Why Are Journalism Quotes Important For Students?

Parents like to say every child is a part of them. In our house, I was but a splinter under the skin. Mom and Dad were a blended couple. They could not bring themselves to truly punish my stepbrother and stepsister, so they had me and turned me into their cautionary example. When my brother came last in his class, Dad locked me in a dog crate under the blazing sun to teach him what happened to people who refused to study. When my sister started dating too young, Mom drugged me and dumped me in a homeless encampment to show her what could happen if she was not careful. Then one day, Dad found a takeout receipt in the trash. He forced poisoned food into my mouth and made me swallow. "Today, I am going to teach you all a real lesson. This is what happens when you eat whatever you want behind our backs." Even as I coughed blood and writhed on the floor, Dad threw me into the punishment room. My brother and sister rushed to confess and begged Mom to let me out. But Mom only said coldly, "You two will learn this lesson properly today. When you have learned it, I will let him out." I sat on the floor as blood soaked through my shirt. As my consciousness faded, I finally understood. Dad, your last cautionary lesson had to be taught with my life.

After my granddaughter is bullied by her classmates, the bully's family not only refuses to apologize but behaves arrogantly as well. Since they have connections in the city, the school doesn't dare intervene. I turn to the police, but they only urge me to let it go. The bully's family even boasted that they have people in the court, daring me to sue them. With every path to justice cut off, I have no choice but to take out the two Medals of Honor left behind after my son and daughter-in-law died in service, and kneel at the gates of the military compound. Six years ago, when the general personally delivered those medals to our home, he'd said, "Your son and daughter-in-law gave their lives for the country. They are heroes, martyrs, and the pride of our nation." But now, I want to ask him again. Why is it that when a martyr's daughter is bullied, no one protects her?

They said the boarding schools are a training ground for the best students but they also said it was a deep quagmire for students who forgot what their motives were. But, who told the seniors that the junior girls were their servants? Who brought up referring to juniors as fags? Who said the 'journey of no return' was fun? Who claimed that 10 minutes was enough for mealtimes? Who said siestas' were opportunities for punishments? "Come you junior girl, why did you walk past the front of your seniors' classroom" "Senior I..." "Go down low" And so another junior girl gets into a day's worth of troubles.

In my third year working overseas as a war correspondent, a grenade blast left me wounded and stripped me of my memories. The PTSD that followed was severe enough to keep me in a psychiatric hospital for two years. It wasn't until two months ago that I finally remembered who I was. The day I came home, my best friend and my husband met me at the airport, both of them crying harder than I was. Russell Ellison's eyes were red-rimmed, but his voice was as gentle as ever. "The new place is all set up. Move in for now. I'll come keep you company after work." I went back to our old house instead. The moment I pushed the door open, I saw a wedding photo hanging on the wall. The bride in it wasn't me. It was my best friend. A key turned in the lock outside. The man who was supposed to be buried in work at the office walked in, fingers laced with hers. A child was tucked against his chest, calling him "Daddy" in a small, unsteady voice. I stood frozen, too stunned to breathe. We'd only been apart for two years. So how was their child already three?

The novel is mainly about the forgotten British poet/writer named C. J Richards who lived in Burma/Myanmar in colonial times and he believed himself as a Burmophile. He served as I.C.S (Indian Civil Servant) and when he retired from I.C.S service, he was a D.C (District Commissioner) and he left for England a year before Burma gained its independence in 1948. He came to Burma in 1920 to work in civil service after passing the hardest I.C.S examination. He wrote several books on Burma and contributed many monthly articles to Guardian Magazine published in Burma from 1953 to 1974 or 1975. Though he wrote several books which had much literary merit to both communities, Britain and Burma (Myanmar), people failed to recognize him. The story has two parts: one part is set in the contemporary Yangon (then called Rangoon) in 2016 context and a young literary enthusiast named “Lin” found out unexpectedly the forgotten writer’s poetry book and there is surely a good deal of time gap that led him into a quest to know more about the author’s life. The setting is quite different comparing to colonial Burma and independence Myanmar (Burma), early twentieth century and 2016 which is a transitional period in Myanmar. The writer’s life is fictionalized in the novel and most of the facts are taken from his personal stories and other reference books. It is a kind of historical novel with a twist and it has comparatively constructed the two different periods in Myanmar history to convince readers, locally and abroad more about history, authorship, humanity, colonialism, and transitional development in Myanmar today.

Ever since I was little, my dad taught me that no matter what happened, I should put my studies and exams as my top priority. When I was eight, I accidentally broke my leg during gym class, but my dad insisted that I finish that day’s class before taking me to get it treated. When the doctor said I was brought in too late and would have to be hospitalized, my dad looked troubled. “Third grade is a crucial transition period in elementary school. My child absolutely cannot waste any time right now!” So, I went to school in a wheelchair during the day and returned to my hospital room at night to finish my homework. When I was discharged, I was left with a lasting condition. Ever since then, I walked with a slight limp. When I was eleven, I ran a high fever of 102 degrees and started babbling incoherently. But my dad took forever to arrive. The teacher was so anxious that she took me to the hospital first, only to be berated by my dad when he finally showed up. “The transition from elementary to middle school is a critical moment for a child’s future. If my son, Teleus Costa, misses these three classes, just think how far behind the other kids he’ll fall!” Even though I had not fully recovered, my dad sent me back to school the very next day. From then on, I suffered from severe myocarditis. At seventeen, I developed a serious heart condition that put me at risk of sudden death at any moment. But my dad insisted I wait until after the SATs to seek treatment. “The SATs are the pivotal moment that determines your future. Missing even one class at such a time is tantamount to suicide!” One night during evening study hall, my heart seized up again, and I stumbled down the stairs. Lying in a pool of blood, I mustered my last ounce of strength to press the emergency contact button on my smartwatch to call for help. But on the other end, I heard my father’s voice. “There’s still one more session of evening study hall left. Can’t you just hang in there until it’s over?” ‘Dad, I’m sorry, but I don’t think I could make it,’ I thought.