Søskensang

For en stund tilbake skrev jeg en sang (tekst og melodi) til Rabakoret. De fremførte den på vårkonserten, og det var kjempegøy for meg å endelig få høre resultatet! Takk til mamma som filmet :)

Hva synes dere? 

Stay the distance

Denne stilen skrev jeg i begynnelsen av 9. klasse og har senere forbedret den. Oppgaven var å skrive en tekst om å stå distansen og/eller gripe sjanser. Selv er jeg veldig fornøyd med den. Tror den kan være noe av det beste jeg har skrevet. Hva synes du?

Running marathons had been my hobby for as long as I could remember. It was my mum who introduced me to this hobby. In 2003 Paula Radcliffe came to London to run the London Marathon on home ground, and my mother took me to see the marathon. I was 13 years old, and I loved it. Paula Radcliffe set a world record, and she then became my number one idol. 

My mother had supported me from the very beginning. Although she was my mother, she was one of my best friends. Always ready to help and support me. I can never thank her enough for what she did for me. She sacrificed a lot in her life to be there for me. Want to hear the reason? Well, this is my story.

I had just turned 18, and all I cared about was to go all out on running marathons. To run marathons you have to work on your condition and stay fit. I wanted to succeed. My target and my dream was to be as good as Paula Radcliffe. Her best time was 2.15.25.

There were races twice a month. Usually I got a good position in races. I loved to run. During races I didn´t have to think. I just had to focus on keeping my feet in motion. Nothing else existed, just me and my two feet. Not to forget my mother, a cheering spectator along the road, yelling "Come on, Bailey, you can do it!" I knew I could. I never doubted. Not until that day. The day I realised I wasn´t getting any better.

I day by day gradually started to breathe more heavily, and my heart started to beat more intensely. But that didn´t stop me from training. I gladly went out for a jog. As the days went by I got sleepier than ever. Not to mention that I was frequently dizzy.

"Bailey, are you ready for a run with me?" my mother asked me a Tuesday afternoon. She was a real marathon enthusiast herself. I told her I felt sick. She laid her hand on my forehead.   

"You´re having a fever, darling, you should go to bed", she said softly. I went to bed, and immediately fell asleep. I had a sweet dream about me running the race of my life. The real race of my life was in five months. I was going to compete with the pros. That could be my breakthrough. I couldn´t wait!

When I woke up, my bed was soaked. During the night I had sweated immensely. Revolting!

After a shower, I went out for a jog with my mother. She was fairly good as well. Midway in our jog my legs started to hurt and all my joints were aching. My mother was confused and disturbed. Her daughter was well trained. What was wrong?

The condition I was in frightened my mother to take me straight to the hospital. I had to take a blood test, and then we were allowed to go home. Later we had a phone-call from the doctor. He wanted to see us as soon as possible, and we went to see him immediately.

The drive to the hospital seemed to last forever, and when we finally reached our goal, I was extremely tired. On the waiting room minutes felt like hours. It was the lull before the storm. All I could hear was the clock ticking. A quarter to eight and the doctor came out, looking unhappy and kind of scared. Something was definitely wrong, and I was anxious. So was my mother.

Inside the doctor´s office, she told us the bad news. I was expecting her to say that I had vitamin deficiency or lack of protein, but the truth was way harder. At first I thought I misheard what she said, but when my mother bursted into tears, I knew this was serious. I felt hopeless. Inconsolable. I had got leukaemia. I knew that was a serious condition. Time went by, so slowly. Silence lay over the room. Both my mum and I were struck speechless by the fact. We were just looking at one another and crying.

Thousands of thoughts ran through my mind. Did that mean I could die? My mother didn't know. Neither did the doctors. Suddenly my mum stopped crying, and looked at me.

"You know what, Bailey? We should make the best out of this", she said, and smiled. She was right. And I was going to make this.

"But first you have to go home and pack your bag. You're admitted to stay here, at the hospital", the doctor told me.

