Monthly Archives: March 2017

Write an informal letter by Jane Eyre to her sister back home, where she describes her first meeting with Mr. Rochester. In your letter, include the following: • how she was returning home from a walk, and encountered Mr. Rochester • describe their conversation, and Mr. Rochester’s looks • how Jane Eyre helped him Think carefully about the purpose of your letter, and the audience for whom it is intended. By Jibraeil Aatif Anwar

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Yorkshire, England

September 6, 1788

 

London, England

Dear Elizabeth,

 

Hello, beloved sister. How are you doing? And is the rest of my family doing fine as well? I just wanted to tell you about something delightful that I have just recently experienced, a random encounter that was very unique and very intriguing, most definitely, indeed.

 

You see, I was just going down a narrow pathway, back to the Thornfield Hall, when, all of a sudden, I saw a horse coming down the pathway. I thought it might have been the Gytrash that Bessie used to tell us about as kids, but it was not; a dog sprang out of the hedge, and it was much more like that mythological creature. It gave me quite a spring, and made the bones in my body bend until they were fractured wheels, until it turned out that it was just some ordinary, harmless, black-and-white dog. I was the governess of the daughter of the owner of the Hall, Mr. Rochester, so it was best for me to hurry up on there. However, considering how narrow the path was, I decided to wait until the horse had crossed the path, so I sat… waiting, waiting for Eternity to just embrace Death with open arms. All of a sudden, however, I heard a slip, a thud and a crash, as the horse had slipped over an icy surface on the pathway. The dog, which was owned by the horse’s rider, immediately rushed over to its master, and tried to help him up.

 

I felt worried for the man, who looked as though he were of high rank. Also, it was late night, and I was the only other person present, so I decided to go up to him, and ask him if he was alright. He said he was fine, and attempted to get up himself; I could tell, from this gesture, that he was an independent man, who hardly relied on others to get the job done, and he was successful in getting his horse to stand up. When he struggled with getting up on his own, I decided to go up to him a second time, and ask him if he was alright… but he again persisted, saying that he could do it on his own! He insisted that it was only a sprain, no broken bones, so I trusted his words, that he was just fine. He did eventually get up, and as soon as he did, his appearance could catch any random bystander’s eyes’ complete and utter attention: he had a dark complexion, a stern and heavy brow, irritated eyes and eyebrows, and seemed to be the kind of person who was past his youth, yet had not quite reached that confounded middle age. Because of these things about him, I would be shameless in helping him out unmasked, with my face as clear and light as day.

 

I offered my services to the man, inviting him to come with me to his home… but he said I ought to be at my home! He did ask me where I came from, to which I responded below; by below, I meant Thornfield Hall, of course. The home of Mr. Rochester, this Hall was, but I told the man that I could not tell him where he was at the moment, because I myself was not sure; I had not even met him face-to-face, yet. The man tried to scan me, but I simply told him that I was a governess, to which he responded with a request for help — a request to grab his horse’s bridle, and lead him to his master. I was terrified, but I decided to try it, anyways. Alas, I failed, but at least I tried… though, on the other hand, the man did it fast, and did it better! He then only asked me for his whip, which I handed over to him, and afterwards, he was off on his jolly, merry way, proud on his horse, with his dog following the both of them. I have to admit that this was quite an encounter; I had a lot of mixed feelings about it, but at least I got to meet somebody, and I am glad that he’s now feeling okay thanks to me (mostly thanks to him, though).

 

Sadly, I must say goodbye, cousin, for I must go to the Thornfield Hall as quick as a little rabbit; it is getting awfully late, anyways. Take care, though, and be sure to write your own letters to me, about what you’re up to lately. Farewell!

 

Your sister,

 

Jane Eyre

 

 

Write a formal letter by a local man living in Lyme Regis, Dorset to the concierge of the Natural History Museum living in Piccadilly, London on the archaeological discovery of Mary Anning. It should include: • what Joseph discovered • what Mary discovered • what has been the impact of these discoveries, and what should be done, i.e. the relics should be brought to the museum Think carefully about the purpose of your letter, and the audience for whom it is intended. By Jibraeil Aatif Anwar

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Lyme Regis, Dorset

June 17, 1918

 

Piccadilly, London

Subject: Mary Anning’s discoveries

Dear Sir,

It is hoped that you are not being disturbed, but the undersigned needs to talk with you about something regarding the discoveries of Mary Anning, which have just recently come to the undersigned’s attention.

