"Death Brought Life" by Lauren L

            January 28, 2017

2:30 p.m.

Looking through snapchats in an effort to procrastinate from doing my homework.“Buzz Buzz” I open the text message, anticipating a funny meme or joke, but instead I’m greeted by a news image of a missing person report. An all too familiar face is on the cover of the report, and it hits me that my friend and coworker has been missing since Friday night. I quickly go on to twitter, attempting to get all of the information and answer all the questions that are racing through my mind.

2:45 p.m.

I find a news article: “Lake Arrowhead”, “no phone”, “never came back”, “missing”. All the words appear on the screen and I can’t believe it; I start to panic, I contact my friend telling them what happened as fear begins to set into my mind. I start to tell myself that it’s all going to be okay, that people who go missing are always found alive, that it’s all just an accident, that everything is going to work out and nothing is really wrong.

5:00 p.m.

I try to distract myself and reassure myself that it will all work out, that nothing is wrong. At this point I’ve convinced myself that he’s okay and that they will find him within the next couple hours; I go about my daily routine and distract myself from it all.

January 29, 2017

3:47 a.m.

I’m asleep, but at this time they found him in Lake Arrowhead and a news report comes out that he has been found.

8:05 a.m.

I’m getting ready to go to the pool for a Lifeguard interview until “Buzz Buzz”, I just got a text. I see the preview for the text and it says that “they found him.” I look at it and feel relieved, thinking that everything is okay because they found him….until I opened the rest of the text. “Victim found in 30 feet of water” One, two, three, I hold my breath in hopes that it’s not true.

8:15 a.m.

I arrive to work, slowly walking through the parking lot with my head hung low, the sun is out but a gush of wind sends chills through my body. I approach the sliding doors, carefully deciding where to place my feet as I walk through the doorway. In the lobby, nothing but the sounds of breathing and sniffles from everyone staring at their feet while sitting on the cold leather chairs.

8:45 a.m.

We’re all called into the classroom, and in unison everyone raises from their chairs drags their feet across the floor. We all file into the room and slouch into the black rolling chairs, elbows on the table, hand in heads, staring at our feet. The lady at the front starts to talk to us, but I feel like I’m underwater listening to the muffled words of the people above. We are all told that the interviews are canceled due to unforeseen circumstances… but we all know the real reason why-our friend is dead.

            This story is about one of my friends and co-workers who met an unfortunate and tragic death at a young age. His death was one that shocked all of us, and left many, including myself, heartbroken and in tears. We were all confused at the sudden news of his death, wondering how it all even happened, but more so we continued to ask ourselves “Why him? Why now? How? Who? How could this have happened?” As the story of his death began to unfold, more confusion was the only thing present, no closure, no answers, no reason. But soon I began to see just how big of an impact this person had on the world and people around him, as posters began to pop up around the city about this person and the message others were sending out to the community. I realized that his death did have some positives come out of it, that his physical absence didn’t mean the ending of his existence in the world. If anything his death brought many people together and encouraged others to live a life full of kindness, compassion, and love; although death is never an event anyone wants to occur, something beautiful can result as others learn about the life of the deceased individual and all of the people they touched in the world. The death of Dawson will never be something easy to understand and he will forever be missed by all, but his compassion has set an example for others to live a life full of love. 

           

"Ups and Downs for My Love of Writing" by Daniel R.

My love for writing is extraordinary! I would say that I really knew I loved to write
around the fourth or fifth grade. My teachers were excellent in this fashion that they pushed me
into writing and always made sure that I was always challenging myself and creating the best
work possible to my ability. Well, like any up in life there has to be some downs.

My first major downfall was when I first entered the fourth grade, in my school we had
an “organization” called GATE. This organization was all about the more gifted and talented
students. These students were the ones that had the absolute best writing, they were the thinking
outside the box type of kids. So in the beginning of fourth grade my mom and I wanted to see if
maybe I could make the GATE program. Of course I had to take a test and this test had all sorts
of puzzles and math questions, and at the end of the test there was the almighty short essay we
had to write. As a kid in the fourth grade, a four sentence paragraph was scary and almost killed
me every time. So this essay just about automatically gave me a heart attack! I felt great going
through with it, I explained my summer like any other elementary paper with plenty of detail.
When I turned in my one and a half paged essay I felt like I was David who just slayed Goliath. I
put my puzzles, math worksheets and this golden egg of an essay on the coordinators desk and I
went home. I walked home with complete confidence, thinking without a doubt, no bone in my
body thought I failed that test. The next day my mom and I went back to the school to find out if
I failed or passed. Obviously I thought I passed. I walked in smiling practically skipping into the
coordinators room. She said “I have great news” I wasn’t surprised. So I waited for the “ok
you’re in” but instead she talked really slowly and said “your math was great, you’re thinking
outside the box was great but...” I stated sweating and I automatically got nervous, then it came
out “your essay scored a 2 out of 5, you need at least a 3 to join the program” my heart dropped
to my ankles, I was completely surprised.

We went home after all of this, I was still in great disbelief and for some reason couldn’t
get my head around this entire situation. To make matters worse I ended up taking this test two
or three times. I failed every single time. Every time it was this essay, this thing was just about
the death of my writing career as I knew it. I soon gave up trying to pass this test. Sadly I never
did accomplish my goal of making this organization, but after a while I just completely forgot
about the entire GATE organization and I just promised myself that I was work hard as possible
to become a great writer.

My freshman year I had a great passion for writing. In Mr. Hall’s class I wrote a
short story about a man that was stranded in a blizzard and eventually had to cut off his cold
dead arm. Mr. Hall said that I did a really great job. I felt great about myself and my writing
ability. So for the last couple of years I have felt magnificent about writing anything. If its
poems, short stories, or even a short autobiography. Without this experience I would not have
grown as a writer. It taught me that with hardships comes growth and with growth comes a better
you, whatever the situation.

" Unexpected Love " by Arely M.

“Hurry up! You're going to be late!” said my mom. It was a Monday afternoon and the first day of what was a three day church even for all of the confirmation students. I remember rolling my eyes and taking all the time I could to go down the stairs. I was not looking forward to spending precious homework or studying time to go a mandatory church event.

When I got to church I waited outside for my friend Alexis since she was the only one I knew and I didn't want to be alone. When she finally got there, we decided to go inside. We stood at the door for a bit, trying to figure out where the perfect place to sit. Finally, we chose one of the rows near the back. As we were walking, she points out a boy and tells me he's a friend of hers. The first thing that ran through my mind was that he was pretty good looking, however, I didn't mention it to Alexis since that's just not the type of person I am. The event went on and i noticed my mind kept wandering off to the mental picture I had taken of the handsome boy. Once the event was finally done for the day, I turned around to get a glance at him again but to my disappointment he was no longer there.

