Have you ever heard of that TV show called Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader? I think I've watched it once or twice, not very much, but enough to get the gist of it. It's a game show, where a person tries to answer questions to win money. Sometimes the contestant asks for help from one of the fifth graders present. I used to be shocked by how little the contestants seemed to know. Like how they didn't know the epidermis was the outermost layer of skin.

But then again, I, having been quite a bit younger than those adults at the time, had learned the facts more recently, and since they were still fresh on my mind, I could recall them easily. Adults cannot remember all that much of what they learned when they were younger, except maybe the subject they teach if they are a teacher. My parents weren't even taught that much biology (there was more focus on physics and chemistry). And it's hard for me to talk to them about science because they learned the terms for things in Chinese, whereas I only know the English words. Well, anyways, there's no guarantee that they remember any history they learned. They still know how to do math, but they use it in their jobs (and in daily life - there is always that stress on "Math is important!") and I make them help me with hard homework problems, which are probably the main reasons for that.

I wonder if all these years of going to school are really worthwhile, then. If we don't remember much of it later on, what use is it to us? Knowledge is power, but if we lose that knowledge, has it not gone to waste? Or is it worth it to go school for other things, like the memories and friends we make? And yet at the same time it can be painful, when friends drift apart or fight and never make up, when friends move away, when you have difficulties in academics or in PE that you can't seem to overcome. When you have a teacher who seems to have a personal grudge against you. (Some of these have not happened to me. But I have drifted apart from friends. And many of my friends have moved away. I am lucky in being able to maintain contact with some of them. But I fear I might never see others ever again, except by some chance encounter. And what if I didn't recognize them? Because we had changed so much in our time apart?)

We still go to school anyways. (It is required by law, so I suppose it isn't much of a choice, but nevertheless...) We still take the good together with the bad. A few people do lose faith, lose hope, want to give up, try to end their lives so they can find an end to it all, have a chance at a fresh start. But as I heard in a school performance about puberty, "Suicide is a permanent solution to what may be only a temporary problem." And I suppose we all still have to keep struggling, keep living, reach out for the things we want, despite all those things that stand in the way, make you experience all the emotions you wished you would never feel again. I think it's something amazing, how there are still little things - and big things - that make it all worth it, that we can all bear our burdens for the sake of something precious.

I am getting awfully sidetracked. But then, that's not necessarily a bad thing. My history teacher was rambling about something that wasn't necessarily related to history, and then a student raised his hand to ask a question. The teacher said with a humph, "Great. You shouldn't interrupt me when I go off on a tangent. Now I feel like teaching again." At this point, we all groaned, since we preferred hearing interesting stories to getting an education. (I mean, hearing stories is a kind of education too, an education in life instead of just in academics.)

We didn't have much to do in science class at the end of the day, so a student said, "Hey, do you want to play Stump the Science Teacher"? The teacher asked how it was played. The student said that it was his goal to ask a question about any kind of science that the teacher would be unable to answer. He asked, "What is cement made up of?" The teacher said, "Well...What kind of cement are you talking about? Different grades of cement are used depending on the purpose. Do you mean our modern cement, or the kind that was made a long time ago in England?" and so on. I think it was more like the teacher stumped the student than the other way around.

Labels: are you smarter than a 5th grader, cement, change, daily, distraction, education, friends, game, life, loss, math, memory, pain, school, science, show, story, teacher, television, waste

Y'know, Andrew Jackson's name is very similar to the name of my favorite teacher...

Andrew Jackson was the 7th President of the United States.
A war hero, from the Battle of New Orleans and an invasion of Florida.
A husband and father, married to a woman named Rachel (very complicated situation regarding that, but never mind it for now).
The installer of the spoils system and Jacksonian democracy.
A person who tried to kill the National Bank.
(...If you're confused about this, look it up. Personally I recommend Wikipedia. XD)

And this is my retelling of his story. It is mostly made up, so do not take it seriously. It's just for fun, seeing as we haven't gotten to write fiction all year in school.