Firstly, the undersigned would like to discuss the discovery made by her elder brother, Joseph, with you. It is remarkable that he managed to unearth something so rare, and so unknown to our scientists. The discovery that he has made was, if it can be recalled correctly, an enormous head of a fossilized creature, four feet long, the jaws filled with sharp, interlocking teeth, and eye sockets that were very large, holding one complete eyeball and one broken one. Joseph required the help of a few men to completely take the head out of the sand, so it was certainly heavy. He was fully intending to show this discovery to Mary, but the mudslide made it harder for him to do so. However, after quite a great deal of months, Mary was able to make quite a great deal of discoveries related to this skeletal head. Unearthed around 1811, this specimen was buried in the “Jurassic Coast,” which is the south coast of England, and was the first discovery ever made of a prehistoric creature, so it is believed that it should be brought to the Museum for display. If the museum does this, not only will they encourage palaeontologists to be more ambitious in their exploits, but they would also serve as an inspiration to all those smart, young children living in the world today, considering the current conditions of our country, which are indeed very war-stricken.

Of course, Joseph is not the only one who made a discovery, as Mary also made one herself, though it was after nearly a year had elapsed. Her discovery was, quite possibly, more influential to science, as it was that of an entire skeleton, about seventeen feet long. It started with vertebrae, approximately three inches wide, and she then uncovered ribs (some still connected to the vertebrae) buried underneath all the limestone. It, like with Joseph, took Mary the help of some men to uncover the rest of the skeleton, and they managed to uncover a backbone of sixty vertebrae. On one side, it looked like a fish with a very long tail, while on the other, its shape was harder to discern, considering that that the ribs were forced down upon the vertebrae. As soon as the skeleton was completely uncovered, word-of-mouth spread quickly through the town, and Mary was offered twenty-three pounds for this fossil, enough to feed the family for over six months. After the exhibition of the head discovered by Joseph, It is implored of the addressee that the skeleton discovered by Mary should be exhibited next, because it was influential in developing palaeontology beyond how it started. It was a discovery for its time, and is, equally so, a discovery for the current times.

As the addressee can gather, the undersigned feels strongly about the relics being brought to the Museum, and there are several reasons why; firstly, these exhibitions have had a big impact on science today, so it is to be believed as best, for the sake of the people of the city, to exhibit these in the city’s very own Natural History Museum. Secondly, look at all these children, some who have suffered from the war, and some who want to pursue big things in science. These exhibitions might allow them to learn things about palaeontology, and also serve as escapism from their current sufferings; it may set them on the path to making similar discoveries themselves. Lastly, we need to preserve these fossils from those far too willing to steal them, and those who have such hatred for science that they will destroy them. All of these reasons are strong enough for the undersigned to urge you to take these in quickly. Administer them into the Museum. Guard them. They represent palaeontology, all it ever was, and all it ever will be. The undersigned is a dying man, dear addressee, and is, along with that, also a palaeontologist, which is why there is such a strong concern present for these skeletal pieces being preserved. It is hoped that the enormity and brevity of the task is duly comprehended.

And, so, the undersigned ends this letter with a hope that you stay in good health, and a hope that you may oblige to the undersigned’s wishes.

Yours sincerely,

William Buckland

William Buckland

Write an online magazine/blog article about the life and dreams of an ordinary boy, Youssef, living in the slums of Hay An Najat, Casablanca. In your article, include the following: • how he survives from day-to-day • what he does every week (watches movies at the Star Cinema) • why he never misses a show Think carefully about the purpose of your article, and the audience for whom it is intended. By Jibraeil Aatif Anwar

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http://www.froebelianwriters.wordpress.com

Escapism via movies: possible or not?

The story of an ordinary boy, Youssef, who dreams of big things in his life.

