growing on the surface of our Earth? We are. As humans, we’re supposed to be the ones keeping our world green. But, some people just want to watch the world burn (quite literally), so, more specifically, the state makes laws to conserve our Earth.

Because it’s our (as humans) job to conserve nature, our family has taken to using more electronic materials instead of materials that require chopped-up and dead trees to work (ahem, paper). This is a pretty obvious and easy way to help, but I think if everyone did it, then preserving trees would be a lot easier. Oh, and I also never go camping (introverted vampire who really never goes outside), which gives me a lower probability of starting a forest fire.

To encourage others to take actions to help our forests, they have to first be aware of how to help and why they should help- so having advertisements and speeches which speak about that to educate the general public would help encourage people to help our forests.

Trees in Literature

Greetings.

I arrive again with more tree content- the tree obsession continues. This tree content today centers around a book, like much of my life does (book-lovers rise!), Wangari Maathai, the Woman Who Planted Millions of Trees, by Franck Prévot. What’s it about? Oh, perhaps trees and Wangari Maathai?

Well, more specifically, it’s about Wangari’s journey to keep trees sprouting, keep fig trees rich with their fruit, and keep children’s faces glowing, rosy and beautiful. It’s about her fight for happiness, and for a lush and beautiful world. She planted tree after tree for love and life and millions of forests in the future.

Many people have planted trees, and don’t have a beautifully illustrated biography about them (in fact, just last week, a loony friend of mine took her peach pit and decided to dig a hole and drop it in, but she doesn’t have a biography about her, either). So what made Wangari, the woman of the leopards, special? Her dedication through adversity. The Kenyan government came down against Maathai and the Green Belt Movement (a movement she had created to go against the government’s decisions regarding the environment). The government opposed many of the movement’s positions regarding democratic rights and the deforestation that was threatening the food sources.

However, her efforts and dedication to building more rights, and a safer world to live in did indeed begin to bear fruit (pun intended) with the Green Belt Movement having planted more than 30 million trees, inspiring other countries to take a similar initiative, being appointed assistant minister of environment, natural resources, and wildlife, and also winning the Nobel Prize.

Trees play an important role in Wangari Maathai’s story because it was important to her to plant them- it enabled the earth to breathe and crops to continue growing. Trees also grew to become a symbol that it was possible to make a difference to our earth.

Wangari Maathai’s story conveys a message of hope- though it may seem gloomy and dark, and on the precipice of disaster, change is possible.

Readers (just like me) would learn about the importance of standing up and speaking for the world to change (in the right direction. You wouldn’t want to speak about how homicide is good), and also the importance of conserving our Earth.

Tree update

(My tree, at my house)

(The crow, at my school)

Names are a curious thing- words assigned to people so that if they were mentioned, the name would embody the whole and complex being that they are. Names have always been important, because it’s something that climbs up the throat to address another thing (the word thing is horribly unspecific, but I’m afraid it’s true, since I’ve seen people naming not only living beings, but also dolls and such). 

My name is Illaria (surprise, surprise). That’s the one word that I know of that can describe me as a whole being (not to be arrogant, but I’m rather complex, and there’s not just one word that could describe me, other than Illaria. Or perhaps there is- something along the lines of “idiot” sounds about right).

I used to hate my name- Illaria. It was constantly twisted on the tongues of people- turned into Illiara, or perhaps Laria, or Loria. A rose wilted, now a thorned bush. 

Yet, with all the shape-shifting and twisting, I appreciate the name Illaria- it’s a name that tastes like smooth ivy vines, twisted and elegant. Illaria feels at the same time sharp and thin, yet filled with life and character. It’s a good name for how I imagine myself to be (but perhaps not for myself in real life, considering that me in real life is clumsy, boring, and soft). 

And while the sound and feeling of Illaria- the character in it- does not fit Illaria herself (me), the meaning behind it fits Illaria. Illaria, in Italian, means happy and joyful girl. To address the obvious, I’m a girl. Now, the happy and joyful part? Though many would like to joke (or state seriously) that I’m an awfully mean and sarcastic child (to quote a fellow classmate, “Hey, Illaria, what happened to you? In fifth grade, you were all unicorns and rainbows.”), I do have kernels of joy and happiness that hide in the frayed folds of my soul.

And because I’ve now written 1814 words about names, it might not surprise you that I’ve adopted and named a tree (I’ve hit new lows). This tree, when I adopted it, was a child, timid and afraid to reach its limbs up to grab the light (partly because it had very thin and short limbs, but I wouldn’t want to insult my tree, so forget that you just read that). It was filled with March-blooming, temporary and fragile flowers, white as a child with extreme vitamin D deficiency. Now, however, it’s sturdier, and less filled with frivolous flowers, instead filled with luscious and filled-with-life leaves (and also still very slender and underweight, but, again, I don’t want to insult it). 

So what word will I assign to it, that will capture all of it’s knobby-limbedness and fragile character? 

Well, I rather like Enola. It’s short and stout, but has a bit of a feeling of grace to it. In Native American (Native American is a vague term, but the website that I found the name on just says… “Native American”), it means “solitary”. Perfect for being the only tree we have in our front yard (yes. It’s rather sad).

And now, have you ever seen a good tree that wasn’t bursting with life, a lizard absorbing the sunlight while its limbs grab towards the buttery sunlight? (I have, a dead one.)

So, in order to make sure that the tree isn’t lonely in my front yard, I’ve taken a picture of a totally unrelated crow at my school, in which I will proceed to pretend like the crow (which I’ve decided to name Einer) has even seen Enola before, and invent a dialogue between them. Of course.