The days in hospital rushed off. Days felt like years when I was alone. A day could go extremely slow, but when it was over, I realised I hadn't used enough time to take pleasure in it. Staying at hospital gave me lots of time to reflect and philosophise about life. I wasn’t afraid of dying, but the thought of leaving earth and all the persons I cared about was frightening.

Until now no one could look at me and say "That girl has got leukaemia", but now I started losing my weight.

“You have to enjoy the time you have left”, my mother had told me. And I would. Even though I didn’t know how long it was before my time was over. It could be a month or a year... To enjoy life was for me to be allowed to run. Now that was taken away from me. I was permitted to jog, but I couldn’t run, so that I lost more weight.

I lived my life. Not exactly the way I thought it would be, but I enjoyed it. Nevertheless, the thought of leaving earth in so early life frightened me out of my wits. With an eye to my beloved mother, how could I ever leave her? Having a sentence like this gave me, in a way, time pressure. Pressure to do all the things I wanted to do in life, before it was too late.

The worst part in my life was when I started losing my hair due to the treatment. I felt like everybody could see that I wore a wig.

As time went by I got worse every day. I laid in my bed, feeling exhausted, and I knew my time was running out.
“Mum?” I said weakly, “I’m worn out”.
“Stay strong, darling”, she whispered to me.
“I can’t... do it... anymore”, I said as my head fell down on the white hospital pillow.
“I know”, she said, “I love you, Bailey. You are a strong girl, and you will always be. You’ve been running a race you cannot win. I ran the distance with you, but we couldn’t come any longer. We seized the opportunities we had, after you got leukaemia. You’re tired, I can see that. Sleep tight, honey. I will always love you”.
“Mum?” I said weakly. My voice almost disappeared when I finished: “You have fulfilled my dream. You stood the distance with me. I’m so grateful”.

Skrevet av

Life without Limbs

Dette er en engelskstil jeg skrev i begynnelsen av 9. klasse. Oppgaven var å skrive om en person man beundret, eller en person som stadig møtte utfordringer. Denne teksten passer til begge. Teksten presenterer Nick Vujicic - og får frem mine meninger om ham. Han har inspirert meg, blant annet til å starte en gruppe på Facebook kalt Sammen Mot Mobbing. Les teksten. Se videoer med Nick's taler på youtube - du kan ikke la være å bli inspirert!


Life Without Limbs
By Julie Egeland

Nick Vujicic was born in Melbourne, Australia, but he was not an ordinary baby. Of course he cannot remember his birth, but his parents have told him about it.

When he was newborn, his father’s face turned green, and he left the room to go vomit. The midwives were shocked, and wrapped the baby up and hid him from his mum’s face. The nurses were crying, and his mother lay in the bed. She didn’t understand what was going on?

The reason why everybody was shocked was because Nick was born without limbs! He had neither arms nor legs, and doctors could give no medical reason for this condition. No one understood how this little boy, without limbs, could survive in the big world.

Nick is a Christian, and believes there was a purpose why he had no limbs. He believes that God had a plan with his life.  Now, at the age of 26, he is travelling around the world, holding motivational speeches in schools. In one of his speeches he says:

“Have you ever felt that if only one more bad thing happens in my life, I’m going to give up? You will come to times when you feel like it’s impossible, like you can’t get through this, but with a little faith you will!”

Sometimes he quotes Eleanor Roosevelt: “You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you stop to look fear in the face”.

Vujicic has got no limbs; however, he does have a funny, foot-looking body part, which he calls his chicken drumstick.

Nick Vujicic is a man with a hard childhood. He knew he was different from the other kids, but there was nothing he could do about it. Kids in school were teasing him, pointing fingers at him and laughing at him. He felt so lonely, and the only thing he wanted in his life, was for someone to come up to him and say that everything was ok. 

Of course he has had many worries. One of them was if he would ever get married. He had been thinking a lot about it. Would he be a good husband, having no arms and no legs? He would never be able to hold his wife’s hands! But after a lot of thinking, he realised that he could hold her heart.

When he is holding lectures at schools, he is speaking very honestly and sincerely, but he’s also trying to use a sense of humour. He tips over, and shows them how a man without limbs can manage to raise up without any help.

