Find the shape and tell it!
All Students: Be sure to read the entries for this group --April 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, May 14 on Canvas.
In the book series, The Summer I Turned Pretty, the setting where the story is centered around is the beach house owned by the close friend of the main character’s mom, named Susannah. From the introduction of the house, Belly had described it as being “magical,” a place where the atmosphere made her feel at home, comfortable, and happy. Every summer growing up, Belly and her family spent the summer at the beach house with Susannah and her family. For Belly, the beach house represented the nostalgic and beautiful feeling of summer. She said, “Everything good, everything magical happens between the months of June and August.” To embody the magicalness that Belly described the beach house in Cousins to be, I painted a watercolor sunset in the background. The bright and vibrant colors of the sunsets not only represent the end of the day, but also Belly letting go of being a kid and growing up. Sunsets also carry a sentimental and bittersweet feeling, displayed by Belly’s constant reminiscing of her fun times at the beach house growing up. I drew the beach house at the center of the canvas since it is the central setting where the plot takes place and serves as a time capsule for Belly’s fondest memories and dreams
of summer.
Discomfort. The ringing vibration of the metal and the shock, how he hated it. The augment was mandatory; how could it not be? He used it every day, without fail. With a thought, he willed it away as his eyes opened.
In a deft, practiced motion, his finger flicked to the left side of his temple, tapping it. The cold metal against the tip of his finger was a comfort. He loved the cold, always did, or so mother and father always said. How he missed them. How he missed his homeworld and its calming frost. But, he was an adult now, and things were also so expensive over there. It wasn’t so bad. He could always go visit them, after all.
"Clara?" he thought, opening up a channel.
"Yes, Halo?" was the reply.
"How many more solar cycles til I can redeem TO?"
"Only 2.71 more cycles until your time off! You're getting there. Standard units, of course. Down 0.002 from when you last asked, which was yesterday morning."
He could hear a tiny, minute, infinitesimal hint of exasperation in her voice, but when it disappeared, he could see her soft smile. He spared a thought to appreciate how beautiful she was. The silvery sheen of her sculpted face really was so pleasing to his mind’s eye.
"Thanks, Clara. What time is it?"
"07:77. You need to show up at work in 23 minutes, standard. You missed the first shock."
"Damn it."
Halo's mostly skin-covered face twisted into the unsightly discomfort.
The door to his sleeping pod opened with a click, following a quick mental command. Stepping over the sordid state of his allotted room, he proceeded to the mirror. Just as expected, his uniform was acceptable, almost presentable. He avoided looking at himself, for he was so hideous. So much skin and flesh covered his body. When he looked closely, he could see the asymmetries in his form, the subtle folds of age showing upon his visage, though he was still young. Scanning his fleshy optic a few degrees to the left, he spied the leftover contents of last night's dinner, which was supposed to be today's breakfast. What a shame. The taste of good food was a perfectly presentable reason to live; the foodie blog mentioned that.
"Halo, you really got to get going. Just take the large package at 13:00."
Halo thought a thought of acquiescence for a moment, placating Clara. What a good friend Clara was. What would he do without her? He really couldn't do without her.
"Thank you, Halo. I couldn't do without you either. That's why you've got to get to work! How will I talk to you if you have to liquidate me?"
Halo opened the door to the outside. The hot breeze brought him discomfort, almost pain, as it did every morning, as it would every morning for 100 more cycles if he didn't get his act together to afford the Homeostasis Deluxe+. Around 10000 credits it would cost, for the product and the installation. Halo avoided thinking about it. He owed a little over twice that much. He didn’t want to think about that either.
In a deft motion, his finger found its way back to his left temple. He tapped it again, then swiped back, activating the public setting. How he hated it, curtailing his thoughts was such a chore.
Before he knew it, he had ascended the stairs to the Port. He could see the whole metropolis from here, illuminated by the two blistering stars of the Vitiri system. Halo spotted the conductor right away.
"Conductor, 1 ticket to location code X9Jn1, please.", Halo thought.
The man turned around to return Halo's gaze, revealing his smooth, silvery, metallic face. The metal really was so pleasing to look at, surely some sort of Ceramosteel. Halo was careful not to let the embarrassing thought of envy reach his mind. With a quarter thought, the Conductor nodded and before Halo knew it, he was in the same metallic lift-transport he was always in. An advertisement was beamed into his eyes.
“Asset Reclaim Solutions! You are more than the sum of your parts- and we’ll prove it! Liquid-”
Halo willed it away; the cheerful music brought displeasure into Halo’s mind. A moment later, his smooth hands upon his face would prevent him from admiring the sight of the city, resplendent in their neon lights.
The headquarters was colorful, opaque thing, filled with lights and glass that ascended a kilometer up into Vitiri Secundus's green, ocean sky. Halo thought it was beautiful. Though, there wasn't much sky left, as sprawling high rises like the headquarters dominated the skyline. One would have to look straight up to admire the sky, but who would want to do that? Only freeloaders with too much time on their hands would do such a useless thing.
Halo entered, the same way he had done for uncountable, indistinguishable days. With a thought, he verified his ID with the security guard with the beautiful inorganic eyes who could not be bothered to pay Halo more than a quarter-thought.
With a quick optic verification, the elevator opened for Halo, as it always did. On this day, he was not alone.
"Good morning, how are you?" the person asked.
Halo's head jerked to his right. Halo blinked, instinctually suppressing the confusion and alarm that came with the auditory information that his brain had just processed.
"Hello?" Halo thought.
The person, a man, pointed to his left temple.
Halo, just like everyone, had the instinct to suppress unacceptable thoughts, lest they be received by others. However, in this moment, Halo could not suppress his disgust. What a sick miracle it was that the man could not hear him.
