#blog entry 1

[g12abm1group3]

“The Value of Being a Media and Information Literate Individual”

Media and Information can help you improve your learning and become a brilliant receiver and sender of knowledge through different kinds of platforms. The value of being a media and information literate is important even before the beginning of human civilization where people get to communicate with one another. Media has been part of human lives and like how human evolution was presented and changes, so as the media; where sharing of new knowledge and information went from writing in cave walls or rocks or leaves or trees until the internet and this whole set up was invented. As the internet takes lead in our daily lives, able to access thousands and billions of ideas, we cannot deny that misleading messages, news, and details have been also uncontrollable. In order to become someone who’s a source of information to share to others, we must be someone who learns first and with all these cunning knowledge that are easily accessible we must be someone who’s literate enough.

According to Maureen Connolly and Vicky Giouroukakis, being a literate person today means more than being able to read and write, in a world diverse with cultures, print texts, media, and technologies, a literate person needs to possess certain specific capabilities. In order to be a media and information literate, one should use and evaluate social media appropriately and not by sharing rumors and fake news that can possibly cause commotion and panic to the public. We should always be responsible of the information, messages and details we’re spreading. Not only that, we should never use media to point fingers to someone or to be with someone’s side just because you wanted to, like how we act in the real world we should always find what is truthful and refrain from judging unfairly. It is important that we all know how to become and act as a media and information literate to be able to effectively communicate and be of help to others.

[hannuhhzworld-blog]

Personal Blog Entry #1

Two years ago I lost my father. My best friend and mentor. One evening I found myself whispering in my then unresponsive father’s ear that he didn't have to fight anymore, That he had fought long enough and he could finally let go and be free of pain. I walked out the hospital room door and down the stairs. I didn't have my car turned on before I received that horrid phone call. “Have you left yet? He’s gone, Hannah.” As the sound of my moms tears flooded my ear, my phone fell to the ground and I dropped to my knees. I walked back to my fathers room and hugged him goodbye for the last time as I cried out every tear in my body. Although for years we were told to expect this, told to prepare ourselves for the inevitable, I never really prepared myself, I didn't want to. I never really accepted it. He was diagnosed with smokeless lung cancer 8 years prior. For 8 amazing years he fought harder than any person I know. He took the pills, did the chemo, got the surgeries and lived every day like it was his last. Aside from the loss of hair, and sometimes feeling unwell from all the chemicals pumped into his body, you would never know that he was sick. That he was dying. He rode his bike several miles almost every day, worked hard as an administrator at the children's hospital, and did everything he could think of for the cause. He told his story and supported others through their fight, He was the most perfect man. An angel bound to earth to teach people to never give up on their hopes and dreams no matter what obstacle was placed in the way.

Two years ago I lost my way. Following the loss of my father I started down a very dark and dismal path. I stopped caring about my life and myself. I found myself addicted to a drug that has stripped me of everything including my dignity. I lost my way. I spent every day thinking of how to obtain that drug and numb myself rather than anything else. I was afraid to feel because I knew once that high wore down that I would not only be physically ill but the numbness would cease and I would be forced to feel...well, feelings. I loved the way it made me feel. As soon as that liquid hit my veins a warmness would come over me, a calmness. I would be numb to most my feelings mainly because I was in a state of “nod.” I always found a way to get money to support my habit wether it meant selling my personal items or stealing, because of course eventually I lost both of my jobs. I ended up in the hospital several times for MRSA. The second time I was on the brink of death when I came in. The infection had spread to my blood and made its way to my heart where there was now growth on one of my valves. My father must have been watching over me those few weeks at the hospital because miraculously I not only made it through and got better, but the antibiotics cleared my heart and my scheduled heart surgery never happened. I ended up in jail not once, not twice, but three times. The first two times were not drug offenses but they were the result of a drug infused rage as well as shoplifting while high. Eventually, though, I was caught with a small amount of heroin in my possession which landed me in jail and currently on probation. Even after all this I didn't care. I got right out of jail and went straight to my dealer. I got right out of the hospital and used. I even had people bring me drugs to the hospital, which the doctors caught on to and eventually restricted my visiting, resulting in me signing myself out early. Luckily, though, the antibiotics already did their job before I did so. I disappointed not only myself, but my family and friends as well. Most importantly I disappointed my mother who had enough on her plate with the loss of the love of her life.

