Charcoal Pencil Yhun Hee Grade 11 IB
Oil Pastel Isadora Grade 11 IB
Oil Pastel on Black Paper Karina Grade 11 IB
Oil Pastel on SandPaper Hyun Hee Grade 11 IB
Oil Pastel on SandPaper Karina Grade 11 IB
Origami Paper & Acrylic Paint Hyun Hee Grade 11 IB
Transfer Print Mixed Media Isadora Grade 11 IB
我是 Chitra Maharani S，我希望找一个中文辅导教我中文。我是印度 尼西亚人。我学汉语学了两年了. 我想找有教室证书的辅导,性格友好、热心。一个星期一次,每次两个小时 。有意者请打 0813-6666(手机),或发电邮(
[email protected]) 。 谢谢！
中文辅导的广告 Chitra Maharani Grade 11 Yellow
亲爱的阿里： 你 好！那时候你问我，我的爱好是什么。对不起我才能回信，因为这 几天我有很多考试。 我爱游泳和打网球。我喜欢这些爱好因为我很喜欢运动。从我的小学时 ，我的爸爸让我参加游泳课，他说游泳是一个生活只能。我喜欢网球因为我觉 得打网球很有意思。如果我神情不好，好像有更多力气打球。很乐趣！我在学 校放学后参加游泳和网球的课外活动。星期三、四有游泳训练。 参加课外活动我不但可以运动，而且可以跟朋友们聊天儿、交流。 你的爱好是什么？ 好了，等你的回信。 你的朋友， 李伟良
中文辅导的广告 William Naftali Grade 11 Yellow
The Harp a short story by Amalina Nurdini Hendra During the day, she would return there and play her tune once again on the grand golden harp. When she listened intently she could almost hear the stream hum in response, as if it understood her pain. She shut her eyes and allowed the symphony to fill her heart with joy and she thought of herself as an angel in paradise. She found peace in her solitude. At last she felt untouchable. She knew it was no ordinary harp from the moment her frail fingers first plucked on the strings. On a lone, crisp December morning she discovered it, perched on the bank and crying out to be played. She had fought with him again and she needed to escape for a while. Valley Forest was the only place she knew she could run to. She spent hours there, searching for a spot covert enough to keep her hidden from her monsters. After hours of frantic wandering she found herself standing on the edge of the bank, and from across the gentle stream it grasped her attention. Its golden frame glistened enticingly. Many had heard of the harp’s existence but few believed it and none had ever seen it. In a moment of impulse she plunged herself into the stream and raced across to the other side. She never stopped coming since. *** After Lily had left for school, he set out with his German Shepherd to fish in his usual area by Crescent Stream a few miles into Valley Forest. The stream gently ran for what appeared to be miles and miles. While he positioned himself on a boulder for a stool, he quietly listened to the quiet murmurs of the river current, as if waiting for his miracle to occur. Nothing happened. This day two years ago, she disappeared. She did not return home and he knew he would not see her again. It made a bitter man out of him. He bottled up all daunting memories of that terrible day and disposed of them, as far away as possible from Lily. He never forgave himself for her disappearance, believing he could have prevented it. All those fights that could have been easily dodged… As time passed the emotional fog surrounding that dark day eventually thinned and he steadied his life once more. The regret continued to haunt him still. At night he met her in replayed flashbacks. They were as vague and distant as dreams. He heard her playing a mesmerizing symphony on a grand golden harp. The harp was not unfamiliar to him. As a child, he heard stories about the existence of a mystical golden harp that played the most beautiful of sounds and granted instant access to immortality. He quickly regarded the stories as local myths and that marked the end of his curiosity. That night he cooked dinner for him and Lily as he did every night. “What happened to her, Daddy?” Lily said. He froze within an instant, replaying his daughter’s question in his mind. Lily looked down, disappointed with her father’s silence. At last his mouth spoke the dreaded words he had been containing for far too long.
