[jenni727]

I’m clinging onto the vital sign machine, eyeing my next patient. I’m on a mission to get everyone’s vital signs on the unit. I’m as determined as the patients ringing their call bells, a noise that I’ve gradually become less and less receptive to. The CNA’s are on each end of the unit bringing out trays, asking “do you want sugar?” My heart’s racing because I know it should be around eight thirty, which means he should be here by now. Today, I will tell him I want two oxygen tanks and he’ll just have to deal with it. He’ll have to hear me say yes when he asks if I want them and we’ll have to make eye contact and he’ll have to take me seriously. He’ll have to acknowledge that I exist. Yes, I rejected him but that doesn’t mean I’m invisible. But he’s with her now. He’s with everyone. I strap the large, red blood pressure cuff onto the patient’s arm and hook his finger onto the pulse oximeter. I pick up the temperature gun and click the button once I get it to face his forehead. “A fever, damn it. Again?” I think to myself. I retake his temperature orally. Once again, febrile; he says he hasn’t had anything hot to drink. Crap. He’s asymptomatic and says he’s feeling better than yesterday. That’s fine, but why the temperature? My heart starts to race. He says he already got Tylenol, so it doesn’t make sense. I tell him to take off his sheets to cool down and I make sure his heater’s off. Cooling measures, he needs cooling measures. I need to follow up. It must be eight thirty by now. Where is he? That jerk. I need my oxygen. I need my oxygen tank key. I need… “Ding” goes the elevator. I first hear the oxygen tanks clanging together. “He’s here. It’s him. Okay, so you’re going to tell him you need exactly two tanks.” I step out of the patient’s room, clinging onto the vital sign machine, with my chin tilted up. More quickly than I want I let out “I need two tanks. And I need the oxygen key, do you know where I could get one? I really need one” like a can of word soup. I look at him. “What’s with the top? The last time I saw you I was practically drooling. Now you’re wearing some medium grey turtleneck with short sleeves. Is this what guys are wearing nowadays? Turn off. But you’re still cute” I think to myself. I inhale. “Yuck. What is that smell?” I think, nearly gagging. I eye him up and down as he’s explaining something to me with his thick Caribbean accent. I’m responding to him, something about the oxygen tanks but I’m not really paying attention. This smell is retched. “Is that him? It smells like broccoli. Christ, I guess I am over him. No way, it can’t be him. Guys like him always make sure to smell good.” As he brings the two oxygen tanks into the medication room for me, I realize that the smell isn’t coming from him. It’s the food! The food at this place literally stinks, no wonder everyone complains. So, something about my supervisor was supposed to give me the key but he’s going to try to help me. Ha. As if I get any kind of support in this dump, I’m so glad I’m leaving. Gosh, he’s so tall. “I’m coming back” he says to me with that accent of his. God, the way his voice is deep, but he talks low makes me melt like an egg on a Texan street in the middle of the summer. Please come back. I reply to him coldly, distant. The way I have ever since I found out he was a no-good player. “You’re a jerk” I think to myself. He walks away with the rest of his oxygen tanks into the elevator. “Please come back. I hate you” are my final thoughts before I walk to my medication cart.

[jenni727]

You are extremely talented when it comes to your ability to use imagery. I cannot stress the fact that I was able to picture every moment you described as if I were you. The way that you mentioned the sun being bright but it not doing anything for you because you knew it was still cold out and you had to participate in a class even though you were super exhausted- super relatable. Your writing is authentic, human, and relatable. I absolutely loved the line “You have to divide you body parts according to space available and assemble it before getting off the train.” Again, imagery and talk about relatable! I love your post. Excellent work.

[jenni727]

I can relate to Joan Didion and why she writes because after writing out this moment I experienced, I validated that it happened. I validated my emotions at that moment, my thoughts. I find that at times we experience things but we either don’t allow ourselves to or don’t have the ability to process them. Writing has been my way of processing significant moments in my life and it’s helped me move passed the ones that were more difficult in a healthy manner. It’s sort of like a rewind that allows me to dissect the moment and analyze myself in terms of how I approach situations.

