Bonus 14 Free Write by Dianesa

Free write means whatever I want to write which means y'all are in for a story. I don't talk about middle school or high school much because there was nothing positive to talk about. I was the outcast (still am, kind of), the kid no one wanted to sit near during lunch, the one who keeps the cafeteria laughing- and not because I'm the one cracking the jokes. We're going to take a painful stroll down my most painfully seared into my brain memories starting at sixth grade to however long it takes to reach 500 words. Let's begin.
Sixth grade I went to Lincoln College Preparatory Academy and without any rhyme or reason, I was a target of incessant bullying. Did I look like a target? Maybe. I was shorter than everyone else and my hair was something of nightmares. My mother permed my hair so if you can imagine short bone straight and short and dreadfully styled hair on an elf that came to everyone's chests that was me. My hair was a subject of teasing a lot in sixth grade. I remember one day it got so bad and I was so tired of the teasing that I thought stupidly "I'm going to wear a false pony today! That'll show 'em!" All day that day I walked around for the first time in a while with my head proud. Right before Math, we all lined up outside of the classroom waiting for the previous class to be over with. I want you to keep in mind that at this very moment there is a hallway full of children to watch me get teased and I didn't understand the danger. I go to the water fountain and i hear snickering behind me. Out of the blue, my pony was snatched clean off my head leaving a nub of neatly tucked straight hair behind. There's a vine of a white kid doing the same thing to a girl in a "yagga" 'challenge and gets his lights knocked clean out... that was me. It only took a second of laughter bouncing off the walls of the hallway for me to start a'swingin'. I was so embarrassed that I acted out in anger. From then on the kids who teased me would it at a distance but that didn't make things better.
Seventh grade was a year so full of shit that we won't be talking about it. Its also when I sent through a brief scene phase. Imagine that same short, heat damaged hair styled into a pixie and covering most of my forehead and eyes. In seventh grade, tired of all that happened to me in sixth grade, I had remastered my personality- I was queen bitch. I had taken no shit from anyone and that was the same personality I marched into South Valley Junior High in Liberty, MO with in 8th grade. My brother had died the summer before I started 8th grade and the last thing I needed was to be a laughing stock. I walked with my head high, catwalked, and was super nonchalant about everything BUT because I was tough for no reason in that school full of soft children I made myself an outcast but that was okay because no amount of Abercrombie and Fitch could ever make me as preposterous as them. I was singled out because I was poor and I guess to them nothing was funnier than a confident poor person. #yay
I'll skip a lot of grades again and end here with my favorite. In my Junior year of high school at Liberty North, the school built like an airport, there was a rumor crafted on the rumor mill that made no absolute sense whatsoever. Here's why: I never missed a day of school. It started with a tag on FB, "Man, free my girl Dianesa! She didn't do shit!" Why yes, indeed. I haven't done anything. More posts like that come in as a couple days pass and I continued to go to school. I didn't say anything about the posts and neither did my friends. Day 3 and I'm sitting at an assembly. A girl taps me on the shoulder, "How did you get out so early?" and it was then that I learned that I had stolen a car and was arrested and thrown into jail for it. Not once did someone use common sense and deduced that there was no way I could've been in jail and at school at the same time.
Turns out, excuse the duck lips- I fell victim to the fad, I was mistaken for this girl in the picture that I used to hang out a lot with. North was a heavily white school and apparently, we looked just like each other, ya' know... being black and all. <3
Here ends my retelling of the past. I often hear about how your younger years or high school years are the best years of your life but I spit and kick dirt at that statement. Children are cruel but young adults are even crueler.