“Your mother… She left. But I think she’s happy now.” “Why would she want to leave? I’d be happy.” “She is happy now, Lily.” “Do you remember her?” “I remember that she loved you. Every night she would sing you to sleep. You slept like an angel.” He tickled the tip of her freckled nose and she beamed. “I bet singing made her really happy.” “It did.” “Good night, Daddy.” “Good night, Lily.” He thought about it again later that night. Lately his dreams of her had intensified. This time he chased her through darkness while the same melancholy tune played in the distance. He saw the harp. He saw flashes of water. A river. A stream. The unmistakable clear waters of Crescent Stream. In the morning he awoke and knew at once what he had to do. “She’s there. All along she was right there”, he thought to himself. He grabbed his fishing equipment and set off outside, taking his dog with him. When he thought about it again he realised the entire notion was ridiculous. Searching for his wife on the basis of a dream. He figured he had nothing to lose. He had discarded all too many chances in his past. He hiked to his usual spot in Valley Forest. He arrived there and the stream murmured as it always did. Valley Forest stretched out for miles and miles and he did not know where to start looking. He did not even know to look for. After a pause he closed his eyes in an attempt to reconstruct his dreams. Slowly he drifted deeper and deeper into the forest whilst keeping sight of Crescent Stream beside him. His attempt seemed futile. Following his dog, he meandered through some abelia shrubs and at last he reached a bank. He never knew this part of the forest existed. He felt as if he was intruding in on the undisturbed. The sunlight seeped through the spaces in the canopy. His heart stopped and he stood motionlessly. Across the stream he saw it. The golden harp. “So it’s true,” he thought. “It’s really true.” Those dreams were not a lie, and neither were the so-called myths. In his mind he heard the melancholy tune once more. At that point he could not tell whether the sounds poured out from his mind or whether they really did come from the harp. The stream softly burbled, with uniform ripples, and all around him the birch trees stood magnificently tall. At that moment he knew. He finally knew. He returned home that evening to his daughter. He knew the truth and he could not bear to conceal it.
“Your mother… She left. But I think she’s happy now.” “Why would she want to leave? I’d be happy.” “She is happy now, Lily.” “Do you remember her?” “I remember that she loved you. Every night she would sing you to sleep. You slept like an angel.” He tickled the tip of her freckled nose and she beamed. “I bet singing made her really happy.” “It did.” “Good night, Daddy.” “Good night, Lily.” “Your mother… She drowned herself in Crescent River,” he said. The little girl looked up at her father, who couldn’t bring himself to look back at her. His eyes had swelled up and he let out a tiny, almost silent, whimper. “But you said she’s happy now,” Lily said. “She is. She’s much happier now.” “Then why are you crying, Daddy?” In that moment he thought back to all the times he had made her cry and caused so much pain to her. The brutal quarrels they had. The harp gave her an escape. “You’re right. I shouldn’t cry now. She deserves to be in a much better place.” He masked his sorrow with a smile, realising he truly did mean every word he said. Afterword by Amalina Nurdini Hendra My short narrative is a response to a drawing entitled ‘The Harp’, taken from The Mysteries of Harris Burdick. When analysing the picture, the harp struck me as the most significant item. Thus I have written about a mystical harp which implicitly symbolises the natural harmony of nature. My story is about a woman who finds comfort and solace in the beauty of nature as she has problems with her husband (although this is not the primary focus). She plays the harp, which I implied to have strong connections to heaven. Eventually she kills herself, as she wants to be in heaven, suggesting the power of nature over her. The conflict in the narrative is her husband trying to seek the truth behind the occurrence, which involves him searching for the harp. Another character is the daughter who is the reason behind the man’s romanticism and through her innocence, she also helps her father rationalise. I intended to convey the forest scenery as one that is heavenly and almost too undisturbed and peaceful to be real (magnificent trees, a gentle stream) which is why it reflects the image of heaven. I tried to capture the emotions of solitude and peace that I felt from observing the picture, which includes the image of a man looking at the harp.
I have included the original caption of the drawing in my narrative (“So it’s true,” he thought. “It’s really true.”) at the point where the man discovers the harp and the reason for his wife’s disappearance. The overall theme that bases my narrative is the power of nature and its connection to heaven.
The Harp Amalina Hendra Grade 11
A DIARY IN RESPONSE TO AN ELIZABETH BISHOP POEM By Anabel Helen Djoe
This written task is in a form of a diary, written by Adelaide, an eighteen-year old girl living in England. It is a piece inspired by “Cirque D’ Hiver” by Elizabeth Bishop. In my interpretation, the poem “Cirque D’ Hiver” conveys the restraint and underestimations women felt. This written task has a different text type from the poem. However, it still conveys the same message. This piece expresses how women were ‘trapped’ through the thoughts and feelings of a young lady (in the form of a diary). She is a rich, England girl who lives her life as any other typical rich, England girl during the times of sexism. She was concealed and trapped by her own Mother and woman body. This written task starts off with Adelaide’s questioning of why the world is the way it is (during that time). Then, the written task contains activities she is and is not allowed to do as a girl, with comparison with what her little brother, Tyler, can do as a boy. By the end of the written task, Adelaide conveys her feelings of the unfairness of the world which represents the way women felt during the times of sexism in the past. Through her use of formal language and her daily routines, readers can know the community she is trapped in. Therefore, this written task is part of my IBs course part 1: Language and Community.