On day two of the event, I wasn't as annoyed about having to go. Like the previous day, I waited for Alexis outside and went in once she got there. We sat around the same place and I noticed the boy was sitting just a couple rows back. The event went on without anything exciting happening and before I knew it I was in my way back home.

That night I was laying in bed, on my phone when I noticed I had a new follower on twitter. I checked to see who it was and found out it was someone named Ivan. His picture wasn't very clear and his name didn't ring a bell so I didn't follow him back.

The next day at school, Alexis told me that her friend had talked to her to say that he thought I was very beautiful. I couldn't believe it! I immediately got butterflies in my stomach and I began to blush. I asked what his name was and she said it was Ivan. It clicked in my brain that the new follower I had was him. I was so excited the rest of the day to go to church that afternoon because I knew I would get to see him again.

Later that day, as I was on my way to church, I was feeling nervous yet excited. I felt as if I was back in elementary school experiencing my first crush. When I got there, Alexis and I decided to sit right in front of Ivan and a friend of his. Throughout the whole event I was so tempted to just turn around and stare at him. When it was finally over, I turned around, extended my hand, and introduced myself. He did the same and we began to talk as we walked out of the church. He was so polite, easy going, and had an attractive personality. We exchanged phone numbers before we left.

Later that night, I received a text from him. We texted the whole night and even made plans to go to the movies that Friday, which marked our first date.

Here we are 11 months later, getting ready to celebrate our first Valentine's Day and our upcoming one year anniversary. I never would've thought something as beautiful as our relationship would come from something I had no interest in doing.

"The Water Polo Life " by Camrin W.

 

            My extravagant lifestyle of a high school water polo player (not really) started when I was only a mere freshman. I first started water polo because I was tired of playing my childhood sport of baseball and I wanted to try something I had never done before. Little did I know I was getting myself into 4 years of blood, sweat, and tears.

            During the course of my 4 years I had formed a brotherhood with friends I will remember forever. The first test of the brotherhood was the worst week of my entire life, the dreaded HELL WEEK. This single week that I would have to endure during the hottest month of the summer for 4 years was my Achilles heel. Thousands of yards swam with any stroke you can possibly think of, pushups, burpees, sit ups, stairs, running, the whole enchilada. This was used as a bonding week to see if your family for the next 4 years would not quit no matter the task at hand. The love that we all shared was mutual even with all of the blisters, cuts, and bruises from all the work we put in through the seasons.

            Playing water polo actually led me to a job in the area. My first year working was being a lifeguard up at the Fontana Park Aquatics Center. The leadership skills I had gained from playing water polo allowed me to excel at my job. The strength that I had from being able to tread a 20 pound weight belt for an hour really made me stand out during my interview and testing. I actually got to work with some of my brothers on the team which made the working experience that much better. I even got the chance to spread my love of the water to children eager to learn how to swim. I disciplined them into well trained swimmers so they are able to promote to their next level and possibly pursue other activities in the aquatics program.

            The final season of water polo in high school was the most emotional and easily my best performance of my 4 years. I maintained my starting varsity position from the year before and I believe I was the second highest scorer on the team next to my good friend Kyle. Towards the end of my season i would reminisce on all of my team dinners, morning practices, and the love that I had for my brothers. At my last game of the season I was emotional because I knew that I would never experience a water polo game with the friends I had and I remembered all of the lifelong memories that I had formed on that pool deck. At the banquet I was honored by the Baseline League for outstanding performance in water polo and that sealed my participation in the most extravagant lifestyle of a high school water polo player and it was the best 4 years of my entire life. 

"The Laughing Sun" by Haley J

            The Sun has been shining on the great planet of Earth for 4.6 billion years, and will continue to do so for another 5 billion. Many worship the Sun, ever so grateful for the warmth it provides and will continue to provide until its last day somewhere in the future.  But has anyone ever wondered how the Sun thought of humanity? Of course not. For the Sun isn’t alive and does not have the capability to see, let alone think for itself. Such a foolish idea to think that while we look at the Sun it looks back with a huge sly grin on its face, as if it was so happy to share its warmth with humanity and the many other planets it shines upon. Truth be told, the Sun isn’t happy at all. It is said that the modern human evolved on the Earth 200,000 years ago. And on that date, the Sun’s torment began. As the humans began to roam Earth, they took from it, killing the plants and animals for food and burning trees for warmth. How stupid, the Sun thought the humans were when they became so excited to discover FIRE, for the Sun had already known fire millions of years before them. As the humans continued to thrive they, like many other species, began to evolve. And the longer they lived on Earth, the more they took from it. They cut down natural forestry to plant more trees purely for their own use. They put antibiotics in animals to make them grow faster and fatter, much like the humans themselves. Forests are being destroyed, rivers and lakes are being built over by huge cities, resources are being used faster than they can be replenished, so much carbon dioxide is being released into the atmosphere they are practically gassing themselves, but the Sun can do nothing but look down in utter disgust. The Sun wishes every year, that it could move a bit closer and rid the beautiful Earth of humanity, even if it means taking a couple other planets down in the process. But the Sun knows that it is stuck in a fixed position in space and can’t do much itself to rid the planet of the wretched virus. Yet the Sun doesn’t cry over his Earth, partly because the Sun is much too hot for water to exist in a liquid state, so he instead laughs. He knows that if Humanity continues on the path they have paved for themselves they will all perish anyway. Now the Sun sits in orbit and wonders to itself how humanity will die. Global warming, suffocation? Maybe an asteroid will collide with it and the Earth could start anew. All while thinking of how foolish humanity is, worshipping the Sun, thanking it for all the it has given, the Sun continues to burn bright, hoping for the death of all humanity and the salvation of its precious Earth.

"Boxes" by Lauryn D

            Standardized tests: the ultimate pseudo-test for knowledge. They have plagued our lives since elementary school and continue to as we go onward toward college and careers. We always came out of them still not knowing how to file for taxes and knowing that our perceived value would be reduced to a number. Among, the things that run through our minds while taking them some are occasional answers, eenie-meenie-miney-moe’s, and I-haven’t-picked-C-in-a-while‘s. But what always occupied my mind was a never-failing precedent to these tests that stated, “Check one box that best describes you”. But those boxes never failed to leave as empty as they came.

            Afro-Latina. That is what I am. If that is not an option when you tell me to “check one box that best describes you”, all of those boxes will leave as empty as they came.

            An Afro is not your straight reacting to humidity, nor is it your straight hair with 3 curls in it from the braid you slept with. An Afro is Black hair whose beauty defies the laws of gravity. That is not what Afro means in the phrase “Afro-Latina”, but it’s important to realize. Afro is not African-American, it means of or relating to Africa. To identify as “African American” is to claim America, which my personal experiences have made me unable to do. If African-American an option when you tell me to “check one box that best describes you”, all of those boxes will leave as empty as they came.

