Come Read Our November Writers!

 All Students:  Be sure to read the entries for this group  (November writers).  Everyone is required to comment on at least THREE different pieces of writing.  You must submit comments on Canvas (for each one, include the name of the author and the title of their piece, and then your positive, specific comment )by Wednesday, Dec. 8 on Canvas .

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!

"Maybe" by Conner G

 

To misquote award-winning gay filmmaker Hao Wu:

"In my Filipino Chinese family, love means worries."

 

And worries my parents did have. Upon other things, I was allowed to go to very few parties as a child. I'm not really allowed to go to parties now, either. I wasn't allowed to paint my nails until I was 16. I'm not allowed to dye my hair or cut it in a way my parents don't approve of. At fancy events, I have to dress in a way that meets their expectations for me. I was expected to earn all A's (to the point where I thought I would be punished if I didn't). Mental health was always a taboo topic in our house. I'm not allowed to go out with friends my parents have never met before.

 

All of this, for better or for worse, has shaped me into the person I am now. I like staying home. I hate the feeling of nail polish on my nails. I've essentially looked the same since 7th grade. I've been fighting my mother to let me wear a suit to senior prom for months. I've had several anxiety attacks over the single B+ that I earned in junior year. I started seeing a therapist two years ago after my mother yelled at me for not cleaning my room. If my friends ask me to hang out, my initial reaction is to tell them no. Not because I don't want to go, but because I don't think my parents will say yes.

 

Yet I know this has all been out of love. Out of fear. Fear that I won't come home from that party, fear that I won't succeed in life if my grades are low, fear that one day I'll just leave for good and never come back. Because it's not that my parents don't love me, that's not what this is about at all. If anything, they love me too much, smothering me until I can't breathe, making me feel like a stunted version of the person I could've been had I been able to have even just a little more freedom. 

 

Perhaps you've heard of the phrase "saving face." It's a very big concept in many cultures all over Asia, including the worldwide diaspora. For those of you who are unaware, the general definition (via Merriam-Webster's online dictionary) is:

 

save face (idiom)

to avoid having other people lose respect for oneself // He tried to save face by working overtime.

 

In Chinese culture, the concept of face is your honor. Your prestige. How you present yourself to others and how that reflects on you and your family. To save face is to make yourself socially acceptable to those around you, even at the cost of who you really are.

 

This is how face works in my family.

 

This is not to say that the concept of face does not exist in other cultures as well (even if it is not actually called face), or that every single Asian American family operates in the same way that mine does because the vastness of the human experience leaves no room for absolutes. But

 

from how I've lived and what I've been told by other people, this occurs to a level that is so uniquely bittersweet to the Asian American experience that there's barely a day that goes by where I don't think about it and its effect on my life.

 

Though they are not entirely aware of it, my family leans heavily into the concept of face. My mother especially always nags me that I can't wear this because people will make fun of me and think I'm lazy or I can't do that because how will it make her feel when people come to her and tell her her child is strange or childish for their age? As if my feelings about it don't matter. As if I'm not allowed to make decisions for myself just because she personally doesn't like it.

 

And yet I still understand. She's trying to protect herself. To protect me. Because the mortal feeling of shame and embarrassment that I have grown a tolerance for is more than she can bear, because she grew up in a household where how you presented yourself on the outside mattered many times more than who you were on the inside.

 

And if that matters to her then fine, I will let her live as she pleases. She is my mother, after all, why would I try and tell her how to live a life she built for herself out of nearly nothing?

 

But I don't want to live like that.

 

I want to be loud, to be frowned upon, to crush the expectations put upon me for who I am, what I look like, who I love. I'm tired of trying to fit in this little box just to please people I don't care about or that I've never met before because what does their opinion matter if I'm happy and healthy and living a life that makes me feel good about myself?

 

All my life I have wanted nothing more than to be enough for my family, for my parents, running around like a headless chicken trying to be the version of myself that they've fabricated for themselves from when my age could be counted on your fingers. But maybe I don't have to be enough for them. Maybe I don't have to be enough for anyone else. Maybe I can just be enough for myself.

 

Maybe that's all I ever truly wanted.

"A Silent Symphony" by Marissa C

 

---

White noise. A hum. Mmm mm mm. A continuous melody humming in the listener's ear in bliss. That’s the first thing Elora’s senses make out. The only movement being her own two feet pattering on the solid ground. When it hits her… an overwhelming sense of fatigue. Elora’s own breath goes quiet, only a voice in her head screaming. All around her the black fog seems to suffocate her. Before long she was falling down an endless pit, swallowing her up into its nothingness. Then a voice speaks as if covered by a cloth.