During his speeches many young people in the audience sympathize with him and start crying. Vujicic says that one time a girl started to cry so loud that she suddenly spoke up: “I’m sorry, but I have to give you a hug!” and she came and hugged him. Then she whispered in his ear that he had saved her life. She was going to commit suicide, but after hearing his speech, she had changed her mind.

The way I see it, Nick Vujicic is really making people think. Girls with eating disorders and boys feeling too short – that is nothing compared to his daily challenges. I truly admire him for sharing his story, without feeling sorry for himself. Every time I watch a video where he is telling about his life I get deeply touched. Listening to his speeches make me want to do something about bullying, helping people who’s going through a hard time, and so on. When I’m watching Nick Vujicic holding a speech on YouTube – I am literally spellbound.

Dette er min favoritt. Den er så ærlig, så bra og veldig humoristisk. Se hele - bli inspirert!

Rapport fra yrkespraksisuka

Stormberg er en turtøyprodusent som ble startet i 1998 av Steinar J. Olsen. Bedriften har 3 konseptbutikker i landet, en i Oslo, en i Trondheim, og en i Kristiansand, og så har de en nettbutikk. Det som før het fabrikkutsalg her i Kristiansand, heter nå Konseptbutikk. Det vil si at i butikken må det være ryddigere, og se ut som en butikk. Du kan få kjøpt Stormbergprodukter på konseptbutikkene i Kristiansand, Oslo og Trondheim, på nettbutikken, og på sportsbutikker som for eksempel XXL og G-sport.

Stormberg har rundt 60-80 ansatte i hele landet. Bedriften har folk innen de fleste fagområder. De har IT-konsulenter, markedskonsulenter, økonomiansvarlige, designere, selgere, lagerarbeidere, butikkmedarbeidere, webansvarlige…

Arbeidet jeg utførte bestod for det meste av rydding i butikken, utpakking, og så hang jeg klær på kleshengere og plasserte i butikken. Utstillingsdukkene skulle også skiftes på i løpet av uken, så jeg og Marianne Larsen (butikksjef) tok på dem vårnyhetene. Det var greit å være to når vi gjorde denne jobben, for da kunne en løfte dukkene, mens den andre kledde på buksene.

Onsdagen var jeg så heldig å få være med Hege Nilsen Ekberg til Osigraf for å ta produktbilder. Du kan lese om den dagen HER.

Stormberg samarbeider med fabrikker i Kina, og jobber aktivt for å sikre grunnleggende menneskerettigheter og gode arbeidsvilkår der, for eksempel er det viktig at det tas nødvendig miljøhensyn i produksjonen, at det er akseptable lønns- og arbeidsvilkår, og at forbudet mot barnearbeidere respekteres. I 2002 ble de medlem avInitiativ for Etisk Handel (IEH).

Spesielle tiltak som blir gjort for å skape trivsel på Stormberg er blant annet at de noen ganger har konkurranser avdelingene i mellom. For eksempel puslespillkonkurranse mellom butikkmedarbeiderne og IT-konsulentene. Stormberg har også en egen firmahytte hvor de av og til reiser på tur sammen. For meg som kom "utenfra" virket det som at alle trives godt på Stormberg. Alle er så blide og hyggelige – og det gjorde at jeg følte meg veldig velkommen.

Jeg var mest i butikken og jobbet der. For å jobbe i butikk bør man ha gått Salg & Service. Da blir du gjerne en bedre selger, og prioritert før dem som evt ikke har noe kunnskaper i bakhodet. Man bør være blid, utadvent og glad i å prate. For å arbeide i butikk er det en fordel å ha gode hender, sterk rygg, og farge- og figursans. På Stormberg er bekledningen selvfølgelig Stormbergklær. Som butikkmedarbeider må du ha god oppførsel. Du må smile, spør om noen trenger hjelp, ha en god holdning, og viktigst: ikke sitte i butikken når det er kunder der. Har du noen gang tenkt over hvorfor det ikke er stoler i en klesbutikk?  Nå vet du hvorfor.