            Latina is not just Mexicana. Latina is also Nicaragüense, Guatemalteca, Peruano, Uruguayo. It is any country in Latin America, which encompasses Central and South America. Hispanic, more broadly meaning a country that speaks Spanish, categorizes me as one with the colonizers, the Spanish, that destroyed everything my ancestors had built. Our native language, traditions, and values became obsolete with the unforgiving impetus of gold and material wealth. Although this was some time ago, the culture of Latin America has yet to recover from its stolen identity. Therefore, if Latino is not an option when you tell me to “check one box that best describes you”, all of those boxes will leave as empty as they came.

            Being Afro-Latina means that I sing just as passionately with Pepe Aguilar as I do with Erykah Badu and that I use Avon’s Skin So Soft just as often as I use Vicks Vapo Rub. I do not know which country in Africa I was stolen from and I can count the amount of people that know where Guatemala is on a map on one hand, but that does not change how proud I am of where I come from. Call me picky, call me uptight, or accuse me of self-proclaimed importance, but I refuse to neglect half of the blood that runs through my veins to appease anyone. So until my little box comes, the Afro-Indonesian box comes, the Taiwanese-Latino box comes, and the Native-American-Pakistani box comes, all of those boxes will leave as empty as they came.

"In the Heights: A Truly Groundbreaking Piece of Literature" By Kyle C

          

Being enrolled in theatre classes here at Etiwanda for the past four years, I have developed a predilection for reading theatrical literature rather than conventional book forms. While exploring the theatrical canon of literature, I came across the book version of Lin Manuel Miranda’s Tony Award Winning Broadway Musical In the Heights, written by Quiara Alegría Hudes, a spectacular piece of literature that is likely to be intriguing for readers of any type.

           

            In the Heights takes its place in Washington Heights, a Latin-American community in Manhattan, where daily struggles such as low incomes and boiling heat haunt the residents. At the book's opening, readers are introduced to the very likeable Usnavi De La Vega, owner of the Heights’ corner bodega. Usnavi is head  over heels in love with a local salon worker, Vanessa, who aspires to move out of Washington Heights and into a nicer place downtown, but finds herself struggling to find the money and pass the credit checks to do so. We are also soon introduced to Nina Rosario, whose parents own a car service shop in the Heights but only make enough money to support themselves. Lucky for them, though, their daughter is very intelligent and is out west on a full-ride scholarship at Stanford. Little do they know, she actually lost her scholarship months ago and comes home to visit, also breaking the news to them. Benny, who works for Nina’s father, is in love with Nina and glad to see her back. We as readers soon learn that their love is that of star-crossed lovers, much like in Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. Throughout the play, we are introduced to several other characters such as Graffiti Pete, the local pest, Abuela Claudia, the town’s charming old lady who raised Usnavi, Daniela and Carla, witty salon workers and Sonny, Usnavi’s  younger cousin who works with him and is constantly getting on his nerves. So much happens throughout the storyline, from a blackout to winning the lottery to Usnavi’s decision to move back to his roots in the Dominican Republic, a plan which he soon reverses, but there's is no doubt that the story brings about several Universal themes that are applicable on some level to all readers. One of the most predominant themes in the book is the definition of being home. From the point we are introduced to him, readers can see that Usnavi doesn’t have it easy in the heights. He is constantly plagued with financial struggle and damage to his shop, but his breaking point comes when the community’s power goes out and looters decide to destroy his shop. This leads him to decide to leave shop and move back home to the Dominican Republic. He becomes fed up with the constant struggles in the Heights and figures that he can just go to the DR and open up a bar there. At the end of the play, though, he discovers that the word home isn’t defined by where a person was born or originated from, but that home is where you feel unconditionally loved and, despite struggles, everybody supports each other. Another important thematic element introduced in the story is the cost of a dream and the fact that anybody, no matter how disadvantaged or poor they are, is capable of making their dreams come true and living a content life. Every character introduced in the work is underprivileged financially or socially, but almost every single one of them finds a way to come out on top in the end.

            I would highly recommend this book for any reader with a taste for hip-hop and who is looking for a heartfelt, but intriguing storyline like no other. The combination of the unpredictable plot, along with the musical numbers presented in the piece, which are mostly rap, is sure to inspire interest in any reader. Much like the characters presented, each and every reader from whatever background has a lesson to learn from In the Heights, whether it be the lesson about following dreams, or simply learning to appreciate the things we have and realize that many others are struggling to make a living all around the world. In terms of literary value, I firmly believe that the play is very valuable. From its first publication, the piece has proven to be groundbreaking and like no other. Prior to the writing of In the Heights, musical theatre was never collided with rap. In the Heights truly was the catalyst for a new type of theatre and, with that, a new type of literature. I hope that my synopsis and review of In the Heights has sparked interest in you to read it. If you wish to look more into the musical, check out the link below and listen to a few of its numbers to see just how interesting and groundbreaking they truly are!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FmbEyQRdP0s&list=PL2i7U_tJ6AbZ7ZIlkwOAtzsk5HSe9c7bM

"How To Get Into Rap" by Ayaz R.

A lot of people have a huge misunderstanding of rap in general and as a society we see rapping
as a negative due to the affiliations it has and also due to the origins of rap. Rap was considered
a gangster’s sport or in other words it tends to be about gang violence and or about drugs which
most people couldn't relate to at all whatsoever. Nowadays more and more people are getting
into the rap culture being the most listened to genre currently. The only problem is there are still
those people who think rap is about the same thing which it started out to be being
drugs,guns,and sex. Which is why I am here to tell you how you can get
into rap.

Tools:
1. Open Mind
This is the only tool you really need because people who don't really listen to rap because they
are scared and ignorant of the genre. People just assume that the genre swears a lot meaning
that it has some affiliation to “gangster culture.” People also tend to be stubborn about the genre
due to the titles of the music for example FML by Kanye West in his recent album Life Of Pablo,
which people commonly misunderstand as F**k my Life, when in actuality it has the title called
For My Lady which is Kanye is admitting that he wants to stay loyal to his wife and that he will
not let another women get in the way of that.