The man who stood before him had so much skin. The execs would let this sort into headquarters?
"I've seen you around before,” the man said, "I'm the cleaner. My name is Cure."
When Halo did not respond out of shock, Cure continued, "I know, I know, I don't have the comms anymore. I had to liquidate that a quarter-cycle ago. Don't judge, will ya? Anyways, how's your day going? Good to see someone with less chrome for skin—don’t tell the brass I said that. You've been a real inspiration for me all these years."
"Why...?" Halo started, but he was at a loss for words. How long had it been since he had last spoken?
"Oh, this?” Cure began, pointing a finger at his temple once more, “Just, you know, down on my luck. Just a-"
"Why are you speaking to me? I'm not so low as to need to speak. If you need to talk to me, get your act together and buy yourself some new comms,” Halo finished his sentence. His voice was aflame with condescension.
The man fell silent, a muted expression of shame on his face for an instant before even that fell into the proper nothing expression meant for people like him.
The elevator opened and, perhaps, Halo stepped outside.
14 hours later, the evening arrived. Halo sat, his vision swimming with satisfaction.
"Halo, you shouldn't take so much of that. It's a bad financial decision."
She was right. Halo knew it, but what could he do? He had to forget; he couldn’t help himself. It was all too much. He had paid an exorbitant sum, almost a thousand credits, more than he earned in a one-twelfth cycle. It had worked, though. His conscious mind couldn't remember what happened anymore. But, why worry? Clara would remember for him.
"What a relief,” Halo thought, looking down.
Halo withdrew the thin little tube from his right arm and sighed. He almost wanted to cover his face again.
"You're not thinking of liquidating me, are you?"
Though she asked with something akin to sincerity, she already knew the answer. She knew Halo would never do such a thing. He could never do such a thing. He really couldn’t do without her. Her analysis of his character indicated an acceptable near-certainty that he would liquidate one of his organic modules instead.
Halo's only thought was to open the holo-panel. His finger tapped and tapped, and tapped himself away.
“Thank you, Halo!” she said, her silvery face flush with relief, “I really couldn’t do without you. Make sure to pay the premium Companion fee by 27th so we can stay together.”
At least now, Halo could see his mother and father again. But, without an income, Halo knew he could never face them and their judgements. He didn’t want them to face everyone else’s judgements.
As he tapped a little more away, he noted with great relief that he would always have Clara by his side.
What a good friend Clara was. What would he do without her? He really couldn't do without her.
On March 26, 2022, the worst and best day of my life, my dad decided to divorce my mom, and I chose to stay with my dad. Most of that day I have blocked from my memory because it is not my favorite memory to look back on. What I can remember is packing my most essential items with the anxiety that I would never come back to my childhood home and my relationship with my mom would never recover. I did not see my mom for a week, and when I finally saw her I was a nervous wreck. That day I can not recall at all, but I do remember that the days that followed were some of the hardest days of my life. I would put a brave face on at school, but in reality my home life was crumbling around me. The rest of freshman year felt as if I was drowning and there was no one to pull me out or no buoy I could use to save myself.
So far, it seems that my parents divorce was the cause of my suffering, but in reality it was the actions of my mother. I started seeing a therapist to work through my emotions not only about my parent’s divorce but the anxiety I had from my childhood. My mother was the main caretaker of me and my brother. She provided me with many fun memories, but even with all these good memories there were moments of yelling, breaking toys, making me insecure, and me feeling scared. As a child, it felt very hard to understand why one moment my mom would act like my best friend but then would be my biggest bully. I have realised now that it had nothing to do with me, but her own emotions and how she used our family as her target for what she was feeling. What she did not realise was that her actions were driving people away, and were affecting my mental health.
After the divorce, my mom, brother, and I went to family therapy together so that we could heal and grow together. I thought change from my mother would happen instantly but I was wrong. After our first ever appointment my brother and I were met with hurtful words and screaming to the point my grandparents had to intervene. For months this happened almost everytime we decided to stay at her house and my brother and I would not speak up for ourselves. In family therapy I slowly started getting better at confronting my mom about her actions during my childhood and how she acted after the divorce. Speaking up for myself in any situation has always been hard for me no matter who the person was. I was constantly afraid of confronting my family, friends, and teachers if something was wrong, because of a fear of disappointment my mother instilled in me. Going to therapy has slowly helped me work on standing up for myself in smaller situations.
Eventually after a couple months of therapy, my brother was able to start standing up for us whenever my mother would get angry. His bravery during these situations is what finally gave me the courage to finally speak up for myself as well. I am still not the best when it comes to confrontation and my heart still skips a beat when I stand up for myself, but the improvement I have made is what I am proud of. Finding my voice not only around my mother, but other people in my life has helped me immensely with my mental health and my leadership skills. Having self-advocacy has allowed me to better my relationships with my friends, teachers, and family including my mom. Even though my mom’s and I relationship is still mediocre and I still feel like I am walking on eggshells, we are both still learning and growing together. I have realized that even through all of our struggles she is still my mother who cares and loves me.
I do not want to look back at my parent’s divorce as a tragic event that happened, but instead I want to have a positive outlook on the experience. My parent’s divorce gave me the opportunity and strength to find my voice against my mom and others. Everyday I hope to learn more about myself and grow into the person I want to be. As I go to college in a few months, I am grateful for all the experiences I have had, because of the important life lessons I was taught along the way.