A Diary in Response to an Elizabeth Bishop Poem Anabel Helen Djoe Grade 11
“Man-Moth Captured After Late Night Escapade” A Response to an Elizabeth Bishop Poem by Chitra Maharani Saraswati
Following is an adaptation of Elizabeth Bishop’s poem “The Man-moth”. “The Man-moth” is literary and artistic. My response is explicitly a factual newspaper report but implicitly artistic because it conveys similar messages as the original text, but the reader has to be critically immersed in my response and familiar with the original text before understanding it satisfactorily. Content-wise, the two texts are identical. However, the context differs: in the original, the speaker favours the Man-moth over mankind; the adapted text is explicitly objective but implicitly roots for men. The original text celebrates and emphasizes the Man-moth’s inhumanity; the Man-moth’s doomed attempts are also seen as better than the humans’ who would not even try. My response captures this message from the viewpoint of the third person (the speaker in the original is characterized by Al in my response), a human. The implicit preference for mankind in my response is portrayed by the inclusion of the NYPD’s explanation on their irrational capture of the Man-moth, the absence of the idea that the arrest was irrational and the viewing of the Man-moth as an oddity. The purpose of the newspaper article is to inform its audience on the happenings – what the Man-moth has done. The different audience and purposes affects the structure and content of the text. The different methods in explaining what the Man-moth has done and the speaker/writer’s view further emphasizes what and how the Man-moth is seen as.
Man-Moth Captured After Late Night Escapade Chitra Maharani Saraswati Grade 11
From Rio with Love by Faris Kemal Naufan Juniarto, Grade 11Y Oh Victoria, are you there? Oh so beautiful you are, Your hair shining, In the dark but glittering moonlight On this darkest of days Oh Victoria, how are you today? How great your personality is In this harshest of places, Your true colors shine Oh yes, no doubt is in my mind In my thoughts You are perfect to me Oh Victoria are you well? I cannot bare to see you Live in the dirtiest of places While your beauty Unscarred and untouched Stays in this world For as long as you live Oh how I cannot wait To see that beatiful face In this Rio Where i have fallen in love Oh Victoria, You will always be in my mind Even though we are apart Our hearts will always stay As one No matter how long you wait I will always be there In your heart Oh Victoria, You are irreplaceable In my heart So will you wait for me? In this Rio, Where we have made our promise
From Rio with Love Faris Kemal Naufan Juniarto Grade 11 Yellow
Seasons by Abiyoso 11Y
Year after year they pass by For some they are vital To others just another passing of time Spring, where delicate flowers bloom Under the sincere azure skies Their scent carried by the wind Wisped from east to west And lures out shiest of creatures Summer, a time of opportunity and action Filled with hope and desire Animals frolic in delirium Caught up in their own Fantasies But Not knowing what lies ahead Autumn, the beginning of the end Fear begins to creep in Hope seems out of reach Hanging onto their beliefs Winter, calm and silent Sweeps gently over the world All is white and pure Something so beautiful, yet stone cold
Seasons Abiyoso Grade 11 Yellow
Missing in Venice a short story by Vishal Haresh Manwani They were getting closer yet he could do nothing. The world had all but stopped. Swimming through the air instead of walking through it, virtually petrified in place, his pulse pounded helplessly as the world dissolved around him into a sea of endless, infinite white light… An almighty crash woke him up from his nightmare. For a moment, a peaceful silence filled the room. The afternoon sunlight streamed through the gap in the curtains. To dream about monstrous calendars, of all things! Shaking his head to clear it, he glanced at his clock, wondering why it hadn’t rung to wake him up. It had stopped ticking; the hands showed 11:40. It must have stopped last night. He warily looked at the calendar to confirm his consciousness. April 14, 1882. Just another normal day. He was just about to let out a sigh of relief when another ear-splitting crash sounded in the distance. He flinched and froze for a few minutes, not daring to move. An eerie silence blanketed everything. Usually he awoke to the cheery ring of his alarm clock, the chirping birds and the pleasant lapping of water outside his room. Not loud crashes that belonged in some other part of the world. After all, what else was expected of Venice, Italy? The most picturesque place a person could ever choose to live in. Quaint and peaceful. Loud crashes had absolutely no business being there. Mustering enough courage, he pulled back the curtains and looked outside. The sun shone brightly, but there was no one about. No-one else seemed to have heard the crash. He craned his head, looking for the source of the noises. What he saw made him gape in astonishment. An impossibly titanic ship jammed the entrance to