Discursive PRACTICE text

Stimulus: Migrant experience- where do we belong?

The best feeling isn't always the right feeling. The ability to connect in a world where my own
sense of self is growing its exhausting. However the inability to connect to those who are
sentimental towards certain aspects of life can cause deteriorating relationships. We are
constantly being taught right from wrong. We are constantly being told what to do. We are
constantly being told to act a certain way to impress the presence of our neighbourhood. When
why? Why should we live in a bubble of lies? Lies that express a good life when in reality it's a
shitty one.

“I know now, as I did in my childhood wonder that my mother dreamed of a paradise one
unbound by war and exodus”. Growing up as an only child, people say im lucky it's a “privilege”.
I know what they mean exactly by that now... however when I was first told that I bursted into
tears like the day I knew my dad would never be there to kiss me goodnight. With just a mother
and a grandmother who has the mentality of an old person, life can be challenging especially
when migrating into an unfamiliar environment I struggle to call home yet.

My home where father left us was in palestine. At the time I lived there the most destructive
wars were occurring. We were accustomed to the roaring sounds of bombs, jet planes and
deafening screaming and people crying in agony. Thick dust and smoke polluted our air as
planes and bombs flew over the home. The incessant sun would be shining down on us, heating
the gravel floor, scarring the bottom of my feet every time I walked on it. This is how we lived,
every, single, day.

One night, my world was brought to a stand-still. “I know now, as I did in my childhood wonder
that my mother dreamed of a paradise one unbound by war and exodus”. Home away from
home I know I stand firmly facing everyday with all my strength. The nights were different from
all other nights. It was quiet, in fact it was silent. Silent as a grave. I awake to chirping noises of
birds now. I awake to a fresh, clean breeze of air now. I awake to the satisfying smell of
grandma's traditional fatteh now. My grandma reminds me everyday to pray for the life im living
now. I put on an act towards my feelings. These memories still challenge me.

This new life im living i call it fake. I hated every hour, minute and second. I remember telling my
mother id rather live a life in constant fear and worry then live a fake one of lies. A fake life were
i am told day after day to embrace a smile walking through the neighbourhood. Im told to act in
a sense of maturity. I can't live everyday forcing emotions to embrace a positive image about
myself. They were hiding their pain from me. I know it.

The best feeling isn't always the right feeling. My grandma emphasises too much on inheriting a
positive look on our lives then actually trying to live a positive one. I remember the consistent
battles I faced with them. They never understood why. I was reliving the same day over and
over. She thought if she could live through these memories then i could. The whole age
difference did not concern her old mentality mind. She didn't reliase I needed her by my side to
help me get through these memory flashes.
With nothing but me growing inside i realised. I found out why we never spoke about our past
life. Why grandma never allowed us to mention the anniversary date of my father. The truth is it
haunted her just as much as it haunted me. She created this bubble of lies kind of life to help
me. Help me overcome these memory flashes. She was trying to make the new environment a
better feeling when it was just an escape. It was all internally hurting her.

That's when I told her, I whispered to her the best feeling isn't always the right feeling. These
memories shape us to who we are and we need to grow and become stronger together and
start accepting. No more escaping them now.

Reflection
I aimed to create an imaginative response where the audience critiques the disjoint in modern
relationships and human isolation. I emulated aspects of the stimulus by furthering the tone of
frustration and childhood conflict expressed by the narrator in relation to family dynamics. I
engaged with the stimulus by extending a youthful voice through internal character monologue
and utilising stream of consciousness in order to enhance isolation and a sense of empathy and
complicity between the reader and character. Aspects of the studied text ‘The Pedestrian’ by
Ray Bradbury influenced my imaginative response greatly in terms of the concept that reality
and appearance are not always the same, particularly shown through my detailed description of
a suburban environment. The use of some dystopian language for example “sterile
neighbourhood” shows a world in which natural emotion and thought are not valued. Another
influence was the creation of a protagonist who feels like they do not have a purposeful place in
the world. For example, “Today is another consecutive dull morning in the silent suburban
streets...” This opening imagery establishes the mood of monotony and weariness. The diction
of ‘another’ opens up a sense of repetition of lifestyle. Another way in which ‘The Pedestrian’
informed my choice of setting was evident through my line, “the silent and long and empty
hallway ... as he slowly tip toes like a lion hunting its prey.” Is a simile that links to the isolated
and silenced atmosphere throughout ‘The Pedestrian’. My successes were that I created an
engaging story and a complex, compelling character and that my narrative was strongly linked
to the values and style of ‘The Pedestrian. My challenges were focusing on the setting without
sacrificing dialogue. Also having plot points that linked together to create tension between
characters especially with the limited word count allowed.