Bonus 13 Class Review_ Dianesa Sanon

This semester has been quite the ride. I have gotten the chance to become friends with people that I probably wouldn't have been able to make friends with because I'm an idiot when it comes to friendly conversations. The in-class lectures were my favorite because we got to talk freely. We could throw out what we wanted to say into the air and our classmates would mold it into something better or raise you a more interesting way to view things. To be honest, though, it was easier to sit down talking from my desk than it was to stand up and present. It's different when I'm not talking to the back of my classmates' heads and only getting half the eyeballs attentive on me. Granted, it is easier to speak to the class while presenting when you know they are feeling the same way you are so they aren't hardcore judging.
I really enjoyed the readings we did and especially liked how everyone interpreted it themselves. A good twenty-five percent of those readings, though, I've already done before but revisiting them with a fresh outlook was nice. The Bradbury posts were the best in my opinion because of the subtle horror aspect of it. I found myself thinking and rethinking the underlying message since, like many writers, Bradbury doesn't just write just to write.
One thing I didn't really take a liking to in the class was the fact that most of the assignments that needed to be turned in were online. I almost always forget about any online anything even if I set an alarm for myself to remember. And comments? I forgot about those entirely. I feel like the main posts would be better if turned in by hand and the bonuses and everything else should be done on the blog- especially since the blog posts are worth so much more. It’s kind of how I like to read books and have the physical copy rather than have an electronic one. I guess I could also file it as a learned habit; turn in your papers printed and stapled and crisp. I’ve done it that way for so long that because the blog is online it becomes an “out of sight, out of mind” kind of thing.
Overall the semester was fine. Full of laughs and insight. I would do it all over again but I’m grateful that I never have to take another discourse class in my life. It’s been a long semester.

Post 1 Redo _ Grief is the Real Monster by Dianesa Sanon

I came across "The Babadook" first as it made its appearance as an internet meme and again when my boyfriend suggested that I watched it. I am a horror fanatic- from haunted houses to Until Dawn and scary books to the things alike. I love to be scared. So, I was down for watching a horror film at 3am made possible by Netflix, may you reign notoriously forever.

The theme of the film is the horror of untamed grief and the monster it can become. The movie stars a mother, Amelia, and her young boy in London in a dreary grey house. The movie takes place as the anniversary of her husband's death, and incidentally, her son, Samuel's, birthday, approaches. The boy is really intelligent and often gets into trouble in school because he isn't social and often doesn't filter what he says before he says. His mother is a frail woman who tries her best to make it through each day but still she never really has gotten over the pain of her husband's death. As the story progresses she becomes sketchier as a character and in some aspect scarier than the Babadook itself, who is a crudely-drawn tall shadow man from a children's book.

For the longest time, I believed that Amelia was the Babadook but as the movie went on I realized the only reason the Babadook was able to manifest was because she let it. In the movie, as the day of her husband's death gets nearer she becomes less and less "human". Samuel, her son, is seen gathering weapons and setting traps because "it's coming" and is constantly telling his mother to "not let it in." As time passes the more and more he mentions the presence of the "it" she becomes angrier, insisting that he needs to grow up and stop going on about something that doesn't exist. Her denial of the existence of “it” is ultimately a denial of her own sorrow. In the movie when she has to come face to face with the Babadook, the monster takes the face of her late husband and I realized that the “it” Samuel kept going on about was his mother’s vicious grief and the violence that accompanies. This would explain his prepared reaction to his mother’s gradual change in behavior that’s timed as the anniversary of her husband’s death comes around each year which is also coincidentally Samuel’s birthday. Internally, I believe, that Amelia has a buried hatred for her son. She hates him for being born on the rainiest day, for forcing them to rush to the hospital and surviving the wreck and while she does a good job hiding that fact throughout the year she slips when poor Samuel’s birthday comes about.

                This may be a bit of a stretch but my guess is that the Babadook, the main antagonist, was never really there. In fact, I think the Babadook was a product of Amelia’s psychotic break. As Amelia becomes more distraught with the anniversary coming up she is the first to see the Babadook and she seems to be the only person who can see it. We view the events of the movie through Amelia’s eyes so it makes sense why we can see the things that Amelia sees while Samuel would just shout at his mother to keep “it” out. From Samuel’s view, he can only see when his mother is getting a far-off look in her eyes or is quietly fighting some fearful hallucination. The hallucinations start off minor and then eventually the Babadook is everywhere she is and even disrupts her sleep. Sleep depravity and depression don’t dance together smoothly. The hallucinations change her and she becomes a woman ravaged with hate for her son. She is “possessed” and is so controlled by her grief that she puts her son’s life in danger. The movie shows the Babadook snatching her son but if the Babadook is a result of her psychotic break then the danger her son is in is because of her. If the Babadook was never real then the strangling of her son, the battering from an “outside force” was all because she let her pain bring out her hate for Samuel. In the lieu of it all though she realizes she needs to protect her son and that means actually coming face to face with the real monster. She defeated the real monster, Grief, by shouting: "I'm not afraid of you!" until the monster was reduced to nothing more than just a top hat and coat.