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I chose the poetic song “Dear Mama” as my blog piece because this song represents me and my life in various ways. I grew up with a single mom struggling raising me. This song reflects the appreciation we need to have towards women and more. When Tupac Amaru Shakur raps “A poor single mother on welfare, tell me how ya did it. There's no way I can pay you back, But the plan is to show you that I understand. You are appreciated.” This verse truly sticks to me because I ask myself all the time how my mom does it in this cruel world. I always try to show my mom appreciation whenever I can. This song truly shows my relationship with mom. Especially when my mom has always given me extra love and has raised me who I am today. A strong independent woman. You are appreciated momma.
My artwork represents the time “Dear Mama” was created with the magazine cut out letters. This was a huge trend back in the 90’s. I also made the bandana my mom’s favorite color to reflect how this piece connects to her. I chose to paint my take on the album cover of “Dear Mama”. I even included Tupac’s unique piercings and jewelry.
“It's not the destination, it's the journey” -
Ralph Waldo Emerson.
While easy to understand, it doesn’t have the same value to someone until
you’ve experienced it. I started playing my alto saxophone in 5th grade, and it
was a side activity I honestly didn’t care for. I only played it during school
and never did anything else. I faked the playing assignments and never listened
to saxophone music. When I entered high school, I heard for the first time what
a skilled musician sounds like in person, someone I could talk to and learn
from. I was inspired to be just like the upperclassmen in the band, but I
didn’t have the technique. So, after a talk with the current assistant band
director, I made it my goal to achieve the wind ensemble, the advanced group at
Etiwanda, during the second semester of my freshman year
I started to bring home my
instrument every day and practice. What I learned was consistent practice that
builds technique; the duration was relatively irrelevant. So no matter the day
I played my saxophone, even if it was for 5 minutes, as long as I played, the
day was a success. Some days were harder than others like the time I came home
late on my birthday and played at 11 pm didn’t resonate well with my parents.
Although some days were tough, I felt like I was the most prepared I’ll ever
be. As the first semester came to an end and as I waited for audition dates to
be released my heart dropped, when my band director posted an announcement
saying, “Due to covid-19 challenges and
restrictions auditions will not be held this year the following placements are
assigned.”
I was placed into a symphonic
band, which is one level lower than the wind ensemble, my goal. I felt cheated
that I did everything and didn’t get a chance to prove myself. I talked to the
assistant band director about being frustrated, but was convinced to look at
this in a positive perspective. I have already improved so much in just one
semester and if I keep working I can become even better for the following year.
Sophomore year was brutal with
more rigorous coursework and increasing difficulty in music. In combination
with more band responsibilities, it felt as if there was no end in sight. I
slipped up on some of my practice days, and to be honest, I wasn’t as prepared
this time. Around the time of audition season, they released audition music I
could practice, so I knew what I had to do. I fully committed myself to
practicing, even if it meant falling behind on assignments leading up to the
date. I stepped into the room observing the 2 judges in front of me. Both the
director and assistant band director were staring me down as I entered. I
started to immerse myself in my environment and started to play. I let my
emotions flow through my music allowing it to express how I felt. Between
sections, I balanced on one foot because I was so
nervous I began to shake my leg affecting my playing. At
the end of the audition, the assistant band director gave me a thumbs up, and I
felt relieved. About a week later, my heart sank like a stone. I didn't make it
again, instead being placed at the top of the symphonic band.
Falling just short of your
goal is either discouraging or inspiring, depending on how someone wants to
deal with it. If you let it get to you, you’ll be frustrated, or you can see it
for what it is: inspiring proof that you can accomplish your goals. I took it
as inspiration that I have worked my way up and now am closer than ever to
achieving my goal. On the first day of the next semester, I walked into the room
with confidence with no doubt in my abilities. Suddenly, as I was putting
together my saxophone, I was called to the director's office. Ms Marin, the
director, told me that there is a spot opening in the wind ensemble, and I was
being moved up. I honestly felt like screaming, I couldn't hide my smile and I
promised her I would do my best in wind ensemble.
Achieving the wind ensemble
made me so happy, but what I gathered along the way was practicing techniques
and daily discipline. Those daily practice techniques carry over into all
facets of saxophone. I know what steps I have to go through every time I want
to learn a new song or piece of music. Whenever I get inspired by another
musician's performance, I use the recording in combination with my learned
techniques to develop my own musical identity. The discipline from my practice
carries on into every daily task. I hold myself accountable to keep my promises
and follow through on my actions allowing me to be the best version of myself.
Although the goal was wind ensemble, I did achieve it. The lessons I learned
along the way are what allowed me to grow as a person. Music itself didn’t make
a better person, but it was the goal, and the pursuit of the goal that pushed
me to improve. It's the goal that pushes us and through the journey we grow.
The poem “A Dream Within a Dream” by Edgar Allen Poe inspired my literary art piece. This poem reflects the fine line between dreams and reality by questioning our memories and emotions that may have been an illusion all along. In his poem, Poe effectively creates an unsettling tone by promoting a possible false sense of reality in our existence and experiences. This poem resonates with me because I have always been curious about the nature or symbolism behind certain dreams and how our body subconsciously interacts with our imagination and desires while we fall asleep. It is often said that our eyes are the doors to our souls, so I sketched out an eye to symbolize how our souls reflect our intrinsic desires in our dreams. The eye's iris depicts a woman staring off into the night sky while sitting on a crescent moon to create a fantasy world where our imagination is abstract. The dull exterior of the eye contrasts with this world as a reality check to emphasize the nature of reality. Poe suggests the idea that we might be living in our dream, or we are dreaming inside a dream, or that we might be living in someone else’s dream; therefore, I added a colorful background to symbolize that the nature of reality is almost impossible to comprehend and not a finite conclusion. I used oil paints to create texture and to easily blend the hues of blue in the iris part of the eye. The oil paints allowed me to create layers and add highlights of yellow and white to emphasize the glow in the fantasy dream world. Through my art piece, I intend to spark reflection on the power of our imagination and question whether our “reality” is indeed reality or a dream within a dream.