the canal. Its massive hull had crashed into a towering building. The top of the tower had broken off upon impact and fallen onto the ship’s deck. But that wasn’t the worst of it. The ocean liner was still going, spewing smoke out of her smokestacks. Even with her mighty engines in reverse, the ocean liner was pulled further and further into the canal. However, the tower that had collapsed on the ship’s deck seemed to have taken its toll. As he watched, the ship seemed to slow down, still moving forward but at an increasingly slower rate. Even stranger than the sudden appearance of the liner was that there were no people running and screaming, no cries for help. The only sound was the dying rumble of the ship’s engine. I have to do something, he thought. Running back into the room, he opened the door and called for help, hoping the occupants in the other rooms would respond. Silence. He knocked on the nearest door impatiently. When no-one answered, he tried the doorknob, and surprisingly the door opened. He walked in slowly, looking for somebody, anybody. But there was no one there. He looked around, wondering what had gone wrong with the world today, and noticed the clock on the wall out of the corner of his eye. It had stopped at 11:40 too. Feeling uneasy now, he hurried out of the building, making his way toward the liner. The engines had now died completely. As he approached, he noticed the silence even more. No ocean breeze blew. None of the usual background chatter that was so comforting on these busy streets. And most strikingly, the complete and utter lack of people anywhere in sight. He had never seen these streets empty, not even in the
wee hours of the morning, but today…he may as well have been the last person on Earth and it wouldn’t have made any difference. The thought made him shudder. He reached the liner, which seemed, like the rest of the city, to be devoid of people. A part of him hoped that the people were just hiding in their cabins, but somehow he doubted it. It was larger than any vessel he had ever seen. Wondering how something that massive could have possibly been built, he scanned the hull and spotted a rope dangling from the deck. There seemed to be no other way up. He swallowed once, gripped the rope tightly, and began to climb. Up on the deck, he made his way toward the nearest cabin and opened the door, but he had no luck. There was no-one there. As he turned to leave he spotted something that sent ice through his bloodstream. The sophisticated alarm clock had stopped at 11:40. Reeling with disbelief, he walked outside and gripped the deck rail to hold on to, only to notice the most subtly terrifying thing of all. The ocean was motionless. The surface was so reflective that it formed an inverted second sky. There were no waves, no cries from the gulls, none of the usual sounds that distinguished the ocean from yet another lake. Only silence, absolute and deafening. He considered leaving the ship, but something made him disregard the idea. After all, the liner was the oddest amongst everything that had happened that day. It was too large, too out of place, nothing like the little vessels they had here. It didn’t belong here. Perhaps in another world…but he knew that if there were answers to what had happened today, he’d find them on board the ship. He decided to check the ship’s logbook in the captain’s quarters. Surely there must be answers there. He started making his way towards the stern of the ship. On the way there he passed by the huge dining room, a sight that made him stop and gape. The huge room was expensively furnished and carpeted in royal red, with majestic mahogany tables scattered around the room. He was tempted to sample some of the exquisite food on the table, but noticed that the food on all the plates were half-eaten. He stepped in and held his hand towards some of the food. Still warm. Just minutes ago there must have been people there, eating the food on those plates. They seemed to have simply been erased from the world by some invisible hand. The thought made him nauseous and he quickly left the room. He opened doors one after the other in hope of finding the captain’s quarters. Most were passengers’ or crew’s cabins, all with the clocks stopped at 11:40. One of the rooms contained odd black boxes with antenna attached to them, wires flowing everywhere. Eventually he found the captain’s quarters and entered the room. Carpeted in blue, the room had a shelf with a marine chronometer, which had also stopped at 11:40. One wall had maps pinned up. In the hope of finding some clues as to where the ship was headed, he took a look at them, but the maps depicted a part of the world he did not know well. There was a triangle drawn with three cities at the vertexes. He scanned the names. Bermuda, Miami, San Juan…the names meant nothing to him. On the captain’s desk he spied the ship’s logbook. Eagerly, he strode over and opened it. Here, at last, there must be answers. He flipped to the last entry and was about to read it when he noticed the most unbelievable of details. The unacceptable, impossible truth that somehow made it all possible.