Jibraeil Aatif Anwar

November 5, 2016

 

Who would’ve thought that even people, with the smallest of lives, had big dreams? Many people can relate to this, from Walt Disney to Steve Jobs. All of them were small in standing, yet their big dreams got them where they are today (or, in these two men’s cases, were). We are here to talk about such a situation, about the story of a little boy named Youssef, who didn’t exactly have it easy. He was poor, and doing his best to live his life in the slums of Hay An Najat, Casablanca, Morocco. And yet, Youssef was an escapist, who lived through movies, and dreamt of being the greatest actor (and football player) ever.  What exactly was his life like, though? Let’s find out….

 

You see, Youssef lived in his house with his mother, and he didn’t exactly have the best living conditions. The roof was made of corrugated tin, and had to be held down by rocks for it to stay put. His house was down a narrow dirt path, surrounded by many other houses in similar conditions. There was only one room, and it didn’t have any windows, either! The question still remains, though: could Youssef be able to survive these terrible living conditions? The answer is yes, and he did have some things to be grateful about. For one, his neighbourhood didn’t have to suffer from a great drought like the others had to. Second of all, he and his mother were able to handle the bad living conditions considerably well, utilizing methods to keep their house intact, trying their best to keep their things away from outside conditions, and keeping a good sense of optimism along the way. Thirdly, Youssef had… the movies. Movie is only one word, but it had a lot of meaning for Youssef. Movies were his passion, a way of escaping the hardships brought about by real life, but also his ambition (his lifelong dream was to be an actor). The adventure, the wonder, the action, the intrigue, the romance, the drama, the humour — without these seven things, a movie can never be enjoyable, let alone interesting. Yet, thanks to these seven things present in these delightful delicacies, Youssef successfully navigated the treacherous waters of that giant cesspool known as real life.

 

Youssef, along with being a poor boy, was also an ordinary boy. He did what every child usually does: go to school, play sports, have a dream, and do the best one can to survive. He ate, just like any good boy should, and he took care of his mother, like any good child should. Acting and football were his passions, and he fought very hard in order to get a prestigious career in acting, as well as gain the necessary physique (via football) in order to be considered qualified enough for his job. Youssef also preferred to live an independent life, and always felt bothered by his mother always treating him like an eight year-old, rather than the eighteen year-old he knew he was, and indeed was! But most importantly, however, he did something every week when he felt bored; he took a coin from his mother’s purse, went to the nearby Star Cinema, and watched a movie that played for the week, intending to watch whatever movie would come next week. This routine, this never-ending cycle of doom and gloom (of the best kind), brightened every area of Youssef’s body until you could see the sunlight radiating from him; he loved it that much. What did he watch, you may ask? Maybe a little Hong Kong action films? Perhaps a smidgen of Bollywood romances? How about Egyptian dramas? And is it possible for anyone to forget those world-famous, awe-inspiring American blockbusters? Whatever movie it was, Youssef watched them all — and he loved them. They were his life-blood, his driving force — the force that kept him alive, that lived in very cell of his body (much like the Force in Star Wars). It is especially because of this, that Youssef so passionately acted in the only play his school had, pursued acting with a passion, and played football to develop an actor’s physique. Isn’t it amazing how much movies can change people’s lives, when adults are always claiming that they’re bad for your health, and that they waste too much time? It does beg the question, though: why and how does Youssef benefit from these movies?

 

