I Believe Paper

Megan Herndon
8:30
This I Believe
I believe in Santa. I believe in the Easter Bunny. I believe in God. I believe in people.
I believe in Santa. I think that someone can give to others looking for nothing in return. I know that if one wants to help others and make the world a better place they can. I believe that one person can travel around the world and give to people who he or she has never met before, whether in an airplane or magic sleigh led by Rudolph. I know one person can make dreams come true and futures a reality.
I believe in the Easter Bunny. I know there are people out there encouraging us to work harder than we ever have to find what we are looking for. I trust that someone can hide treasures that are meant to be found. These treasures might be knowledge, money or little chocolate eggs. I think that one person can hide treasures for us that we seek with all our hearts. I believe that the Easter Bunny knows that the journey finding the egg is more valuable than the egg itself.
I believe in God. I believe in believing. I believe in someone to trust when you can’t rely on anyone else. I know that even when you are in the darkest of times you can find light if you know where to look. I see Courage and Hope and Honesty and Love at every turn, even though they are invisible. I think one can look past someone’s race, religion, class or group of friends and see what’s inside. I know one can choose between what is right and what is easy.
I believe that you don’t have to be a Supreme Being or fantastical character to make these things possible. Greg Mortensen has taught me that. He showed me that one person can change the world. He showed me that it is possible to travel around the world and give to others without hoping for anything in return. He has taught me that if you seek something you should do whatever possible to achieve it. A promise Mortensen made to the chief of a village acted as Mortensen’s own Easter Bunny, who hid his egg that he searched for. He said he would build a school and he didn’t stop trying until he finished. I believe that values such as courage, honesty, love and hope made his journey possible. I believe that one should believe even if their achievement seems impossible.
This book has taught me about the people of the Middle East, and what they need. It showed me just how fortunate I am; I am a girl and I receive education. I realize that in my future consists of high school, collage, and a career but for many people my age their futures show nothing of the sort. I have learned that we can look past stereotypes and prejudices and see the beauty of life and people. I have learned to look not flaws but at beauty. This book has taught me to believe in things that seem impossible.
After reading this book, I believe in reaching. I believe in determination and achieving goals. I believe in looking past another’s race and religion and seeing what’s in their heart. I believe in helping others in search of nothing for myself in return. I believe in searching for what I seek and not giving up until I find it. I believe in values and goals. I believe that one person can make a difference.

Sonnet Mulitmedia

Three Cups of Tea Project

Three Cups of tea is a book about one man, Greg Mortensen, and how he helped so many people halfway around the world. After reading this book, it's impossible not to want to help. The hard thing is figuring out how to help. Fortunately, Greg Mortensen helps us there as well by having a list of things you can do to help the Central Asia Institute and the kids in Pakistan. This list is found on page 337 and 338 of the book. My Project was to do each thing on the list.
The pictures on this video are from www.threecupsoftea.com

Step 1: Order books online at threecupsoftea.com

To do this, I ordered two copies of Three Cups of Tea online.

Step 2: Recommend this book to a friend

To do this I told several friends, teachers, and family members about this book.

Step 3: Check State Libraries to see if they Carry Three Cups of Tea

To do this I checked the internet and made sure that several local libraries carried Three Cups of Tea.

Step 4: Encourage Local Book Stores to Carry Three Cups of Tea

To do this, I donated the books I ordered online to Book Ends in Kailua.

Step 5: Write Book Reviews Online

To do this, I wrote book reviews for Three Cups of Tea on amazon.com, Borders Books, and Barnes and Nobles.

Step 6: Encourage Local Newspapers to feature this book

To do this I emailed the Honolulu Advertiser and added Three Cups of Tea to their entertainment blog.

Step 7: Get Schools Envolved with Pennies for Peace

To do this I collected spare change from our English class at our coffee talk.

Step 8: Donate Money to the Central Asia Institute

To do this I raised money from recycling and Sent it to the Central Asia Institute.