                The movie progresses to better days and there is more color the scenes compared to the grey tone most of the movie was in. Interestingly enough, inside the basement, the Babadook is being kept. That would be enough to break my theory that he was constructed by Amelia’s grief but till the end, Samuel doesn’t see him and Amelia doesn’t either. Instead of seeing the Babadook we get the essence of his presence instead. She sometimes visits the basement and feeds it worms. I took the worms as a symbol of decay. Amelia is trying to bury her grief and while the pain of the loss of her husband still remains she is trying to lay it to rest. Samuel asks his mother if he can go down and see the Babadook but she tells him no and replies “you’re too young, maybe when you’re older.” Because the Babadook represents pain and grief Amelia doesn’t want her son to know about it. What Samuel really doesn’t understand is the loss of someone who was never there to begin with. He’s too young for the pain of know the pain of not having a father present. Or maybe his grief is along the lines of something else- regardless he is “too young” to know real pain.

The theme of grief manifesting as a monster is congruent with the statement: when dealing with grief the monster that is the scariest to put down is the one we create ourselves. Despite this, the way to move forward from the pain is to come face to face with it and make it your pet? In other words, being in complete control of your pain.

Bonus 8-End of Semester Check Up

Here we are, the final stretch. I was doing so well at the beginning of the semester but I've been drowning since about the end of March. I hit a rough patch in my personal life and since then I stopped keeping up with my assignments. It wasn't on purpose of course but usually by the time I remembered to do them after the due date. Then I would do it and forget to post or post something that sounded like complete poop. I think I will end the semester well though.

This blog idea was fun. It was nice to read everyone's post and it surprisingly we got to learn about each other through what we wrote. I gathered that Brandon loved Japanese culture, Kenneth is something of a master with words, Alex can hold his ground in an argument, Kathleen can always find a unique perspective took look at things, etc. While this was a good experience I know that this format type of class isn't for me. Any class that requires most of the work to be online are the bane of my academic existence. I can not for the life of me be consistent with online coursework. I learned that the hard way when I had an online math class in high school. I thought I was just stupid because math wasn't my strong suit but I had to take another online course in college and my original hypothesis was supported: online classes will never be my strong suit because I always forget about them. I'd rather turn in a physical piece of paper. The humiliation of everyone turning in a piece of paper while your hands are barren and the teacher giving you the side eye is a perfect motivator for bringing in your work to the class. Anything online will be pushed to the back of my mind unless its a quiz that I have to take or something of the sort.
One thing I really enjoyed in this discourse class was how genuinely chilled everyone was. We could talk about anything during class discussions and no one would get a rod stuck up where the sun don’t shine. There are a few classes where I feel comfortable talking and this class is one of them. Maybe because it was smaller. Talking in front of the class wasn’t too difficult to do either because of how we’ve kinda bonded through the semester. It’s bittersweet leaving the class and at least I never have to take another discourse course till I die so that’s a plus.
Here’s to good health, good grades on our finals and good lives. It’s been real, Discourse 300, it’s been real.

