Sunday, August 07, 2005


Below is a writing piece from my Copywriting class. We're given a character to write a 250 word monologue. So mine's a 29 year old woman who's an ex-professional cyclist. She's a health freak and currently working for the Somalian refugees. So here goes:

Last Saturday night, I finally learned the Somali National Anthem by heart. Osman, the same kid who heard me curse after learning Lance’s Tour de France victory corrected my pronunciation. He’s still bugging me for the meaning of ‘fuck’, which I tend to ignore. The more I avoid the conversation, the more he realized it was something he’s forbidden to know at his age.
His mischievous smile reminds me of Jerome, that cocky ex team mate of mine. I’m sure he’s at some bar cursing the hell out of the USPS team as well. I miss that guy.
I finally got used to the praying. I still remember the shock when I first heard all three hundred of them chanting and praying at five in the morning. It woke me up and became my alarm clock for jogging since then. It's part of my life now.
Vanessa is still complaining about the food. Sometimes I just want to strangle her on the spot. We’re here to help, not to be pampered. Besides, I think the food is well balanced. Maybe I do get to reduce my body fat after all.
The children are having an art project today. They are just having a great time with other children, in regardless of their skin color, totally unaware that they’re a part of this ‘social reform’ project. Sometimes I think this program affects me more than the children.
I stopped hating God for taking away my left hand. In fact, it’s refreshing to realize that I’m stronger than two years ago. And I like it when Osman strokes my remaining arm. Maybe I should teach him ‘Waltzing Matilda’ after dinner.