[Arianna Betancourt]

For yesterday course of events, I had woken up early to attend my online session for math class. As I tried to log into my class, my link was not reachable. This made it difficult to join my class along with other fellow students. I had joined my session around 10 minutes later than originally planned. My day was already off to a bit of a bumpy start. I couldn’t understand what we were up to; nor being 15 minutes late did not help my process of learning/reviewing the current concepts at hand. At that moment, I knew I had become overwhelmed just from the morning knowing I had to catch up in the review. My mind had feeling with various thoughts about how I had to review throughout the day; it made me want to crawl back into bed.
As the class ended I had to begin to get ready for work. I was already exhausted and the morning did not look as bright; the gloominess of the day had already settled in for me. As the minutes continued, I walked to work. It was absolutely freezing; all the snow had frozen to ice. I was just like Frozen Princess on skates… I could feel my heart skip a beat as I nerely skipped on the ice; slipping and sliding every way there was ice trying to approach my destination.
Finally, I had made it to work in one piece. The day inside and out had already looked gray. For the boy I tutor, I needed to put on a brave face from the morning. I wanted him to have the best learning experience, especially knowing he relies on me since his family is not apart of his life.
As the day progress, my family and I had got into a dispute while at work. A dispute where I, myself could not understand where their care came from. I still do not believe I was wrong in this scenario My family had put their needs before mine; and this is something I could not allow since I am employed with two jobs along with school. There was no understanding on the support needed and only asking for a demand for the family. When you contribute a lot to certain families they will and do expect more of you since you’re around this should not be the case of scenario. I had let go of the dispute, it was hard to concentrate all day with the child. I tried my best to keep the smile he deserved. I could feel my uneasiness and my heart pounding by the minute,
Later that afternoon I had received a call from my grandma stating my grandfather will be receiving open heart surgery. I was complete shock because of the current state he was in. I had called many times to hear his voice for one more time until his surgery. I wouldn’t know what to say to this man because there was no answer. I had called his room number various times and no answer. He had gone in to surgery this morning; and I have not heard a word from anyone. We are still waiting to hear back, since visitors are not allowed in hospitals due to COVID regulations. I feel frustration in my heart where I use to feel peace for the reasons I have uncertainty of my grandfather’s health. The gloominess of the day still seems to overbare my days.
The “Implacable I” in the events of yesterday allows me to express to many people the emotions/ experiences I have felt throughout the day. This allows me to express various aspects of my life and the certain emotions that come with the experience. When writing about my days as such, I am not pressured to filter out the sad aspects or challenges. I am free to express what emotions were filled throughout my day. I hope anyone having bad days know you’re not alone.

[Sobia Bashir]

Yesterday, I started my day by waking up, and brushing my teeth. I woke up at 8:30am, earlier than I normally do. My sister had to take her permit, and my nephew had to go to school. My sister was getting ready and when she was about to leave I told her “Good Luck, you’ll do great.” She was nervous, and it was her second time taking it. The first time she took it, it expired so hopefully this time she’ll get her license and not be lazy about it.
After she left, I had my breakfast, washed the dishes and relaxed for about 20 minutes. For me, relaxing is wasting time on my phone. After I was done, I put my phone on the coffee table and started spinning it. I picked it up and it got dirty from the dust on the table. I cleaned the table and saw other places dirty as well, so I ended up cleaning the whole living room.
My sister came back and she shouted “I passed my permit test!” We all were happy for her and told her to get her license as soon as she can. After a few hours, it was time for my class which lasted for 2.5 hours. When my class was over, I went downstairs at 5:30pm and had dinner. After dinner, my family and I either watch T.V. or just talk about things.
Yesterday, my sister, brother-in-law, niece and nephew came over to our house. My sister brought cake that they baked, since it was her birthday two days ago. My niece had some homework, so my sister helped her with that while I played a game with both of my nephews. They were so excited to play it, which made me happy. I asked them “Who wants to go first?” They both got thrilled and said “Me, me!” We played for an hour, and after doing her homework, my niece joined us as well, so we ended up playing longer. It was then time for them to leave, so we said bye to each other. I ended my day by watching a movie on Disney+.
This relates to the “implacable I” Joan Didion writes about in “Why I Write” because I write about some of the things I experience and the emotions with them. I am using I in my writing and not being told by anyone as to what I should write. I am my own leader.

[David]

On Monday I woke up early at 7:00 am and then fell asleep again until 9:30 am. I woke up because I had a class at 11:30. I got out of bed and went to use the bathroom, I flossed my teeth then brushed them and used some listerine. I later took my laptop out of my room and went to my kitchen table to check my email and cunyfirst for any notifications. Afterward i ate cereal for breakfast and I received a message from my english teacher saying that class was canceled because of a family issue. In that moment I was happy because the only class that I had that day was canceled. But I kinda felt bad for the teacher and I just hoped that her family was alright. I was also relieved because I had homework due that day but she changed the due date to wednesday. I don’t know what you mean by adding colors to my description but in the moment I felt like a bright red because I had no class that day. This relates to “the implacable I” because it allows me to express my emotions from that day. I can be completely honest because i’m free to do write what I want to.