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there was a boy. He was born to two people who were quite vocal about their opinions. Even at the age of five, he was already a mischievous, energetic boy who threw terrible tantrums when he didn't get his way. His family moved to a new town, which unfortunately did not welcome them. The town was a small one, set in its ways, fearing the changes that the outspoken, troublemaking family might bring, tried to drive them out. When the family stubbornly refused, a few particularly fearful townspeople encouraged others to help them burn down their house. Although the family managed to escape the fire alive, their home and farmland had been burned to the ground, the animals had disappeared, and they were all injured from the fire. Andrew's parents had been burned and were coughing heavily from the smoke that had entered their lungs, and they lived for a while, all of them in the wilderness, before they died.

Only Andrew was alive, and he was very weak and confused. This wasn't his first time facing death - truth be told, he actually spent time burning ants with a magnifying glass in his backyard (Oh! The horror!) - but he hadn't thought his parents would die on him. He didn't believe it at first. He poked them and tried to peel their eyes open and even screamed as loud as he could in their ears. But soon he was worn out and frustrated from his lack of success, and very hungry. He couldn't find anything to eat, besides mushrooms, which looked rather poisonous. Frustrated, he curled up in a ball on the ground, and fell into an uneasy sleep, accompanied only by his growling stomach.

While he was dozing, a few wolves came along, cautiously sniffing their way through the forest. Farmers often tried to shoot the wolves whenever they saw them, thinking the wolves would eat their livestock. The wolves smelled death, and followed it, but the meat did not look too appetizing. The two dead humans that the wolves discovered had all sorts of weird things on them, something that looked like a band with metal on it, and something on their feet that was hard and brown. The wolves smelled something living, too, and that was Andrew Jackson.

The wolves were faced with the decision of what to do with him.
1. Eat him (Not good...He didn't have much meat on him)
2. Leave him there (Not good either...He might scare away the other wildlife if he was left to his own devices)
3. Bring him with them (Not really that great either, but the wolves decided on that. They were curious to see what he would do.)

And so he was dragged along by the collar of his shirt to the wolves' den. The feeling of being pulled along on rocks and dirt woke him up, but he was still too tired to realize what was going on, and once he had been laid down on the ground, he went right back to sleeping.

He woke up later, feeling something poking him (it was a wolf prodding him with a paw), and sat up with a jolt. The wolves leaped backwards, startled. Andrew rubbed his eyes and studied his surroundings. He was lying in the shade of a tree, and there was a rocky outcropping nearby, under which the wolves lived, presumably. The wolves looked at him warily, wondering what the human boy would do now that he had been revived. Andrew realized his parents were nowhere to be seen, but then his stomach grumbled in protest, and he forgot about it.

Andrew noticed a dead deer, which had been killed by the wolves. He wasn't sure he'd be able to eat raw meat, so he tore at the deer until he had a hefty piece in his hand, and then left the area, looking for a fire or some other thing he could cook it with. One of the wolves almost chased after him, unhappy at the loss of food, but was stopped by his brethren. They decided that the human was probably leaving and would not be their problem anymore.

But that was not to be. Andrew Jackson soon trotted back, holding a stick on which the deer meat was skewered, and he was eating it with relish. He had poached some flint and managed to make a fire, and then roasted his meat campfire style. Jackson was already on the way to being a gourmet chef (but unfortunately, there was no TV at the time, and so he couldn't host his own cooking show).

Andrew's mind was much clearer now that food had quelled his hunger, and so he watched the wolves curiously. They, as well, stared back at him in interest. Andrew figured that if he seemed like one of them, he'd be able to interact with the wolves. He tried a howl, but it sounded terrible, because Andrew had never been a good singer. The wolves found this hilarious and began to bark in laughter.

Andrew began taking on the ways of the wolves, trying to become one of them. He would run with them, but he couldn't keep up, nor did he have the ability to hunt the way they did. He had to make do with traps he had devised, which could catch small prey. He slept with the wolves in their den now, and it was a cozy and pleasant time. Each day seemed fresh and new and exciting, and Andrew felt glad to be alive, for he enjoyed being in the outdoors, with so much freedom.