The date on the top-right corner read April 14, 1912. He stood stock still, refusing to believe it. Petrified in place, his pulse pounded helplessly as his vision dissolved into a void of endless, infinite, all-consuming darkness. Afterword by Vishal Haresh Manwani The narrative task attached links to Part 2 of the course, more specifically “Varieties of Media Language”, as it seeks to explore how one form of media language (in this case, a children’s book illustration) can be interpreted in terms of another form of media language (in this case, a narrative). To accomplish the task above, a link between the illustration and the narrative has to be present. The illustration has a title and a caption, both of which I have incorporated into my story as a way to interpret the illustration into another form of media language. Looking at the picture, it is possible to see that the large liner appears very anachronistic in comparison to the gondola and small boat present in the picture, as well as in comparison to the older-looking buildings around it. To incorporate this anachronism into my narrative, I made my story to revolve around the concept of a time warp. The narrative details a man who wakes up in a time warp, but does not realise it yet. Suspense is built as he discovers unusual details that eventually lead his discovery at the end to make sense, both to him and the reader. In an attempt to make the time warp more conceivable and the historical context realistic, I included several clues and references to things beyond the year 1882 (when the story is set). For example, I included a reference to the Bermuda triangle (to explain the time warp), and since the ship resembles the RMS Titanic to me, I set time to stop at 11:40 on April 14, 1912, the time when the Titanic struck the iceberg. I also included references to a radio room and a sophisticated alarm clock (radios were used on ships only after 1882, and only rudimentary alarm clocks existed then).
Bibliography Van Allsburg, Chris. The Mysteries of Harris Burdick. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1984. Rosenberg, Jennifer. "10 Facts About the Titanic That You Don't Know." 20th Century History. N.p., n.d. Web. 20 Mar. 2012.
. "History of the Alarm Clock." Clock History: Westclox, Seth Thomas, Standard Electric Time Co, Telechron. N.p., n.d. Web. 20 Mar. 2012. . “Electrical wiring - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia." Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. N.p., n.d. Web. 20 Mar. 2012. .
Missing in Venice Vishal Haresh Manwani Grade 11
Sweet Vengeance a short story by Andreas Yobel Boentaran Grade 11 Yellow “Alright, breakfast is ready.” I put down a tray of toast and coffee, steam piping from its brim. He let out a grunt, eyes unmoved from the morning paper. I retreated to the kitchen to fix something for myself. I took out a whole salmon I had defrosted the previous night and placed it on the cutting board. A translucent yellow film masked its pale gray eyes, staring back in a muddled expression. Lifeless. I grabbed a knife and pierced it through its silvered belly. The blade glided effortlessly splitting the fish in two, right along the bones. Its red interior gleamed in moisture, streaked with parallel lines of fat. Then, it caressed the surface of the fish, exfoliating its skin, curling it into rolls of silver. Carefully, I positioned the blade on top of its soggy surface, firm yet jelly-like. It slid diagonally through the fillet, slicing it evenly, perfectly symmetrical. Just then, I heard something shatter in the adjacent dining room. “You worthless trash!” screamed the old man. “Come here now idiot!” “What’s wrong?” I said. The coffee was spilled on the marble tiles, the demitasse reduced to shards. “How dare you serve me cold coffee? Are you out of your mind?” With that, he grabbed his coat and swung the door open, slamming it behind him. I stood by the doorway, transfixed. I had never loved him, that wretched old man. Perhaps I was infatuated initially, but our marriage did not mean anything more than a bunch of empty vows. Neither did I desire his fortune. I never fancied such materialism. I was a childless widow before I met him. Oddly, I was alone but not lonely, maybe even guiltily pleased at the prospect of marital liberation. Yet of course my situation wasn’t conventional, and I remarried two years later. Now, I am merely a domestic slave, with the old man’s wants as my sole priority. Any passion had died a long way back. The bed we share is nothing more than a resting place. There is no love. I wouldn’t spit on him if he were on fire. The night was still save for the rhythmic tempo of the old man’s snoring. I lay staring at the back of his head. Almost bald with sparse patches of silver hair. The curtain veil parted just enough to reveal the moon, glaring ominously, waiting for something to happen. Then, I did it. I placed a tender kiss right at the back of the old man’s head. With one swift movement, I snatched my pillow and put it over his head. My arms reached for both ends of the pillow, and pinned it down. I held it down, with a beastly force, transferring all my weight to my arms. There was a second of stillness, before the old man jerked into a frantic struggle. His arms flailed aimlessly, clawing at the empty air. Yet you see, age hasn’t been kind to him. I pressed the pillow harder against his face. He squirmed like an earthworm. The muffled pounding of his heart grew louder. Louder and louder I thought it would burst. The groan of mortal terror, deep and guttural. I let out a chuckle. Another few minutes continued before the beating of his heart grew faint, like a fading ballad. I was scarcely breathing, the adrenaline propelled me to a state of ecstasy. At last his heart ceased. I checked his pulse. The old man was gone.