Einer sniffed, the sharp smell of smoke tingling on his tongue. “Those *censored* humans, at it again. How long do you think it will take for those tiny brains to realize that making s’more won’t work if it’s been raining for a week?”

Enola rustled her leaves, letting the wind run it’s long and thin fingers through her May-growing foliage. “Einer, you do realize that if humans have tiny brains, then, in comparison, you’re, well… a birdbrain.”

Einer gave a little humph and turned away from Enola’s trunk, and instead stared at another tree- a thick pine tree out in the forest.

Enola, either not noticing or just not caring (this happened quite a bit), continued. “Anyway, perhaps you would like to… enlighten me about the events at school?”

A terrible busybody she was.

A grin spread across Einer’s thin face. “Of course. I heard the children squeaking-”

Enola interrupted. “Einer, we’ve spoken about the children’s high-pitched voices before. Just because they do squeak doesn’t mean you should say it aloud in a dialogue with another living organism.”

“Yes, yes, ok. I heard the children squawking-” Enola gave a huff, but said nothing more, “about some sort of lung disease called ‘the coronavirus’ for humans (what vulnerable creatures they are). Basically, they’re all gonna go home and never go to school again.” 

Enola scoffed. “They’re never going to school again? There would be no reason behind that- its not like their disease would never end.”

Einer huffed. “Nol, I hear what I hear.” He, again, turn to the pine tree in the woods. He should fly over to her, and grace her with his companionship. Before he could make any questionable decisions, a child burst out of a box made of metal that came rolling towards the house. 

“Hey! Mamma! That was my last day of in-person school until quarantine ends!” 

Einer glanced at Enola, only to see that she had become as still and as quiet as… well, a tree.

So he was right. The child would be at home for a while. 

The two, a still and thin tree, and a crow hopping from branch to branch, faced the sun, and sighed. 

Through the rest of the day, rumor went that the child could hear soft whispering and rustling, plus an extremely loud caw (translating into, “Hey! Nol! I said what I said- cereal is a soup!”, followed by a slight whacking sound).

Tree Book

Upon creating my tree book (as modeled in the photo shoot above), I was behind a screen the whole time (thus making my book ✨unique✨).

Mrs. Gignoux helped the remote students (well, just two people, but that doesn’t need to be mentioned) actually do their project by giving us kits.

Each of these kits (well, mine, at least) contained a cutout of some variety of cardboard (I’m afraid I can’t be trusted to know the anatomy of an art project), which acted as the trees. These cardboard “trees” had words on them (I would describe in further detail, elaborating that they’re of a beige tinge and that the letters are colored green and blue and such, but that would be pointless, considering there’s a photoshoot of my tree above).

They’re attached to a piece of blue paper (again, details and such seem a bit pointless), and on the inside and outside of this shell of a tree project are the lovely decorations- decorated with my not-quite-as-lovely collages and poem.

Through this process, I glued the materials together, first glueing the paper into a 3D object, then attaching tree cutouts onto it, and laying scraps of paper over each other to create my (as I so delicately put it) ✨unique✨ book.

Now that I’ve blabbered on about my book, I would like to give credit (I’m not in the habit of practicing plagiarism) to the lovely Mrs. Gignoux who helped me create my book, despite going to school from home for about three quarters of the year.

Here’s her website (it’s very aesthetic):

https://gignouxart.com/

 

And, you might notice that there are pieces of my writing on it (or maybe you have less than 20/20 eye vision, and therefore wouldn’t be able to read my work), so here are what I wrote, to grace your eyes:

 

Branches, Reaching Toward the Sky

My Wish Tree

(A wishtree is for people to string their simple dreams onto a tree, and hope that when they drift away in the wind, fluttering along the breeze, and turn brown when they land in the dirt, they will come true and happen, miraculously)

I’m a child (well, under 18 at least. Some might wonder as to whether I’m a tweenager or not). It’s not very fair to say that I know precisely what I want to do in my life, but there are several things that I know for sure that I will get done (or perhaps everything will go wrong and I’ll end up turning into a toad, but hopefully that’s not what my life will come to be).

One of my greatest wishes is to conquer fear. I’m the type of human who wants to live her life without any fears binding her onto this Earth, so that my soul will one day drift up and join the stars. Right now, I have so many fears- so many. I somehow ‘have an old soul’ (according to many of the adults that I’ve engaged in a conversation), therefore meaning that I’m extremely cautious and don’t care for the reckless and strange activities of children, which I’m not sure I should be offended about or not. But perhaps my one fear that looms large above me, and I am still quailing in it’s shadows, are heights. Heights themselves are an abstract concept that don’t draw fear out of me like, really, falling does. It’s just the problem that my brain is such a pessimistic and worrisome place that every height equates to glass shattering, a sickening feeling in my stomach, like my head is too light for my body, the winding rubbing scalding fingers through my hair, and then a thud, the feeling of grass under me. Humans are really only born with two fears- the fear of falling and of loud noise (the latter not particularly important to this paragraph). Being high above the steady and solid ground, knowing that with one adjustment of shoes across pavement could lead to the sickening feeling of falling, is far too much for my brain to handle- so, naturally, curling up in a ball is an instinctive response. But I want to be a woman who stands high over the ground, the wind whistling through her hair, and laughs, because she is free. Not someone who curls up in a ball and whimpers high above the ground. I want to conquer this fear because I want to be free and experience the world to the fullest (I’m just not going to conquer it by hurling myself off of buildings, I don’t think that would work).