It’s pretty simple to articulate: Youssef is miserable. He’s lonely. He yearns for bigger things. What else is a little boy to do? What else is he to pursue? Should he go onto the streets and dance like a monkey for money? No, because times are tough for the lad. Should he read books like the smart kids do? No, because it’s clear that Youssef is not as obsessed with his studies as they are. Movies are his escapism, because they are boundless. They perfectly capture your imagination in the form of moving pictures, making you pleased until you faint of happiness… though, that certainly isn’t the case for Youssef, who is able to remain in one piece after observing these colourful escapades across the desert, sea and whatnot. When you’ve lost your father, your mother is trying her best to make a living for the both of you, and you are struggling to survive, it isn’t hard for you to latch onto the closest hobby you can find, and call it “escapism” from real life. Do you ever think to yourself and wonder, “Why does my life have so many restrictions?” If so, then the exact same case is presented here, where, above all else, Youssef adores the fantasy of the movies, how unreal all of it is; yet, so charming. They do sometimes portray worlds that have their own sufferings taking place in them, but they also portray a sense of resolve over these issues, a triumph of good over evil. Youssef relates to this, because he, too, wishes that his life were like these movies, that he could be the brave, dashing hero who fights the evil dragon (real life) to rescue the princess in the castle (freedom). And, so, he watches these movies, and he’s surely having the time of his life watching them, latching onto them like they’re his stuffed animals.

 

And, so, this is the story of a humble, ordinary boy by the name of Youssef, who lives with his mother in the slums of Hay An Najat, Casablanca, Morocco. He lives in the poorest of conditions, but that never deters him from being hopeful, and keeping an iron resolve. He lives life as he can, remains a good, obedient boy towards his mother, wants to pursue a career in acting (as well as footballing), and escapes real life via movies, whenever he’s feeling stressed out. Is this interesting to hear about? To pitch in the editors’ opinions, they would say yes, but we’ll leave your opinions to be decided by you. We’ll also leave you to wonder about what this story might teach you; is real life really as bad as it’s been presented? Is escapism the best way out? Would you feel persistence in surviving a life with such sparse conditions? The things people wonder… and this quote by Neil Gaiman might help you better decide your opinion:  “People talk about escapism as if it’s a bad thing… Once you’ve escaped, once you come back, the world is not the same as when you left it. You come back to it with skills, weapons, knowledge you didn’t have before. Then, you are better equipped to deal with your current reality”.

 

 

 

Try as we might to avoid them, accidents happen. Tell about a time when you were involved in an accident. By Jibraeil Aatif Anwar

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School is an ordinary, boring place. Every day, you usually expect everything to go exactly as it always has, with nothing ever happening. However, somehow, today was quite odd, not very much deserving of its place in the cycle of boredom, as it was, indeed, very much a different kind.

 

Today was, in fact, the first time I was going to go visit the. How wonderful! I was a tad frightened by this wild habitat, so I went up to the teacher to ask him, “What’s the chemistry lab like?” “It’s dangerous, yet also quite exhilarating,” the teacher responded. “Thank the one that looks down from above!” I expressed in my thoughts. The door was dancing a little bit when we reached our destination, and, like a clown inviting an audience-member up to the stage, the door creaked open to reveal the wilderness it hid. I was experiencing a blend of emotions during this roller-coaster of an incredible experience.

 

And, so, it was time to do our practical work there, so we marched right in. The teacher taught us about a variety of concepts, no doubt, but the best one was most definitely regarding the chemical reactions. Whether it was the discussions we had, the things we learnt, or the experiments we carried out, this part of our studies was brilliant. Sadly, the fun and games surely had to end, when, all of a sudden, a student burst in. The student had curly, ginger hair, with a bit of a plump body, and had glasses to his name; or, in this case, face.

 

This student was from a higher class, which we knew as soon as he entered. He asked the teacher, “Sir, can I borrow your time and tell you something?” “Not now,” the teacher answered. But the student was persistent, so he walked up to the teacher… that is, until he slipped, and knocked over the chemicals. The chemicals ended up spilling over the students, who were in horrible pain as a result. Some were safe, though; and yet, either way, the teacher took immense preventive action to help the injured ones out.

 

The end result was that many students were taken to the school-nurse. I was confused, so I needed time to process all of this. At least, however, the student learnt to have patience… and better footing, for that matter. This day was like a jungle-expedition from start to finish, wholly undeserving of its place in the cycle of boredom, in which boredom of all kinds ever thrives.

 

 

‘Diary Entry: The first time I met George’ by Shameer Abdullah

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November, 11th 2016

Dear bolt,

I am so happy right now. I fail to express my feelings. Today I might have just made a friend. His name… wait I just forgot his name. What? As I am growing older it looks like my memory is also fading away simultaneously. Oh yeah! His name is George Sampeter. By the word ‘friend’ i mean that we were both easy with each other.