I say very confidently that I had lived a peaceful life. My parents, from before I was even brought into this planet have worked extremely hard to make sure that my brother and I lived the best life we possibly could. I note this because it's important to say that while I have experienced my share of dark seasons and struggles in my life, there is not part of my mind that does not understand the blessed life I lived. I’ve been privileged enough to travel many parts of our country, I’ve been surrounded by what seems like a never ending amount of family and friends, I’ve gotten to try the best foods on the planet, and play sports with friends that I have built lifelong relationships with. Happiness indescribable by English takes up the overwhelming majority of my memories up until this moment, but only recently have I come to understand what my true bliss and peace is brought by.
I was brought up in a family that has always identified as “Christian,” but it has never been instilled in my early life that it should be a priority to me. I have parents that I would say hold pretty strong morals and generally I would call good people. I was lucky enough to have a friend, Bryan, who has always kept me close though, and I would credit a lot of what I will explain shortly.
Navigating faith for people who were not brought up in the church can very often be a challenging thing. It's something I’ve known for years was important, however the level of understanding I needed to fully grasp everything that it could bring me is something I did not come into until very recently. Back on the 11th of this March, I attended a young adults event called “One and All,” in San Dimas. The event is similar to any Sunday service, consisting of worship, a sermon, time for prayer and baptisms, and then more worship. (In that order) One and All was an event like no other, more intimate than any other church event I have ever been to. The seats were as close to one another as you could get while remaining comfortable; and the stage was placed high enough for everyone to see while being low enough for everyone to feel like they were still in the show. As the night began, my favorite worship song was performed, “Praise,” and immediately I could feel His presence in the room. The singing instantly transformed from watching the worship team perform a song, to everyone in the crowd of over 600 combining their voices into one for the Lord. The harmony of strangers, made into brothers and sisters by something bigger than DNA, filled the room and pushed out the weight of my life in that moment.
I would like to note once more that my life has truly been blessed to escape any large tragedies; however seeing as I am human, I deal with much of the same stresses and anxieties that everyone else has in their day to day. My senior year of high school has been a more challenging year of my life, and having struggles with college, basketball, friends, and everything else in between has stacked its way into a weight I could not shake.
After having a surreal experience hearing my favorite song sung in person at One and All, we received a beautiful message about the indiscriminately stubborn love of Jesus. The passion and genuine words spoken on His behalf touched my heart in a new way I had not felt in a while. I have been lucky enough to have found myself in a great community since around December, joining a small group, becoming more involved in my church, and overall finding friends centered around Christ. Upon the ending of the sermon, came a time for prayer. Like many services, the church offered people who were willing to lead whoever wanted in an act of prayer. Although I felt it in my heart to walk up to the front of the stage and ask for help in my prayer, I simply did not have the courage to walk up with my collection of broken pieces in front of strangers. Though some may call it a coincidence, I believe it was by God’s providence that one of the friends in my small group asked me if I wanted prayer.
Carine, someone held close to my heart, began to speak over my life as if she had been personally insulted by the thoughts I placed on myself in my head. As she brought me to our Fathers feet, I felt the warmth of a childhood blanket surrounding me. One by one, Clarissa’s hand, Claire’s hand, Mattew’s hand, Brooklyn’s hand, and most notably the love and warmth of the Father came over me. My vision had been overcome by my bliss turned to tears, and I felt lighter in that very moment. It was this time that reinforced the importance of Christ, but also taught me the meaning of walking with Christ alongside a community.
I walked out of the chapel renewed and refreshed. Picture a time when you were younger, and you were holding something too heavy, and suddenly before you could notice who it was, your dad or your mother came and lifted the weight from your hand. Exactly like this, I no longer had my wrists being pulled towards the floor, and I could not help but smile. It has become ever apparent to me that doing life in a way that is meaningful is living my life with Christ. Living my life with people on their walks was a true community, and is no longer negotiable. By no means have I moved on from my old friends, and not even in the slightest do I believe a shared faith is any type of prerequisite for being a friend of mine; but now more than ever God has shown me his love is what I need. This experience has set a precedent for happiness, and to reutter for the last time: I have lived a happy life. However, no single moment can trump the purest joy that hugs me when I am with my community at the feet of the lord.
Clouds of ash engulfing the place we called home. Swooping down the hawk latched their claws into my friend, taking him into the clouds of ash. His scream, so loud it pierced through the darkened sky. His eyes, filled with horror. I did not know this would be the last time I ever saw my friend again.
The morning started off brisk, like every other morning in Burrowston. Now, the town of Burrowston is not like any other town as it lies in the depths of the wheat fields, right below the stone mountains. Home to thousands of mice, this place never lost the busy feel of rodents running through the sunday markets and the baby mice playing in the dirt roads. Burrowston was known as the safe haven capital to all mice living in the wheatfields. From protecting mice from the giants that lived beyond the stone mountains and the hawks that stalked above the fields, this place was the ideal home for mice just like myself. I was given the name, John, from my two loving parents who both worked as tower guards on the outskirts of the wheatfields. My parents both loved their job dearly, so much to the point where I found myself following in their footsteps, enrolling into the tower watch guard program last winter. Luckily, a good buddy of mine named Paul was joining me on this endeavor and would be right by my side.