Etter å ha vært på jobb første dagen, var jeg veldig sliten. Det å være vant til å sitte i seks timer på skolen, og så gå over til å stå og gå like lenge – det er klart det er en stor overgang! Utover i uka ble jeg faktisk vant til det, og taklet det bedre. Jeg har ikke noen spesiell formening om butikkmedarbeideryrket, men jeg tror at når jeg skal begynne å jobbe fast en gang, vil jeg antakeligvis ha en jobb som er litt mer allsidig, hvor jeg får gjøre litt forskjellige ting. Jeg fikk bruke litt av arbeidstiden min til å blogge. På den måten fikk jeg flettet inn litt av min interesse i arbeidet også. Veldig fornøyd med det:)

Jeg har likt å være ute i arbeidslivet svært godt og er fornøyd med at jeg fikk være på Stormberg. De var fornøyde med meg også, ettersom hva jeg har forstått. Sitat: ”Vi har fått en elev som virker!” – Med andre ord: de synes jeg var flink og selvstendig. De lurte på om jeg hadde jobbet i butikk før – noe jeg ikke har. Butikken hadde visst aldri vært så ryddig, etter at fabrikkutsalget ble til konseptbutikk.

Takk igjen, til dere på Stormberg, for at dere tok meg så godt imot. Det var en veldig lærerik uke for meg. 

Hjelp, kva skal eg bli?

Husker du at jeg for en stund tilbake skrev at jeg skulle skrive nynorskstil? Jeg fikk karakteren 5. Fornøyd med det :) Her er i hvert fall resultatet: en tekst om framtida mi:

Det er ikkje lett som 15-16 åring å måtte velje hvilken skole man vil gå på, og hvilken retning man vil ta. Det er eit vanskeleg val. Eit val som kan påverke framtida. Kanskje resten av livet, kven veit? Det er eit val du må ta aleine. Ingen andre skal presse deg til å velje noko du ikkje har lyst til. Men blir man ikkje påverka uansett? Kva vennane vel, kva foreldra valde, og det dei rådar deg til. Kanskje er det ikkje det rette for deg sjølv. Derfor er det eit vanskeleg val. Det er berre du aleine. Hjelpa er kanskje ikkje til hjelp – du blir berre meir forvirra.

Det gjelder i alle fall for meg. Eg heiter Julie, er 15 år, og går siste året på NNN skole. I februar el. mars må eg velje kva eg vil te neste år. Problemet mitt er ikkje karakterane, men mogelegheita. Eg har stort sett karakterar til det eg vil, trur eg, men kva vil eg? Eg har ikkje den fjernaste aning. Ikkje ein idé om kva eg vil bli av yrke. Eg kan ikkje sjå for meg sjølve som ein lege, i kvit legefrakk og briller. Eg kan heller ikkje tenke meg å vere ein velkledd, punktlig og formell advokat. På same måte er det med læraryrket. Eg har alltid sagt til meg sjølv at eg ikkje skal bli lærar. Eg vil ikkje ende opp som ein av dei tørrvittige, overivrige lærarane. Eller som ein av dei med rar klednad. Men kva vil eg? Er det slik at dei som ikkje veit kva dei vil, ender opp som lærarar?

Dei råder oss til å følgje interessene våre. Eg er blant anna interessert i IKT og språk. Ikten leder meg til Media og kommunikasjon, språk leder meg til Studiespesialisering. Noko å ta omsyn til er dørar. Opne og lukka dørar. Vel eg Studiespesialisering har eg fortsett alle dørar opne, og har mogelegskapen til å studere vidare. Går eg Media og kommunikasjon lukker eg eit par dørar. Da må eg antakeleg vis arbeide med reklame el. Noko anna innafor media. Eg ville lika det, men media kan jo kombinerast med andre yrker.

