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):
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.