I want to know what it’s like to be bald. This does sound a bit strange, and many reading this would be concerned for my wellbeing, but I want to know what it’s like to have nothing weighing down my head, and when I wake up in the morning, not needing to brush the hair out of my eyes to see the morning sunlight, and instead just feeling the soft silken surface of the pillow brush against my scalp. There would, of course, also be the convenient perks of not having to wash my hair, and therefore my water bill might be minisculely reduced, more time saved, and also just an extra less step in my shower routine. 

I want to help people. Yes, someone who sounds so snobbish and just the slightest bit sarcastic would like to do good in the world. What a surprise. It’s human nature to be narcissistic (after all, we once believed that the solar system revolved around us, and would have kept believing it if there wasn’t any cold hard facts to contradict it), but it’s also human nature to want to help and repair (well, I certainly hope so, or else my faith in humanity will be crushed). Of course, there’s always the odd exception (ahem, Adolf, ahem), but I believe that humans wish to have harmony and peace in the world, if only to live an uninterrupted life. I would like to be someone who makes that happen. There are so many people in the world that do need help, and if I helped, then it would really make my life meaningful and the world would be just an ounce better. So call me naive, and call me a child, but one day this world will be better- and I would have helped. 

I want to learn something beyond the phrase ‘You’re an old fart,’ in German (don’t ask me how I learned this). Despite knowing this single phrase, I’m not trilingual (but some could wonder… if I know how to say ‘You’re an old fart,’ in German, doesn’t that make me practically trilingual?).

Germany is a lovely country and my Dad happens to be from there- if perhaps I was granted the opportunity to live and work in Germany, I wouldn’t like to be the clueless American child who walks on the wrong side of the path because she didn’t know how to read the ‘Wenn Sie vorwärts gehen, gehen Sie auf der linken Straßenseite,’ (yes, I Google-Translated it, and we all know Google Translate is not a bit reliable, so to any native Germans, sorry for butchering your language) sign- meaning ‘If walking forward, walk on the left side of the street.’ My father is German, and when he grows old and wrinkled, perhaps in the case he develops dementia, would he only know how to speak German? And would I only be able to mutter American (not the same as English) and Chinese? So, learning German would insure myself from making a fool of myself in the lovely country of Germany, and also help to speak with my father.

I want to own an animal. I am an only child. Yes, I have friends (surprise) and parents, but at home, when I am red and tearful from a peculiar mix of angriness and sadness, who is to console me that will not think things through, and decide that my upsetness is illogical? Why, a dog (or a cat, or a snake, or some animal, but I like dogs far too much to be friends with anyone else), of course. The feeling of fur pressing up against a hot and flushed face (mine), or perhaps just a peaceful and sleepy one (mine again- how typical, considering that this entire article is about me.) would give me the strangest feeling of unwavering loyalty, and that might be conceited that I want someone to stand by me no matter what and not care if I did something wrong, but it’s nice to feel loneliness banished from the frayed folds of my soul. 

I care a lot about what people think. I’m a rather sensitive soul, and am much more passive than proactive. I’m almost never the one to ask first, I wait for someone to ask me, simply because I’m scared someone will judge me for my choices, and mainly because I’m a human- naturally narcissistic, and feel as though everyone is examining me every second. Of course, that’s not true, and my (slightly problematic) mind is (hopefully) most likely blowing it out of proportion. So, in my lifetime, I want to be the one who is bold and steps up first and makes the first move because I know what I want, and I want it enough to be brave enough to ask for it. I would finally get what I want, instead standing at the edges, and allowing the cold feeling of regret to gnaw at my bones forever.

I want to be remembered. Basically, I want to be famous, and not because I’ve committed some terrible and gruesome crime. I want to have made a big enough impact on the world that people will remember the name ‘Illaria Liedtke’ with fondness because she was brave enough and smart enough to be an exceptional human.

I want to be kind. This is an infinite and subjective goal because, really, when do you know when you’ve achieved and exceeded the goal of being kind? Of weaving a golden thread of kindness through the fine loom of the world? But, at least, if I strive to make a difference in the world and people’s lives, I’d have actually done something with my life. And while that really is everyone’s goal (well, I hope), and none of this really unique, I want to be a person that maybe unravels even just one knot in the complicated loom of the world.

I want to volunteer at an elephant rescue (and no, I truly don’t know where I come up with these random goals). Why not a child rescue? Why not a jellyfish rescue? Well, first of all, no human has ever bothered to set up a jellyfish rescue, for in our minds jellyfish are merely unimportant creatures (I demand jellyfish rights), and elephants are as smart as (most) children, so they’re practically the same as chaotic human children (except elephants may be a tad sweeter and just a bit bigger). The only difference between the two of them is that elephants are endangered, so I would be better off helping elephants rather than children. Elephants actually might be a bit better than most children- they’re extremely sweet and innocent, with their fine small hairs. Now, as a child sitting here, watching her words appear on a screen as she taps out letters on a keyboard, I also happen to want to help elephants, because through typing words onto a Google Doc, I’ve somehow convinced myself that elephants are the cutest and most intelligent animals alive. So, now if you asked me… why in the world have you settled on rescuing elephants? I would not want to bore you with my words, and (probably shrug, but since no one’s actually talking to me, I’ll answer it how I would in writing, and not in real life) would simply say- I’ve somehow convinced myself that I’m undeniably in love with elephants and also because I want to help them to stop being endangered.