As for his disposal, I had it planned. I used the kitchen knife to cut the corpse, limb by limb. It was like an anatomy lesson. Oh, and I gouged out his eyes with my bare hands. They were pathetic, I couldn’t stand it. I did it all in the bathtub to rid all bodily fluids. I used two bottles of bleach for extra precaution. I buried each body part separately, scattered but in close proximity. There was no stain, no evidence. Hah! How sagacious. Of course, I have had practice. Not long after, the day broke in. I proceeded with my daily activity as if nothing had happened. In the kitchen, the salmon had spoiled. Flies swarmed around it, feasting on its soggy flesh. I tossed it away and washed the cutting board. Next, I did some cleaning; the helpers were on leave. I dusted, mopped, vacuumed until every speck of dust was removed. At around midday, the doorbell rang and I went down to check. Standing by the doorway were two middle-aged men in navy-blue uniform. “Morning officers. What brings you here?” I managed to greet them with a smile. “Is this the house of Mr. Morgan?” “Yes it is. I’m his wife. Is there anything wrong?” I said. “A neighbor filed a police report, claiming that he heard a shriek from your premises at around 2 a.m. last night.” “Oh really? I am not aware of such a thing.” “Well, he was very certain about it. Now may I speak to Mr. Morgan?” “I’m sorry, he is at work.” I said. “Then we shall wait until he comes back. May we come in?” I was taken aback, but with all the composure I could muster, I said, “Of course gentlemen, please do.” I escorted the two officers and sat them in the living quarters. They were decent looking man, somewhere in their thirties. “Can I get you anything?” I asked. “Just coffee please. Thank you.” “Sure, I’ll be right back.” With that I headed to the kitchen. Everything around me was blurred. There was a vile taste at the tip of my tongue. What would the punishment of such a crime be? A lifesentence without parole? Death? My mind worked in an excruciating alertness. I prepared the coffee alongside two slices of pumpkin pie. I even put a few drops of cyanide. I didn’t want to take any chances. “Gentlemen, sorry to have kept you waiting.” I said. “Wow, we really didn’t want to bother you.” “ Don’t worry. It's just dessert.”
Afterword by Andreas Yobel Boentaran: The story I have written is a first-person fictional narrative based on the drawing “Just Dessert,” one of the fifteen drawings from The Mysteries Of Harris Burdick. Through this task, I explored how a graphic medium can be converted and reinterpreted into a textual one. Although the drawing is open to countless interpretations, the gloomy background and ominous tone of the drawing unmistakably calls for a dark and dramatic storyline. Furthermore, there is an intense anger and hatred emanated by the woman in the drawing, indicated by her bulging eyes, stern lips, and clenched fist. Hence, I believe that a thriller revolving around hatred and revenge, inspired by two of my favorites of the genre, “The Tell-Tale Heart” by Edgar Allen Poe and “Lamb to the Slaughter” by Roald Dahl, would be an appropriate interpretation to the drawing. The main theme of my narrative is the social ideologies put upon women, and the main character’s discontentment towards it. As portrayed in the drawing, the narrative also features the kitchen prominently. The main character is shown to be cooking and cleaning, hence, like other women, she is culturally obliged to be responsible of domestic matters. The sexual context is also revealed in the narrative through the man who shouts and insults the main character, showing that women were still inferior in the family. Yet despite these seeming conventions, the main character possesses an entirely different side, one that is rebellious, audacious, and even psychotic. This highlights the extent in which the main character is oppressed by the mores of society; one moment she is acting in accordance to society and cutting a salmon, and the next she would burst into her rebellious self and cut up her husband.