These days, however, were not to last. Years had passed, and by now Andrew was about ten years old. The wolves were relaxing after having eaten and Andrew was experimenting with his new idea for a food (he thought that perhaps he could create a sweet treat, a kind of fluffy white candy that could be cooked over a campfire, which he later called a "marshmallow") when they heard the sound of voices and feet stepping on brush. The wolves perked up, baring their teeth, and seeing their discomfort, Andrew put aside his primitive cooking utensils and hid himself as best he could.

The noise turned out to be from people, rugged men on horses with loaded guns and who chewed and spat and peered around with squinted eyes. The wolves were immediately alarmed. These men had probably come to exterminate them, as wolves were considered pests. The wolves had dealt with human guns in the past and knew just how deadly they could be. There was nothing to be done but to leave and run away until the men gave up chasing them.

Andrew couldn't keep up with the wolves, unfortunately, and the wolves were in too much of a rush to wait for him. Though he was a wiry and strong boy, he tripped over a tree root. Frustrated, he let out a yell and tried to break off the limb of a tree, but it only swung back and thwacked into his face. He could hear footsteps again; the hunters had heard him and realized that there was a person in the wilderness.

The wolf hunters came over to him, and one of them, a man with bushy eyebrows and a mustache that he could wiggle, said to him, "What's yourr name, son?"
Andrew could still understand English, but not very well. His brow furrowed in thought. But no matter how long he thought, he couldn't think of it. "Not know," he said to the man.
The man gave him a puzzled frown and conversed with his fellows before saying, "Well, where is your family, son?"
Andrew thought of saying the wolves were his family, but he figured the hunters would not take too well to it. In fact, they'd probably think he was lying and burst into hearty peals of laughter. Later they would probably talk about the funny boy they'd met when drinking in a pub.
"Not know. Maybe dead."
The men talked amongst themselves once more, and then the man got off his horse and lifted Andrew onto it. "We'll go to town, then. There's a family that might take ya." And off they went to the town just outside the woods, with Andrew looking back wistfully, having left behind the kitchen tools he'd just made.

Andrew Jackson had to get used to civilization again, and it was an uphill battle. He had never been formally schooled in his life and was illiterate. At first the other children made fun of him, but they soon learned that he had a short temper and settled all disputes with violence. Many a child had to stay home and recuperate from black eyes, broken noses, and all other sorts of scrapes and bruises. Andrew was sent to church over and over again to repent, but he would just slump over in a pew, stubborn and sullen as usual. The reverend took this to mean that Andrew was not willing to atone for his sins and apologize to God, and so Andrew Jackson earned the reputation of being "unchristian and unfit for civil life".

Jackson continued to be misunderstood by his peers, even as he grew to be an adult. He wasn't really such a mean person, but he had become bitter from all the things people had said and done to him, and so the boy he actually wanted to be, a quiet, happy boy living a peaceful life, had disappeared, covered by the self he showed to others, so frustrated and lonesome he had felt. One of the first people to sympathize with him was a woman named Rachel, who could understand that feeling of other people being so hard to deal with and how sometimes you just felt like running away from life.

Having lived away from people, Jackson needed a bit of help melting back into human culture, and Rachel suggested marriage. It was a human tradition to get married, after all. Jackson learned about Rachel's unhappy marriage and how her husband was saying he wanted to get a divorce, so they got married, since Rachel was the most reasonable choice for Andrew.

Jackson also learned that politics was the human thing to do. So he got into it, as well as war, though war was a dreadful thing. But he was still impulsive and made decisions like taking over Florida (wanted to try the orange juice, and he was forbidden by Spain to take any).

Then he was shocked by the death of Rachel. This was the first death he could really remember. At least his parents had died long, long ago, and he couldn't remember too much of it. But now, here was his best friend of more than thirty years dying on him. Andrew forgot about all that he'd been working on and let his inner anger take over. That boy who had been wild, partying and playing games when he was supposed to be studying to be a lawyer, came back, after he'd spent so much time crushing it down. And after he avenged Rachel, by kicking out everyone he thought was to blame for her death, he still felt empty inside. And he went on to get rid of the Native Americans and the National Bank.