Now that I have an apparent elephant obsession, I’ve decided that I want to go to Thailand and wash elephants. Why? Well, besides the fact that I’m now in hopeless and unending love with elephants (no, it’s not a phase), it would be rather fun to romp around in water with elephants. 

But it’s mostly because somehow, I’ve told my brain that elephants are the most superior animal on the planet (it’ll wear off in a few days- hopefully. I wouldn’t want to be known as the elephant child).

But these are all things that I can control. These are all of my bright and shining goals that illuminate my own future. What of my hopes for the world? 

I wish for peace- peace and harmony. For my own selfish reasons and for the general reason that peace would improve quality of life (not just for me, but also for other people. And also for me.).

I wish that the world would stop heating up in some places and get unnaturally cold in others.

I wish that, one day, animals would stop being harmed by humans, so that they could live life freely and bound along the springs of Japan, or the great stalks of bamboo in China.

I wish that human suffering from their bodies turning against them would end.

I wish, most of all, for the wonderful and beautiful and free children of the world to always see a future ahead of them.

Why do I wish at all, if wishes are but silly threads of hope? I’m not going to tell you some nonsense from movies like ‘Hope is the most important thing for humans,’ or something like that. I’m just going to say that wishes are merely incentives for behavior. For change.

 

SALUTE TO MY ROOTS!

I suppose we should start from the beginning (after all, it shouldn’t be called ‘Salute to my Roots’ for no reason), with the slightest twitch of life, and a gurgle of sound. If perhaps you hadn’t caught on to my poetic notions, then I’m referring to a new sliver of life in this large world- commonly referred to as a child. This child could have been any child (for I’m afraid I cannot remember what I was like as a newborn baby- or if I even made sound at all in the very beginning), but for the purpose of this story, this child is ME. Now, holding this slightly philosophical and perplexing child was my mother, the subject of this current paragraph. It all started in this very moment- the bond between us (excuse my slight cheesy wording). For as I grew, I came to love her very much. Not in the obvious way that a child is obligated to love and appreciate all that their parent(s) do(es) for them, but also in the way that a younger sister grows to adore and look up to their older sister (at least, I’m assuming it’s this way- I’m an only child, you see). And perhaps our bond grew to be the way a best friend loves their best friend in turn. So as this paragraph progresses with flowery words expressing my love and appreciation for my mother, and your attention wanes, I should first convey that there really aren’t words to express something so precious as the bond between us- for I certainly have never met a pair as perfect as us, fitting together just right. So, I will try to put it quite simply- my mother is my role model and also happens to be a telepath, so she understands me perfectly. She is good and brave and lives her life fiercely, and that’s how I want to be.

Now, with all this talk and blabber about my mother, one might find themselves pondering upon the question, ‘Does this child even have a father?’. The answer to this would be yes, I do indeed have a father. A wonderful one, at that. All in good time, all in good time, my dearest friend and reader. I would like to start by mentioning that the relationship between us is a light and happy one- none of this strict and respectful nonsense. He is the one I go to when I am light and I am happy and would like to joke around or perhaps just think a bit. You see, my father happens to be a funny and kind man, and so is imagined as a fresh- not too hot, since the heat and sun does not do good for his skin- spring day, the type where young children with pale skin from a long and cold winter traipse about the damp green grass, uncertain whether the frost and chill of the winter still lingers in the spongy dirt beneath. In case you’ve been living under a rock and have never experienced a day like this in all the days that you’ve been alive, I should translate this scene- it means that my father has a light bounciness in his soul and a certain optimism and contentedness with life that, almost like a magnet, attracts everyone towards him and makes everyone (including me, of course) a reflection of his soul, happy. And happiness is really the meaning of life, isn’t it? 

Now, my parents happen to be my friends. My best friends, in fact. But, I should think that you would take me for a girl with a good amount of friends. Well, I do have several friends (surprise, surprise. I do have friends besides my parents). These friends (not specified) are particularly interesting and kind and funny human beings, a select few, hand-picked personally from a pool of kids known as the 6th grade. Friendship is a dear and beautiful thing- led by one’s own personal attraction to another person that leads them to care for the other person, and in turn, the other person caring for them. If I were to say how my friends have impacted me, I would say, plain and simple, that they make me happier. So maybe that’s too simple, and I should say something much sappier to express my love for them, but they really do make me happier. There are many aspects to happiness- there’s love, there’s attention, there’s support. They all end in the warm and fresh feeling in the soul- happiness. My friends are (pretty much) the embodiment of happiness for me.

With these past few paragraphs, I’ve written about my wonderful and dear (not sarcasm) parents, along with my (also) wonderful and dear friends. A rather classical approach, dontcha think? Well, as you might have expected (due to my slightly snobbish writing), I’m veering off path. Now that I’ve put it out there that I love my parents and friends and they mean the world to me and all of the above, I should like to think that one would expect something less… well, normal, I should say, of me. So, I would like to introduce to you my slightly unhealthy obsession with a book by the name of ‘The Fault in our Stars’. If this book has never graced your eyes, then put aside this unimportant ramble and read it. Immediately. 

For my whole life, I’ve always loved to read (albeit, in the beginning, reading books upside down). Reading is like experiencing every possible world and culture without actually doing any of the dirty work- swaggering through Hogwarts after catching the Snitch, trudging through the humid fields of Vietnam, and I’m sure I don’t have to continue with examples, since hopefully you’ve read a book in your life and understand what I’m saying (this is all written assuming that you haven’t been living in a hole for your whole life. In which case, you should probably go outside- Vitamin D deficiencies aren’t good). 