A deep voice vibrates, “Welcome, we’ve been expecting you,” Elora swallows her throat dry as she moves her lips to speak, her voice gone. Realizing this she panics, heart thumping to an indistinguishable sound. A warning. The voice speaks up again, “You may be wondering where it is you are at. And that answer will come soon. Only when you are ready will your mind be open to what it is we must reveal to you. Till then all there is to do is wait.” Wait, she does. It feels as if several minutes have passed before a light blinks awake and reveals a floating wisp of fog that slowly starts to expand towards Elora and her surroundings. Before Elora knows it, she is transported to an empty coffee shop. The cafe being unrecognizable to her she begins to panic; a suffocation of all the overwhelming guilt she feels with no understanding of where this deep emotion was coming from.

Then the voice echoes, “Does any of this seem familiar to you? Ah, yes almost forgot.”

A deep rumbling laugh is all that is heard before she is able to speak what has been bouncing around in her mind and trying to form through her lips.

 “What is this?” Elora yells.

“Now then, there is no reason for this unnecessary noise. If you have a question, speak it uprightly.”

“ What. Am. I. Doing. Here?” She speaks with an edge.

“Hmm, never quite lose the fight in you, do you? That was always something we have admired about you from the beginning.”

“Who’s this ‘we’?

“Well, that’s just something you need to figure out on your own, isn’t it?” Elora sneered at that with a spark of fight lighting up in her eyes. “Now then no more worrying your pretty little head. We have this all under control.” the voice said over Elora’s huff as if about to retort.

A familiar feeling of having once been treated like glass by...by her family? Yes…she had a family! She knew how to handle herself only years of self doubt having hindered that confidence. Doubt resulting from her time growing up with her parents and older brother, who, more than anyone treated her as if she was a frail little bird he decided to care for after their parents died. Don’t get her wrong she’s beyond grateful and loves him dearly; he’s the only family who cares to sacrifice his life. But, the only way to drown out her frustrations about living in the shadow’s of her brother’s protectiveness relied heavily on her training. Elora knew as soon as she picked up her outworn dancing shoes and glided across the stage this is what she wants to be doing for the rest of her life.

So why then does she now doubt herself on this? The one thing she knew she could do. A reason lingered in her head. One Elora tried so hard to hide in order to keep doing what she knew she could. So why was she here when she should be heading back to the academy? ‘This isn’t real’ echoed in her head. Was something… or someone keeping her from that?

“ You’ve figured it out. You are right, this isn’t the reality you know. This is a space manifested by your conscience and our collective. You have been brought here because your mind can’t grasp whatever is ailing you and has brought you here to resolve it. The question you should be asking yourself now is the million dollar question. What will you do when you get out? If you are here that must mean a conflict is tethering you.”

“A conflict?”

“ Yes, we can only be accessed when the body cannot support the mind or better yet emotions on its own. It just so happens you are in that predicament as we speak. So it seems you have a reason for being here, something that is troubling you so much that you have been directed to us.”

“What do you mean?” Elora said, looking perplexed.

“You are neither here nor there,” the voice spoke as fog surrounded the empty coffee shop and when it receded revealed a hospital room with a body on the bed that resembled Elora’s own. On a chair sat her brother, Theo, who was anxiously staring at her silent, unmoving body as if he could persuade it to move with sheer intensity.

“Why are you showing me this?”

“This is what it comes down to. A choice, to completely abandon your last tie to your family or to allow yourself a chance at rekindling what you’ve lost. An opportunity so few come across is approaching you now. No further can we guide you, the choice must be up to you, however, if you decide to make amends these new revelations will all be remembered as hallucinations. We see that he cares for you,” the voice says with a soft tone. “ But the choice is yours. You decide your course.”