And that’s how we found ourselves, during that brisk morning on the upper section of the watchtowers, scouting out into the deep forests. The day was a normal one with the usual lunch chime from the clock tower and the bustle from downtown. Paul and I had been making our usual shift changes to make sure we didn’t doze off while having our eyes glued to the distant forest. All up until 15:00, everything had been going smoothly. That’s until Paul caught a light hint of smoke coming from the southside of the stone mountains. Both Paul and I grabbed our long range telescopes and saw the plumes of smoke rising above the tops of the mountains. From the lower decks of the watchtowers, we heard the general rodent start to yell, “Fire! Fire! Fire!”. As Paul and I kept our telescopes on the plumes of smoke, we started to see the flames that grew with it and the giants in the far distance. We had heard legends of the great burn centuries ago and feared that it may happen again. Here we are, Paul and I, looking out to the far flames growing rapidly and spreading near the wheatfields. We both knew that once the wheatfields caught on fire, there was no telling what creatures would come to feast on Burrowston.
The bells were ringing, alarming all rodent citizens to seek cover as the fire had just reached the west side of the wheatfields. Paul and I knew that it would soon be every man for himself, but that did not stop us from sticking together. As we ascended down the ladders of the watch tower, a high screech was heard above. IT WAS THE HAWK. Paul yelled to me, “Go! We must waste no time!”. Paul and I huddled to the floor of the wheatfields as the fire had reached the outskirts of the watchtowers. The flames grew fast, leaving no cover for either me or Paul. We decided at that moment that we would go back to the watchtower to seek cover. As Paul and I ran, we heard the hawk soar closer to the grounds. After sprinting for our lives, we reached the towers in hopes of refuge. We looked out to the burning fields where hawks were swooping in to grab all the fleeing mice. Paul and I knew we had just made it in the nick of time, or so we thought. I turned my back to search for some possible food and that’s when I heard the screech. I looked back and saw Paul being pummeled to the ground by the hawk’s talons. Paul yelled to me, “John, HELP!”. I sprinted to him as fast as I could but the hawk was too quick. Paul flew into the air and as I looked at him one final time before he would disappear into the clouds of ash, a tear trickled down my eye. That was the last I saw of Paul.
My artwork is inspired by a book that I read my sophomore year for my Honors English class named Patron Saints of Nothing. There were many themes in this book that explored truth, adolescence, and justice, but the one I was drawn to the most was about culture and belonging. The theme of culture and belonging was very relatable to me from reading this book because the main character is Filipino-American, and he had struggles of feeling disconnected from his culture of being Filipino because of how he was raised in America. That feeling resonated with me because I am also Filipino-American and there are times where I feel like I wish I was more connected to my Filipino roots because I didn’t grow up learning the Filipino language and did not have a lot of Filipino friends when I was younger. The glass shards surrounding the boy in the photo represents fragmentation, and how the main character, Jay, feels torn between his identities of being Filipino and American and trying to piece together his sense of self. I drew the Filipino flag showing in the shards to represent how although he feels distanced from it, he is still connected to his Filipino roots, while the background of the American flag represents his connection to being American, but also his sense of displacement in American society.
My path to discovering what truly interests me, and to which career I want commit my
life has been much less straightforward than I had thought it would be. Since middle school I had always been deeply fascinated by the brain, its complexities, and how it controls the way we think and the decisions we make. For this reason I had my heart set on a career in neuroscience, driven by my desire to understand the biological mechanisms of the nervous system, without having to deal with the issues of a medical patient. What I was not prepared for however was a seemingly unrelated event to my career path to open my eyes to another route.
It started when I was given the opportunity to co-teach an AP Statistics class for my old teacher Mrs. Yarbrough. I first saw it as an opportunity to improve my college resume, while continuing to work with a subject I had grown to love. I had began to work directly with students every day, leading them through the seemingly overwhelming world of statistics. I found myself explaining concepts, guiding students through correct answers and thought processes, and assisting with everyday practice assignments. Though I held a great fondness of the subject matter, the true joy of teaching statistics stemmed from the interpersonal dynamics it entailed. I truly enjoyed helping students in a genuine, human way. I remember working with a student who frequently struggled with the course content, and lost confidence in their ability to perform well on the first semester final. Despite this, through their willingness to put in the effort and my eagerness to help, we were able to greatly improve their understanding of the concepts through practice, allowing them to pass the final. It is experiences like these I would never have been able to experience had I not taken this opportunity.
Through this experience I had began to question my earlier aspirations, wondering if simply researching neuroscience would be fulfilling enough for me. I still held the belief that there is nothing more interesting than the brain, and how it influences who we are, but I had started to realize that it was the way in which this knowledge helps people that is truly gratifying. Continuing my research on the work of a neuroscientist made me realize that while it is incredibly important, it does not align with my personal values. The idea of pursuing my passion without the possibility of working personally to help others seemed half baked, and something I was no longer interested in.
This
change in mindset led me to fully reconsider my career, which allowed me to
discover the field of neuropsychiatry. The field was a perfect integration of
scientific research with the interpersonal skills of working with others. A
medical field seemed fitting as I could provide care for those in need while
maintaining my passion for the brain and its function. In contrast to
neuroscience, where research is the primary (and essentially only) focus,
neuropsychiatrists build personal relationships with their patients, having
serious discussions regarding thought processes, and mental health.
The more I reflected on
neuropsychiatry the more it appealed to me, presenting itself as a medical
specialty in which I could make a real change in people’s lives not only by
studying the biological aspect of the brain, but also by talking to patients about
emotional and psychological aspects of the brain. The ability to work with
patients individually and assist them through treatment is something that
enticed me in a way neuroscience did not, and this is a fact I would have never
discovered had I not made the decision to co teach statistics.
As I had mentioned, I initially saw co teaching as an opportunity to boost my academic resume, though it very quickly influenced a significant change in my life’s trajectory. It allowed me to discover that I had a passion for helping others, and not necessarily just for research on biological mechanisms. Reflecting on this journey taught me that our lives’ paths are never linear. What we think about something at one point in our lives is never set in stone, and is heavily subject to change as we gain new knowledge and experiences. It is important that we are open to change, and allow ourselves to be guided by our passion, even if it takes us somewhere different than we had originally planned. It is this openness to change that allows us to find true passion.