Bonus 11 Why is it Funny by Dianesa Sanon

A good joke is ultimately all about the delivery. You can ruin a great joke if you tell it all wrong. Of the three comedians posted on the blog I only found Fluffy and Trevor funny. I think what makes something funny is the retelling of a funny experience. Written material is great if it’s funny. Written material is a hit or miss. You can bury yourself and your career, potentially, with a joke that you thought everyone would laugh at that usually gets a big laugh from certain entertainers but not others. Life experiences are hilarious even when it doesn’t seem to be when it initially happens. People like to laugh at the misfortunes of others and like to laugh at things that are relatable to them. Jokes that are in the form of stories are easier to tell because essentially it's just a retelling of what happened. The more relatable it is the harder you laugh. There are instances where you run into someone telling a story and they run into a joke that is controversial. Let’s take for example when Fluffy was talking about the racist gift basket he put together for his friend. For him to make a joke like that he had to be really close to the person he was pranking. He even went as far as making a KKK joke with him. Jokes are also best when they are used as satire. Retelling something from your experience means you can add in all the emotions, all the internal thoughts, all the facial expressions.
A good story also has lines that you probably shouldn’t cross. You could be on a roll, say something stupid and then end up tanking the entire joke and maybe even your entire show. If you’re unfortunate, your entire career could take a hit. There is a difference between a good and bad racist joke. A good racist joke usually hits on the major stereotypes that everyone can agree on to be funny (i.e. watermelon, fried chicken, “how long does it take for a group of Mexicans to- oh they built it already” smart Asian jokes). Things that aren’t okay to say: ni***r, be***r, ch**k. A good joke can also be tongue in cheek but still, make you chuckle like all jokes told at the recent correspondent’s dinner. My personal favourite for that night: “I would bring him here myself but apparently he is the only pussy we aren’t allowed to grab.” A freaking riot. Jokes like that can be dry to some and although it’s insulting the orange tangerine in power its only words that he said that came back to him.
Another thing that can make something funny, as I said before, is the delivery of the joke. No one will laugh if there isn’t time to let the joke sink in if it’s too rushed if there are too many vulgar words said. Part of the reason why I didn’t like the English comic was that half of what he said was, in my opinion, raunchy and unneeded. Something that makes you cringe isn’t funny.

Post 4 Group B- Sound of Music and the Perfect Wife ~ Dianesa Sanon

The Sound of Music is a movie based on a real-life story of the Von Trapp family living in 1930s Austria with war looming just around the corner. It released in the 60s and is, in a way, a product of its time and a romantic historical film. The war that is only hinted at in the beginning is made more obvious towards the end of the movie. The father of the Von Trapp family is a widowed strict navy general of seven unruly children. A nun, Maria, is introduced to the family and despite their rocky start the children start to love Maria who also finds herself in love with the Captain who in turn is falling in love with her but he is engaged to a Baroness who eventually makes herself sparse and Maria wins the heart of the Captain and they get married. All the while the Captain is being encouraged to fight in the war with Germany against his home and eventually the family, quite literally, runs for the hills.

The Sound of Music highlights what the ideal wife is supposed to be like. This movie, in my opinion, is more about Maria’s nurturing and loving personality. The war is a component to but it is just used to the support Maria. The film follows the optimistic and bright young woman fresh from a nunnery whose faith in God is as important to her as it is being kind to every person she come across. Throughout the film we can see how she manages the children, is slow to anger, is resourceful and is small and innocently beautiful.

Maria’s bright personality and optimism is a big a part of why the Captain and his children fell in love with her. She could turn thunderstorms into a list of pleasant things, she could turn a day into town a music lesson, she could keep the children orderly while the Captain needed his space to do his military stuff. Maria is presented as the buffer that subdues the catalyst. She is the epitome of what a good woman is. In every other scene her display of compassion and nurturing hardly ever falls short.

In the 60s women were expected to be well rounded in taking care of not only then home but the children as well. In the movie she’s met with the task of taming seven children who were so horrible they ran away all the other nannies that came before her and not only does she gain their trust and affection she sings her way through it all like some type of Disney princess. She even teaches the children a couple of songs that they sing to entertain the Captain, the Baroness, and a houseful of guests.