I’ve always known that books were fine delicacies to melt on the tip of the tongue, always changing the flavor and taste of a soul, but if there was ever a book that changed me and taught me to love and live my life fiercely and without any regrets, then it would be ‘The Fault in our Stars’. I’ve always been very cautious (never gotten a worse injury besides bruised and battered feelings), and sensitive, and very regretful and worried (my thoughts tend to gravitate around the worst. How’s that for pessimistic?) When I picked up the book, just a small, blue, neon, yet innocent-looking book, I was tentative and the slightest bit apprehensive (I had never read a book with as many curse words before), but as more pages were flipped, and more tears were shed, I felt a tiny, brave shift in my soul. A shift perhaps towards the unknown. A shift that told me that maybe, just maybe, I should just live my life bravely and boldly and without regrets because, as Augustus Waters chimes in, what, really, is the point of being alive if you don’t at least try to do something remarkable? So maybe I’ll leave it at that. Maybe I’ll just tell you that the book told me to be more brave and follow my dream and all that sappy nonsense. Or maybe I’ll tell you that this book made me understand truly what life means, and what it means to live it.

 

Fun Facts About Fingerprints

Yes. The little ridges that go on the tips of fingers.

It used to be, in the old 2019 days, we would wack out phones and *gasp* used it to unlock their iPhones? Scoff, how basic. Now we have facial recognition.

In case you’ve been living in a remote island off the coast of Antarctica,  and all of your fingertips have frozen off, you might be aware of the fact that all fingerprints are unique and can therefore be used as identification- merely to test whether the owner of the fingerprint is a silent assassin. But perhaps you hadn’t understood really the in-depth qualities and sweeping analysis of fingerprints (I certainly wouldn’t blame you, considering that really only people who are oddly interested with the soft ridges on hands and feet would know these random facts about fingerprints).

1. Some people don’t have fingerprints.

Like many human phenomena, the root behind this is syndrome. There are several disorders that cause friction to be absent from any skin. Some side effects include not being able to sweat well (sounds like a good break from being drenched in salty water that comes out of your own pores) and harder to lose teeth (no more bragging that you have a wiggly tooth, Susan).

2. Fingerprints can dissapear

Ah, yes, fingerprints can unintentionally and intentionally be changed or dissapear. Chemotherapy, working with lime, and being a secretary (oh, the woes of handling paper) are ways that fingertips can vanish unintentionally. Why must I add the word unintentionally? Oh, perhaps just because there happen to be many psychopaths in the world who would mutilate their fingers so that the police can no longer identify them.

3. Fingerprints reveal the drugs you take

Despite knowing the good ol’ “Don’t do drugs, kids,”, the consequences may have been unclear (surprise, surprise). Now, however, if you have a quick brush-up with, oh, I don’t know, cocaine, you might be found out, through your fingerprint. Don’t do drugs, kids.

4. Koalas got ’em too

Koalas. They sleep in trees all day and eat (forgive my oversimplified description of koalas), but they have fingerprints (from sleeping- sorry, inadequate wording, hanging out– in trees all day). I’m looking forward to the day when some criminal blames their crime on a koala.

5. Fingerprint sensors might work for pets

Ah, yes, when us peasents still had phones that used fingerprint sensors, some chaotic weirdo (a writer- how typical) had too much time on their hand and lots of time to waste (and also a cat). With a formula like that, what would it equate to? It could only mean one thing- shoving your cat in front of your phone, hoping that it won’t look at any of the strange photos saved to your camera album, and testing the fingerprint sensor out on it. How good it is to know there are other equally strange children in the world.

But the cat got in, so that renders me unable to speak against it.

6. A 73-year-old bought a painting for 5$ at a grimy old thrift store (nothing against thrift stores), but found, through a fingerprint on it, that it was actually an unsigned John Pollock painting

Nothing much to explain here, considering that my entire explanation is the title.

7. If, in the case that you die, and your skin starts to slip off (because your dead body was left out for too long), forensic scientists would cut the skin around your wrist, take it off, and put it on their own hands, like a glove, to get the fingerprints.

Morbid. But interesting.

So, with all this speak of fingerprints… One might wonder- are fingerprints hereditary? (Or you might not be wondering that. In which case, apologies for assuming your levels of curiosity.)

Yes, they are. I would know, considering that my father and I both have very similar types of fingerprints. This is because we have DNA. Duh. DNA is (obviously) hereditary, but it also determines what fingerprints you are coded to have (or maybe no fingerprints, but that’s not very likely).

Here are my sources, where I learned the information (I’m not in the habit to practice plagiarism, thank you very much):

https://www.mentalfloss.com/article/78169/15-unique-facts-about-fingerprints

https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/lose-your-fingerprints/

30 Interesting Facts About Fingerprints

 

Ten Facts About Fingerprints

Stock Market Game Project

Ahem. Greetings.

In LA class, we started reading The Westing Game- a cozy mystery that features several inhabitants of Sunset Towers, a peculiar-but-quaint apartment complex that faces the Sunrise, not, in fact, the Sunset. I trust that most children reading this particular blog post will, having been in our LA class, have read entirely about the eccentricity of dear Uncle Sam and the beings in the book. If not, please avert your eyes immediately away from this post and instead turn to The Westing Game, for there is sure to be spoilers ahead.