---

It hurt him to see her motionless form. He could just stare at her for ages with only his eyes and agitation to compel some sort of response from the immobile body. So small and frail hooked up to the only things keeping her alive. Is she dreaming right now? The loud beeps similar to a hum echo in the small room. White noise he hears as he sleeps restlessly on the couch next to the bed that holds up his sister. It haunted him every time he closed his eyes the youthful face of his little sister, a title she despised and felt she outgrew, in distress as the car flipped. When he woke up after the accident, he wasn’t spared the horrifying image of his sister lying next to him. Arm stretched out in her last moments awake, reaching for him tears falling from her eyes and falling down. Those same eyes closed as if asleep, only the small motion of her chest slowly rising up and down indicating she was alive. He knew Elora was the only tie to his family he had now and knew that the last minutes he had with her were words of hurt spewing from his mouth. He shivered as the realization dawned on him that if his little sister didn’t pull through he’d be on his own. He wouldn’t get to see her in a cap and gown as she walked to the center and grabbed the art degree Elora had worked so hard to earn. A dance academy Elora was willing to sacrifice anything to go to even her last connection to her family, her brother. Seeing her so willing, so prepared to move away from him was a stab to his heart. He knew she was only pursuing what she loved and he could smile knowing she was doing just that. That’s why on her last week of finals he was so enthusiastic to accept her offer for coffee, despite the long flight he would have to endure. It all seemed worth it though, to see her smile and eyes twinkle as she raved about the ever nearing graduation and the question that loomed over them both. What would she do after? Return home with her brother… or continue the next steps of her career. It was never his choice to make, so he had decided he would support her in any way he could even if that meant letting her stay for her dreams. He only hoped Elora would know that.

“Little sister, whatever you choose to do with your life, with or without me, I will be someone you can depend on without a doubt. When you do wake up Elora, know your big brother loves you no matter what you choose.”

As he clasped her small hand he laid his head on his forearms. Closing his eyes he saw images of a woman dancing gracefully along the stage. Poised and elegant with a smile upon her face and a twinkle in her eyes. A small hum that moved her dance along slowly turned to one of an urgent symphony of beeps. Head shooting up he felt a twitch on his clasped hands that were joined together with Elora’s and then another. With no time to spare he called for the doctors, tears pooling at his eyes as his sister’s body responded miraculously for the first time.

 

 

"What Is and What Should Never Be" by JD J

 

Beyond the shadow of a doubt, I'm dead. I bet you had to re-read that. But just hours ago, I was visiting a friend I hadn't seen in years in Chicago. Now, I'm dead in the street. Weird. How did this happen? Why should I care? You're probably asking these questions, so stick around. If not, I suggest keeping an open mind, you'll see why. Now, where was I?

  

Jimmy had been my friend since the fourth grade, where the shared dislike of Ms. Roberts was the defining trait between the both of us. He’d moved to Chicago a year after high school, with his then girlfriend Lisa. She turned out to be a creep, so that relationship went up in smoke, (along with her car). His apartment was on the tenth floor of his building looking north, with Lake Michigan visible off in the distance. His building was nice, and full of nice people. I hate it there. Despite the long trip (by bus mind you), I was excited to see Jimmy. We’d been separated for nearly five years now, high school being a long way behind us both it felt like. His career as a videographer took him all over the place, so he could hardly stand still. That was why this meet was so special. Arriving at his building just after two in the afternoon, I climbed the stairs to the tenth floor. I knocked on his door. It opened by itself. And Jimmy wasn’t there. In fact, no one was there. Huh. His place was almost empty, no note, no voicemail, no nothing. I sat on Jimmy’s small couch and looked out the window. I told him I would be at his place just after two. Where else would he be? Not his style to be late expecting a guest. Maybe he’s just hung up at work. Maybe he’s holding the door for someone. Maybe he jumped out a window. Brrrrrr. Brrrrr. The dial tone buzzed in my ear. “Hey, it’s Jimmy. You know the drill.” Beeeep. So Jimmy’s phone was still on. But he’s not answering. Ever stranger. I put the phone down, and looked out the window again.