Sweet Vengeance Yobel Boentaran Grade 11
Menulis esai berdasarkan novel Perempuan di Titik Nol karya nawal El-Saadawi oleh Brigita D Darminto – 11Y IB DP (Indonesian A: Literature)
Masalah universal adalah masalah yang terjadi di mana saja dan kapan saja. Dengan menggunakan acuan pada novel Perempuan di Titik Nol, dapat dilihat adanya masalah-masalah universal yang diungkapkan oleh pengarang. Masalah-masalah tersebut merupakan masalah yang menyangkut penindasan terhadap perempuan, perbedaan hak yang dimiliki oleh prempuan dan laki-laki, laki-laki yang lebih diuntungkan di mata hukum, dan adanya kebebasan bagi para lelaki untuk menguasai perempuan. Hal tersebut dapat terungkap melalui alur, narasi pencerita, dan penokohan yang digunakan oleh pengarang secara efektif sehingga masalah-masalah tersebut dapat dimengerti oleh masyarakat yang kebudayaannya berbeda-beda. Adanya masalah penindasan terhadap perempuan dalam novel Perempuan di Titik Nol dapat terlihat melalui kebiasaan ayah Firdaus untuk memukul dan menyiksa ibunya ketika ibunya berbuat salah. Ibu Firdaus juga harus mencuci kaki ayah Firdaus dan menyiapkan makan malam yang lezat bagi ayahnya. Melalui dua hal tersebut dapat dilihat bahwa perempuan diperlakukan sebagai budak di rumahnya sendiri. Mereka bekerja keras untuk melayani suami secara utuh. Penindasan terhadap perempuan juga dirasakan oleh Firdaus saat ia menjadi istri Syekh Mahmoud. Ia dipaksa untuk melayani Syekh Mahmud secara sempurna tanpa mengeluh. Firdaus juga merupakan sumber uang bagi keluarga pamannya. Ia sengaja dijual oleh keluarga pamannya kepada Syekh Mahmoud agar Syekh Mahmoud mau member mas kawin yang besar guna membayar hutang keluarga Firdaus. Penyiksaan yang dirasakan oleh Firdaus tersebut merupakan bukti adanya pelecehan atau penindasan terhadap martabat perempuan. Mereka merupakan obyek dari ketamakan dan kekejaman laki-laki yang hanya memandang perempuan seperti sebuah benda yang dapat dijual untuk mendapatkan uang. Kejadian-kejadian penindasan terhadap perempuan tidak hanya terjadi di Mesir, tempat Firdaus tinggal, tetapi juga dapat terjadi di negara-negara lain. Dengan demikina, novel Perempuan di Titik Nol merupakan novel yang berhasil mengungkapkan masalah-masalah universal dengan cara cara yang menarik, melalui metode dramatik lakuan atau melalui tingkah laku tokoh-tokoh dalam cerita sehingga dapat dipahami oleh berbagai kalangan masyarakat. Setiap orang seharusnya memiliki hak yang sama, tetapi di dalam novel Perempuan di Titik Nol, perempuan hanya dipandang sebelah mata dan memiliki hak yang berbeda dari laki-laki. Ketika Firdaus menikah dengan Syekh Mahmoud, ia harus hidup di bawah kekangan suaminya. Setiap gerak-gerik Firdaus selalu diperhatikan oleh Syekh Mahmoud dan bila ia melakukan kesalahan, ia akan mendapat penyiksaan yang berat. Sejak kecil Firdaus tidak pernah mendapatkan kesempatan untuk memilih hal-hal yang diinginkannya secara bebas. Bahkan, ia tidak pernah memegang uang miliknya sendiri. Hal-hal tersebut membuktikan adanya masalah kebebasan dan hak yang dimiliki oleh wanita, hampir semua wanita mengalami hal yang sama. Apapun yang dilakukan oleh laki-laki selalu dibenarkan oleh masyarakat, sedangkan bagi perempuan yang membunuh laki-laki hanya untuk melindungi dirinya sendiri, seperti apa yang dilakukan oleh Firdaus kepada Marzouk, harus menerima hukuman dan dianggap sebagai orang yang berbahaya. Oleh karena itu, melalui setiap detail pengalaman hidup Firdaus, dapat terlihat adanya ketidaksetaraan antara hak yang dimiliki oleh perempuan dan hak yang dimiliki oleh laki-laki. Hak yang dimiliki oleh laki-laki jauh lebih banyak dibandingkan dengan hak yang dimiliki oleh perempuan. Di tempat kerja Firdaus, perempuan juga merupakan obyek dari perlakuan tidak adil. Semua pegawai rendahan termasuk Firdaus, harus melapor secara lengkap waktu kedatangan dan kepulangan mereka, sedangkan para petinggi perusahaan dapat datang dan pergi sesuka hati mereka. Bagi karyawati rendahan, jika mereka ingin mendapatkan kenaikan gaji atau perlakuan baik dari atasan mereka, mereka harus rela menjual tubuh mereka untuk