[David]

I really enjoyed what you wrote and the way you wrote it. It was really easy for me to imagine what was going on.

[Genesis Hiciano]

Event: MAKING DINNER

“What should we have? What is easy to make and does not require too much time?” I look through a recipe book, I read “Pasta Bake” to myself, “bake time: 14 minutes”, as soon as I read the time that it took to cook, I ran to my sisters and showed them the recipe hoping that they would approve of it. Immediately, I got the pot boiling water. Told one of my sisters to get in the shower and start rinsing their hair off and section it. I run back to the kitchen to check on the boiling water. I add salt. “try not to make so many noises so Deborah’s teacher won’t hear what is going on in the background” I tell myself. I run back to my little sister and ask her how she is doing with her hair, she answers “I’m good.” I listen to the instructions Deborah’s trumpet teacher is giving her, “I forgot what it’s called, let me look it up ….” I quietly grab the bag of pasta and look at the size of it “is this pasta too big for the recipe? Will it affect the way the recipe will turn out?” I opened the recipe book and read the instruction again. “I don’t know, I’m just going to use this type of pasta.” I remember that I told Nasyah to section her hair, I go back and check to see if has done that. I see her curls jumbled into two uneven parts, “I’ll just accept that, I can’t demand more of her, she’s still learning how to wash her hair” I tell myself. “are you ready to shampoo?” I ask Nasyah. “Yes,” she answers back. I grab the shampoo, she extends her hand, and I pour a portion of the shampoo into her fingers. I sprint by my sister Deborah taking her trumpet class, towards the kitchen. I see that the pasta is boiling, “is it cooked? How long has it been in the pot” I think to myself.
As I read through my writing, The Impeccable “I” that Joan Didion spoke about seemed to be me, the author of the narration that was written. The perspective is particular to me because I believe that no one will be able to describe the scene exactly the way I have described it because they did not experience it the same way I did. In my narration I described both of my sisters, if I were to ask my sister to write about this specific moment in our lives, we would all have different perspective and narration of what occurred on that time of the day. This demonstrates that my perspective is unique.

[Stephanie Hernandez]

My alarm goes off, it’s 7:30 AM. I sit up and crawl out of bed. I swing my feet off the front of the bed onto to the cold floor. I start looking for my warm slippers. I see one and slip my foot in, I don’t see the other one, but know exactly where it may be. I bend down to the floor and peek under my bed; I see my other slipper and reach out to get it. Once I got my slippers on, I head to my children’s room to make sure they are up for their remote online classes. I walk in and say, “Good morning.”
Both my girls say “Good morning”

“You girls want pancakes?”

They both reply “Yes, please.”

I then walk into my son’s room “Sal, do you want pancakes?”

“Yeah, thanks mom”

I then head to the kitchen open the fridge and get eggs, butter, milk. Then I open the cupboard and get the pancake mix, cinnamon, and bowl. I then go onto opening the drawer and get the whisk and spatula. I take the pan off the hook on the wall. I turn the knob on the stove and hear the pilot click, click, click. Once the fire is on, I place the pan on the burner and cut a piece of butter and swirl it to cover the inside of the pan, but especially around the sides of the pan to get my pancakes to have a nice buttery crunch around the edges. Once I am done cooking everyone their pancake, I go and take them each their pancake and look at each one of their smiles. When I do, I always get this feeling of happiness when I see my children’s smiles. I stop for a moment and take a minute to appreciate the fact that my children’s bellies are full, and they are fed. I feel content.

I think my perspective can relate to Joan Didion’s because just like she explains how her environment creates her story. I could see how my environment or background when describing this specific event of my life, a story could come of it and did come of it when adding dialogue, and things that stood out to me.

[Stephanie Hernandez]

My alarm goes off, it’s 7:30 AM. I sit up and crawl out of bed. I swing my feet off the front of the bed onto to the cold floor. I start looking for my warm slippers. I see one and slip my foot in, I don’t see the other one, but know exactly where it may be. I bend down to the floor and peek under my bed; I see my other slipper and reach out to get it. Once I got my slippers on, I head to my children’s room to make sure they are up for their remote online classes. I walk in and say, “Good morning.”
Both my girls say “Good morning”

“You girls want pancakes?”

They both reply “Yes, please.”

I then walk into my son’s room “Sal, do you want pancakes?”