I remember very vividly the morning George became my friend. George came to school for the first time and not surprisingly, he was late. The prayer had already been said. His father led him through to the headmaster’s desk on the platform. Bolt, he was frightened to death. I could clearly figure that by looking at the way he was crushing his father’s hand. If only I had my father, i would also know how it felt like having my father besides me and clutch his arm.

his father and the head master were greeting each other as if they were brothers. i have heard that your first impression is your last impression was that he looked like a spoiled to me. he was given special attention because his father and the headmaster were friends. he was directly placed into the second standard with the intelligent kids. this father ruined my impressions of him.

Jealousy arose. For mainly two reasons. Firstly because his father was friends with the headmaster. Which gave him special treatment? And secondly because he had a father and I…I do not.

as time passed, I felt rather close to George. My favorite moment was then when he shifted to first standard because he was not intelligent enough. Hmm… This made him shy. his confidence level fell to zero. i then realized that this was the real George and I thought to make him my friend.

Wow! It feels as if it happened yesterday but in truth it has been thirty-five years. I still smirk when I recall our friendship. The first act of our friendship was when I offered George a pencil. Bolt, nowadays friendship is an act that is very dangerous. That is why I trust you the most. One has to be very cautious bolt. One sign of a very close friendship is when one becomes frank with you; he becomes carefree.

Looking back at my friendship with George, I realized that it has been a very good ride. This changed me completely and i believe it also changed George’s life too. I hope we both live happily and our friendship never breaks.

I have to go. My mother is scolding at me. I will be back after eating my dinner. Bye Bolt!

Journal Entry — 22 May 2014, Passage One, ‘Refugee Boy’ by Safa Aman

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7th November 2016

Dear Diary,

The time had finally arrived and I was feeling a frenzy of emotions, from nervousness to anxiety.

The plump immigration officer flashed me a smile as he passed my passport along with my father’s back to him. Damp fingerprints were imprinted on the passports due to the officer’s pudgy hands.

We were required to change the cheques now that we were in another country. After Father attained the relevant cheques, we went outside in search of a taxi. Our teeth instantly started chattering as our skin was in direct contact with the moist and goosebump-erupting air. Seeing the dense, grey clouds hanging low confirmed my suspicion of it always raining in England. However, the suspicion was to remain just that — a suspicion. Father chuckled as he informed me how that was the uniform that the English clouds wore on a daily basis.

We made our way to the taxi residing alongside a train of baggage trollies. The taxi was a grand black. Back home, I would have thought that the car belonged to some big-shot if it were not for the plastic board embedded on the top of the vehicle labelling it. I slid into the stiff, leather, black seat and examined the interior.

The road that stretched beyond us looked like something out of a painted picture. It was broad and straight and not to mention that it was bump-free. I was almost lulled to sleep by the hum of the car engine and tyres against the surface of the road.

Seven miles had been covered when the taxi turned off the serene motorway. It was eerily quiet with the few cars and abandoned fields in sight. My eyes scanned for life as we approached the village. Almost every house had about two cars parked in their driveway and cats peering out from the house window, but no people.

At last, we had arrived at the village when more life was to be seen. The locals’ dogs were trotting about on their leads. I anticipated the appearance of a goat or chicken — after all, it was a village.

One tiring journey had come to an end as we reached the hotel. It was too late to do anything; therefore, we lazed and lounged around in the hotel room. I plopped down on the bed and switched the television on. It was quite strange; however, I strained my ears to understand what they were saying, but ended up as a lost puppy — their accents were exceedingly thick! Their thick accents were accompanied by a fast pace and fluency, leading to even more difficulty.

After a couple of moments, I realized how the accents differ even amongst the English people. And why did the English they speak vary from the English that I had been taught at school? It was all too hard to comprehend. I spared myself the headache and switched the television off.

The next day was certainly more exciting. Our tiresome journey paid off instantly when we came across the beautiful landmarks that were only to be seen and read about in books: Buckingham Palace, Piccadilly Circus, Marble Arch, the Tower of London, Houses of Parliament, Trafalgar Square, etc.