Steps:
1. Listen to the right people
People who want to get into rap tend to listen to the wrong people, the first people that
come to mind about rappers of our generation are figure such as Lil Yachty,Lil Uzi Vert, and 21
Savage who are considered a “yeah,yeah” rapper which means that they tend not to put deep
thought into any of there song,just rapping aimlessly. People should listen to rappers that are
worth the time and who put deep thought into their work.
2. Don't let things on social media affect your perspective on what they do.
A lot of people tend not to listen to rap due to their personality and the way they look at
life. For example people think that Kanye (I'm going to mention him a lot because he is the best
example) since he thinks of himself as a god he would have music that is selfish and
narcissistic. In actuality his work tends to be about societal problems and or things that a lot of
people tend to have struggles which many can find relatable.
3. Pay Attention to What They Say
People tend to aimlessly listen to rap using it as a way to have fun at a party, the thing
that people tend not to do is listen to songs over and over again. The reason of doing this is to
really understand the meaning of what the song is trying to convey. A good example of listening
to songs again and again is J.Cole’s recent project “4 Your Eyez Only.” which has to do with his
friend’s life, to having a wife (She Mine Part 1) and trying to do anything to provide for your
family (Foldin Clothes) having a daughter ( Shes Mine Part 2). This is a prime example of
meaning throughout a song and how I and other people tend to listen to the album again and
again to understand the full meaning of what J.Cole was trying to persuade.
4. Just Enjoy It
People sometimes don't even take the time listen to it not even having the chance to enjoy it
because people don't find the right type of rap for them. There are always a rap song or an artist
for everyone for example if you are happy you would probably listen Alright by Kendrick Lamar.
If you were mad listen to Control by Big Sean featuring Kendrick Lamar. If you are trying to relax
listen to Poetic Justice by Kendrick Lamar featuring Drake and so on and so forth.
Outcome: The best example of a transfer to rap is an artist that goes by the name of Post
Malone,who used to be a country singer. He was then influenced by Kanye West mostly and as
well as other rappers to pursue rap. Starting with a song called “White Iverson” which is what
put him on the map, even though it wasn't as lyrical, but that very same single went triple
platinum. He got recognition from his idol in rap being Kanye West when Kylie Jenner asked
him to perform “White Iverson” at her party which is where he started to take notice of his talent.
The most recent project he has entitled “Stoney” is an album where Post Malone becomes as
lyrical as ever with songs like “Congratulations” featuring Quavo, which is about how people
didn't recognize him before and now everyone now is starting to realize that he was actually
good the whole time.
Personal Insight: Honestly from experience rap isn't just a genre that people can’t endeavor
right away. You have to start from the beginnings of the century with albums like College
Dropout by Kanye West, Carter 3 by Lil Wayne, Curtain Call and Encore both by Eminem.
These albums are some of the best examples of rap albums that a lot of people will tend to like
because these are albums that will influence and has influenced rappers now a days like Big
Sean,Drake, Travis Scott, Kendrick Lamar, and so many other rappers that take direct influence
from these legends. My older brother actually put me on to rap culture and I have never been
more knowledgeable about society, life, and learning to love myself because rap is influential on
daily things and can give you another output on life that is how influential it is and that is why
more and more people are getting hooked on rap and the wave is still coming in.

"Racism is Still Alive" by Bernardo M.

I was born into a Mexican American family. My father is an immigrant from Mexico, my mother is first generation Mexican American. Growing up in a Mexican household I was never taught hate but rather love and peace. The first neighborhood I grew up in was diverse culturally, it being located in Ontario. I grew up meeting and being friends with people of different ethnic groups. I never saw race as in issue. However, some people didn’t get the privilege I had of being taught love rather than hate. In today’s society, it seems as though we are going backwards rather than forward in the area of race relations. I’ve seen the hatred people have for the other races, it is present in our society, whether it is school, work, government, or everyday life. However it was not until the first time I experienced such prejudice that really opened my eyes.

    Halloween weekend of  last year  my girlfriend invited me to a Halloween party. I was excited to say the least, being a teenager you look for these fun experiences. She said that her friend was throwing it, I asked if I could bring friends, she said yes. On the day of the party I asked three of my friends to come to the party so I could at least enjoy company of people I know.

    It being a Halloween party, it’s obvious we needed Halloween costumes. I had mine, however, my friends didn’t. All day we thought of ideas for each of them. We even went to Goodwill to look for something cheap. While searching for costumes, we were hyped and excited.  Our talks all consisted of “what if’s” and our expectations of what was ahead of us, while we searched. After no luck (except that two of my friends bought sunglasses too small for their head) we went to one of my friends house. There we did inventory of what they could wear. We joked around and they picked random clothes and just threw them on and called it a costume. After an hour so, it was time to leave for the party. On the drive there we were blasting music. We were hyping each other up, talking about how we were going to have a fun time. Entering the neighborhood, it was in the hills of Rancho Cucamonga. Obviously it was of upper middle class. It all seemed intimidating to us. We parked and walked to the door. We knocked the door. The girl who opened the door was a tall white girl. Her first glance was a degrading stare. Now, I tell you it was a degrading stare because we were all of different ethnicities and when the door opened she gave look like she was disgusted.  She asked rudely “ Who are you?” and then I replied in regular tone, “I’m Victoria’s boyfriend and these are my friends, she invited us”. She then yelled for Victoria, and she came down and let us in.

    The girl at the door was the host and it was her house. When we walked in we went to the back yard. The welcome we got wasn’t pleasing so it all felt awkward, especially since we were the first ones there. A couple minutes later Victoria pulled me aside and told me that the host thought me and my friends looked “scary” and “ghetto”. When i first heard this, i thought it was a joke but after a chuckle i figured, it wasn’t. I was angry my first words were “what?” i was in disbelief. I always thought of racism being something low key, I’ve never been subject to it. But here It was, in a time of having fun and being yourself there was this channel of prejudice. I told my friends and they could not believe it either. We didn’t know what to do, how could someone thing this of me and even worse my friends? We are kind people, we didn’t mean any harm, we were just looking for a fun night.

    We walked out of the house and said we forgot something. Victoria’s friends told us “Bye!” in a condescending tone. When we got to the car, i was livid. We talked about what we should do. I said let’s just stay and enjoy it who cares. They didn't seem up for it. They wanted to go to a different party of someone they knew. I told them they could go, I’ll stay. I wasn’t happy about it. I should’ve gone with them. Staying there i felt out of place, considering it being a Los Osos party, everyone was dominantly white. Me and my girlfriend (who is latina) and a couple other people were the only people of color. I could feel people staring at me, judging me. Not only did they not know me, but I was a minority.

    In the end, my friends came back when more people came and we had a good time regardless. It was fun but as well as a life lesson. It saddens me to know there are still people living in such a old fashioned mindset. It’s even getting worse, considering our own president has had his issues with xenophobic, racist comments. His political views, set a bad example on the country and leads people to be more open about their racist mindset. We need to wake up, throw away these nasty misconceptions and stereotypes of other races, throw away such prejudice racist mindset. Spread love and positivity, not hate and bigotry. It it our duty as human beings to welcome others with open minds, do not judge other based on the pigment of their skin. We are the future of this country after all.

"Finish Line" by Romulo S.

February 3^rd , 2013. This was the day I gave a shot into achieving my dream, to become a gold medalist in a 300m race. At the arena, I briefly looked at the shiny brilliant lustrous lights that radiated into the dark sky. I looked down the track in the direction of the finish line. My stomach grumbled like an eruptive volcano. “In lane 4, representing Central Valley School!,” the commentator announced to the crowded arena. “Smith, tipped to win the rice.” An intense roar exploded from the crowd like a pride of vicious lions. That pumped me up, ready to achieve my dream. After uncountable hours of practice, hard work and torture, and eating healthy, it all came down to this, the biggest event of my life, the 300 meter final. My hands were shaking. My throat was parched and a freezing sensation ran through my trembling body. I rose and observed as the last drop of sweat travel down my face. “This was it, one of my lifelong dreams coming true. I have to win this,” I thought.

