Congratulations to all our Writing Center Peer Tutors!

We have had over 330 student visits to the Writing Center over the year.

September ‘08: 23 students

October: ‘08: 54 students

November ‘08: 69 students

December ‘08: 31 students

January ‘09: 20 students

February ‘09 & March ‘09: 133 students

so far…!!!

Grand Total: 330 students who have been

helped so far with their writing in English as

well as Arabic, Spanish, and French

PLUS the Writing Center take-out program:

support provided by tutors within the

classrooms.

It is easier to destroy than to create

 Nature is the consummation of thousands of years of growth all leading up to a moment

 a view with an invisible meaning conveyed only through experience

 an experience leaving words at a loss

 a million meanings simultaneously fusing together

 such is the poetry of nature

 a moment eternal in our minds and memory.

None can compare, none can surpass, nature’s beauty and grace

 a timeless force

 a force that brings both creation and destruction

 a perfect balance

 such is its majesty

  Life mirrors nature

 flourishing

 growing

 believing

 experiencing the worlds wonders

and then ending so that another might do the same,

an eternal cycle

The man Hitler ordered to destroy the Louvre went back and faced execution because he believed the art was more valuable than life

 Would you let the greatest masterpiece of all be destroyed?

by Muhammad Yousuf

The Darkest Deal

The Earth

Waning away

Like a child’s castle of sand

Towers crumble

As they reach for the sky

But before they reach it

Blackness cloaks us

The prices constantly rise

Soon it will cost us our lives

We have sold our soul

To this black gold

by Adam Carrillo

• Do you find that scribbling a few lines of poetry is the best way to express your deepest feelings?
• Would you like to share your verses with others who enjoy poetry as much as you do?

Bring in any poems you have written last week, last month or last year to share with the group…serious, scary, soppy, scathing, anything works as long as it is poetry and has been created by you!

Watch out for the Surprise Performance by our special guest star on Wednesday, 14th January ’09

Where Poetry Hides for You…

In the tangle of slippers on the floor of your closet?

In the chatter of voices in the school bus?

In the microwave popcorn?

In avocados, artichokes and asparagus?

In your earring collection– the junky treasures of the years?

In your older brother’s piano playing – like honey in the air?

Look for the objects, the places and the moments where your poems may be hiding.

READ THESE POEMS WRITTEN BY OUR WRITING CENTER STUDENTS:

The Darkest Deal
by Adam Carrillo

The Earth

Waning away

Like a child’s castle of sand

Towers crumble

As they reach for the sky

But before they reach it

Blackness cloaks us

The prices constantly rise

Soon it will cost us our lives

We have sold our soul

To this black gold

Nature

It is easier to destroy than to create

 Nature is the consummation of thousands of years of growth all leading up to a moment

 a view with an invisible meaning conveyed only through experience

 an experience leaving words at a loss

 a million meanings simultaneously fusing together

 such is the poetry of nature

 a moment eternal in our minds and memory.

None can compare, none can surpass, nature’s beauty and grace

 a timeless force

 a force that brings both creation and destruction

 a perfect balance

 such is its majesty

  Life mirrors nature

 flourishing

 growing

 believing

 experiencing the worlds wonders

and then ending so that another might do the same,

an eternal cycle

The man Hitler ordered to destroy the Louvre went back and faced execution because he believed the art was more valuable than life

 Would you let the greatest masterpiece of all be destroyed?

written by Muhammad Yousuf

before the SAT??

Join our after-school workshop to learn

“The Tricks of the SAT Trade”

One tightly-packed hour of useful tips to help you prepare for the SAT

Critical Reading and Writing Sections

Book a space for yourself

SIGN UP outside the Writing Center for

· Sunday, November 30th: 2:45-4:00 PM

led by Reem Tawfik and Maya Chacko

OR

· Monday , December 1^st: 2:45-4:00 PM

led by Jasdeep Singh and Maya Chacko

Price: Dhs 20 per person - includes a scrumptious snack.

The money collected will be donated to support child literacy in under-privileged parts of the world.

Enthusiastic Sophomores also welcome!

He held his breath and the door for her, then inhaled deeply as she sashayed past, cloaked in clouds of perfume and her aura of perfect superiority.

Short tight skirt, big mink coat, she was big spender with a million dollar smile. The smile that sent the masses swooning. The smile that swept him off his feet, that had caught him – hook, line and sinker.

He held his breath and the door for her, all his hopes shining in his eyes.

He held his breath and the door for her, and she walked through without a glance.

As always.

by Zaneita Pereira

Grade 10

I stared blankly at the options in front of me. The first door, slightly leaning to the right, was a luscious, alluring pink with patterned circles of sky blue. The second door looked aged, a faded copper. It stood tall with rounded silver handles. The final door’s stoutness was greatly exaggerated. It represented a whirlwind of confusing thoughts.