We paid a visit to the British Museum and strolled down Charing Cross Road when we found ourselves in Leicester Square.

London was like a whole new planet. Back in Ethiopia — even in the capital — it was bustling, but not nearly as much as it was over here. Cars were stuck in traffic jams more than half of the time and we were forced to walk (not once did we mind, though, due to the lovely weather). The vehicles surrounding me spat smoke and emitted throat-tickling fumes. I was in fits of coughing when I eventually got used to it like everybody else. I observed the buildings and went into awe every time I noticed how the old and new were alongside each other.

We were scurrying home and the adrenaline of it all made it enjoyable. I had just climbed into bed when the village clock struck midnight. The sound of ‘nothingness’ hung in the air. I had never been more at peace.

‘Diary Entry — 9 January 2008, Passage Three Boy Blue’ by Safa Aman

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Dear Reggie,

A shiver still runs down my spine each time I think about it. Fear grips my heart when water comes to my mind. So much so, I think I might have developed a phobia towards it as a whole.

I remember it like it was yesterday. What started out as an exciting cruise turned into an almost life-taking disaster. I was leaning against the ship’s railing and gazing into the Pacific Ocean — it was mesmerizing. The water was clear with an emerald touch as it rippled along the perimeter of the ship. I was counting the fish as they flopped and floundered about when an ugly jerk snapped me out of my reverie. It did not hit me as too much of a surprise considering the fact that it was not the first time it had happened. I reckoned that it might have been just another unfortunate aquatic animal collision until it took place again — and this time, harder.

We had encountered our old friend: the glacier. Yet, I was the only poor soul to have had to meet with such fate. The ship hauled me over as I failed to wrap my fingers around the rusty railing of the ship and fell straight into the water. It happened in such a flurry, I barely had time to react or call for help. It was not until my body was a part of the ocean that I allowed this to sink in (no pun intended).

My teeth chattered uncontrollably like those of a toy clown. I continuously kicked at the water and tried to fight it off aggressively, but nothing helped. The waves of the Pacific had taken over and threw me into awkward somersaults, twists and turns as I was engulfed. I could feel the icy water fill my lungs to the point I thought I would be unable to make it. I felt numb and eventually submitted to the ocean, waiting for the life left in my body to slowly slip away. The sound of the waves crashing and people screaming in the back were the only sounds that now rung through my ears. I made one last attempt to shriek and yell in hopes to be rescued; however, no luck prevailed.

I could no longer feel my limbs and thought to myself, “This is it. I am not going to make it out alive”, but then a miracle happened. Of course, I felt almost dead to do anything or to feel any sort of emotion in the moment, but gratefulness still filled me internally and I could not wait to see who my superhero was. I felt the intricately weaved net tickle my nearly paralyzed face and knew there was still hope for survival. I would have squealed with joy if I could. What were the odds of me being rescued even after being close to the bottom of the ocean?

I felt my body being heaved up with great difficulty by what seemed like a heavenly force in the moment. Icy water was no longer crashing against my pale skin and my nostrils were free to inhale, at last. I had never been more thankful for fresh air in my life!

My ‘superhero’ was certainly not as courteous as Superman or Spiderman, but he saved my life and that definitely counted for something. He cursed himself for ever rescuing me to begin with. Can you believe it? However, I still showed my gratitude towards him — Superman or not.

‘Directed Writing — Talk (May 2006, Passage One) Fire fighter’ by Safa Aman

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“Hey, everybody; Phil Chenay here for those of you who are not aware of who I am. Today, I am going to inform you and talk a little about ‘fire’. When the word ‘fire’ comes to your mind, simultaneously, ‘fear’ accompanies it. However, with the right precautions and safety measures taken, fear and fire should hopefully not be able to mix.