“Athletes! Go to your starting position!,” the commentator announced. I got hold off my last anxious gulp of ice cold water, then walked up to the white starting line. I placed my feet into the starting blocks. I was ready. At that point, like disappearing impassable mist, all my anxiousness and fret appear to magically disappear. The fire in me lit that I had my fate right in front of my very own eyes. Suddenly, a tremendous silence took over the entire arena. The gun then was carefully lifted up and “BANG!.” It went off like a mortar shooting the dark blue sky. Vigorously, I raised my head as I reach my natural pace. Tramp, tramp, tramp on the jerky ground, my legs went. I believed it then. I believed that I had a shot for the Gold medal. This was my time. Sudden thoughts of the gold medal shining around my head. “I can do this, I’ll do it for my family, friends and for my dream.” My legs were working very well. My heart beat like a drum. My driving adrenaline stepped in. “I am nearly there at the finish line.. I can do it!.” But then the most unexpected thing happened. Something hit me, it was like there was a shark biting my leg clean off. It was my hamstring, I discovered. It was like my leg is a piece of paper torn into two. There was two choices I needed to choose. It's either “Should I carry on? Or “Should I lay here on the ground in agony?”....”What should I do?”

Petrified, shocked and frustrated, I fell onto ground in agony. The more I lay there in pain, the more I thought of giving up. My hamstring was hurting so much and do not know how I tore it. However, a thought came to me like a clash of lightning, "I have to get up for my fans and family. But what if I couldn't?" I tried to get up and it was successful but my leg was still in devastating pain. I thought about falling back down again. But it felt like If I fell down again, I can no longer get up.

Therefore, I kept on “running,” it was more like a quick limp. I looked determined, so determined to win. (Inside though, I was crying like a girl as sharp pain run through my hamstring.) My father, who means a lot to me, saw me struggling and he broke through the security and ran to my side. A loving smile came onto my face. He went to give me a hand. "You don't have to do this.", he said. But I knew I did. "Yes, I do", I replied because now inside, I was determined. "Well then, we are going to do this together." was his reply. We carried on for meters, passed the bright cameras, security and first aid. I did not need it. I was feeling delighted because I was with him.

My dream might have been crushed, but at least I know that I have been this far and already achieved a lot of achievements. As we reached the finish line, he let me carry on, on my own. This moment was mine and I was not going to waste it. As I passed the finish line, the crowd of 4,000 people stood up and gave me an uproaring cheer and clap.”I had done it!” I finished last but it did not matter to me. I did not need any award to prove myself. I did not need a gold, silver or bronze medal because I already had proven to them that I never gave up during the race.

"Sometime in March" by Kailee N.

    March of 2013 is a time my friends and I will never forget. We were in 8th grade when we were faced with this horrible and tragic event. The memory feels as if it was yesterday. I was at home when my best friend called me and told me that her parents had been missing. I had a hard time believing the situation because this is something you hear about, but never actually consider it happening to someone so close to you. Right when we got off the phone, I immediately went to tell my mom, who was also very close to my friend. My mom told me she had a feeling that she knew this wouldn't end well, but with high hopes, I ignored that cold-hard truth. It wasn't long after, that I began to see it all over the news. Just being in complete awe that this was someone I had known and had been to their house numerous times. Two days had passed by, and still no sign of them anywhere. It was beginning to become real that this was really happening. I felt like nothing I said could have made my friend feel any better, it hurt so much to see someone I love so much to go through this. My friends and I tried to be there for her as much as possible, but it is hard to act so strong for someone when you're feeling the pain too. The third day was the worse of them all, facing the reality. Her mother was found, but not alive. It was as if even though we had an idea that this would be the case, all of us could still not believe it. We talked for hours and hours about how this could not be happening, and how we couldn't believe it, and how it seemed impossible. Everyone was in complete shock. An outbreak against domestic violence began very big and relevant in our lives. My friends and I knew the family had some minor family issues at home, like almost every family, but not like this. Eventually the funeral came, the crowd was filled with purple shirts that read “Peace.Love.Stop.Domestic Violence. In loving memory of…” . Everyone wanted to support the loss of this beautiful angel, and against domestic violence. It was at the funeral I realized me and my friends were in no way able to be strong for our friend, we couldn't handle ourselves, as we were not able to control our tears throughout the ceremony. It seemed as if our friend was taking this better than us, it seemed as if she was so much stronger, which now we know she is. She is the strongest individual I have ever known, and probably will ever know. This taught me to appreciate my parents and everyone around me more, cause you really never know when they’ll be gone. Its often that as teenagers, we sometimes forget to acknowledge this.

"Change is Good" by Jonathan W.

     When the Chinese Communist Party suppressed the pro-democracy Tiananmen Square protests,
my mother was forced to quit school and flee Beijing when she was only 21. She sought true
freedom: somewhere she could build herself and her family without restrictions, such as China’s
one child policy. In pursuit of her “American Dream”, she came to California, where she would
later raise five children.

     After ten years of working odd jobs and receiving aid from friends and family, my mother settled
and started her own trucking business in our living room, with my step-father as the only driver.
During summers, I would accompany my parents on business trips across the country, seeing
America through rural truck stops and scenic highways. At home, my mother had to create a
makeshift room in the garage for our family and rented out all of the bedrooms, so I helped her
find and manage new tenants. It was rare that I would have a room to myself. My family’s
unconventional, entrepreneurial endeavor allowed us to get by and we were grateful.
But my biological father passed away when I was eleven, just as my two older siblings began
college, disrupting the precarious financial security we had been working hard to maintain.
Incapable of surviving the high socioeconomic standards of Arcadia, my family moved to
Rancho Cucamonga. A year after moving, my mother got licensed herself and started driving
with my step-father to increase income. It became a rare occurrence for my parents to have the
leisure of staying home. I believed that leaving the community I had built myself into halfway
through high school would be horrifying, so I convinced my family to let me stay with a friend in
Arcadia for another semester. I would occasionally visit my family every weekend and lived
with my best friend during summer school and then the beginning of sophomore year.
Once I finally moved, I reminded myself that this inevitable change was similar to my mother’s
move to America. Rather than be deterred by the challenge of starting over, I pushed myself to
make the best of my time in High School. I was exposed to a world that deviated from the Asian
culture I was raised around, and I developed a standard to build my character for the purpose of
self-improvement, not to satiate society’s normatives.