Bonus 10- It's Not Okay ~~Dianesa Sanon

I've written and rewritten this response but I think i've settled with this as an answer: why is r*** inserted into the story? How in depth is it is it described and how long does it run in the story? I was getting ready to say that writing in rape into stories is wrong no matter the premise but I think of the book The Lovely Bones and think that without it it wouldn't be as powerful as it was without, God forgive me, the r**ing of the little girl. In that book it creates a monster image for her killer and we loathe him. The book makes you want the pig to be found out and locked away. You get the chance to sympathize with the little girl. On the other hand, r***, more likely than not, doesn't need to be given a stage. I remember watching a movie on Netflix and the main lead was handcuffed to bed in a cabin far from any nearby town while her husband was dead on the floor after suffering a viagra induced heartattack (no, I will not be explaining further). The women crashes into a nervous breakdown after a hungry dog starts eating her late husband and the serial killer stalks the outside window and because that wasn't fucked up enough the writer includes a r*** that she was supressing from her childhood and hinted at it right before the husband died via attempted marital r***. I was super uncomfotable watching it. It wasn't needed. The story was messed up beyond all hell and the addition of r*** in the mix felt as though the author just wanted it to write it in just because. Yes, r*** is a big part of history but its something that shouldn't have to be relived constantly. People don't constantly write about mass genocides. If anything, writing about r*** is done because the author knows that there is always going to be a large majority of, mostly men, who want to see a woman struggle and taken against her will. Hardly ever will you see a screenplay of a grown man r**ing a child because thats a taboo line to cross. R*** is written in for the pleasure of the people who enjoy that kind of twisted thing and to simply put it: as long as there are consumers there are producers.

Bonus 9- Who Has the Right ~~ Dianesa Sanon

Biographies and memoirs always have some sort of fictitious aspect to it. No story is written exactly how it was experienced the first time and if you really want to get technical, the human memory makes errors all the time. Someone will always dull or excite certain aspects of someone's life. Especially when the story is written by the author themselves details that are less than are left out or added regardless of how "honest" the author was trying to be while writing it. Cases like that are, to be considered as whatever. the authour who experienced the trauma/joy/comedy/whathaveyou can write it however they choose because that is their experience to tell. How they remember and retell it is as authentic as it will get. No one would tell Elie Wiesel or Erin Gruwell and her students that they have no right to retell their experiences and publish it.
On the other hand, cases where an author is writing on behalf of someone else walks along a very thin line. On one end, the retelling can be done correctly- being mindful of the person, group, tragedy, or whatever it is that they're representing. Research is usually done, outside resources used, interviews conducted. The piece is put out only after an amount of careful consideration. It's like a vegan burger that tastes like meat; it's not the original but its pretty damn close to the real thing. The woman who wrote Wonder definitely toed past the line that puts you in the wrong when it comes to story retelling. Although she probably meant well the book she wrote was based on assumptions. In an interview, she says that she researches for a couple of weeks but never did she actually take the chance to talk to someone who lives with the condition. Her intent was to make the boy in the story "a strong little fighter" but people mostly pity him. after that book became a hit movie a kid in my school with the same facial deformity was overtly pitied and people treated him like a child, calling him "strong" and impressed that he could be so "positive despite his face." Another example is both the book and the Netflix series 13 Reasons Why. The author is a man who was accused of sexual harassment. What gives him the right to them to write about a girl who commits suicide due to rumors that fly around that make her look like a slore? What does he know about what goes on inside the head of a teenage girl when teenage girls don't even know what the hell is going on their own heads. To make matters worse, Selena Gomez, who probably had her share of mean comments hurled at her, adopted the book into a Netflix series and the severity of suicide fell tragically. In a short time memes popped up and Hannah Baker was no longer the girl who was so distressed that she took her life she was #hellasavage for leaving tapes behind to burn the people who made her feel like shit. Although she probably had good intentions she majorly fucked up, excuse my Chinese. As someone who has and still is fighting to want to keep living the entire show is a slap in the face. To watch people cackle and giggle and pantomiming slitting their wrists is embarrassing because without knowing it, they're mocking me. I can't even bring myself to watch the series.
I guess the person who has the right to tell a story that isn't originally theirs depends on their intention. If they mean well, truly mean well, and are putting conscious effort into trying to produce something that is honest to goodness"helpful not hurtful" (Brendel, Liberty North Sculpture 2014).