Recently, I found hope again. After years of drug abuse, disappointing my friends & family, extreme health problems and jail, I finally got tired of it. I’m not sure if it was one thing in particular.  I’m not sure if it was the tiredness of being sick, the sadness of deforming my body or the fear of constantly being in trouble that made me stop, but something finally did. I know for a fact it was mainly being tired of hurting the one woman who has loved me and stuck by me through all my troubles and bad decisions- my beautiful and strong mother. Not to mention, I know my father has been looking down on me in disappointment and the thought of that is beyond horrifying. I got tired of disappointing my mother and living a life alone. I got tired of never seeing the rest of my family and hiding away in my bedroom with a needle with no hope for my future. I got tired of stealing, selling my possessions and constantly being afraid of being sick as hell. I am taking it one day at a time. I am starting to feel again and trying to learn to accept the loss of my father and all those other things i’ve been afraid of dealing with sober. I am finding myself again and finding my passions again. Its insane how one bad decision, one drug, can take away so much in a persons life and drain them of everything. 

I had to lose myself to really find myself. I had no thoughts, feelings, passions or cares. I got to the point where overdosing looked like the better idea. That is going to change. That IS changing. I am finding myself again and for that I am forever grateful. I am beyond grateful for my mother who never gave up on me even when I gave up on myself and I am grateful for finally finding the strength to make the changes necessary to be HUMAN again. Every day is a fight, and I am scared as hell, but I know in my heart that I can and WILL do this.

[simonejohn]

Blog Entry One: French Horror (The New French Extremity)

The new French extremity is a type of horror subgenre that emerged in France in the early 2000s. The extreme horror genre takes a transgressive approach to horror due to the degree of gore, brutality, and violence represented in humanity. It is not just the extremity of these films that set them apart from the rest, but rather the fact that each film aims to deliver a notable and philosophical message through its gruesome depictions of human experiences. These films rarely depict the supernatural and extraterritorial horror displayed in American horror films, but rather show the pain, suffering, and trauma in the taboos of the human expericne. Many of these films confront social economic politics and sexual violence by using philosophical and intellectual inquiry. They use the physcial human body as a focal point while pairing it with grusome detail and violence to display the horror that is occurring in humanity itself.

What You Need to Know About New French Extremity

A look at the rise of the New French Extremity and why its films are difficult to categorize as merely horror.

10 French Extremity Films For Beginners

Hon, hon, hon, want to dabble in French Extremity? Not sure where to start? We’ve got you covered.

Films of the New French Extremity

The films of the New French Extremity have been reviled by critics but adored by fans and filmmakers. Known for graphically brutal depiction

[prandas]

“Darkness Moonlight”

(by Rose Ann A. Prandas)

I shout and scream in the

middle of the night,

No one hears my hoarse voice!

Tears drop by! Tears are fallen!

Walking on a curvy path road,

A lot of thorns are in ways!

I hear a voice whispering my ears,

step back! step back! I saw darkness.

This is insane! Help! Help me!

No one hears me,

I walk through and grab a stick

Cane stick and shield are in my hands.

Tears drop by! Tears are fallen!

No one hears my hoarse voice!

Again a tiny voice whispering,

the darkness! the darkness!

I can see eyes watching!

But no one hears my hoarse voice!

Step back! Step Back!

A tiny voice whispering!

Walking on a curvy path road,

I can see! I can see a moonlight!

There’s a moonlight,

Lightning my ways!

Shiny shimmering moonlight,

Guided me through the middle

of the night.