     I am now on the brink of another transition, with college merely months away. We’re all in this
weird position wondering where we might end up next year, since most of us are still dreading
the college acceptance letters. But after these next couple months, it’ll all be okay. We’ll know
where we’ll want to be next year and we’ll have to make the best of the opportunity. I was
reluctant to move away from home to adapt to an entirely new environment, but it was an
experience that prompted my eagerness to explore. It revealed the true nature of the multifaceted
culture my parents came for, and how diverse a city just thirty minutes away from home can be.
College will be an experience to absorb the culture that people from across the world will bring
to us. Honestly, just have fun and enjoy life while we’re young and work hard! Let’s get through
the rest of this year!

"Wild Night" by Ashley S

While watching TV one night, I suddenly heard helicopters circling my house so I looked out the window and saw searchlights going around the neighborhood. There were also police cars driving around with their lights flashing. Just as I was looking out the window, the doorbell rang and my mom opened the door. Two policemen were standing on our front porch, asking if we knew who was in our backyard. At first, we were scared that someone was trying to break into our house but then we realized that it was my brother, Bryan, and 2 friends, as they walked into the house through the patio door. Realizing it was just them, my mom explained to the police that it was only my brother coming home late, so the police left our front porch and continued searching the neighborhood.

However, the situation did not end there. After seeing the panicked expression on my brother’s face, my mom realized that there was something going on and started to question him and friends about what happened. Too scared to lie, Bryan quickly admitted the truth of his activities that night. Earlier in the day, Bryan bought creepy, white faces masks at the Dollar Tree that looked just like the ones the Jabbawockeez wear when they dance. He and his friends were planning to wear them that night as a prank to scare people in the neighborhood. They did not plan to hurt anyone but they thought it would be fun to catch people off guard in the masks. After it was dark, Bryan and 4 of his friends went outside and walked around the neighborhood with the masks on. A woman in her car saw the group wearing these creepy masks and worried that they would break into someone's home, so as a precaution, she called the police. As the police sirens approached and a helicopter appeared over the neighborhood, my brother and his friends ran, scattering in different directions to avoid being arrested. He and 2 of his friends ran through our side fence and into our backyard, which bought the police to our front door.

 Listening to his story, we realized at that moment that the police were actually looking for him and that two of his friends were still outside somewhere. He texted them to find out what happened to them but they were both separated, hiding in bushes. My mom was so upset that she started to yell at all three of them, but then she realized she had no choice but to go find his other friends. She drove around the neighborhood for a while and found them cowering in 2 separate bushes, so she spent the rest of the night driving them all home.

My brother normally does not take situations seriously and he does a lot of strange things, but this is one event that really scared him so he never did anything like this again. It was memorable to me too because we usually do not have the police coming to our house. Though no one was hurt or arrested, I learned that sometimes a small, funny prank can turn into a big deal with serious consequences.

"For Her " by Emily G

 

In the middle of homework, I hear Mom call us down for dinner. I follow after Dad once I hear the croak of the stairs underneath him. As I help Mom to set the table and serve our plates, Dad sits down with a sigh, but we don't question him. About ten minutes into dinner, he finally tells us what's been bothering him.

"Well, Aunt Rose isn't doing well. Ma told me that she's in pretty bad shape in the hospital, so her and Dad are going down to San Diego tomorrow.” he says in between a drink of Iced Tea.

In complete denial of what I had just heard I thought to myself, "Just a month or two ago she was in bad shape and she's still okay...how bad can she be?" Sudden memories of not being able to see Grandma Lucy (my great grandma) before she passed away flooded my mind. Before I could bite my tongue, I looked to my dad and said, "I want to go to San Diego too. I need to see Aunt Rose."

"Your Aunt Tina is going down tomorrow...you can go with her. But I do not want you to leave Tina's side! Do you understand me?"
I nodded yes.

Aunt Tina picked me up at around 9 on Thursday morning. On the ride down, we gossiped about family and what was going on at school and in work. I could feel her almost tense up when she told me, "Emi...now Aunt Rose is very sick. I just want to warn you, she doesn't look or seem like her usual self so if you can't handle it that's okay."
I simply shook my head so she knew I understood and looked out the window, not quite knowing what to expect.

We got our visitor wristbands and found Aunt Rose's room. I couldn't help but smile at the sight of my beloved Aunt Lucille, whose diabetes is slowly stripping her body and life away. "Oh mija!” she said with a big smile. I gave her and my grandparents a hug and a kiss.

I turned and instantly whispered, "Oh, Aunt Rose". A terrible surge of sadness rushed through my body. She was simply bones with jaundiced skin, her yellowed eyes bulging out, and her hair oddly thin and discolored. "I know, I know. Don't say my name in that way. I already know.” she responded to me. I walked over and held her hand. To take our minds off of everything I smiled to her and said, "You know I just got my permit last month." Her eyes got even bigger, as if that was possible, and with shock in her voice answered, "Don't leave your car open. Always lock it. People will take anything they can from you!" It wasn't quite the response I was anticipating, but I've only forgotten to lock my car twice in the past two years; each time I hear her words of advice ring through my ears. Aunt Lucille broke the silence and started telling stories, and making the whole room laugh even in the saddest of times. The hospital discharged my aunt, and they sent Hospice to her daughter, Shonda's house, since that's where she would be staying. We stayed for the rest of the day and made sure she had been properly moved in to Shonda's house, and after that we returned home at around 9 p.m.

The next day was a Friday, and Aunt Tina and I had gone out once again to San Diego to be with Aunt Rose. This time, my mom and sister, and all of my Nana's (Dad's mom) sisters and brother had gone down. Even though this is my dad’s aunt, he refused to go down because he doesn't deal with death well and prefers to remember people by who they were while alive and not while they're extremely ill.

Little did I know that the Thursday before would be the last time Aunt Rose would talk unless she was crying out from pain. Even though she couldn't respond I still held her hand and told her I loved her, and I could still feel a slight response, like she would just barely squeeze my hand, and I knew she was trying to tell me she loved me too.

My mom, sister, and I decided to not go back down to San Diego on Saturday so we could let all the siblings be by her side. At about 8:20 p.m. my mom received a text and tears grew in her eyes. She stated what I had already known. "Girls, your Aunt has passed on." My sister, who had been sitting next to me on the couch, ran upstairs with immediate sobs slipping from her lips. I sat on the couch for about ten minutes, completely numb and a feeling of blankness engulfing me. I got up, and with every step towards my room, I started to shake and had tears flowing down from my eyes. Never in my life had my heart ached so much.

In those three days, I learned to not take the time and the moments I had with my family for granted. I realized that there was no point in loving someone, whether it's family or friends, if you're not going to love with your whole heart.

"The definitions of materialism and terrorism" by Taha U.