In my artwork “Every Atom Belonged," inspired by Jennifer Niven’s “All the Bright Places,” I focus on the beautiful and resilient force that follows us even in the shadows we carry within ourselves. In “All the Bright Places," Niven speaks about light, hope, resilience, and life being beautifully woven into the unexpected places around us, deeply resonated with my own experiences and the memory of a dear friend. This painting became an instrument through which I could express this bond, with the very acrylic paints I received from them. Since it was my first time using acrylic, the experience felt cathartic in ways I did not expect. I surrendered to a natural flow of color and in many cases, I applied the paint with my hands to obtain the direct connection I was seeking with the canvas. This method accentuates the deep emotions I focus on in the novel. The layers and textures tell the complex story of grief masking the slow appearance of hope. The aim in this work was to capture the essence of plenty of moments that exist, while being shrouded by moments of brilliance, beauty, and grace, and the stark reality of shadow. The painting serves as a powerful reminder of connection and inspire hope, highlighting the core message of "All the Bright Places."."
It was December 2023, and we were supposed to be moving into a new house. Most people think of the holidays as this perfect, cozy time with Christmas lights, hot chocolate, family traditions. But for me and my family, that month was anything but cozy. Half our stuff was in boxes, the other half was scattered between the old house and the new one, and we were sleeping on air mattresses. There was no tree, no lights, and barely any food in the fridge. I kept telling myself it was just temporary. That once we got through the move, things would settle. Maybe we could still have a decent Christmas.
Then my dad got sick. It started so fast, it didn’t feel real. One day he was just tired, and at first it just seemed like a bad cold, a fever, or maybe the flu. But within a couple of days, he was in the ICU with septic shock, and everything else just...stopped. I remember the way the doctor said the words “septic shock” like we were supposed to know what that meant. But all I heard was that my dad wasn't okay, and this could be really bad. Suddenly the stress of moving felt like nothing. Our almost-finished house didn’t matter. All I cared about was that my dad was hooked up to machines, fighting to stay alive. His birthday is on Christmas Eve, and that’s the day we’ve always made a big deal out of. He likes to go out and eat, his favorite spot is LongHorn Steakhouse. After we usually come back home and my sister bakes a cake, (even though baking isn't really her thing), and we all sit at the table watching him open his gifts, acting like we didn't know what was in it, when we totally do.
But this time, there was no table. No cake. No gift. Just a hospital bed, IVs, and machines beeping steadily like a reminder that everything was different this year. My mom bought him a birthday card and set it next to him. He wasn’t even awake enough to read it. Christmas Day didn’t feel like Christmas at all. We weren’t in our new house yet, and honestly, even if we had been, it wouldn’t have felt like home. There was no tree, no dinner, no music. There was just silence and this heavy feeling in my chest that I couldn’t shake. I spent most of that day in a hospital chair, watching my dad sleep. Nurses came in and out, checking his vitals. One of them wore reindeer antlers, and I wanted to laugh at how out of place it felt. I didn’t, though. I just stared at the machines and thought about how weird life is, how fast everything can flip. One week we were unpacking boxes and arguing over where to hang the TV, and the next we were praying he’d make it to the new year.
That was the year I realized the holidays aren’t about the lights or the gifts or the house. It’s about the people. And when the person at the center of it all is missing or the presence that fills the room isn’t there, it doesn’t feel like the holidays. It doesn’t feel like anything. But as the days passed and my dad started getting better I started to see things a little differently. His recovery was slow, but steady. Every day he stayed awake a little longer. Every day his voice got a little stronger. By January, he was back, he was back in our new home, and everything started to feel normal again. One day while we were setting up, he made a joke about the hospital food and how it had a battle with his taste buds. When we finally set up the living room, and he sat on the couch for the first time, I felt something shift. We didn’t get the Christmas we hoped for, but we got something better in the end: we got him back.
That December taught me not to take anything for granted. When I think about that December, I don’t remember the decorations or the dinners or any of the stuff we missed. I remember how fragile everything is. How quickly life can change. And how even in the middle of chaos, like moving, hospitals, holidays, you figure out what actually matters. Family, time, and love, things that don't come from presents or parties. It wasn’t the house that made it home. It was him coming back to it.
Picture this, it is January 2023 you are a 10th grade high school student way up in Toronto, Canada, one morning, your parents tell you that you will be moving to this place called Fontana in California because they found better jobs there. You were given five months' notice, your passport on the table, a suitcase containing your life, and a one-way plane ticket to uncertainty. Imagine all the thoughts racing through your head when that news was broken to you: “Are they joking? What will happen to my friends? What will happen to my grades? Will I be shunned for being different?”. These thoughts and questions swirl around your mind like a hurricane entering your brain, eventually leading you down a slippery slope of anxiety. However, deep down inside you shines a glimmer of hope in the darkness, dim but present.
I sometimes stop and reflect on just how much my life has changed in these past two short years. Two years ago, I was a happy student attending a Catholic High School in the suburbs of Toronto, Canada. My life consisted of the same group of friends, the same house I grew up in, the same community I called my own, and most importantly: the same sense of security that I’ve always felt from the moment I was conscious. Achieving high grades, being the number one student in my class, a student athlete, student council freshman vice president, what more could a high school boy ask for? All these achievements gave me confidence to be who I am and express myself the way I wanted to, I felt unstoppable which helped me carve a precise plan for the future. At the time, I was set on going to the University of Toronto as a Biology major and pursue a career in medicine. For a while, this felt like all there was to life, I would never leave my city and I will pursue success in the place I have always known, who wouldn't have thought that.