Now, to speak of these particular beings in the book- there is a main character Turtle. She, being extremely invested in investing (see what we did there?) in the stock market, decided that the only meaning of the riddle that our dear Uncle Sam Westing had so helpfully provided could be related to her slight obsession regarding stocks. To further our understanding of what was going on in Turtle’s little brain, we started a project about stocks.

The students in our LA class broke into groups (although some lone wolves chose to work unaccompanied) and created an investing company. We had until the 17th of February to pick three or more stocks to invest $20,000 in. Obviously, we were to choose the stocks for good reason- to earn money, in case you aren’t well-versed with the stock market, though I should hope that would be obvious. Later we would compare how much money was gained over a certain period of time. Whoever won the most money won the contest. We weren’t using actual money (a good move, in regards to children being quite awful at handling money. Trust me, we would know- we are children), so the only real prize was bragging rights and a feeling of self-accomplishment (the former isn’t actually too bad). 

So, I suppose you might be wondering… who is it that ‘we’ are? (As you might realize, this blog is only handled by one person (me, obviously), so, this begs the question, why are we using the word ‘we’ (besides trying to act like this blog post is written by two friends, despite the fact that you already know that the author (me again, obviously) is friendless)?) 

Well, this was, in fact, was written by two (superb) authors- only, these authors joined together to form… Mallaria Investments (yes, like the disease, we know) (and we spelled it that way on purpose, don’t worry for our intelligence), an obviously superior and pristine investing company (which is evident from the name, I should think). So, why have we decided to name our company a disease? Besides being crazy and having misspelled it, it’s because… these two authors include me (Illaria) and Maya- joining these two names to form the clever name Mallaria! And our slogan, ‘Mallaria Investments. Infectiously successful’ and logo (see image below) fit. Clever, right? Ok, now that we’ve written the word ‘Mallaria’ and ‘obviously’ about 20 times, let’s move on from this droning on about how clever our investment firm is (which it is) (we just had to end with that, apologies to readers).

Designed by Illaria and Maya, drawn by Maya

Well, what does a stock investment firm do (this is a rhetorical question, of course, since we should certainly hope that you know the answer to it)? It invests in stocks (wow, what a shocker). So, this begs the question, if we, such talented investors and authors, and not to mention, the founders of an investment company, would share our stocks.

Ah, dear reader, it happens to be your lucky day, we would love to divulge our secrets… listen (read) carefully now.

Spreadsheet filled out by Maya and Illaria

1.Tanger Factory Outlet Centers

In case you are like me, having no social life and rarely ever going to a mall, and don’t know what Tanger Factory Outlet Centers is, it’s an outlet (apparent from the name) that people go to to shop. Of course, from you-know-what (a certain virus that cannot be named), it’s advised not to go there. But, with the vaccine coming up and new rules, it would make sense that people would slowly start going into shopping centers more. Of course, that’s what many people would do if they had social lives at all (*cough cough* totally me *cough cough*). But, assuming that people have friends and social lives, they would be going to shopping centers and spending money on clothes and trivial matters such as that- because, quite simply, it’s fun to be out and about with the friends and seeing something interesting through a window. Therefore, Tanger Factory Outlet Centers would be a good stock to invest in.

2. Disney

I hope you all know what Disney is (I’d be a bit worried if you didn’t). Our reasoning for investing in Disney is simple (and similar to our reasoning about TFOC). After the you-know-what pandemic semi-ends, people will want to go on a fun, family vacation. And what’s more fun and family than Disneyland? I can actually think of a couple things (*cough* books), but that’s a whole different topic. 

3. Shoals Technologies

With the imminent danger of global climate change, Shoals Technologies would be a safe bet (well, I certainly hope so, or my faith in humanity would be destroyed). Shoals Technologies makes, um, technologies. But, these technologies aren’t the type for computers and matters such as that- they are solar energy powered technologies- Shoals Technologies designs and constructs items such as solar panels and also solar energy heating. Climate change, being a very topical subject at the moment, relates to Shoals Technologies, making it a good stock to invest in.

4. The Cheesecake Factory

Yes, I realize this sounds really random (and it is), but it follows the same logic as most of our other stocks. Once the pandemic eases up a bit, we think places like the Cheesecake Factory will be a big hit! People will want to go out with friends to eat and have fun, and who doesn’t like cheesecake? (Plenty of people, actually, but that’s beside the point.)

5. Southwest Airlines

 Southwest Airlines… is an airline line (we just can’t stop making terrible jokes. Actually, scratch that, that wasn’t even a joke) that, if you don’t know what an airline does (then you’ve probably been living under a rock for your entire life), it transports people to different places through air travel. This is important because, due to a virus (you-know-what) that struck the world, it was inadvisable to travel through air transportation. But… following our logic about these types of businesses growing due to the vaccine and lessening of you-know-what (this is our main theory, as you might observe), people might want to travel. Especially rich people going to Hawaii and stuff like that (if you’re wealthy, please ignore this comment, we’re just bitter).

6. Jetblue

Jetblue basically follows the same logic as Southwest Airlines, as it’s also an airline line (:D). Because of the virus, people will want to get out of their parents’ stuffy ol’ basement and see the world (or just have some fun in a different place). So what’ll start going up? You guessed it (well, we did, actually)! Travel-thingy-places. So that’s why we invested in Jetblue.

Oh, how Turtle would be proud.

Mallaria out.

PS, while we both wrote the same thing, still check out Maya’s blog… https://27mayag.edublogs.org/

Why Are Some Kids Alone?