Post 2, Group B "Fall of the House of Usher" by Dianesa Sanon

The Fall of the House of Usher written by Edgar Allen Poe is a short story that starts off with the narrator going to visit his old friend who is expecting the death of his twin sister. Upon arriving the mansion the narrator describes it as a "mere house" with a "simple landscape" and goes on about how the ambience of the house chills him to his bones. Alongside the house, which is really important later, is a fissure crack that creeps up the siding and the ground as well. Within the house is Roderick Usher who is beside himself with anxiety due to superstitious thought. The heavy curtains are drawn, the rooms are poorly lit and somewhere inside the mansion is Roderick's twin sister who was dying a slow death. The master of the Usher Mansion, in his haste, lays to rest his sister, Madeline, down to rest because her pallor had made it seem as if she had passed. Plot-twist! She wasn't dead yet. She ends up coming up out of her burial place, causes the narrator and Roderick to essentially poop themselves in terror and she essentially takes her brother to death along with her. The house is swallowed into a fissure in the ground that seals once the mansion goes under.



The short story encompasses the fear of anxiety of looming death of a physical life and a more importantly, a name."Roderick's ambivalence toward death... his individual consciousness fears." (Stahlberg) The narrator makes it a point that the remaining siblings are the last of the Ushers. Madeline falls sick and Roderick is pacing around making himself sick when he realizes that her days are numbered and he'll be the only one left. The narrator stays with his friend after being called out there. Roderick Usher is so scared to be alone after having to live in the same house with what he believed to be the corpse of his sister was really wracking his nerves. The narrator talks about how his friend muttered to himself mournfully "I feel that the period will sooner or later arrive when I must abandon life and reason together, in some struggle with the grim phantasm, FEAR." (Poe, Fall of the House of Usher) Poe smartly foreshadows the death of Roderick without letting on exactly how it will take place.

Before Madeline seemingly raises up from the dead to take her brother into death with her the suspense of her coming is present from her ghoulish figure in the doorway to her pounding on the door that was sealed to keep her from leaving her death room. In Fall of the Shouse of Usher, Poe uses words to build the suspense from the very beginning when he describes the outside and inside of the Usher's home caused the narrator "an utter depression of soul" which could not be "compared to no earthly sensation." (Poe, Fall of the House of Usher)
Again Madeline represents death when she raises from the dead to find her brother who had prematurely buried her. To Roderick, all of his anxious ponderings since his sister fell ill, all the pacing and staring into nothingness, all of the "FEAR" he feared would kill him was symbolized through his sister literally taking him to hell with her.

Coincidentally, maybe not- we're discussing Edgar Allan Poe here, the two siblings were the last of the Ushers so that with there death there really is a fall of the house of Usher- hence the name. At the end of the story, the mansion is swallowed up into a hole in the ground after crumbling into nothing. If you aren't careful enough to catch the double meaning and if you just read without understanding you'll miss that the physical crumbling to the ground of the house of Usher isn't all there is to it. Roderick Usher's family previously had all fallen sick with some disease that caused their deaths and when things boiled down to just him and his sister. For the narrator, the suspense began when he arrived at his friend's home but for Roderick Usher, it began with the first death of an Usher that dominoed the last two standing. With his sister's death, he was sure he would follow soon after. The crack on the side of the mansion is symbolic of the near crumbling of the foundation and in the end, the mansion is split by that fissure and the ground opens up by it as well to swallow up the remaining Ushers.







References
Stahlberg, L. (1981). The Source of Usher's Fear. Interpretations: A Journal Of Ideas, Analysis, And Criticism, 13(1), 10-17

Post 1, Group B: Grief is the Real Monster By Dianesa Sanon

I came across "The Babadook" first as it made its appearance as an internet meme and again when my boyfriend suggested that I watched it. I am a horror fanatic- from haunted houses to Until Dawn and scary books to the things alike. I love to be scared. So I was down for watching a horror film at 3am made possible by Netflix, may you reign notoriously forever.