But it was never enough. And it never would be.

(Ugh...This story didn't turn out the way I wanted it to. I got too confused because I would stop and starting writing it once in a while. Oh yeah, and I'll be gone from March 7th-12th, so don't expect to hear anything from me in the meantime)

Labels: andrew jackson, anger management, church, death, education, family, fiction, florida, horse, hunters, marshmallow, meat, politics, rachel, revenge, story, violent, war, wilderness, wolves

It seems to me that time makes all the difference sometimes in the mood of a person. A prime example is my history teacher. Last trimester, I had him for the first period of the day, but now I have him for second period. It's only about an hour difference, but it matters quite a bit. In first period, he tended to be more bad-tempered, though occasionally he did seem in a good mood. In second period he is more talkative and generally more pleasant to be around. Well, they say teenagers' brains don't truly wake up until around 9 or 10 am. Maybe it applies to adults too.

I was pretty annoyed at the homework I received recently. For two of the questions, we are directed to look at page 222 in the textbook. We are studying the Constitution, but page 222 talks about Mormons. (I tried checking the section of the textbook that is about the Constitution. There's not much info) I guess it's referring to the old textbook. It annoys me that we have to use this thinner, lamer textbook. But there's not much can we do. (I heard that California uses a different science textbook than the rest of the USA, and my teacher last year said the national textbook was awesome, and I am upset by this)

I am displeased with the education system in the USA. It is true that some of the best colleges in the world are here. I mean, one of my friends moved to China many, many years ago, and her sister got into Harvard. Clearly, they'd rather come to the USA for college than stay in China. D:

So, to rectify this problem (I am practicing using my vocab words this week, that's why I used such a strange word), I have decided I am going to attempt to move to another country. Preferably, one in Europe, because there are generally higher life expectancys, average incomes, and living conditions overall over there. I have also considered Japan because the Japanese live the longest on average despite the fact that there are smokers (French live pretty long too, though). A woman could live to be 86 on average whereas in the USA, women on average only live to be 80. I tell you, you can do many things in 6 years of your life! So I could be saving myself if I moved. The problem is that the USA does make a hefty sum of money. Liechtenstein, Qatar, and Luxembourg have a much higher GDP, though. (I've been to Luxembourg, personally, I thought it was nice, but there are apparently many pessimistic people there, though Japan seems to have many pessimists according to the Wii Everybody Votes poll)

I was thinking of perhaps San Marino. People speak Italian there, which means I might have trouble getting along at first, but at least French and Italian have some similarities. (One time I was reading a description of some brushes, but it was in another language. I tried to use Google Translate "French to English" - didn't work. Tried "Spanish to English" and didn't work either. I was confused, so I did "Detect language to English" so it would do the work for me. Turns out it was Italian...)

The money is not too bad and the HDI is fairly high. The USA's HDI is .950, I believe. Norway has the highest...And Australia is second highest! Maybe I should move to Australia! They have cool accents there, and they speak English, and besides they make a good sum of money. Also, there are lots of beaches because most people live along the coast anyway - probably too dry and desolate in the middle of the continent - and I love the beach. I want to live near there. The sound helps me go to sleep quickly. That's why I fell asleep quickly the time I slept near the ocean in Japan, even though I was on a futon on the tatami mat. (My mom couldn't fall asleep as fast, apparently she expected it to be painful, or she had back pain or whatever)

I also slept well in Australia despite the dramatic time change. That's surprising. When I went to China the second most recent time (the most recent time I went to China was last winter), I got sick from lack of sleep. I fell asleep during the day and woke up at night. But I wasn't supposed to sleep during the day, so my grandma woke me up on purpose by using an annoying talking stuffed animal. You know, the kind where you press the belly and it talks... -_-;;

Labels: australia, college, education, europe, gdp, hdi, italian, language, lifespan, misinformed, mood, ocean, san marino, sleep, time, time zone

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