Ahhh… my second deep blog post. Be prepared to have deep thoughts stew around your brain as you lie awake at night…

If you’re reading this, you’re probably a child. And no, I don’t mean to offend you, because you’re probably younger than 18.

And, if you’re a child, then you (obviously) know what it’s like to be young. I feel as though being young is so precious and so enriching in many people’s minds, including my own. To have a whole, clean, pure live in front of you- to do literally anything is beautiful. But there’s another side of youth. The side of living in a country with one of the biggest populations, or just living in a severely underdeveloped country.

See, when you’re a child, the world is so open and ripe with opportunity, but yet… not. Imagine-

Opportunity is a fruit- a juicy, tender apple, perhaps, hanging from the apple tree. A crowd of people stand below the apple tree. Some children are taller, able to just pluck an apple off, while some children are as small as dwarves, having to jump the highest- go the highest, just to satiate their stomachs. But, the only problem is, as hard as they try, they will never be able to jump that high. Perhaps a lucky one will grow enough to get an apple, but most of the short kids just… can’t.

And I’ve just explained to you the predicament. It isn’t that some kids from underdeveloped or high-population countries are literally short (or maybe they are, I’m not sure), but rather, some just are the farthest away from opportunity as possible.

It’s not something they can actually control- being born into, say, a Chinese family in the lower class, is not their fault.

Let me illustrate the predicament for some (key word: some- not all!) children in China- so far, China is the most populous city- 1.4 billion people (as of now). China is experiencing an extremely rapid incline of urbanization and economics, which means increased opportunity for adults- but also less equality. Because of this, many parents move to the urban areas for all the economic opportunities, leaving children to fend for themselves.

Alone.

In a world of more than 7 billion, imagine being alone. Yep. It’s one of my worst fears.

And this is just an example of children for one country- there are so many children in the world who are without parents. Absolutely alone.

So I must ask you to think. Think about what your life would be like, without any love in this cruel world. Think about how you would help. Think about what the world would be like, if children were happy and loved.

Think about how you can make it happen.

The Lady or the Tiger

In LA class, we read “The Lady or the Tiger”- a tale about a semi barbaric king who made his convicted pick a door which held either a lady or a tiger. So, ultimately, it was your own fault if you got eaten by a tiger and died.

Here’s a link to the story, in case my summary wasn’t adequate, so you’re not completely lost as you read my ending to the tale- http://pinkmonkey.com/dl/library1/digi506.pdf.

Because Frank Stockton was a bit of a cruel author and decided not to write an ending at all, we were to write an ending to the story. Oh, and also to draw a scene. It’s below. Look at your own risk.

 

Photos taken by Mrs. Williams.

Then there was also the story-

The princess stared, as such unrivaled hate and love clamored to the top of her heart, as the youthful man walked, with such exulsion and overwhelming confidence towards the door in which his surely trustworthy lover had flicked her right hand towards. For as he strode through the dusty sand amphitheater, he had in his mind the single thought and wonder- was his lover incorruptible?

In that moment, the princess, who you, my dear reader, may remember was battling love and hate so that she could only see such athazagoric emotions around her, thought such a rantipole thought then that would be better to not be told at all, as a tacenda.

See, the princess was a semi-barbaric thing, and no matter what she did, she could not dispel this one rantipole, barbarous thought. She wouldn’t have been able to dismiss the thought, waving it away, only to leave a lacuna. Perhaps, it was only because of the mere fact that her mind was, in a way, a querencia for dangerous thoughts.

The youthful man, meanwhile, was lingering along the periphery of the sand in the amphitheater, having a silent jouska play out in his brain. Millions of thoughts fractured through his mind, some of them, doubts of the semi-barbaric princess. He looked up at the princess once again. She looked selcouth, white as a sheet, but beautiful. In her amber eyes, he saw emotions warring, and a fire blazing. He, being a young fellow unaware of how one’s emotions could work in such a gallimaufry way, shivered, and turned back to the doors.

The princess stared down upon the youthful man, still trying to dispel this one tacendous thought.

She could not leave it be as a mere lacuna. As she continued to think, yawns started emitting from the audience. The young man was taking a rather long time, the princess realized with a start. Beside her, the king, who happened to be extremely holgry that day, was becoming extremely unpleased.

In that very moment, the princess stood, feeling such a strong urge to follow the very barbarous thought that she had been having, and wandered out of the amphitheater. 

She walked into the tunnel, meandering about it in a rather solivigant manner, until she glanced into the room which she knew what it held, and walked in. 

Now, dearest readers, if you were to be walking down the very same hallway that had two rooms, and one of them held the princess and one dead body, you might have been frightened to realized that this semi-barbaric princess had turned into a completely barbaric princess, for if you had walked into the very room she was in, you would have seen an utterly and completely barbaric princess with wild eyes, washing the blood off of her hands, and the dead body of a beautiful young woman. And you would have realized that the now completely barbaric young princess had, out of the jealousy and madness warring in her heart like a blazing fire, killed the young man’s soon-to-be bride, taking the place for yourself.

But, instead of being in that darelity and eerie hallway, you might have also been in the audience of the doleful amphitheater and possessed certain mind-reading capabilities. If this had been the occurrence, then you might have seen that the young man, with eyes so bright, had noticed that the princess was gone. And if you happened to possess these mind-reading capacities, then you would hear the billions of thoughts swarming through his head, wondering why the princess was gone- perhaps the door on the right was actually the one with the tiger, and the princess was trying to kill him, but could not bear to watch it? The young man quickly waved these thoughts away, unlike the barbaric princess. But they did indeed leave a lacuna in his mind- just a blank space for the imagination to fill. And he imagined… that he actually had seen the hate and the love blazing in her eyes, and she had left, to leave him alone. 