[pearl-lewis]

𝓘𝓼𝓸𝓵𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷: 𝓘𝓽'𝓼 𝓠𝓾𝓲𝓮𝓽, 𝓘𝓽'𝓼 𝓝𝓲𝓬𝓮

By: P. N. Lewis

As the days go by

The sun still sets and rises

The stillness in the breeze ignites familiarity

It is as though it's whispering to me that I am free.

»»————-　★　————-««

Free from the stress of the world outside these walls

Free from the anxiety that I feel whenever I walk through those halls

I was content with what I had inside the house

At least the silence could listen to me sing and shout.

»»————-　★　————-««

Now I can pour my heart out with the music

Now I don't need to worry about school life and such, the classics

However there is sometimes that aching feeling inside my chest starts to rise

Like sometimes it misses not being stuck on my bed all the time.

»»————-　★　————-««

Instead of letting the silence rock me and tumble

I found that I was capable of weaving my words of sorrow

Stitch and style, manipulate them as I please

Until I was left with raging waves of passion and memories.

»»————-　★　————-««

It kept my thoughts at bay whenever I'm down

It kept me on my feet whenever I have a frown

It doesn't care how much emotions I pour into each piece

It helped me surpass this problems, like it was nothing but a beat.

[sc101blog]

UNDER: YOU, ME, AND THE WORLD (AND SPEECH COMMUNICATION)

4. Me, the World and Speech Communication

RE: Introducing Myself; untitled prose

From how I see the world in an abstract and meaningful way, it is full of symbols and full of parallels that people like me derive deep meanings from. You may or may not have guessed that I’m a person who is not good at communicating, despite making proses and poetry. Maybe it’s because I just like keeping these words to myself, or maybe I was conditioned to—I don’t know. But I do know that loving and making use of art, literature and music is a way of for me to express and communicate myself to those willing to listen. Communication, according to Wood (2009), is a systemic process in which individuals interact with and through symbols to create and interpret meanings. This was a definition she gave for her transactional model and is one of my favorite definitions of communication because it offers how there is a lot of different ways people could communicate and understand each other. It says that communication is symbolic in nature and these symbols create meaning. Just as how I see me, being communicative in a literary way, is something that would say a lot about my personality.

I think this is also why I am currently taking speech communication. What I learned about speech communication is that it takes studying about communication in a different level. It studies theories and structure. It studies small nuances that could affect how people would think about one’s speech or way of communication. It analyzes not only the words that come out of a person’s mouth, but also how one stands and confidently strides in, how fidgety one gets and how much one uses unnecessary words and moves, and etc. It studies how people deliver themselves and what meaning could it possibly produce to the audience they have. These are the things that I find interesting about speech communication. I do not necessarily have to be the one standing and doing the talking to understand how we derive meanings. Speech communication is analyzation while making use of our creative skills. It is technical, but is also artful, psychological and philosophical.

And now that I have been studying speech communication, there are many realizations that I have about myself, especially the me during the times of pandemic. I was already aware of how I sucked at communicating, but something in me shifted with the way I see relationships and how I could keep touch of these relationships during the pandemic. You see, I rarely talked or chatted with my friends when I can still see them face to face. It’s not that I never interacted with them, but it was minimal and I was always on the side of listening and receiving and not really talking. But now, I realized that little by little, I started learn how to keep the conversation going. I thought of myself as “makulit” because of this and started to joke around how annoyingly chatty I was. I learned to rant to my friends and think of things to reply when they were the one doing so. In short, I became slightly good at communicating to and with people I hold deeply in my heart. I guess even if my realizations and doings aren’t anything big or anything that could highly benefit the society in times of pandemic, I was unconsciously making use of what I learned in speech communication to better and further my communication skills in my life affairs.

—Patricia Minimo

References: Wood, Julia. 2009. Communication In Our Lives. 5th ed. Boston, MA: Wadsworth Cengage Publishing. Holba, Annette. 2007. Philosophical Leisure: Recuperative Practice For Human Communication. Ebook. Milwaukee, Wisconsin: Marquette University Press. https://classroom.google.com/u/0/w/MjgzNTE5MjMwMTc0/t/all.