Sonnet:

Those who choose suffer the weight of the choice
To the right, life is normal, unchanging.
Friends are carried sideways, one single voice
Constant, the same, never rearranging

To the left life will change, the next chapter
That which is undiscovered, new places.
The Rocky path shapes dreams, what comes after
With winds, twists, and unfamiliar faces

In unison, two suns will never rise
Each one’s presence is beautiful and unique.
Harmony instead will forever fly.
Never ending choices fill life’s boutique.

Create in addition, not replacing.
The moment will define what is unknown.

Three Cups of Tea
In one of his songs, Alan Jackson asks, “Where were you when the world stopped turning on that September day?” I’d had a nightmare the night before and I crawled into my parents’ bed because I was so scared. I woke up on September 11th, 2001 to my mom in tears and my dad in shocked silence. I pretended to still be sleeping as I heard bits and pieces from the bathroom radio about “Taliban” “World Trade Center” “Terrorist” and “High jacking.” None of these words made any sense to me, a 7-year-old. I remember Mrs. Bisho, my second grade teacher’s, shaking voice as we talked about the people flying planes into the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. In the weeks following I heard my mom talking about how she used to work in the World Trade Center, and how friends had lost loved ones. I remembered people wearing red, white, and blue for the weeks following, and “I’m Proud to be an American” playing every time I turned on the radio. I remember putting the word terrorist together with a bearded man in a turban. That day in September when the world stopped turning Greg Mortensen was in Korphe, Pakistan.
He was building schools for the children in need of education in the heart of the Middle East. But his story offers the perspective of the Muslims who are good people, and how the people of the Middle East do not all hate Americans. Greg Mortensen’s biography, Three Cups of Tea is about how education can save anything. It focuses on how wars should be fought with books and knowledge instead of bombs and force. Three days after the terrorist attacks, September 14th 2001, George Mortensen inaugurated another school in Pakistan. This book changed my perspective when I read page 257. It showed me the change one person can make, that people can live without judgment, and how the attacks in America effected everyone, not just Americans.
“These two Christian Men have come halfway around the world to show our children the light of education.” (Page 257) Greg Mortensen is responsible for educating more than 24,000 people who would have never known education otherwise. He lived in poverty, sleeping in his car and eating off the 99-cent menu at McDonalds for years, trying to save enough money to build a school for children in the village of Korphe. He ran into many obstacles along his way. He first had to raise money to build roads to get the materials for building the school. Pakistanis who didn’t approve of his work kidnapped him. But he never once thought of giving up, even after he thought he was going to be killed. He showed me that one person could make a huge difference.
This book helped me to learn about the side of the Middle East that we don’t see. “Our land is stricken with poverty because we are without education. But today another candle of knowledge has been lit. In the name of Allah the Almighty, may it light our way out of the darkness we find ourselves in.”(page 257) Three Cups of Tea showed me that people can live without judgment and pre-conceived notions. Greg Mortensen lived among these people in Pakistan as if they were his own family. He helped them in anyway that he could and he learned to love them and their culture. This inspired me because it showed me that people can live without cultural bias and racism. If a man who was in the Middle East while his country was being attacked by that country and still see the good of the people he is an inspirational man. “It was an incredible speech,” Mortensen said, “And by the time Syed Abbas finished his speech the entire crowd was in tears. I wish all the Americans who think Muslim is just another way of saying terrorist could have been there that day. The true core tenants of Islam are justice, tolerance, and charity and Syed Abbas represented the moderate center of Muslim faith eloquently.” (page 257) The chief of the village, Syed Abbas, showed the perspective of a large percent of Middle Eastern Muslims; that the terrorist attacks were terrible, and that they were not what Allah wanted. Greg Mortensen was able to live along side Middle Easterners without being prejudice against them from what they have done to his people. Syed Abbas and his people were able to appreciate the people who were helping him, even though others throughout his country would have killed him for doing so. “For this tragedy I wish Mr. George Mortensen and Dr. Greg Sahib for their forgiveness. All of you my brethren: Protect and embrace these two American brothers in our midst. Let no harm come to them. Share all you have to make their mission successful.” (page 257)
Another Middle Easterner’s perspective of September 11th was interesting and informative. “We share in sorrow as people weep and suffer in America today as we inaugurate this school. Those who have committed this evil act against the innocent, the women and children, to create thousands of widows and orphans do not do so in the name of Islam. By the grace of Allah the Almighty may justice be served upon them.” (page 257) Throughout the story, I discovered the Taliban did as much damage to their own people as they did to Americans. They burned all books except for the Koran. They also killed random individuals and wiped out entire villages. They forbid the education of women. There were individuals who were forced to join the Taliban in order to support their families because it was the highest paying job around. This story also inspired me because it showed me life in the Middle East. So much of what we see about the Middle East is negative, but this book showed me another perspective.
We were all in different places on that September day when the world stopped turning. It’s a day that many fear talking about because it evokes memories of pain, loss, and suffering. George Mortensen was in Korphe Pakistan that day. He was promoting education, the force that wars should be fought with, rather than guns, fire, and destruction. The inhabitants of Korphe were working in harmony with this American man, judging him by the size of his heart, and not his race or religion. Halfway around the world the Taliban was making enemies and breeding hatred. Greg Mortensen makes me proud to be an American, and proud to be from a place where any goal is achievable if you try hard enough. Maybe one day, with help from people like Greg Mortensen all people, whether male, female, adult or child can have the opportunity to achieve their goals.