I could of done this on things like my passions and hobbies in life like filmmaking and poetry, false romance stories, or anything cliche or nonsensical but I decided that since there’s an overall lack of substance and deeper thinking in some of the previous months this needs to be addressed from the heart . Growing up as a Muslim  I’ve always been confronted with the topics of materialism, inner desires, and terrorism. From the beginning people have always assumed that I’m “missing out” by not following my desires, what I mean by desires are the things we as humans want to do but they’re not the right things to do according to the rulings of God.  

If we want to understand what materialism is you need to know what it means, by definition materialism is defined as “a tendency to consider material possessions and physical comfort as more important than spiritual values”.  

What do we see today? People have replaced God in their daily lives with the temptations of this world. Why do we see the richest of the rich who have everything getting ready to commit suicide while others across the world are forced to live in refugee camps?  Before I get fully worked up this isn’t a rant on why we should embrace socialism or any “isms” of that matter.  

The issue is that when  people forget God they become senseless and they forget themselves.  Instead we see people trying to senselessly imitate people like actors and musicians in everything when we don’t understand that even people like them are merely happy on the surface, how many times do we hear about the broken or dysfunctional personal lives of the people we idolize?  People only live life for their coffee in the morning, their social media following, and the latest releases of things like fashion and the newest IPhone. This disease can be seen everywhere, in today’s world the problem often causes people to doubt their existence.  The same people who practically worship celebrities and their own material wealth are always the first to say they’re unhappy when they have enough in life. People pretend to be content in life as long as they have their Supreme, Thrasher, and any other brand you can think of. I’m not attacking you either if you enjoy looking nice, but the purpose in life in deeper than simply having nice things.   

The worse aspect of it all is how people are never thankful, the contrast is that people have absolutely nothing in life and they can still smile but yet people decide to complain when they’re unable to get the latest tech or name brand items.

The prophet Muhammad ( peace and blessings be upon him) once said that  “the One who’s biggest concern is this world, God ordains poverty between his two eyes and causes his affairs to become disjointed and dissipated, And as for one who passes his time with his biggest concern and goal the afterlife, God puts contentment to his heart and gives a wholeness and unity to his affairs.

This statement is not far from reality, why do you think the depression and suicide rates are so high among people in the richest countries?  Wealth does not buy you happiness or contentment, submission to God does.

Sometimes people look down at me when I tell them that wealth is not my end goal in life. I believe my purpose in life is to worship God and God alone by following what he has ordained in the Quran (Muslim holy book) and teachings of the Prophet Muhammad ( peace be upon him). At the end of the day you need to ask yourself the question: What will my wealth do for me in the grave or on the day of judgement when I’m asked by God what I did in this life? As a Muslim we believe that when God has given you something good or bad it is a test from God, if someone were to achieve wealth from  legitimate or  illegitimate methods, God will judge accordingly to way it was earned and also the way it was used. On the other hand, the REAL contentment of this life is through submitting to God, some individuals love to place blame on others when they fail to realize that this life is a test and that sometimes our bad actions can lead to consequences. If you’re still reading by this point I can tell you one of the greatest enjoyments I have in life is not through money, intoxicants, clothes, or anything else but it is through Salah or the five daily prayers, building and strengthening your relationship with God is something that will get you through life. The scariest thing of this all is if someone’s only goals in this life are wealth and status when they reach old age they feel as if they have nothing to live for anymore, the reason why it is essential to worship God alone and accept his rulings is because in the long term it will be beneficial to you not only in this world but also the afterlife. The Prophet Muhammad also said to Be in the world as if you were a stranger or a traveller along a path, we never know when we’ll return to God, life is uncertain but real honor is given by God. You might read this and laugh it off but don’t be shortsighted as we’ll all stand in front of God one day.
-----------------------------

Part 2: Terrorism

 I apologize for this being long but I felt like this needed to be said. Another experience I’ve had growing up as a Muslim is how we’re often correlated with terrorism.  Growing up in the immediate aftermath of 9/11, many people gave into the fear and hatred that was being promoted by others, some of the worst memories I’ve had in school were being called a terrorist and even being told to ‘go back home’ and that I didn’t belong in America. This isn’t meant to be some sort of sob story but the record needs to be set straight.

When we look at the definition of terrorism, terrorism is defined as the use of violence and intimidation to achieve a political or religious goal. Be honest, when you think of terrorism the first thing that pops up is the image of a Muslim man in a beard or a Muslim woman in a burka. I don’t blame you if that’s what comes to mind, but with the definition of terrorism you need to look at all sides and at the same time the likes of

ISIS or Al Qaeda do not represent Islam or Muslims in general. As a Muslim it is impossible for someone to support their injustice and oppression towards anyone.  Terrorism is the story of how millions of native Americans were wiped out by European invaders in a lust for greed and power. Terrorism is when millions of Africans were stolen from their lands and placed on cramped disease and starvation ridden boats, only to have their families broken up and denied their rights for hundreds of years.  Terrorism is Israel expelling over 700,000 Palestinians in 1948 like how the Pharaoh exiled Moses and his people, terrorism is also how Israel continuously bombs the Gaza strip’s schools, hospitals, and homes with white phosphorous turning people into ashes like the incinerators in Nazi camps all  in the name of ‘defense’. Terrorism is the west’s imperialism on Iraq and Afghanistan, killing millions while creating deformed children in Fallujah from the usage of depleted uranium  and stealing countless natural resources in the process of bringing “freedom”. Terrorism is oppressing people of color by forcing them to live in slums while introducing drugs and guns to them, you can take a look and see that policy’s effects linger on in the streets of  South Central LA, Chicago, and elsewhere. Terrorism is plundering and  colonizing the world under the pretense of white superiority and ‘bringing civilization’.  Terrorism is Russian involvement in Syria causing over 400,000 deaths and many to flee their country all for the sake of supporting a mad dictator hellbent on only securing his power. The list goes on, you need to put your humanity in check and understand that the narrative that we’re often forced to believe is not the truth, in fact Malcolm X even said that “The media's the most powerful entity on earth. They have the power to make the innocent guilty and to make the guilty innocent”, you can’t make up your own definition of terrorism while things like this happen neither can you blame a single group for the ills of violence in today’s world. I wanted to get this out here because people need to understand what reality is.

At the end of the day I’m proud of being a Muslim and I will not let anyone change this.

"Who Am I?" by Marta K.