[sc101blog]

UNDER: YOU, ME, AND THE WORLD (AND SPEECH COMMUNICATION)

2. Introducing Myself

Ever since I was a child, my parents told me that it is normal to fail, but never been enough reason to stop. My father died when I was in Grade 10, basically, four (4) years ago. But it didn’t stop me from chasing my dream, to pass UPCAT and be an Iskolar ng Bayan like my mother. I grew up working hard to get what I want. While my peers are playing on their Nintendos or PSPs, I was the one watching them and wishing someday I could play it too. I grew up in a middle class family, wherein food and provision of needs has no assurance. But I also grew up being victorious. I became National Champion in DaMath for two (2) consecutive years [2018-2019; entirely the Philippines] and National Champion in Impromptu Speaking English 2019.

“Yesterday is history, tomorrow is mystery and today is a gift, that’s why it is called Present” - Master Oogway (Kung Fu Panda)

I took this photo after my dad died. I really love this photo. The sunset reminds me of the pain and suffering I’ve been to. But it also symbolizes that after the tiring day, all we need is rest and take a break because tomorrow is another battle and as the sun rises in the east again, another sign of hope will rise again.

—Never Give Up // Reymark Aquino

[sc101blog]

Under: You, Me, and the World (and Speech Communication)

1. Introducing Myself

I live inside the pages, the bookmarks and the quotes. In commonplace notebooks and the incognito tabs. I live inside the songs; the sad lyrics and its background story. I live in the screenshots, in my gallery, in my notes. I live in between the words, the unsaid ones and the white lies. I live in inboxes; the messages I send to myself, and those I do not to other people. I live in every hurting words spoken, to the hidden meanings and unconscious desires of the people around me. I live inside the forgotten memories of people; on the corner of their minds just staying standstill.

I live with the thoughts inside my head. Too loud for my heart but never to my ears. I live inside these forgotten dreams, those I've left untouched but still yearn for. I live in the stories I could not tell, the stories no one tries to understand nor hear. I live in the muffled sobs during the ungodly hours of the day; the silent screams I always try to hint to the should-have-been closest people around me, but never notice.

I live in my wallpapers, in my edits, in my drawings. I live in my tweets, in my drafts and the deleted ones. I live in every little thing I try to purposely leave on the doorstep of people's lives, seeing if they would take it but never did; much less handle it fragilely. I live in sudden realizations, on the sudden drawbacks I do once I know something or someone could hurt me. I live in the tragedy of other people's truth; of my truth. I live on the knowledge of always being the second choice, the one who was never good enough, the disappointment; on knowing I will never be more than that. In the knowledge of things: of what is, what isn't and what will never be.

I live inside my words that seemingly push people away, when all I wanted was for them to be brave enough to wound themselves on my thorns, on the fire, on climbing my walls, and on surviving my sudden storms. To hold me, and never let go; to hold me and look at me like I deserve to be special, just like every living person on Earth. To be willingly lost with me without getting caught up in my insanity. I live in the hopes of finding someone to catch me whenever I decide to fall, because I know falling is never the hardest part, but knowing that I have reached the abyss without someone to anchor me, to pull me back. I live on the daydreams of having someone to go back to whenever I decide to take off and lose my path, to still be waiting wherever I left them. On daydreams of having someone close who won't give up on me, because I did, because I will. On dreams of someone to tell me 'I love you' and actually mean it. I live inside the nightmares and terrifying thoughts, of not having someone who doesn't think of me as an emotional baggage. Inside the nightmares where I get killed constantly; getting chased and killed and chased and killed and chased and killed.

I live in small hopes and flowers I hold in my broken, fragile hands. I live in simple places, in open books and in tired eyes. I live in all the places that could possibly make me feel a little better about myself. In the bookstores, in school supply stores, in art shops, in my favorite genre of anime, in my favorite pens, in my playlists, in floriography, in all the quiet places and in the rain.

I live in plain sight.

I live in all the places no one ever bothers to look at.

—untitled prose // patricia minimo

What better way to introduce myself than doing it in a way that I'm good at?