The movie stars a mother, Amelia, and her young boy in London in a dreary grey house. The movie takes place at the nearing of the anniversary of her husband's death and incidentally her son, Samuel's, birthday. The boy is really intelligent and often gets into trouble in school because he isn't social and often doesn't filter what he says before he says it. His mother is a frail woman who tries her best to make it through each day but still she never really has gotten over the pain of her husband's death. As the story progresses she becomes sketchier as a character and in some aspect more scarier than the Babadook itself, who is a crudely-drawn shadowy tall man from a children's book who is, my guess, is written by the Amelia, the mother.

The fear of grief is the theme of this horror movie. For the longest time, I believed that Amelia was the Babadook but as the movie went on i realized the only reason the Babadook was able to be manifested was because she let it. In the movie, as the day of her husband's death gets nearer she becomes less and less "human". Samuel, her son, is seen gathering weapons and setting traps because "it's coming" and is constantly telling his mother to "not let it in." As time passes through the more and more he mentions the presence of the "it" she becomes angrier and angrier insisting that he needs to grow up and stop going on about something that doesn't exist.

In the movie, while she is facing off with the Babadook, the monster takes the face of her late husband she has to fight to beat down the grief she has to save her son who has been captured. She yells "I'm not afraid of you!" until the monster is reduced down to nothing more than just a top hat and coat. Later the grey color of the movie is gone and replaced with more color. Inside the basement, she keeps the Babadook and feeds it worms. 

The obvious theme of fear is in the movie but there is also the aspect that we are our scariest monster when we are faced off with something as heavily laden as grief. When Samuel begged his mother to "not let him in" he was asking more than just letting the monster into the house after notoriously raps on the door. He is asking that she keeps out the bad depressive emotions that cause her to act like a monster. Again when he mentions that "he's coming" Samuel means more than just the Babadooks arrival. Samuel tells everyone at school that his birthday is coming, but he also never fails to mention that his father died the same day. Samuel knows that as his birthday approaches his mother becomes a whole different person. In the movie, as the day gets closer the family dog stays near Samuel and hardly ever leaves his side and meets his end after barking protectively to keep the possessed by anger and grief Amelia away from her son via neck break. Again, in the end, Ameila keeps the Babadook cellar under the stairs and feeds him worms. I made the connection that worms usually signify death and decay and her feeding it was a way of her accepting the grief and moving forward. As she feeds it the gruel she still seems to fear the creature but she isn't crippled by the fear. Before descending into the basement Samuel asks if he can come along and feed it with her but she tells him he is too young now and can maybe do so when he is older. I understood this as the author's way of saying that because Samuel is too young to understand the grief of losing someone much less the loss of someone you never knew would be too much for him so he had to wait till he could better cope with it as an adult.

In Class Assignment, Basement Stairs by Dianesa Sanon

When I was younger I had a fear of the basement stairs. The basement was where the computer was and that's where I would spend most of my time after school. The ambience of the basement was fine but it was better when there was someone else with you. The laundry room was also right down there as well and because I was in charge of that chore I was never not taking those stairs. I remember after folding the laundry or eventually being bored of all the computer games on pbskidsgo and y8 games I would dead sprint up the stairs to get to the always lit kitchen. The stair was carpeted and had metal bearings to hold onto ascending and descending the stairs and the stairs had spaces in between. My dad hated it when we left the lights on so before leaving I had to shut them all off but as soon as I turned off the last light it was a dead sprint and knee-highs up the staircase.

I think the reason was the classic 'fear of darkness'. Because I had to turn off the lights I couldn't see anything around me. And the house we lived in was also very aged so without any lights, it always felt haunted. The stairs were an obstacle because I always felt someone would grab my ankles while I was on it and pull me through the spaces. I was a very small child. That fear was mostly because my dad would call me down the stairs when I was even younger than seven years old and would hide behind the stairs and grab at my ankles. Now that I'm an adult that fear has never really subsided. I force myself to walk slowly because, dammit! I'm an adult the gaps in the stairs never cease to spark some sort of anxiety.

Like these stairs but older and spookier.