Vi har alle ein draum. Nokon har ein stor, andre mange små. Eg har ein stor. Ein draum. Eller eit slags håp. Målet er å kome seg til England. Bo der. Arbeide der. Kvifor eg er så begeistra for England veit eg ikkje. Har berre alltid vore det. Del 1 av draumen kan oppfyllas i nærmaste framtid. Eg håper eg kan tene nok pengar til å ha eit utvekslingsår i Manchester eller Oxford. Dei fleste som reiser til utlandet drar 2. Året på vidaregåande. Det er ikkje lenge til! Eg veit ikkje om eg er moden nok til å klare det, til å reise aleine utan familien, om berre eit og eit halvt år, men eg tenker som så; er eg ikkje moden da, så blir eg det i løpet av året.

Som lita visste eg heller ikkje kva eg ville bli. Dei andre jentene ville bli enten dyrlege eller frisør. Kanskje dei vart påverka av kvarandre, eg veit ikkje, men eg trur ikkje nokon av dei vil bli det no lenger. Eg var den usikre, trakk berre på skuldra om dei spurde meg. Dyrlege ville eg ikkje, med tanke på å kutte i dyr og sjå masse blod. Frisør var heller ikkje aktuelt, for eg klarte jo ikkje å flette!

Så kva ender eg opp med? Kva skal eg vele? Foreløpig veit eg ikkje. Ikkje enda. Eg står i mellom to heilt forskjellige val: studiespesialisering som er teoretisk og media og kommunikasjon som er praktisk. Dilemma. Men som ei jente sa til meg ei gang: eg har berre ikkje funne inspirasjonskjelda enno. Eg håpar eg finn han snart.

- Julie Egeland

It´s MY life

”Shut up!” I exploded.
”Shut up yourself!” Mum exploded.
”Cut it out!” Dad exploded.

In my family we argued about almost every little thing. There was no way that one day would pass without an argument. My mum and me were the worst. I could quarrel with her for hours. She never understood me. Right now, we were arguing about who was going to pick up my little sister at nursery school.
“I did it last time!” I yelled.
“You did not! Yesterday you spent all day hanging out with Melanie!” my mum shouted in my face.
I became quiet, before I continued;
“Anyway – I don’t want to! I am not the parent in this house!”
My father always tried to stay out of our fights, but sometimes he had to intervene.
“I’ll pick her up today,” he said, and pointed at me, “but tomorrow you´ll have to do it!”
“Fine,” I muttered, and went to my room. Inside I was boiling with anger. My mother was a thorn in my side. I had bought a t-shirt last week just to annoy her.



Melanie and I were on the shopping centre, and I saw this completely chic t-shirt. There was a text on it saying: If you think I’m a bitch, wait until you meet my mother. When I got home, my mum went nuts.
“You can’t wear that!” she said to me, “People will think I am insane if I let you wear it!”
“It´s mine. I bought it!”
“Yes, but with my money!”
We talked louder and louder. And I unfortunately agreed not to use the t-shirt.


But right now, I raked it up, and wore it like a protest.
Then I laid down on my bed, and burst into tears.
I heard someone knocking on the door.
“Come in,” I said, and in came my dad.
“Hey pal,” he said, “How are you doing?”
I was on the verge of tears, but tried to hold them back.
"Why does it always have to centre around me?" I asked sadly.
"You know your mother, right?"
"Yes, she's a..."
"Don't say it..." he stopped me, "Bitch?"
"Yes, exactly!" I said, and suspected some support.
"Well - don't say that! That is impertinent!" my dad explained to me.
"In that case..." I started, "I was hoping you were coming to support me, but no. Leave this room now, please!"
My dad was confused and insulted, and nearly ran out.
"I'm going to talk to your mother about you two," he said, "You have to make up."
"I don't want to," I shouted after him.

He didn’t hear, because he was on his way to pick up my sister, Madeleine. When she got home, the fight started again…
“Stephanie?” she said, “Stephanie?”
“Stop nagging!” I shouted, and I saw that Madeleine had the lump in her throat.
My mum was starring with an icy look.
“OK, fine, what is it?” I said to my little sister.
I knew she was going to poke fun at me.
“Why are you always so mad at mum?”
I hated that question. She always said that when she wanted to tease me. Now I wanted to hit her, but of course I was not going to. Yet I pretended that I was going to. She was frightened and burst into tears.
“Mum, Stephanie tried to hit me!” she sobbed, and looked at mum with an innocent gaze.
“Stephanie!” now she was furious.
“I did not!” I tried, but my mother just pointed at the stairs, “I’m afraid I have to ground you!”
“You’re kidding, right?” I said.
“No, go to your room immediately.”
“What?! This is just stuff and nonsense! I didn’t even try to hit her,” Of course I did, but my mum never believed me, so it didn’t matter if I lied once.
It was always that way. Madeleine always got it her way.