Crash. The window broke. I dropped to the floor, and scrambled over to cover, putting my back against the wall under the window. Broken glass scraped my palms and knees. I looked up. Jimmy. He was sickly pale. A crazed look filled his brown eyes, his black hair was contorted and frayed in all directions. His blue button down shirt and jeans were stained and discolored, (not sure with what), and he held a crowbar over his head. “H - How did you get in?” he asked, breathlessly. I told him the door was open, so I let myself in. He dropped the crowbar, it hit the floor with a loud thump. “S-Say,” he began to speak, shakily. “...you wouldn’t happen to have some cash on hand, w-would you?” Jimmy never spoke with a stutter. I told him I had about fifty bucks for food. “I, uh, need it pretty b-bad.” What’s going on with you? Jimmy kept the crazed look in his eyes, but his mouth turned downward into a sad frown. “I just need the m-money” he stammered, desperately. I pulled out my wallet. Jimmy, I started, What is going on? He came close to me, his shaking hands outstretched. “Give it to me, n-now.” His tone had become angered, and I became reluctant. I put my wallet back in my pocket, determined to get an answer out of him. Jimmy’s breathing quickened again, I could almost feel his heart racing through the floor. I said no. “W-What?” Jimmy looked as though he didn’t believe me. I repeated. No. I wason the floor clutching my bleeding nose before I knew what hit me, Jimmy standing over me like a wild animal. He thrust his hands into my pocket and yanked out my wallet, bolting out the door before I could make my eyes stop watering. I lay there for a solid ten minutes before the bleeding could stop, even longer before my courage to stand would return. That wasn’t Jimmy. Not the one I knew. But the question on my mind at that moment wasn’t what had happened to him. How do I find him?

Jimmy had thrown a small glass ornament he pulled off his counter at the window, (well, technically at me), and the projectile shattered it into a million tiny shards. The sun was setting when I woke up. I felt a cool breeze from the hole in the wall where the window had formerly occupied. Apparently I’d passed out after Jimmy hit me (and stole my wallet). The clock hanging over the kitchen sink read 6:02 (pm). My face hurt. My knees hurt. My hands hurt. I went into the bathroom to clean myself up, finding the trauma from Jimmy’s punch splayed across my cheeks and under my eyes. Ow. A fine layer of dust coated the bathroom floor. I thought nothing of it. I cleaned my face delicately, washing my hands to clear away any remaining broken pieces of glass. Stepping out into Jimmy’s bedroom, there was a fine layer of dust coating his bookshelf too. I put two and two together. Despite the normal looking condition of the apartment, based on how Jimmy looked, and the dust all over, he hadn’t been here in a while. Who knows how long he’s been gone, I thought concerningly. Or if he’ll come back. Turning to leave, a piece of paper on Jimmy’s nightstand caught my eye. ‘Max’s Cell - 783-5309’. Max. This guy knows. I called the number, leaving the apartment as I did. “Yeah”, a disinterested voice on the other end said. I reached the stairwell. Have you seen Jimmy lately? “Yeah I seen ‘em”, the voice replied. I wasn’t convinced. Well, Max, if you see him again, tell him -. The line went dead. A few beeps and a lady’s voice said, ‘We’re sorry, the number you’re trying to reach has been disconnected…’. Stepping outside, I put my phone back in my pocket. What have I gotten myself into? Better yet, what's Jimmy gotten into? He’s in trouble. Leaving, I walked over to the street, intent on hailing a cab back to the bus station. I need to go. I need to - a loud crack and a bolt of heat shot through the air, causing me to duck in place. Jimmy’s apartment erupted into flames.

I was in a daze. Cars whizzed by at the edges of my senses, everything a blur in the chaos. Lights flashed from unknown locations, and loud noises were muffled by the sound of my ears ringing. Where - How I started stammering as I regained my senses slowly. I could smell the thick, black smoke in the air. I could taste the burning remnants of what was Jimmy’s apartment smeared on my lips. Finally being able to see, I looked up. A massive hole was all that was left of Jimmy’s side of the building. The explosion had caused a chain reaction of the immediate floors surrounding the blast to cave in. I had never seen anything like it. Panic set in, and I fled, hearing sirens wail as I rounded the corner. Jimmy. Jimmy, if I find you, you’re going to wish you hadn’t invited me to Chicago. Wait. Why did he invite me to Chicago? I circled back to the series of emails we’d sent setting up my trip out to see him. He’d refused to talk on the phone,

which I didn’t think much of at the time, but given the circumstances, should have. People had started to mill about in the streets, trying to make sense of what was going on. Jimmy’s emails had seemed normal, we’d set a date, meeting place, etcetera. So why would Jimmy need to-. It dawned on me. Jimmy needed money for something. The paranoia set in. I looked behind me, where a crowd had formed around the corner near the exploded apartment. I turned back around, to find Jimmy staring at me. I froze. His crazed eyes had returned to normal, the rest of his features, not so much. He had white powder plastered to his hands. Oh. That's what he did with my wallet. Jimmy, I began, I know you're sick, but- bang. A white hot, searing heat slammed into my stomach. He shot me. I collapsed onto the sidewalk. Through blurred vision, I saw Jimmy pocket the revolver he pulled on me, and walk away. Anyone previously on this street was now over by Jimmy’s apartment, so I was alone.. I could feel the warmth leaving my being, as it pooled under me slowly. Jimmy….why? I closed my eyes, drifting.