Inspirational Story

Megan Herndon
Hearts and Numbers
When we arrived at Magic Island that day, there were six of us. We were a stroker, a second stroker, three power seats, and a steersman. We were Abby, Maddie, Megan, Anna, Alannah, and Tiana. We were freshman, sophomores, Lanikai, Outrigger, and Kailua. We all met at our usual tree for the pep talk.
“Okay girls, today’s race is our longest race, the 5+. We’re going down to the natatorium, than turn around the first buoy, go all the way down to Kewalo’s and back here to Magic Island.” Our coach, Renee, said to us. She was giving us our 7th and last pep talk of the season. As she spoke to us I realized that she’s the first coach for as long as I can remember in any sport that made me really want to push myself. “Girls, one year when I paddled the Moloka’i channel we had this saying. We said ‘Pupukahi,’ which means to unite, and become one. That’s what you girls need to do today. Remember, every stroke comes 150% from your heart. Hands in on three everyone, Pupukahi. One, Two, three, Pupukahi!” We walked down the ramp and into the murky magic island water.
I climbed into seat three. My feet felt at home in the puddle at the bottom of the boat as I reached out my paddle and waited for my signal. I was in the familiar picture of race day. The painter who stands at the shore captures it perfectly. The colors are what stand out the most. The boats are two colors each, with six or more colors inside each one. We sat there for a moment, on the bridge between nature and the urban world. “Reach out, hit!” our steersman called out from behind us. We slowly made our way out to the starting line.
Diamond head and Honolulu were on our left. The rush of tourists and business and drama and money was behind us, and it was the world that we had come from. That morning we had worn our costumes; makeup, brushed hair, jewelry and cleanliness. But now, to our right was nothing but open ocean. To our right, and where we were going was where we were truly ourselves. Away from the makeup and the fakeness of the city we became paddlers, masked by nothing, wearing only blue jerseys, black tights, determination, and heart. Six heads turned towards the official’s boats.
The red officials flag fluttered in the wind, until he put it down. It felt like one of those dramatic action movies where there is an intense race starting, and there is some random guy, now lifting up the green flag in slow motion. That’s when it began. The first three strokes of a race are always the best. I felt myself channeling every ounce of power I had in my body to pulling my paddle through the water. I could see the tiny whorl pools of the ocean from where our paddles were leaving the water, like the ocean had been woken suddenly from a peaceful sleep. We settled into a rhythm and we propelled the canoe towards the natatorium.
We were surrounded by endless blue. There were two boats in front of us and four boats behind. We hugged the orange cone-like buoys through the first turn. Every muscle in my body was burning and each stroke made it worse. Iolani was passing us on the left and Maryknoll on the right. Every Punahou paddler was wishing we could turn in when we passed the canal, instead of going three more miles.
People say that all there is to a stroke is a twist, a powerpoint, and a recovery, but paddlers know its much more. The twist is like a gentle handshake, twisting your hips and body away from you. Next is the press, driving from your legs and arms and back, driving your blade into the water, with the grace of a diver but the drive and power of a sprinter off the blocks. A horizontal waterfall is created not by gravity but by motion as the blade is pulled through the water. Last you press the reset button for the recovery; you bring your blade forward and reach out again as the pattern continues.