     Who am I? It’s a question I have struggled to answer since I came out the womb. Of
course I’m a human, a female to be more specific, and my skin is brown. But what does that
mean? Who do I identify with? I have struggled to answer these questions for most of my life
and I only recently came to terms with my identity. Both of my parents were born and raised in
Ethiopia, but later moved to Sweden due to political unrest in the country. They met there and
got married, and were blessed with the presence of their second child: Marta Kiros. When I was
1 years old we moved to America, so it’s safe to say I know very little about what life was like in
Sweden. America is where I learned how to walk, talk, run, play, and grow as any other child
would. But for some reason, I never felt at home. I never felt like I mixed well with everyone. The
life I had at home was so different than the life presented to me at school, and soon enough I
became ashamed of my Ethiopian heritage. Kids who looked “African” at school were often
made fun of so I asked my parents to only speak English in public so no one would know.
Even though I spoke English fluently and was well accustomed into American culture,
things didn’t feel right. I was labeled as too “White” for the most of the Black kids and too “Black”
for White kids. Being stuck in this middle ground was confusing and pretty harmful for my self
confidence. Even though I had plenty of friends at school, I never felt truly accepted because I
hadn’t even accepted myself. As time went on, social media platforms such as Twitter exposed
me to thousands of other Africans just like me. I was finally exposed to people who experienced
the same feelings of loneliness and confusion because we came from different backgrounds.
Over time, it became easier for me to claim and identify myself as an Ethiopian and I began to
do extensive research about my country and its history. I realized that I am lucky to even have a
culture, and surrounding myself with other Ethiopians has definitely helped me gain more pride
in my country.

     Fast forward to this past summer: I was fortunate enough to visit Ethiopia for second time and
my I was left in awe. The thought of there being a whole different side of the world is still mind
boggling to me. After meeting so many family members and visiting so many historic sites, I
realized how selfish I was in being ashamed of my culture and background. By attempting to
erase that part of me, I was erasing the hundreds of family members I have back home, the
fierce bravery of my ancestors who fought for Ethiopia to be the only African country to never be
colonized, and the love for community that is so strong there.
Even now, I still don’t feel 100% Ethiopian, American, or Swedish, but I have learned to
embrace every side of my background, especially my Ethiopian heritage. My culture, food, and
language is so beautiful and I would encourage everyone to dig deeper into their own. The
mixture of our backgrounds is what makes America great, so I will never let anyone convince
me that I have to let go of my Ethiopian culture to become a true “American”. Embracing my
background has helped me learn so much about myself and I have met so many wonderful
people through the process. I hope everyone can one day come to terms with their heritage
while respecting and appreciating other cultures as well.

January Writers Are Here!

Read all of the selections for this month --   comments are for this month's group only (no earlier months, or last year's submissions)

Remember:
All Students:  Be sure to read the entries for this group  (January).  Everyone is required to comment on at least three different pieces of writing.  You must post the comment here on the blog (below the post is the "comments" link to click) AND cut and paste your comments, complete with dates and times, on to a Word document and turn it in to me by the February 9.  You must do both to get credit for comments this month.

Remember, comments must be positive, supportive, constructive, and SPECIFIC.  No "Good Job!" comments, unless you follow that with specific things you thought were done well in the piece.  Show them you actually took the time to read and enjoy their work!

"Dear Diary" by Kofi A

Thursday ,15th October 2020

Dear diary, i saw her again today in the lunch line. It was raining outside so her hair was all wet. Even so she still manages to look good. Dennis caught me looking at her again and tried to get me to go and talk to her. He doesn't understand the mechanics of a relationship. These things take time i must first plant a seed which will then bloom into the beautiful flower of our love. I told him this and he didn't get it. He says Emily is just a regular girl. Crazy right. Shes only the niece  of senator West, Captain of the intergalactic cheer team and has a 4.0 GPA and she makes the best brownies. Well so i've heard. When shes my wife i'll finally get to try them.She was looking as beautiful as ever. She got a jello cup and chocolate milk with her lunch, i remember because i said “hey you like jello” and she said “i guess” and then her friend told me to keep it moving. It was a magical moment.

Monday, 20th October 2020

Dear diary,Emily sat down next to me today in hover robotics. It was the only available seat i guess i got lucky. This is the beginning of great things. Shes new to the class so i can show her the ropes maybe help her work on her board, get it to float off the ground,That's really the only hard part. Its perfect i can get to know her better and find out what she likes. We talked a little. She was saying something about the elections and moving in with her uncle and BLAH BLAH BLAAAAH. She kinda talks a lot  it's hard to keep up. Iv noticed she likes to use big words. I could barely understand what she was saying. I just kept smiling and nodding.

Tuesday, 21st October 2020

Dear diary, I checked out a dictionary from the library. It didn't help :(

Thursday , 5th November 2020

Dear diary, I don't want to get too excited but i have a date tomorrow night. With Emily. The love of my life. Emily West.  but i'm playing it cool you know. I don't want to be too eager but i am excited. So excited. I'm about to lose control and i think i like it! She  doesn't know but we are going to a fireworks display in honor of Guy Fawkes. She says that she's always wanted to go to the UK so some british culture should be fun. Wait maybe it was Ukraine that she's always wanted to go to. Either way it's non refundable tickets so whatever. They're pretty much the same place right?

Sunday, 8th November 2020

Deary diary, For the record the UK and Ukraine are definitely not the same. She liked it though she thought it was very romantic. I found us a great view right at the top of a hill that was nearby. It took us like five minuets to get to the top but it was definitely worth it. I laid down a blanket i brought a little picnic basket with some sandwiches and fruit and things like that . Luckily we got to talking on the way up the hill and she told me about her peanut allergy. I quickly threw out the pb&js i made. Dodged a bullet there. Once the fireworks started it was like that scene out of toy story 5. Emily had her hair down and it was all curly. She was still a little sweaty from the walk up the hill but i didn't care. When the fireworks started things got even better. She told me about her life and what she wanted to do in the future. She is thinking about going into politics. There was kind of an awkward moment when she was reaching into the picnic basket and i thought she was leaning in and i ended up kissing her neck. Still as far as first kisses go it was pretty great. It would of been really great if one of the fireworks could go up and explode to read ‘I love you Emily your the best’. We can put a man on mars but we can't have instant message fireworks. People just don't understand priorities i guess.

Monday 10th November 2020

Dear diary,So i guess emily's uncle won the presidency. It not finalized yet but it's pretty much a done deal. I knew he was a senator but i didn't know he was running for president. Sometimes i can be so oblivious. I'm surprised emily didn't say anything about it thought. I feel like we are so connected i should've sensed this. It's kinda cool when i think about it. My girlfriend is related to President Kanye West. I wonder what this will mean for me and emily. We will be like celebrities on campus. Probably win prom and homecoming and everybody will love us. The new jay z and beyonce or should i say kim and kanye since we are family now. Actually nah i like jay z and beyonce better.

Tuesday 11th November 2020

Dear diary, Life is over. Emily dumped me and moved to washington. I texted her to see where she had been and to tell her that i missed her and she hit me with that oh we were nothing we went on one lame date and i'm doing bigger and better things with my life. Wow you give something your all and it turns around and stabs you right in the heart. With a fork which is even worst than a knife. I thought she was the one and she goes and does this to me i can't believe it. Maybe she's messing with me or something i dunno. She seemed kinda serious. I'll never love again.

Monday, 23rd November 2020

Dear diary, i saw april standing in the lunch line today. Is was raining outside so her hair was wet. Even so she still managed to look good. I think she might be the one.