I took a large sip from my Pepsi, to finish it off. This was no place to take any drinks. So, I chucked it into a nearby bin. I took a step forward and went through the third door to ride the rollercoaster.

by Tess Pedeprat

Grade 9

And Life Passed By

It’s 4 in the morning. I lie in bed thinking about what will happen at school. Soon after I start thinking about who I will be when I am a senior. My thoughts soon stray to when I’ll be in college or if I’ll even go to college. My heart begins to beat faster because soon I’ll be an Adult and I’ll have responsibilities… But soon after that I’ll be on my deathbed… and who knows if there is a white light at the end of the tunnel or just secluded isolation. Well, the bus is here it’s time to go

by Adam Zoubi

Grade 9

Staring out into the night at the age of 93, I look back into the past. Loved ones lost, new generations born, changes in the world, all the things I can ponder, sitting on the front porch.

I sigh… This is the very spot my grandfather had laid when he was a young child, watching the stars, the one thing that hasn’t changed. New roads houses and the parks have appeared, destroying all I have grown up with, everything except this farmhouse, and the stars. Here comes my great-granddaughter, I wonder if she will someday look into the stars and remember me.

by Alex Xu

Grade 10

“I can’t do it.”

“Just try!”

“Will you catch me?”

“Of course I will.”

“What if you miss?”

“Then you die.”

“I don’t want to die!”

“Then I won’t miss.”

I jump.

He misses.

by Daksha Vaswani

Grade 9

Vinyl turned.

Afternoon filtered in through blinds. Suspended was golden dust, which turned as the world and the record turned and the musty sheen recalled Sundays gone in a wave of heat which overwhelmed the soul in surreal occurrence like the sticking sweat of dreams engendered by those high fevers powerfully disturbing and yet so common in the weak whom we collectively pity.

From dust he materialized. Music, lo-fi. Tension was supposed to build but it didn’t. He fell with the album. Retro. The Velvet Underground was ready when the spinning record slowed but he was dead.

Later the dust settled.

by Josh Schnessl

Grade 11

In their hands they hold their hearts.

He holds his gently, protecting it yet allowing it freedom. She grips hers tightly, afraid of letting go.

When he sees her, his heart skips a beat. She does not notice him at all. His heart lives for her. Hers belongs to none but herself.

He offers her his heart. She condescends to take it. Yet she knows she does not deserve it, so she decides to return it. But when she gives it back it breaks.

He gathers up the scattered pieces and turns to ask her why, but she is already gone

by Rebecca Hoopman

Grade 9

Pure-living

The girl gracefully walks to the river. She balances a brightly coloured clay pot elegantly on her head. It will soon quench the thirst of her family, and the pouch of berries drooped round her breasts will stay their hunger.

Swaying freely, her long black hair emulates the motion of her full hips. Beads, tightly secured to the ends of her braids, gently brush her smooth lower back.

Beautifully simple and pure-living a beautiful life filled with innocence and joy, she glows with the natural goodness of humankind, and allows it to shine.

by Jade Cass

Grade 11

Time

Time. Slow. Fast. Tick. Tock.

You can just sit there and wait as it trickles by. Or cause turmoil, if you want. Rolls out just like the rush of flood waters. You’re too late. You just missed the mark. What do you do now? Turn it around? How? Things fall down. They don’t fall up. Time moves forward. It does not move back. Now you are stuck. Stuck between the past and the present. The present and the future. Where are you? Look around. Nothing. A silent clock. Smiling. Mocking. Staring at you. So you wait.

Time. Slow. Fast. Tick. Tock.

by Orianne Montaubin

Grade 10

]]> http://writing.daa-connect.org/blog/2008/11/23/more-stories-adam-zoubi-alex-xu-daksha-vaswani-josh-schnessl/feed/ http://writing.daa-connect.org/blog/2008/11/22/a-few-favorites-from-our-authors-eesha-orianne-dahlia-lindie/ http://writing.daa-connect.org/blog/2008/11/22/a-few-favorites-from-our-authors-eesha-orianne-dahlia-lindie/#comments Sat, 22 Nov 2008 14:51:11 +0000 Mariam Sandhu http://writing.daa-connect.org/?p=53

The Last Drop Counts

Your glass is nearly empty. It doesn’t matter though. You drink the last drops carelessly. Then you lie down, looking at the sun. Her bottle is broken, empty and dirty. The sun burns her skin. She walks miles over the dusty, cracked ground. Reaching for a tap in the middle of nowhere, she fills her bottle. Dizzy and in pain, she sheds a tear. It falls into the precious water. You jump into the pool, laughing. She jumps onto her blanket, set on the ground. Her soiled face smiles at her only comfort, a ragdoll. You sigh, and yet, she smiles.