Stroke by stroke we made our way towards the Kewalo buoy, who had become a good friend. Over winter break we must have paddled there at least 30 times, if not more. “Hut, Hut, Hoe!” I called out and we switched sides of our paddles for the millionth time. And it was in that moment I began to think about the good of this race instead of the endless torture that we were making it out to be.
I remembered three days before Christmas when we had paddling at 7 am, before the sun had even risen. We were all half asleep and no one wanted to be there. We saw dolphins that morning, hundreds of them. They were breeching in the sunrise. It was probably the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in my life. I remembered the pain sinking in during the biathlon we did, and even more the rush of adrenaline and the feeling of accomplishment after. I remembered all the laughs we had at the random people at Magic Island. “Hut, Hut, Hoe!” I called out again. I looked down at my left hand as it passed my shoulder. My left pinky nail was painted red, and so was every other girl’s in that boat. I remembered our team bonding sleepover, when my 4-person jaccuzzi overflowed with 12 girls in it. I remembered that we all painted our left pinky nail red because it showed us that no matter who or where we were we were a team. “Let’s go ladies, don’t give up!” Our steersman called out across the silence. In that moment six individuals became one unit.
I reached my right shoulder out as far as I could and twisted from my hips. With every once of strength I had I pulled my blade through the water. I moved with Maddie, and She moved with Abby in front of her. Anna Moved with me and Alanah followed Anna. Six of us were one. The canoe joined our team as it glided through the water just like those dolphins we saw that day. Pain left our bodies and determination took its place.
I am a thrill seeker in everyway. I’m the first to jump off the tallest rock and to ride the biggest carnival ride. In that moment I found a different kind of thrill. Inspiration was this flavor I think. It tasted like Ala Wai water combined with sweat and pain. It tasted like the hour-long showers and the long naps after hours and miles of paddling. It tasted like every muscle in my body aching. It tasted like the cracking of my voice from yelling Hut Hut hoe every twelve seconds for an hour. It tasted better than the acai bowl and the Gingerbred Frappuccino. It came from the heart. Every stroke came from our hearts.
We were a different crew in that last mile. We were best friends and athletes. We were girls with the same nail polish on their left hand. We were an us instead of a them. We turned down that channel for a last time as a crew. Fifth place was inevitable, but we were finishing strong anyway. “Hut, Hut, Hoe! Lets go girls all the way through,” I screamed through my cracking voice. Every stroke we made was together every thought we thought was together. We powered across that finish line feeling like we were the first.
That day when we arrived at Magic Island there were six of us. There was a stroker, a second stroker, three power seats, and a steersman. We were Abby, Maddie, Megan, Anna, Alannah and Tiana. We were Lanikai, Outrigger, and Kailua, and we were freshman and sophomores. But when we left that day we were something else. We were Punahou. We were a team. We were all wearing blue jerseys; we were all wearing black tights. We had all just gone through the same three months of pain, fun, love and work. We were all friends for life. We had all felt pain, seen loss, and smelt defeat. But even more, we had all tasted inspiration from something as small as a pinky fingernail.