Grade 12: Bitter Freedom

 
            It looms in the impending darkness. A thought so polluted with expectations that it is hidden in closets below skeletons. The word itself makes thousands of grade twelve students everywhere shudder: Graduation. Their final day of certainty is commemorated with a ceremony and a diploma, at last releasing the students into the unknown. An “arrangement in degrees, levels, or ranks,” seemingly defies the goal of equality which echoes throughout society, but is the very definition of graduation. The newly crowned “Grads” envelop themselves in the laborious preparation, but how can one prepare for the unfamiliar and unexpected? For seventeen years these adolescents have had their lives planned out, their future set. School became simply a mandatory routine. However, after their final ten months of high school dissolve into the past, there is no longer a required path for them to follow. School has taught these graduates many things, but has it taught them how to live? University professors are not accommodating to a lack of preparedness with test re-writes and study sessions. Using the Pythagorean Theorem will not help pay rent. The timeline of World War 2 will be of no benefit during a pharmaceutical job interview. School teaches one how to be a student. Once these routine stricken young adults are released from the safety pen that is high school, the future is solely up to them.

One Might Think Her Name is Dana...

          One might think her name is Dana, but no one is quite sure. There are only three things one needs to know about her: she is always tired, she is always hungry, and her hair is ridiculous. Sure, one might think that these are typical teenage qualities. However, these traits remain unknown to the rest of the world. Like a chameleon, she masks her flaws with the aid of naps, snacks, and a 400 degree curling iron. Ten hours of sleep may be enough rest for an average 17 year old girl, but not Dana. Only a minimum of twelve hours is enough to quench Dana's need for sleep. Otherwise, her eyes flutter during her last period English class and she can no longer resist the urge to yawn. Throughout her exhilarating class of English, not only are her eyes attempting to close against her will, but a Bear's growl occasionally escapes from her stomach. Hunger has set in. Without a morsel of food within her grasp, Dana quickly transforms. She becomes irritable, her fatigue worsens, and there is a chance of her fainting. As a preventative measure, her bag is always well equipped with food. Dana also prepares herself for a long day by fabricating her hair to look socially acceptable. It is a tedious task, but she never denies a challenge. With a full night's sleep behind her, perfectly polished hair, and a granola bar in her hand, Dana is ready to take on the world.

Deep Down

On cool afternoons I wonder.

I wonder how the birds fly so high

flipping and flapping in the sky,

and why they never fall.

I wonder if there really is a man on the moon

and if he waves every night,

but we just don't see him.

Maybe he waves like a mother seeing her child in a parade,

but we don't take the time to notice.

To notice the beauty in every day

and to appreciate things before they fade.

Before everything fades into the nothingness,

a state that some of us know all too well.

We know it like it's our best friend.

It grabs hold and doesn't let go

but the bounds of emptiness aren't indestructible.

We can take hold of something new,

something better than the days we never want to end.

Something that saves the people walking the streets

who you don't take the time to meet,

or say hello.

Something buried inside yourself,

that everyone told you was too good to be true. 

Write for your life

Dana Klamut
123 Pikme St.
Penticton, B.C.
V2A 1A1

February 2, 2012

Captain Draude

Commander
HMS Princess Margaret

O Captain, My Captain:

During these past few hours at the bottom of the ocean the reality of our situation has begun to sink in. I know you have an overwhelming decision ahead of you, and I hope that I can make it easier. I've been making some observations about our class, and it has occurred to me that more than half of our class is male. Usually, having a male dominated class wouldn't be of any importance but in our current situation you may find it could persuade you to spare my life. In my free time prior to our field trip I began researching the basal metabolic rate, BMR, in both males and females. The smallest amount of energy the body uses to stay alive is referred to as the BMR. It is a fact that females have a lower BMR than males, and since I am a female I use less oxygen than the boys. The logical choice in this situation would of course be to rid the submarine of oxygen devouring boys first. As well, I would spend my time sleeping to try and consume as little oxygen as possible rather than pacing like some of my classmates. With only girls left alive your decision may seem more wearisome, but I know you'll make the right choice. Teachers always say they don't have favourite students, but deep down all students know you truly do. Since you are of course my favourite teacher, I have no doubt that I am your favourite student. As a result, how would it look if you killed your favourite student who admires you as much as I do? I'm sure no school would want to hire a teacher who kills her favourites, and I wouldn't want you to have a future such as that. At this point, I am sure that I have left you with no reason to kill a delightful student such as I, who uses practically minuscule amounts of the remaining oxygen in the submarine. I wish you the best of luck as you announce to the others the perturbing news.

Sincerely,


Dana Klamut

About Me

When she woke up and rubbed sand out of her eyes the realization of where she was finally started to sink in. Her foot steps felt as heavy as the barrels she had seen being loaded onto the dock at dusk last night. The soft wind made her hair dance as she made her way through the maze of the old house and out onto the veranda. The floor boards creaked and made her wonder just how ancient the house may be. The house's age didn't matter to her though, because of the fact that it was hers and she loved it. The air was made of salt, filling her lungs as if she was already in the depths of the ocean. The waves stood still as she recognized exactly where she was, paradise. Her past was behind her as she thought, "It doesn't get better than this."