Author Archives: Emma D.

Here is a reflection that I wrote about my Social Justice PSA:

I think I met the expectations on my PSA. I included at least 5 principles of design, my photograph fit my statistic, and I used an important and surprising statistic that will catch people’s eye. It took me a while to get the perfect photo for my PSA, but I think it worked out well in the end.

Here is a reflection I wrote about the delivery of my teach-in workshop.

I think the delivery of my group’s workshop went well. I definitely think that our second workshop was much more successful than our first one. During our first workshop, I think we are really stunned that it was finally time for the teach-in. We were also extremely nervous. During the first workshop, things didn’t run extremely smoothly like they did in the second one. We stumbled on parts of the presentation and were whispering to each other throughout. By the time we got to the second workshop though, we were a lot more comfortable with doing the workshop with actual students. Our second workshop went very smoothly. We did our presentation without stumbling and since we had already completed the first workshop we knew exactly how everything was going to work. Another reason that our second workshop went better was because the group of students were participating more in the discussion and sharing in the group. This made it easier for my group to run the workshop. Although the first workshop wasn’t the best, it was still very successful. I think the first workshop went well, while the second workshop went closer to perfectly. Overall, the delivery of our workshop went very well.

selma march 1 – Medium (1)-2atwdhm

This is a newscast I made with Margaret and Io about the Selma to Montgomery Marches. We connected it to current and previous events and the book we read in class All American Boys, by Jason Reynolds and Brendan Kiely.

Last semester, Io and I took a film class at Take Two Film Academy. We made a short film called If The Dress Fits. It was about a girl with an eating disorder. I think that this film was less successful than the one that was excepted to the TriBeCa Film Festival. I think Io and I could’ve put a little more work into the camera work and the editing. Overall, it was fun to make this short film, but it could’ve turned out better.

Last Wednesday, I went to the high school with my advisory. I got to sit in on 4 different classes.

This is my Little Peach Book Project. I decided to continue the book beyond the last pages. “I am. I am awake,” are the last two sentences in the book Little Peach.

I am.

I am awake…

You point to the window leading to the bright blue hallway of the Coney Island hospital. I look outside and see a tall man looking in at me. He has a badge that reads Police Department City Of New York on his shoulder and a gun strapped to his waist. I know what this means. You want me to talk to him. You want me to tell him my story. You assure me that he is here to help. My heart races faster and faster as the officer gets closer to the door to my room. This room is the only safe place. It is the only place where “Daddy” can’t find me. If Daddy found me he would kill me, just like he killed Kat. The officer pulls the door to my room open and enters. The safety of the room is gone. I know you’re sorry. You know I don’t want to tell him. You walk out of the room and suddenly I’m alone with him. I’m alone with the man that doesn’t care what happens to me. I’m alone with the man that thinks I’m a criminal. Alone. He frowns a little as he comes closer to the bed. He bends down. His face is so close to me that I can feel his breath. I shiver. “I know what you did,” he whispers. I can smell his garlicky breath as he speaks. “Prostitute.” The word slips off his tongue and hits me like fire. He doesn’t understand. I’m not what he thinks. I see your face through the window. I look you in the eye. I want you to come back. I want you to save me. A tear falls from my eye. You realize what he said. You finally understand what he thinks of me. You enter the room and safety returns. You saved me. You hold me. You let me cry on your shoulder. “Michelle,” you whisper. I like it when you say my name. My real name. “What he said isn’t true. You are a victim, not a criminal.” You pull me closer. “I promise everything will be okay.” You give me hope. I believe you.

I am awake again. You are sitting next to the bed in the red chair. You point to the window leading to the hallway just as you had when the officer was here a few days ago. This time, instead of a tall man in uniform, I see a woman standing outside my room. She has golden skin and dark curly hair. Her bright green eyes shimmer in the light. She is wearing a grey sweater and jeans. Unlike when the officer was here, I don’t know what this means. I don’t know why such a beautiful woman would be here for me. The woman’s eyes find mine and she smiles. Her smile is warm. Her smile is safe. I look back at you. You smile. In this moment I understand why a beautiful, unknown woman is standing outside my room. She is here to help. She wants to help. She understands me just like you do. For the first time since I’ve been in the Coney Island Hospital, I smile. The woman opens the door and enters my room. I trust her. She is safe. The woman shuffles closer to my bed until she is next to me. I don’t look at her. I keep my eyes on you. “Hello Michelle,” the woman says. She uses my real name, just like you do. “My name is Rose. I am part of an organization called Restore NYC,” she tells me calmly. I look up into the woman’s bright eyes. “I want to help you,” Rose explains. “But first, you have to tell me your story.” I look away from Rose and down at you. You nod, reassuring me that she is safe. Rose is safe. I can tell her my story. I will tell her my story. The story of being Sex Trafficked.