So. Now you’re up to speed. Am I dead? Or am I just - . A warm hand rested on my shoulder. A small smile creased my lips. There is hope after all...

“Love Continues On” by Mia O

 

As a child, I could only search for the representation of love that was introduced to me since I was an infant. The expectations of being wedded eternally with commitment and fidelity. Those expectations collaborated with my childish perspective of innocence and trust for my parents' promise, outlined the desires for my future. Naive as I was, there was an invisible pain chained to mother dearest, making their love a broad timeline, never fully consistent and always altering. Perfection and consistency were the lies that I told myself when I went home, and the reality of distance was disregarded when it took hours to travel between each of them. Ignorant and young, I continued to lie to myself, seeing my father as the perfect man and ignoring my own screams that broke the silence of each night as I writhed in hunger and starved right next to him. I saw no problem with this pain. Mother dearest grew weaker as the chains were welded thicker into her heart, and months passed before reconciliation was her only answer to halt the pain. I must have learned from her, for she grew up with the same dismissive depiction of love and marriage, drawing her back to the sorrow and confrontations. Only temporarily mended, she remained like fragile glass for the next 11 years because she only saw her partnership through the eyes of her children. The children always saw mother dearest in arms reach, and father delinquent was often absent from the memories.

Maturing meant recognizing how much our house is not built from devotion, but from tolerance. 17 years of my life and I’ve rarely seen love presented as joyous and meaningful. In my reality, I see the eyes of my father delinquent screaming to run away. Nothing done to act on the unsaid need to leave, but the forsaken feelings he kept for us were obvious. Love didn’t exist in his adolescence, so his concept of love grew to be warped and his knowledge of how to love the family he conceived was limited. About 5 months ago, we opened our home to children who needed a substitute family, resulting in the exemplification of abandonment for mother dearest. For my father, we saw how much love was manifested with the arrival of the children, but the blood within the original clan quickly evaporated and meant nothing. Emotionally neglected, mother dearest saw her dreams exactly 1,676.6 miles away from this synthetic home. She expressed these desires when she was at her weakest, pleading for how deeply she wanted to be with the family that appreciates her. She still envisions her children surrounding her for her strongest moments, far away from the chains of pain and even farther away from my father.

I question how after 20 years, this pair of perfectly poignant people have lived under the same last name. After deeper deliberations, mother dearest conveyed how she’s simply waiting. Frigid like the emptiness in space, she waits for certain ends to start new beginnings. What does that even mean? Ignorant and young, I realize that I have to leave school behind me in order for her to leave, but not alone. An unspoken pact was made: when we’re ready, we go.

Slow down. What about me? For years, I have made a separate family out of promises and love, not blood but bona fide companions. Distance from them means corruption and is preventable, but costly. What happens if we stay? I felt like the power of possibilities were in my hands, but I am forever ignorant and young to the promise that conceived me. We’re now in October and the days drift with no argument or answers from myself on our journey ahead, because I decided to wait on the choice.

Suddenly November brought change when the father delinquent offered mother dearest luxuries meant to temporarily satisfy and mask the imitation of his love. The offer was accepted and years of desperation from my mother seemed to disappear, and I became perplexed by how much of our dignity was wasted on these nonessentials. Emotionally abandoned, my past lingers, desperately craves attention, fixation, and answers to when our family will be together for the right reasons. There’s about 20 minutes in each day where there isn’t a restraint in my father’s demeanor, similar to the 20 years of promises unkept. At the end of the 20 minutes, he detaches from us taking his warmth and consolation. In these moments my heart cannot help but miss him so much.

I recognized wholehearted consistency in myself and in my trauma. Falling and failing, with not one slight sensation of healing, but always finding myself in new phases of discovery. Regularly enclosed by my feelings, love feels uncomfortable, but love continues on, as it always has. These days, I learn how to love significantly and when it is deserved. So I’m proud to say that I love them and that my life is so fulfilling sharing this last name.