By Lindie Botes

Grade 9

In The Mind

I wish I could live in a town that had no name.

Town would be infested with colors; reds creeping over houses and blues painted into skies. Clouds would be called “Cotton Candy in the sky”.

In the outskirts of Town would be a peach lit road, appearing yellow in the sun.

I would name it the Yellow Brick Road.

“Here comes the sun,” I whisper.

I scamper, then suddenly, I’m flying.

I could no longer feel my legs, just the underbrush beneath my feet. I’d get lost in the sunflowers, furiously race with the wind,

And meet you at horizon

By Dahlia Dandashi

Grade 9

Shadow of my Dreams

Where is she? I know she is here. Somewhere. I glimpsed her hair. Her being is divine. I feel it. Near. My eyes, searching. Where is she? I can taste her lips. Her breath tickles my skin. Her fingers graze my soul. There. Wait. Gone. Again. I sense her happiness. I share her curiosity. Her courage seeps through earth. Her faith exceeds the skies. Where is she?

This exquisitely beautiful person. This image of perfection. …Perfection. It doesn’t exist.

Where is she? Just within the walls of our world. In the darkness where she hides.

In the shadows of my dreams.

By Orianne Montaubin

Grade 11

Monks. A million specks of stellar contradictions, celestial and pure.

They flock to a razed temple. A woman sweeps the floors with a straw broom, rushing. She does not have the same elegance that the monks possess. They stop to examine the surrounding colors on other beings, walking slowly, their draped clothing heavy on their aged shoulders, disappointed by the lack of vibrancy.

Calm erupts-

an earthquake.

Monks stand solid, their garments bright against the dull, crumbling background.

Rumbling waves threaten to crash against us (snapping bones, bruising tissue?). But the monks-

are aware that our survival is not indefinite.

Tauntingly Taking

Beneath each sparkle of snow lays a spark of ingenuity; underneath each droplet lays a dormant potential. Nature has given us much, but today I can only see my Vanessa.

Snowflakes whistle past as we admire the gossamer shrubs as delicate as her transparent face. She shudders with the intense cold. Suddenly, she trembles against me in a racking fit while I helplessly cradle her in this burning cold park. Within seconds she is gone.

Behind each sparkle lays a moment of hesitation; underneath each droplet lays an unattainable potential; Mother Nature, the ultimate giver or the eternal taker?

Vanilla Sky

I was at a crossroad.

I was sky high, both mentally and physically. Ever time I looked stories down, I shivered.

He looked at me, utterly puzzled. I twitched.

“Well?” He interrogated.

The sky was a vanilla and blueberry cocktail, the clouds pink cotton candy. The sun was falling asleep, setting on the world, setting on me.

I rotated to see what I wanted. She was staring at me with parted lips, hands outstretched. Even in her misery she was as beautiful as the sun.

But she was a beautiful lie.

I cut through the wind like a train.

I jumped.

Winners Announced at Assembly, Sunday 23rd November, ‘08!

Let’s get writing…

101-WORDS Short Story Contest

Open to DAA 9^th, 10^th, 11^th graders

Dates: Sunday, 5^th October - Sunday, 31^st October

Separate categories for each grade level

Great PRIZES for 1 winner and 1 runner-up from each grade level: shopping vouchers for Mall of the Emirates donated by DAAPA!

The Rules

• Stories must be exactly 101 words or less and cannot be poems.

• A maximum of three entries per person will be accepted.

• Titles are optional and are not included within the word count.

• Each entry must have your name, homeroom, and grade and must be submitted by email to: shortstory101@gmail.com

Questions? Ask your 101 Words team:

Reem Tawfik, Kath McAinsh, Adam Carrillo, Dariush Sarrafzadeh, Muhammad Yousef, Kareem Constenoble

The Beginning…August 2008

Great news! DAA has provided an additional resource to improve the learning opportunities of its student body. At the beginning of this school year, the new Writing Center opened its doors to all high school students. Located within the Secondary Library, the Center runs from 8:00 AM until 4:00 PM, Sunday to Thursday. Modeled on similar facilities at many Universities today, the Writing Center offers one-on-one support with writing needs to all HS students. Assistance with college personal statements, oral and written commentary, literary analysis essays, history reports, personal narratives, IB Extended essays, research papers and even Science lab reports, is available through the day. Competent peer tutors, carefully selected from amongst the juniors and seniors, are trained to focus on effective writing skills and to create confident writers.

Students who seek assistance are encouraged to sign up on the appointment sheet outside the Center for a private conference with our tutors.

The Writing Center

High School

8:00 AM – 4:00 PM