Being near a fire is not as frightening as the movies make it seem. The flames are a work of art, a wonder, a complete mystery and fascination. Sure, you may consider yourself ‘inferior’ to the fire at times as you do not possess the same heating power as the fire itself, but if you come to terms with that, it is not so bad. Needless to say that if your job revolves around fire, it is bound to get a little hot. The temperature ranges from thirty degrees celsius to forty degrees celsius most of the time. Because the fire is brighter than daylight itself, I, along with my fellow peers, often feel like we are stuck in a time zone where daytime is unheard of. The flames may come off slightly intimidating as they seek to scare you and look taller and mightier than they truly are. Not to mention that I almost burst my eardrum as the flames roared lion-like in my ears! To add to the noise, the wind is always present, making it awfully noisy at times. If you pay close attention, a slight ‘thump’ murmurs in the background as gas pockets are rapidly being burnt.

You all must have heard about the Canberra fire when it hit all your news’ channels at home. A single fire that goes up to a meter radiates about one-thousand kilowats of energy. You can only imagine how much energy was exerted in the infamous fuel-filled hills of Canberra when it caught fire. No lucky guesses, anybody? Well, about two-hundred and fifty-thousand kilowats were released. Yes, you guys heard me right. It was so out of hand that people were left with no choice, but to guard their own home and belongings.

As for the aftermath . . . it was not pretty. The smell of rotten meat hung in the forest air for about a month even after the fire. The only sign of life were the few eagles and carrion eaters. Reconstructing homes and places that people had many memories attached with was difficult for everyone to deal with, emotionally. Firefighters only require enough information to get a gist of what happened, but once the unfortunate victims of the fire ‘open up’, they spill every detail of the incident.

People should mentally and physically be prepared if a fire were to erupt. Evacuating at the last minute whilst a fire has already broken out is never an option. The best — and safest — thing one can do is remain in the sanctuary of his or her home as the fire simply goes over the roofs. You people also must refrain from approaching the flames if you are not dressed appropriately as the fire could cause serious injuries and burns. Having a grass clearing surrounding your property is a brilliant way to prevent your home from burning down. Unfortunately, people in today’s date and time opt for beauty over their property’s safety and end up with no clearing around their homes. This leads to their houses burning down until nothing remains of them.

The most we can do for now in order to prevent such fires from happening again are managing the fuels used as the weather is not in our control. However, deliberate fires may be caused as this method aids us in ridding most of the natural fuel that is present on the forest floor.

Majority of people object to deliberate fires because the idea of burning plants and trees for no apparent reason puzzles them. Little do they realize that by doing this, they are in the process of training for in case a genuine outbreak was to occur.

Fire is not nearly as terrifying as people make it out to be if the right actions are taken against it. If we work together, we will easily be capable of sparing innocent human lives along with other species. Thank you all for your time and I hope you enjoyed this as much as I did.”

‘Official report: The development of money’By Hamza Khalid

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To: Hamza (sociology professor)

From: Hamza Khalid

Date: Thursday, 26th January, 2017

Subject: Development of money

This is to state that this report is about the transformation and consideration of money and how it has been used throughout time. And this report is to highlight its transformation and development.

It is thought that money is life because everything you need in life is bought by money. Nothing in this world is free even a clean water is not free. It is also true that money cannot bring success but success bring money.

If you ask the people, what is money? They will simply answer you that money is cash, credit cards and cheques.

Following are its forms:

1)      Amber

2)      Beads

3)      Cowrie

4)      Shells

A)     Perhaps, the oldest form of money is livestock and plant products, cattle’s and grains were very common. The other and very important form of money which was used by Chinese was cowrie shells. Slowly and gradually the development started coming and money come with metals including metal tools and metal jewelry.

B)     Eventually of course, in Lydia metal coins made of silver and gold were unrented which became lastingly popular. It was adopted by ancient Greeks states where banking transaction were carried out.

Today, eventually of course, money comes in coins and bank notes. Both paper currency as well as coins are in circulation. We all should thank to ‘Gutenberg’ for inventing the printing press which made the production of paper currency.