"Discipline" by Alexis G

 

 

One of the greatest boxing fighters of all time, Mike Tyson, in an interview discussed one of the most inspiring stories from his trainer Cus D'amato when he said, “You have to stay disciplined. It is about doing something you hate like you love it.” I didn’t know what this really meant at the time, until I heard my father talking about what it's like to be disciplined and the sacrifices he makes as a fireman. Going to work when it is stressful, and hating some of the things he knows he will have to put up with, but he does it like he loves it. He does this because he knows what's on the line. That being the house he lives in, the food on the table, and most importantly his family. Then I heard it from other inspirational role models, like Kobe Bryant, who would train all day every day for years while being on only 4 hours of sleep a day, showing that dedication. Hating going through the training, the long nights, but knowing it will all eventually pay off. And that is where discipline plays a large role in the large and little things in life.

 

Within the last year or so, I have begun to realize what it is like trying to strive for greatness, striving to accomplish only so little just to be able to continue doing the sport that I love. With that comes a lot of adversity, struggles, demoralizing moments, and also learning about who you are as a person as well. It also sets in discipline which is a term I have stuck by all year long. Being able to stick by the word discipline allows you to force your mind to fight through just simply waking up to get ready for school. Everyone has been there, where they feel lazy to get up and continue to stay in bed. But certain scenarios, such as staying in bed when needing to get up and start the day, can cause bad habits and more slacking off then getting to work.

"How To Make My Sister’s Peach Cobbler" by Cydney F

  

 

My sister is 7 years older than me, we hardly ever see each other and we talk every other time when we are not busy which is very rare. But every time we are together for a long time, which is like a week or two, we make time to make her peach cobbler because it is my favorite dish to eat and make with her. My favorite memory of us making this dish was a couple years ago. She was visiting and we had just gone to the store and bought the ingredients for the cobbler. The reason this particular memory is so special is because this was the last time we had made the peach cobbler since she had decided to live up North, 8 hours away from home. We had lots of laughs and made such a mess and just created new memories with each other.

 

Ingredients for Peach Cobbler:

 

●      Large can of peaches (drain the syrup)

●      Brown sugar

●      Cinnamon

      ●      Nutmeg

●      Pie crust 2 (store bought)

●      Butter 

●      Huge tub of Vanilla Ice Cream

Tools:

 

●      A knife

●      Can opener 

●      Rectangular clear glass baking dish 

●      Measuring Cup 

●      A Stirring utensil

 

Steps:

 

1.     Open the can of peaches and drain the syrup

2.     Mix Peaches with Brown Sugar ½ cup 

3.     Pour nutmeg into peaches and brown sugar to your desire while stirring

4.     Pour cinnamon into peaches and brown sugar to your desire while stirring 

5.     Pour 3 teaspoons of vanilla

6.     Grease pan with butter 

7.     Lay one pie crust down in pan 

8.     Pour Peaches in

9.     Cut butter into half stick 5 pieces 

10.  Display the butter 1 in the center and 4 on the outside

11.  Put the other pie crust on top

12.  Spread melted butter on top of dough 

13.  Preheat oven to 375 °F

14.  When done preheating, insert the dish into the oven 

15.  Bake for an hour and constantly check on it

 

Once the dish is completely baked and the crust is golden brown, scoop yourself some vanilla ice cream and the peach cobbler heated up. I HOPE YOU ENJOY !!

"The Definition of Community" by Ezekiel R

 

What word comes to mind when you hear the word ‘Coronavirus’? Was it most likely quarantine? Over many months billions of people around the globe stayed inside to prevent the spread of this virus. This time could severely wear a person out mentally. Just four months into the worldwide shutdown, it was revealed by the CDC that over 40% of adults were struggling with depression and substance abuse. Suddenly, the public was eager to go back to work and reconnect with humanity after being away for what was a long time. But why is that? This is because we finally realized why community is important to society. As any student during March 13th of 2020, I was thrilled to know we were going to have an additional week of spring break. Although when the time started to pass slower and slower, I often found myself reminiscing. My grades reflected this slump I was falling in. So this is where I started to begin to search what a community truly is and why it is so important to be a part of one.

Firstly, the definition of a community is a feeling of fellowship with others, according to the Oxford dictionary. The definition also states how a community is formed with those who share the same attitudes, interests, and goals. Although it seems simple enough, the main principle of unity doesn’t fully do justice to why this word community is still so meaningful. It provides support to those within along with resources to be shared within. Starting with support allows for confidence to be built up within a community. The confidence part is necessary with anything in life, but it must start from somewhere. Justine Clarabut of wellbeingpeople.org mentions how vital support is a fundamental part of a community in the following,” With so much stress in the busy world we live in, there’s never been a more important time to help others struggling with their mental and physical wellbeing.” If you have ever partaken in an event where you had to be in front of an audience, then you understand just how crucial it is to have confidence. It's not limited to a sport or club event but that confidence

within yourself is built on the support given by your peers. This is why support should also be mentioned in the definition of community.