melayani atasan, yang merupakan kaum laki-laki. Hal tersebut secara jelas menggambarkan adanya sikap sewenang-wenang para atasan untuk menggunakan jabatan mereka guna mendapatkan pelayanan gratis dari para karyawati rendahan. Tindakan tersebut merupakan tindakan semena-mena yang membuktikan adanya ketidaksetaraan derajat antara wanita dan laki-laki di hadapan masyarakat. Pendapat tokoh Marzouk, yang merupakan seorang germo yang ingin menguasai Firdaus tentang ketidakmampuan wanita untuk melindungi diri mereka sendiri juga merupakan bukti bahwa wanita selalu dipandang sebelah mata. Marzouk percaya tidak ada seorang wanita yang mampu melindungi dirinya sendiri. Dapat dikatakan bahwa masalah derajat wanita di hadapan masyarakat juga merupakan maslah universal yang diungkapkan oleh pengarang karena masalah tersebut terjadi di mana saja dan kapan saja. Bahkan, di sebuah perusahaan sekalipun. Saat Firdaus hendak melepaskan diri dari Marzouk, yang terdapat pada tahap alur perumitan, Marzouk mengatakan bahwa profesinya sebagai germo adalah profesi yang aman di mata hukum . Tidak ada hukum yang melarang pekerjaan tersebut, sedangkan pekerjaan Firdaus sebagai pelacur merupakan pekerjaan yang haram di mata hukum. Walaupun penuturan Marzouk tersebut hanyalah berdsarkan pada hukum yang terdapat di Mesir, tetapi masalah ketidaksetaraan derajat di mata hukum bagi pria dan wanita, yaitu pria lebih diuntungkan di mata hukum, juga dapat terjadi di negara-negara lainnya dan meresahkan masyarakat. Jika dilihat secara keseluruhan, pekerjaan yang dilakukan oleh Marzouk merupakan pekerjaan yang menghalalkan adanya perbuatan semena-mena dari para lelaki terhadap perempuan. Setiap germo seperti Marzouk berhak menguasai para pelacur dan mengambil sebagian besar uang hasil kerja mereka, sedangkan para pelacur hanyalah orang-orang yang ingin mencari nafkah tanpa merugikan orang lain. Oleh karena itu, dapat terlihat jelas adanya ketidaksetaraan antara pria dan wanita di mata hukum dan laki-laki lebih diuntungkan. Hal tersebut dapat dikategorikan sebagai masalah universal yang berhasil diungkapkan oleh pengarang secara efektif dalam novel Perempuan di Titik Nol sehingga menarik perhatian pembaca untuk semakin menghayati novel ini. Tidak hanya tentang masalah-masalah ketidakadilan yang dirasakan oleh perempuan, novel ini juga menyoroti adanya masalah universal yang berupa tindakan sewenang-wenang pemerintah terhadap rakyatnya. Melalui buku-buku yang dibaca oleh Firdaus dan melalui tindakan para penguasa yang suka menindas para rakyat demi mendapatkan kekuasaan dan uang yang tidak terbatas, dapat terlihat adanya perlakuan sewenang-wenang yang dilakukan oleh para penguasa atau pemerintah. Melalui buku yang dibaca oleh Firdaus, ia mengungkapkan adanya kebiasaan para penguasa untuk memeras rakyatnya dan menggunakan uang tersebut untuk kesenangan pribadi. Perilaku pemerintah yang dengan sengaja menangkap Firdaus dan menjatuhkan hukuman mati karena takut kebobrokan mereka terbongkar juga merupakan bukti dari tindakan sewenang-wenang pemerintah. Tambahan pula, adanya penuturan buku-buku tentang penguasa Arab dan Persia yang mengatakan bahwa setiap penguasa suka menyiksa budak mereka tanpa ampun dan juga kebiasaan mereka untuk memeras rakyat merupakan bukti yang memperkuat kebobrokan pemerintah. Srmua penguasa yang terlihat alim dan suci di hadapan masyarakat merupakan kedok dari kebobrokan dan kekejian yang mereka lakukan di belakang rakyat. Walaupun demikian, tidak ada satu orang pun yang berani membuka kedok penguasa saat mereka masih hidup, semua kebenaran hanya terungkap setelah mereka meninggal. Melalui semua hal yang disebutkan di atas dapat disimpulkan bahwa masalah tersebut merupakan masalah yang dapat dipahami oleh hampir semua orang karena hal tersebut merupakan kejadian/masalah yang dapat terjadi kapan saja dan di berbagai belahan dunia. Oleh karena itu, novel Perempuan di Titik Nol adalah novel yang menampilkan masalah-masalah universal secara menarik dan efektif melalui unsur-unsur intrinsiknya.
Secara keseluruhan, masalah-masalah tentang ketidaksetaraan derajat antara perempuan dan laki-laki, penindasan perempuan, dan masalah tentang kebobrokan pemerintah yang terungkap melalui unsur-unsur intrinsic dalam cerita, melalui penokohan, narasi pencerita, dan alur, telah berhasil disampaikan oleh pengarang secara efektif dan menarik. Melalui adanya masalah-masalah tersebut, novel ini telah berhasil menambah wawasan masyarakat dalam memahami masalah-masalah universal yang sering terjadi di sekitar mereka. Dapat disimpulkan bahwa novel ini merupakan novel yang baik dan berguna bagi masyarakat yang berasal dari kalangan dan budaya yang berbeda-beda.
Perempuan di Titik Nol Brigita D. Darminto Grade 11 Yellow IB
Presentasi Lisan Dramatik Hadyus Santoso Grade 11 Blue IB DP