You are one of the visitors at the Venetian Glass Factory. Write a talk for your class, while including the following points: • describe Venice, and the view of the Venetian Glass Factory • show how the glass pieces are sculpted • explain how these pieces are decorated Think carefully about the purpose of your talk, and the audience for whom it is intended. By Jibraeil Aatif Anwar

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Good morning, my dear, fellow students! It has, obviously, reached your attention that I have recently visited the Murano Glass Factory in Galleria San Marco, in Venice, Italy. This trip was one of the finest I have ever been on for quite a while, as I got to witness the making of glass itself; basically, how it is made, how it is designed and how it is decorated. Are you already excited? Because I certainly am, as well, so let’s find out about all of the various events that happened there, and in what way.

First of all, it is quite very much common knowledge, the things that Venice is most well-known for: its waterways, which are as picturesque as Da Vinci’s own Mona Lisa; its bridges, which connect all of the 150 small islands in such a way that the overhead view would be like that of a web; its water taxis, which speed across the rivers faster than a bullet; and, of course, its gondolas, paddled through the narrow canals, being the very common places of love-making, romance and things very similar to that.

But, what you don’t know is that, along with all of this, Venice is also well-known for its glass factories, which have been practicing the art and craft of glass-blowing since 200 B.C. Yes, it really is as old as time itself, though not many of you would’ve known that. At the Galleria San Marco, you cannot help but be amazed; on the outside, it looks like nothing more than a mere store-front. And THEN, you enter the place, and you see some of the most beautiful stuff that our century could even be capable of producing.

Upon entering, the first thing that caught my sight – as well as the most obvious – was the crafters working their craft, very much like pure, true-born professionals: they really were that good. The center of all this glass-blowing, crafting and sculpting is, without a doubt, the furnace, which gives off such intense heat that even Sherkan would applaud it. Now, glass, when first created, is present in the form of a molten mixture, one consisting of potash, limestone, sand and soda ash, and is heated into molten form via heating it at over two-thousand degrees Fahrenheit; if that doesn’t surprise you, I don’t know what will; I think that an elephant coming down from an elevator most likely would.

A LOT of heating is involved in this; a blowpipe is heated while the molten glass is still sitting in the furnace, and is then used to take away a specific amount of glass from the furnace. In the process, a disco-ball of molten glass is formed on the end of the blowpipe used to take the glass from the furnace, so it is removed, and rolled over a marver, which, if you don’t know what it is, is a kind of flat sheet of thick steel. This gives a cool as a frozen Han Solo exterior layer to the glass, allowing the glass-piece to attain a fixed shape, after which the open end of the blowpipe is blown into, to create a molten glass-bubble and give the glass-piece its final, absolute, definitive shape.

Now, quite frankly, how can one talk about the sculpting of the glass-pieces, when they can’t also talk about their decorating? It’s just not possible, in any shape or form. So, without further ado, let me tell you about how these masters of the craft add impeccable detail to their creations: tweezers are used. Yes, you’re probably wondering, “How can a simple set of tweezers be used to obtain the decorations of the glass-pieces as we see them right now?” Well, tweezers, even just one set, have the ability to apply a very strong pulling force on an object. So strong, in fact, that it can pull the molten glass even further into the final shape desired, and hence further perfect the intended results.

As the glass cools, the shape becomes clearer than the story of a certain movie will ever be, resulting in a final color being obtained. However, the cooling surface also needs to be manipulated into a flat surface, so what need be used in such a case? A mechanism called a paddle, and after its successful use, the finalized glass-piece is obtained from the end of the blowpipe, and allowed to cool to its room temperature. In addition to all this, I even learnt about how specific colors may be obtained in the glass-pieces; in order to obtain a deep green hue, copper (an element) is added to it, and if a blue color is to be obtained, then varying amounts of copper are added to it, more for dark-blue, and less for light-blue. This gives the element of color to these glass-pieces.

And that so concludes my trip to this amazing glass factory, in which I managed to explore the art of glass-blowing, deliver eye-candy to my eyes in quite possibly the longest distance delivery service, and, most of all, have my heart absolutely enthralled by this amazing experience, every step of the way. I hope you guys enjoyed me talking about my trip as much as I did, for I now declare that this is the part where I say, “This is the end of the story I have shared, so live long and prosper!” Goodbye!