“Yeah, thanks mom”

I then head to the kitchen open the fridge and get eggs, butter, milk. Then I open the cupboard and get the pancake mix, cinnamon, and bowl. I then go onto opening the drawer and get the whisk and spatula. I take the pan off the hook on the wall. I turn the knob on the stove and hear the pilot click, click, click. Once the fire is on, I place the pan on the burner and cut a piece of butter and swirl it to cover the inside of the pan, but especially around the sides of the pan to get my pancakes to have a nice buttery crunch around the edges. Once I am done cooking everyone their pancake, I go and take them each their pancake and look at each one of their smiles. When I do, I always get this feeling of happiness when I see my children’s smiles. I stop for a moment and take a minute to appreciate the fact that my children’s bellies are full, and they are fed. I feel content.

I think my perspective can relate to Joan Didion’s because just like she explains how her environment creates her story. I could see how my environment or background when describing this specific event of my life, a story could come of it and did come of it when adding dialogue, and things that stood out to me.

[Stephanie Hernandez]

My alarm goes off, it’s 7:30 AM. I sit up and crawl out of bed. I swing my feet off the front of the bed onto to the cold floor. I start looking for my warm slippers. I see one and slip my foot in, I don’t see the other one, but know exactly where it may be. I bend down to the floor and peek under my bed; I see my other slipper and reach out to get it. Once I got my slippers on, I head to my children’s room to make sure they are up for their remote online classes. I walk in and say, “Good morning.”
Both my girls say “Goodmorning”

“You girls want pancakes?”

They both reply “Yes, please.”

I then walk into my son’s room “Sal, do you want pancakes?”

“Yeah, thanks mom”

I then head to the kitchen open the fridge and get eggs, butter, milk. Then I open the cupboard and get the pancake mix, cinnamon, and bowl. I then go onto opening the drawer and get the whisk and spatula. I take the pan off the hook on the wall. I turn the knob on the stove and hear the pilot click, click, click. Once the fire is on, I place the pan on the burner and cut a piece of butter and swirl it to cover the inside of the pan, but especially around the sides of the pan to get my pancakes to have a nice buttery crunch around the edges. Once I am done cooking everyone their pancake, I go and take them each their pancake and look at each one of their smiles. When I do, I always get this feeling of happiness when I see my children’s smiles. I stop for a moment and take a minute to appreciate the fact that my children’s bellies are full, and they are fed. I feel content.

I think my perspective can relate to Joan Didion’s because just like she explains how her environment creates her story. I could see how my environment or background when describing this specific event of my life, a story could come of it and did come of it when adding dialogue, and things that stood out.

[Stephanie Hernandez]

Genisis,

I completely agree, only you can tell your story. Your experiences and feelings are your own. Hope your pasta came out good, I might need a 14 minute recipe for any one of my crazy busy days.

• This reply was modified 3 years, 5 months ago by Stephanie Hernandez.

[Genesis Hiciano]

Stephanie Hernandez ,

I enjoyed reading your narration of a moment in your life. I could relate to the feeling of “being content” when you see your kids bellies full. I am not a mother myself, but I am an older sister by 10 years and 13 years , and when I cook a meal and see my sister devour it and show that they are full, I also feel content.

[Iris Alarcon]

The night of February 9th became my morning. How? You may ask well one simply word Architecture. Having models to do and only having a day to do them made my head spin. It was only 5 pm and my eyes felt like they were being held down. I lifted my body like a sack of potatoes dragging myself to my living room. There stood my companion for the night looking straight at me ready to get to work. Having my dog by my side makes me feel at ease and helped me want to do my work. I spent the whole night doing my models and fell asleep around 6 am class started at 8:30. It might not be a lot of time to sleep for some people but I was happy I even had more than an hour to sleep. Of course, this was worth it, I was proud of my models and my professor thought the same. My day mostly consumed by school and no sleep. Later around 2:30 I finally ate, made myself some pasta, and watched some anime. After eating I did some homework and cleaned up my house. Stepped outside to walk my dogs and the sun was a little bright but there was still wind. The fresh air woke me up a little and once heading upstairs I did my building technology homework. By the time I finished the sky was dark and my eyes were yet again closing on their own. I took a shower and went to bed. The style of my writing could be considered to be related to the “ Impable I” Joan Didion writes about in “ Why I write” as I expressed how I felt throughout my day and that is my experience. His idea of an individual finishing their own work alone as they grow makes sense to me. Since the experience that happens when you grow is one specific to everyone. Everyone’s experiences are different and vary depending on their perspective.

[Mosqan Naseem]

Lauriann,

I agree with you that Implacable I helps express our imagine and use of imagery is the most important part of expressing our story.