There was only one conclusion that the young man could draw- the door on the right had the tiger.

While the young man was staring at the right door, like it would hold all the secrets in the world. In the room behind this door was where the barbaric princess stood pleased, the dead body dragged out of the room, waiting for the light to shine upon her face and see the silhouette of her suitor as he opened the door on the right. 

However, this young man was certainly not dim. In fact, he tended to overthink perhaps a bit too much. So when the fair princess had left… the only conclusion that this young man’s perhaps too wonderfully busy mind could draw was the the right door, which his lover had flickered her hand to, like a moth to light, could only hold the tiger. 

And so, the young man, took a step towards the left door. And then another. And another. Until he was right upon the left door, which you, my dear reader, you already know that it held the tiger, as you figured out with which the right door used to hold a fair maiden, but now held a cold-blooded, barbaric princess, willing to have killed to win the young man’s heart.

Nevertheless, the young man opened the left door, and peered in. As he opened the door, a gong sounded.

The princess behind the right door waited eagerly for the young man to peer into her room, for she had heard the gong. But when the last echoes of the gong sounded, her lover was not silhouetted in the light from opening the door- the last echoes of the gong were like the last trickles of a stream drying out, replaced with a far more terrifying realization and sound encapsulated in one- the roar of a tiger.

With a jolt of horror, the princess realized that the young man- he had opened the door on the left, for he had thought she was to betray him.

And as for the young man… well, I suppose it’s best to spare you the gore. Needless to say, there was blood spilt upon the fine sand of the amphitheater, and the body of a shredded young man lay under the tiger’s claws. As for the princess, she stood in that room forever, refusing to leave, tears trickling down her fair face, and eventually… turned to stone, as they say.

GAH. It’s LONG.

Which words did you think were made up?

Dumplings!

Yes, this is really my fourth blog post about food. I’m OBSESSED. I’m a huge foodie, what can I say?

So, I just thought to introduce… what dumplings really are, and what they mean. Ok, ok, obviously, you (hopefully) already know what Chinese dumplings look like- delicious.

But do you know the history behind it? How it’s made?

Well, if you don’t, then I SHALL EXPLAIN!

Ok, let me quickly describe dumplings. They’re delicious. The end. Just kidding. I’ll explain further. There’s just something about dumpling- maybe it’s the deliciously crunchy outside, maybe it’s the warm and soft inside… but dumplings are not only my favorite Chinese food, they are also my favorite food in the whole world! Hard to believe. 😉

The history of dumplings.

Ok, the title already sounds like this will be extremely boring, but I’m not a history professor, so I’m just going to condense it all into a quick over-simplified kid’s version.

Basically, this dude moved to a province in China when it was winter time. Everyone was suffering from frostbite in their ears and fingers and noses, and no one liked him. So then the dude decided to try and fix the problem of the frostbite by wrapping up fillings inside of dough, to make them look like little ears. He thought this was cute, so he passed it around to his neighbors. They all loved his creation, and so dumplings were born!

Jeez, I’m extremely grateful for that dude.

What dumplings mean.

If you Googled it up, Google would tell you that dumplings mean “a small savory ball of dough (usually made with suet) which may be boiled, fried, or baked in a casserole.”.

But what dumplings truly mean are a way of connecting people for the Chinese New Year. Dumplings also look like money (haha, weird fact), so they mean wealth. Interesting, right? Some people even take it this far- they put coins in some of their dumplings!

How dumplings are made.

Ok, now we’re getting to the interesting part. Dumplings are basically just meat or any type of filling wrapped in dough. That’s literally it. But I like to say there is a certain art to making dumplings- there is finesse, and a specific way to make it. Gosh, now I sound like a connoisseur of dumplings.

But, either way, the hardest part is definitely wrapping it in dough! If you wrap it badly, it looks terrible. That’s why most Chinese mothers or fathers teach their kids how to not mess up the beautiful dumpling.

Alright, now that I’ve effectively written dumplings around 10,000 times, and explained the art of making it, I’m going to let that all stew around in your head.

Bye!

PS. Go eat a dumpling.

My Morning Thoughts!

I’ve decided I would talk about my thoughts… sounds kinds of strange, but it’ll be pretty interesting to write and (hopefully) read!

So, this morning, I was thinking about Christmas. I tend to think about Christmas a lot. Why? Because, quite plainly, I’m extremely excited by the prospect of Christmas being at home, with my family, no schoolwork- just curling up with a good book, and a cup of steaming hot chocolate in hand.

I mean, how could you NOT be excited by Christmas? Well, I thought about that for a while, and realized that Christmas was in winter (duh), and winter was cold (again, duh). Why am I pointing out the obvious? Besides that fact that I had a morning brain (incredibly dysfunctional), I was thinking about living in the cold. Yes. The wind would blow your nose clean off.

Why was I thinking about living in the cold? Because many people do have to live in the cold. MANY. All across the streets. And if Christmas is in winter, and winter is cold, and people have to live in the cold, and living in the cold is miserable… than Christmas is miserable. For so many people.

Just… let that thought stew in your head for a while. It’s a dark thought.

But, anyways, I just wanted to wish everyone happy holidays, regardless of whether you celebrate holidays, Christmas, Hannukah, whatever- happy holidays!

Skip to toolbar