The next part that is to be represented is the importance of resources within a community. Resources are what can start a community. Furthermore, this is how civilization is created through multiple and larger communities. From a historical perspective, this is how the first civilization was created in ancient Egypt centuries ago. This is in humanity’s nature to share resources amongst each other. These resources are not limited to just physical items, as knowledge and ideas can also fall under this umbrella. With efficient use of resources, this comes back to the point of prospering and expanding the community.

Now the world is more open, I have felt a more positive change in my attitude and interactions with others. I have built a new appreciation for the communities I am a part of in school and my personal life. My emotions are more positive and I am more energetic with who I am around. After school started back in person, my mental state changed back to a calm state. But after testing in person again, sometimes I wished we were back in quarantine.

 

 

Works Cited

 

https://www.cdc.gov/mmwr/volumes/69/wr/mm6932a1.htm https://www.wellbeingpeople.com/2020/07/23/the-importance-of-an-engaging-community/

"The Idea of Life" by Lara E

 

Life. What is life? According to Oxford's definition, life is “the ability to breathe, grow, reproduce, etc. (where) people, animals, and plants have before they die (while) the objects do not.” In other words, it is our existence where we are capable of the abilities of living such as breathing. However, that is not all to life. There’s this Arabic expression that says “هلك حيار,”meaning everything goes away. Figuratively speaking, since everything is going away, the things that upset us now in life wouldn’t matter later in the future once we face our ultimate end. Thus, we should disregard the things that upsets us and focus on finding happiness with the time we still have. Life is a moment of happiness, pain, sadness, joy, fear, etc. It is about making connections with the people you love and care about as well as finding your individuality. It is about being free and finding what is most important to you. Our lives could end at any sudden moment. We should make the most of it.

 

Furthermore, life is more than just existing or living. It is the choices that we make that make life worth living. Our choices lead to new beginnings, forming connections, and becoming who you are. Our choices could also lead to obstacles and new challenges. However, these obstacles help us with our growth as an individual and finding our purpose in life. The more we grow and learn, the more we cherish the things we have. Life is a journey where we learn, we laugh, we feel, and we see. Life is what we make it up to be, depending on the decisions we make. In addition,our decisions are essential in the idea of living as it would affect us later in ways that we won’t expect. For instance, economics is the study of choices. Therefore, every choice we make in purchasing items or managing a business has a cause and effect. With every effect, there comes a new choice made which leads on to a never ending cycle. Depending on the result of our past decisions, a new decision is made. Life follows the same type of concept. The connections we choose to make or the type of path we choose to walk on affects how we live our life. Therefore, life is lived through the makings of our decisions.

 

Lastly, time is limited. We only have one chance, one life. We, humans, are not as fortunate as the cat with nine lives. Thus, the choices that we make in life matter as they later dictate our future. They paint our fate depending on the circumstances of our decisions. Furthermore, the choices we make should be focused on achieving happiness and living a peaceful life. We should try to live a life that is filled with joy instead of sadness and pain. Although there are moments in life where we would be feeling down, we should try to be happy as much as we can as happiness is key to living life to the fullest.

Round Two! Good reads!

 

 All Students:  Be sure to read the entries for this group  (October writers).  Everyone is required to comment on at least THREE different pieces of writing.  You must submit comments on Canvas (for each one, include the name of the author and the title of their piece, and then your positive, specific comment )by Friday, November 12 on Canvas .

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!

"The Definition of Mental Health " by Aaron P

For the common person, the definition of mental illness may only come from how they

are represented by forms of media, ever since the introduction of newspapers all the way up to

recent films and tv shows. Doctors and psychologists are seldom at the forefront of

Media, therefore, the topic of mental health is usually driven by what would cause the most 

Reaction from the viewers. With this, the media often falsely portrays the concept of mental health 

and initiates debates centered around the idea of fear over certain treatments that may be 

beneficial. Now, the question presents itself, and that is what forms of media are responsible for 

these false depictions? Through personal experience and research, movies and books tend to 

portray mental health through crazy and over dramatic scenes meant to encapsulate the audience, 

creating a false stigma, whereas the news and radio shows tend to create argument over the 

legitimacy of certain solutions, further leaving the trust in these solutions up in the air. 