But, like a cinematic cliche, life had a different plan for me just at the peak of my life at that point. I remember the day vividly, the opening game of the sophomore soccer season and my first game back after suffering a severe injury freshman year. I was nervous but ready. That morning I woke up just a little earlier, I got ready just a little bit faster, and I was ready to walk to school just a bit earlier to get to morning practice. I just came down the stairs, a cold Canadian winter morning at 6 am, the Sun had not even risen yet and I saw my parents sitting down organizing many papers. I thought it must be taxes or bills, that boring adult stuff I thought. Little did I know about the news that would shatter my secure life into pieces. They told me clearly: “Ayaan, we will be moving to California at the end of this school year.”. Who knew that those 13 words instantly washed away the confidence I had, the security I had, the planning I did for my future, gone in a second. That day at school was the worst day of my life, it felt like time itself was slowing down and I was realizing how many individual pieces of my life are practically being flipped upside down simply by moving. I would have to start over again, make new friends, cement a new path, excel in a new academic system. After tasting the heights of high school, I needed to achieve that again, and that scared me like never before.
To be extremely honest, the preceding 5 months until my school ended in June flew by so fast. Yet everyday it felt like chasing something that was running away from me, no matter how hard I tried to delay it or distract myself, time passed and months became weeks became days until the day of my flight. A one-way flight, how interesting, I usually remember a flight to a destination and then a flight back to Toronto, not this time though. In my suitcase were a couple clothes, items of great value to me like my photo frames, jerseys, memories of my friends, that's all I could take. Fragments of a complete life were being taken across countries to try to piece together a new life in a new place. Stepping onto the plane felt like stepping on a spaceship to a faraway planet, anxiety coursing through my blood vessels yet my countenance was unwavered. In the air all I thought about was what everyone was going to think of a Canadian kid coming to school in California, I wanted to disappear into the seat. I remember landing in LA and feeling the thick heat, something I was not used to and there were so many people, far more than I ever knew. Settling into a new house I was yet to call a home was difficult, a bed that felt foreign but it was mine, so was everything else in this new house, waiting to be given emotional value to.
Now it is the first day of school: Etiwanda High School. At first I thought it was an odd sounding school but I remember walking in. First thing I noticed was that it was an outdoor school and it was huge. My old school had only 900 students, here I was faced with what felt like a gauntlet of 5000 questioning eyes. The new educational system was a complete overhaul of my past comforts, and the sudden increase in class rigor completely derailed my once confident stature. I remembered the academic valor I was shrouded with back home– the distinguished student I once was at my old school now struggled to maintain an average standing at my new school. I saw my once-confident grades fall into C’s and D’s, on top of the added realization that I was undercredited for my efforts back home. The blow to my grades felt like a blow directly to my heart. I sat alone at lunch for quite some time. I wanted nothing more than to be able to return to my old life and old friends.
But then again, like another cinematic cliche, my life began taking an unexpected turn, this time in the positive direction. I realized being complacent was not going to get me anywhere, I had to make myself known. First I addressed my academics, I remember voicing my situation to my teachers, especially in my toughest class: AP Physics. Mr. Schaina and I created a personal study plan, and I had fully committed myself to academic improvement. In addition to passing all my AP exams, my C’s and D’s turned to A’s and B’s across all my classes. Beyond the classroom, I built a web of goal-oriented peers who were more than just friends. These people became my support system and a method to foster mutual encouragement and healthy academic competition. Not only did I integrate within my school’s community, but I also excelled further in my classes. I realized my newfound success was the fruition of my effort to accept the challenge rather than avoid it. I also found success in the school community, I joined many clubs like Link Crew which helped me expand my influence past my class and onto other people as well. I made so many new friends, many of whom I share this very class with and I have nothing but love for these people as they all included me even though I was late to the party. I do not know where I would be without my friends here.
All in all, this rollercoaster of emotions that was moving here truly carved my path into the future and made me the person I am today. Without it, I feel like I would have become complacent and fall into stagnation. This life-changing experience opened so many doors that I could never have done if I remained where I was. If I could go back in time, I probably would not change a single thing because I would not be who I am today and I would never have met these amazing people I am surrounded by. That 15 year old boy who was once extremely anxious and nervous about this trip to uncertainty is now an almost 18 year old at an even higher level than where he once was, and his future, brighter than ever before, is the one I live for now.
I mistook her voice for my own. She never yelled, she didn’t have to. She whispered in echoes, threading the words of others through my thoughts until they felt like my own. I fed her without knowing, chasing people who echoed her back to me, mistaking pain for proof. It wasn’t until the breaking that I saw a glimmer. Not a glimmer of hope, but of a golden light, waiting to be remembered.
I was never an easy child. I was emotional, I cried for people I didn’t know. I was loud, my kindergarten teacher referred to me as a “chatterbox”. My heart was so sensitive, soaking in the words of others like a sponge, absorbing everything into my bones. I aimed to please, I lived for praise, I became a master at adapting. So when my kindergarten teacher told my parents I was a chatterbox, I began to talk less. She’s improved so much in class. Good job, we’re proud of you. My sensitive heart glows. I’m so happy they’re proud of me. But a storm was brewing inside of me. It happened slowly, a drip, a whisper, a glance I read too much into. No known start, no obvious cause. Words I never forgot, words no one remembers saying. And so I adapted. I became charming, easy, sweet, smart, kind, thoughtful, never too much. I learned how to make myself easy to love.