So there I was - grounded.
When my mum came up, and told me to make dinner – I got mad as a wet hen.
"I am not going to make dinner!" I tried to stay calm.
"You are just going to take some pizza out of the freezer, and put it in the stove," she said, and surprised me by not being angry.
She looked at me with a fallow deer-look. Then she caught sight of something. Guess what? My t-shirt. It´s so typical! When my mother and I was about to become friends, I had to wear that stupid t-shirt, and ruin everything.
"Why are you wearing that?" she said, and now her voice was metallic.
I did not answer.
"Why?"
"Because we had a fight earlier, and I was mad at you..." I said.
"I told you to return it to the store!" she said, "Why didn´t you do that?"
I told her it was because I wanted to keep it - It made me feel better because I was mad at her.

She said it was OK, but asked me to put it away.


The following day we started again. Now the quarrel was about the bathroom. I ran into it before Madeleine. And she was standing on the outside, hammering on the door.
“Let me in!” she said.
I was inside, smiling. Finally I was the first to occupy the bathroom. I used the curling iron, put on makeup, and fixed my nails, just to spend extra time. When I came out, both of my parents started to yell at me about two different things. They didn’t notice that Madeleine went into the bathroom herself, before she let out a scream.
We all hurried into her, and saw her lying on the floor, with her hand almost burned up. We were all very confused in the beginning, but my dad came to sense, and called the ambulance. It felt like hours, until it came with to competent nurses. My mum, dad and I felt really bad for what had happened. We had been so busy arguing that we all had forgot little Madeleine.
Especially me – it was my fault, because I left the curling iron without pulling out the plug.
Luckily everything was all right with Madeleine after a couple of weeks with plaster cast.
We have now all learnt something in my family. We don’t argue so much anymore – we try to solve the problems by talking, and not yelling. And we probably take more care of each other.

Dette var min stil :)
Skolestil i engelsk på torsdag (25.09)

Smak av sommer

Mørket er i ferd med å vike for lyset. Klokkeviserne forteller meg at klokka er 7. Måkene skriker ute på den lyseblå himmelen. De flyr høyt og roper til meg at jeg skal stå opp. Jeg gjør det, for det er umulig å få sove slik som de bråker. Jeg går ut på brygga. Den knirker, som om den vil fortelle meg noe. Jeg ser ned på vannet. Det blunker til meg. Jeg ser på trærne, de står der helt stille. Jeg løper inn og henter bikinien min, for nå skal jeg jammen meg ha et morgenbad. Jeg ser meg rundt. Ikke en levende sjel er å se. Bare meg, noen fjærkledde bråkmakere, og Olavsundet som sola gliser ned til. Idet jeg stuper uti, stanser tiden for å lytte til plasket. Hodet treffer vannkanten, og tusen små istapper fester seg til kroppen min. Jeg får gåsehud, men har ikke tenkt å gå opp med det første. Noen måker som ligger og dupper litt lenger borte på den blå fløyels duken, glaner på meg, før de bruser med vingene og flyr av sted med sine oransje nebb, som skriker. Jeg legger på svøm, og bruker armene til å dele vannet i to for å komme meg framover. Jeg kommer over til den andre sida av bukta, og kravler opp på et svaberg. Der ligger jeg i ro, mens vannet renner av meg, som om noen vrir en svamp. Fortsatt er det ikke en sky å se på den lysende himmelen. Jeg kjenner at det er godt å ha en årstid hvor man slipper å dra på seg tykke klær og sko, men bare kan løpe ut barbeint, og rope av glede, akkurat som måkene gjør.