Ever since the beginning of film and media, mental health has been defined or portrayed in a way that produces the best intrigue or effect. It is a common process in the film industry to bend the truth and realism of events in order to create a story that is different and unique. In pursuit of this creativity, the truths of Mental health have been bent and overaggerated to give readers or 

watchers a show. To quantify this effect, researchers and professors from USC’s Annenberg 

initiative record that close to 50% of mental health portrayals in film and television are within 

the context of humor or disparagement. The significance of these findings proves the intent of the

industry’s usage of mental health and perfectly aligns with the common stigma around those who 

suffer from mental illness. Many, including myself, look to forms of media as a guide, looking for 

life lessons and situations I can learn from and take home, therefore it isn’t a surprise that when 

Mental health is looked down upon, or treated in the most severe context, that people would make 

a note to avoid the behavior depicted. 

Media has also made it difficult for many to establish an understanding of various mental 

health issues, by confusing and over exaggerating their conditions. Psychologist Dr. Danny Wedding to the BBC had this to say about books and film, “movies such as The Exorcist (1973) suggest to the public that mental illness is the equivalent of possession by the devil; and movies such as One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest (1975) make the case that psychiatric hospitals are simply prisons in which there is little or no regard for patient rights or welfare.” To someone who may suffer from certain conditions, being referred to as similar to the “possession by the devil,” can have a serious effect on the way they are able to interact with the public, thereby reversing the plans of many who want to fight against mental illness. It is my hope that in the future mental health is treated as more of a serious issue in film and media rather than the way it has in the past.

How we as a society define mental health has a ton of influence from the novel, One Flew 

Over The Cuckoo’s Nest, in which one of the main characters, Randle McMurphy, consistently condemns the treatment and relates it to something similar to an evil scheme. Oftentimes, conflicting viewpoints such as these can cause the audience to lose their trust in what could possibly make a huge impact in their life. Psychiatric hospitals have also been wrongly portrayed and have turned people away from their potential help. An article by U.S today explains, “Those mental institutions resemble a prison more than a place of healing – an image that’s still perpetuated by cinema.” With this in mind, it shows a consistent theme of the media to portray mental health and illness in a dark and controlling manner. Instead of creating confusing and fearful stigmas around treatments, I would hope the media can start more conversations over possible solutions.

    To conclude, there is no denial that media has the strongest influence on culture and 

Society, which is why with certain situations it is important for us to break out of that bubble and 

think for once whether or not there is any truth or credibility to what we see. Defining Mental 

health in a cruel and pessimistic manner as our society has is detrimental to the future of our world, 

and coming together is what we need most. In my experience it has been easy to understand the 

falsehoods in the media's portrayal of mental health, because my siblings have dealt with it their

whole lives. My brother has autism and I can’t even begin to describe the pain I felt when he

would come home with bruises and tears in his eyes thanks to bullies and teachers who wouldn’t 

bat an eye. Because of this I have a first hand experience of the effects that media has had on their 

mental healths, a lot of which coming from a simple misunderstanding and misrepresentation by

the media. A true definition of someone who is mentally ill should not be influenced by outside 

parties, unfortunately stigmas last. If people are given a reason to fear something, they will. If

people are given a reason to be disgusted by something, they will. The world doesn’t operate by 

chance, it is human nature to trust society’s determining authority Figures. Media has choice to 

make with regards to their portrayals, if enough people passionate enough to stand up to stigma

make a change, the media would likely follow the trend and work towards an ideal path to

humanize the definition of mental health.

   

Work Cited

Fawcett, Kirstin. “How Mental Illness Is Misrepresented in the Media.” U.S. News & World Report, U.S. News & World Report, 16 Apr. 2015, 10:51 a.m., health.usnews.com/health-news/health-wellness/articles/2015/04/16/how-mental-illness-is-misrepresented-in-the-media. 

Haider, Arwa. “How Cinema Stigmatises Mental Illness.” BBC Culture, BBC, 27 Aug. 2018, www.bbc.com/culture/article/20180828-how-cinema-stigmatises-mental-illness. 

Kesey, Ken. One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest. Penguin Putnam, 1992.

USC Annenberg. “Characters with Mental Health Conditions Rarely Seen on TV and in Film.” USC News, 4 June 2019, news.usc.edu/157768/mental-health-conditions-tv-film/.