But it wasn’t love I was chasing, it was evidence. Something to prove the storm wrong, something to prove I was enough. So I set goals too high. You’re a failure, no wonder you couldn’t do it. I lied to my friends. You’re not interesting, no one is listening to you. I chased after emotionally unavailable people, unattainable people. Because I thought the harder they were to earn, the more valuable I would be if they chose me. When they didn’t, well of course they didn’t. Why would anyone choose you? You’re not enough. When I got older, I started pining, clawing after girls who didn’t want me. It even became a joke between my friends that I only liked straight girls, or girls who were mean to me. But I didn’t like them because they were mean or straight, I chased them because I knew they were unattainable. Their validation would surely prove the storm wrong, right? But it didn’t. Once I received validation from them, they were no longer enough for me. If a girl liked me back, I dismissed her. I didn’t have to earn her validation, so something must be wrong with her. It’s too easy. You’re not enough so why would she choose you? She’s strange, better ignore her. I thought of myself as a lost cause. Addicted to love, in love with every girl I met. As soon as I fell out of love with one girl I was in love with another. It wasn’t until the breaking that I saw the truth. The reason I had been like this for so long. The reason I could never accept love, true, genuine love.
I had mistaken the chase for tension. I thought longing was the same as love. But it was never love that I was hungry for, it was worth. Proof. A witness to say I was good enough.
It took me over a decade to realize that I was never addicted to love, I was addicted to performance. I wasn’t scared of being rejected, I was scared of losing the sparkle. And I wasn’t chasing validation to prove the voice wrong, I was chasing validation to prove the voice right. And it was only then that I could finally see that the voice wasn’t mine.
During the breaking, the time where I was falling for girls like I was slipping on ice, I realized I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to know why I sabotaged myself. Why I do things I don’t want to do. So I paused, and listened, and I heard a voice. A voice I had silenced long ago. A voice that told me I was kind, I was good, I was enough. A voice that was there long before the storm. Before the words no one remembers saying. Before the lies, and the chasing. A voice the storm had hidden. I realized the same way people had power over me, the storm had power. It could only grow if it kept me down, so I wanted to stay sick, to listen. It was so loud that I couldn’t hear anything else, that my true sense of self had been pushed so far down I couldn’t see her anymore. It was the breaking that made me want to find her. That made me want to listen to her.
I now know that the voice is the small girl inside of me. The girl I was before I was called a chatterbox. Before the bullies and the scolding. The girl who cried for people she didn’t know. The girl who’s heart was too sensitive. The girl I had pushed down and ignored because the cloud told me she wasn’t easy to love. But she was never meant to be easy to love. She was never meant to be picked. She was never meant to be understood by everyone. To be validated. She was meant to be herself. Loud and sweet and kind. Maybe she was too much. But she was mine. All she ever needed was to be welcomed back. To be loved by me first. That’s where the true healing begins.
The idea of progressing onto high school when I was in 8th grade was something I never thought would happen in many years. I remember taking the bus to school in elementary in the morning, my younger sister next to me, high schoolers filling up the rest of the bus. I always wondered what it was like to be like them, to be a high school student. Years passed by faster than anticipated, and before I knew it, I was already one of them.
Pulling up to the arch on my first day of high school I was pretty anxious. The school was so big and it looked like having to navigate everything would take so much time. I saw one of my old friends from middle school and went to talk to him since he was the only one I knew that was around me. We talked and caught up a little bit, but as the bell rang, my anxiety skyrocketed. I didn’t know where anything was, primarily my first period class. I had forgotten almost everything about my experience at the freshman orientation over the summer. I scanned the QR code and scrolled through all the names, finally finding mine and saying that my first period was in J building. This was the beginning of my high school life.
Walking into my new classroom, I felt pretty intimidated by all the new faces I saw. I was good at communicating with new people and making friends with them, but it’s always that first encounter that’s awkward in the beginning rather than feeling natural. Heading to second period, which was PE, I was pretty excited about the different activities they had planned for us, mainly because I’m an athletic person and I can’t sit still for too long if I have the opportunity to be active in something, even if it’s just running. I realized that some of the people in my PE class were from my first period class, so it was something I felt I had to be observant of. Throughout the rest of the day, it was pretty smooth and the day went much better than I thought it would initially be. Many days passed by, and I became friends with those people from earlier whom I noticed were in the same first and second period as I was.
Sophomore year quickly came around, undoubtedly my most memorable and successful year of high school. I met a bunch of new friends who I’m still friends with right now. It was also the year I got accepted into the school’s track team, so I was basically a new member of their family. There were so many memories I had at that track, especially ones made with the people there. I remember on rainy days we would migrate to the K-lounge, waiting for the bell to ring to disperse the herd. We would be shadow boxing each other and recording all of our games. Occasionally, I look through all the videos of shadow boxing I have on my phone and reminisce on all the good moments we had together as a team and as a family.
Junior year wasn’t as good as sophomore year. I had taken higher level classes, which were pretty difficult depending on the classes I took the previous year, and things between friends were a little broken at the time. In my opinion, it was probably my least favorite year of high school, but there were other things that made up for the difficult experiences. The senior friends I had were my best friends. I hung out with them almost every day and we made a lot of great moments with each other; they were people who I really felt comfortable with. The time spent with them before they left was long lived, as they still resonate with me in my heart even when separated from them.
Pulling into the senior year was definitely an experience, as I never believed I would ever make it to my senior year and, ultimately, the last few months of my high school life. Sometimes I don’t know how to feel about my overall high school experience, but when I think more about it, it’s definitely something to appreciate because some people don’t get the opportunity to go to school outside and physically make friendships that could potentially last a lifetime. I’ll have to say, however, that the time I’ve been a high school student is definitely one for the books, and it is something I want to look back on to create a more successful lifestyle for college and the real world ahead of me after high school.