"How To: Mac and Cheese" by Emma M

One time upon going to my aunt's house, I asked her what we were going to eat for dinner and she said macaroni and cheese. In my mind, I was thinking about the same kraft macaroni and cheese that has been done many times. However, it wasn’t any bland mac and cheese, it was layered! When seeing the layered macaroni and cheese I was astonished that I haven’t thought or ever heard of something like this, and upon coming home I was determined to find a recipe and make it my own. Scoring the internet, I found some recipes but when checking the reviews and looking at pictures, none looked appetizing or appealing. After looking through different recipes I finally found one that looked promising. With a few alterations to John Legend’s macaroni and cheese, I began to make my own layered mac and cheese that became a staple item at all family gatherings. When first attempting to make this on my own, I found that it was very dry and needed more seasoning, so after multiple times of remaking this recipe throughout many months, I came to a recipe that came out to my liking.

 

Thanksgiving has always been a time of family gathering, and new memories are always formed during this Holiday. Even before I was born, my family has hosted Thanksgiving at our house for years. We have family that comes in from the Bay Area, Arizona, and even Kenya to celebrate Thanksgiving. Our house is always filled with laughter, and love resonates within the walls of our home. The food we have on Thanksgiving is our hot golden-brown turkey, creamy mashed potatoes, and exploding seasoning stuffing. We also cook many African dishes such as chapati, skuma, etc. since my parents were born and raised in Kenya. The array of food that everyone brings and cooks is so diverse. Overall, around my family’s kitchen, is food that originates from different nations which all come together for this one special day.

 

With all the amazing foods that we have on this day, I always remembered how when I was a kid all I wanted was pizza and macaroni despite all the beautiful food that was available. Even when my younger cousin came over, I saw that they too had the same tendency of wanting to order pizza and stick to the norms of American food. So after careful consideration, in the year I perfected my layered mac and cheese, I decided to make it on Thanksgiving and add it to the diverse selection of foods that we had. The first year was very hectic adding my layered mac to the meal list because every year my kitchen is always jam-packed with family members. However, in 2017 I made it successfully despite the extra people in the kitchen. When placing the platter down, all my younger cousins and even older family members swept every last bit of the layered mac and cheese that I made. Now, every year since then I’ve had to cook double because there’s never enough leftover even with two platters full. So I wanted to share this recipe, although it’s not one hundred percent unique to me, with John Legend's help and Martha Stewart's website. I’ve been able to create a staple dish every year on Thanksgiving that even beats the attraction to the turkey.

 

Ingredients :

 

●      ½ stick of salted butter (to put on the macaroni)

 

●      ½ stick of salted butter (to put around the glass dish)

 

●      1 teaspoon of Kosher salt

 

●       ½ teaspoon ground pepper

 

●      ¼ teaspoon of seasoned salt

 

●      4 cups of macaroni (usually 2 bags/boxes)

 

●      2 cans of evaporated milk (12 oz each)

 

●      ½ cup of skim milk

 

●      2 eggs

 

●      ½ teaspoon of garlic powder

 

●      4 (8-ounce) packages of any cheese you prefer (I use 1 bag of Mexican style blend cheese, 1 bag of Colby jack cheese, 1 bag of Monterey Jack Cheese, and 1 bag of Extra Sharp grated cheese)

●      Paprika for the top of the dish

 

Tools Needed

 

●      Measuring cup (to measure the ingredients out)

 

●      2 medium mixing bowls ( 1 that will contain the liquid mixture, and the other will contain the dry ingredients)

 

●      Large pot (to boil the macaroni)

 

●      Wisk ( to combine the ingredients)

 

●      Glass Dish 13-by-9 (where the layered mac and cheese will be made and baked in)

 

●      Tablespoon measurement ( to measure the seasonings)

 

Directions:

 

●      Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.

 

●      While the oven is preheating butter your 13-by-9 glass dish (until the glass is covered in butter).

 

●      According to the macaroni bag (or box) instructions boil the amount of water needed per each bag ​(usually 6 cups of water per macaroni package according to a Kraft box)

 

●      Add salt to the boiling water and once the water is boiled add the macaroni.

 

-       Warning: Make sure you try the macaroni and make sure it has enough flavor. I would

 

recommend making it under-salted (slightly) because the liquid ingredients contain more seasoning.

 

●      Cook until al dente or according to the package directions.

 

●      Drain the water from the macaroni and return the macaroni (without water) back into the pot.

 

●      In your large pot (that has macaroni ) add the ½ stick of salted butter and cook until the macaroni has been coated with butter, and the butter is melted.

 

-       Set aside this pot of macaroni.

 

●      In a medium bowl, whisk the eggs (first), skim milk, and evaporated milk.

-       Add the seasoned salt, garlic powder, Kosher salt, and ground pepper into the same

 

medium bowl as above.

 

●      In a second bowl add all the cheeses and mix them together by hand.

 

●      In the glass dish (13-by-9) place a thin layer of the macaroni (from the pot) and cover the bottom.

-       Next, add a thin layer of the cheese mixture and cover the macaroni that was on the

 

bottom.

 

●      Repeat this layering process of macaroni and then cheese (until there’s no more macaroni or cheese left).

 

●      When you finish layering add the liquid mixture (with the eggs, milk, salts, etc.) and pour it evenly over the baking dish.

 

●      Sprinkle paprika on top, over the whole dish (for extra seasoning and color)

 

●      Bake for 35-45 minutes (or until the top is browned)

 

●      Let it stand for 10-15 minutes before serving (so that it can finish cooling off)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

from: weheartrecipes.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

from:

 

marthastewart.com

" Somewhere Over the Rainbow" by Nicole L

Once upon a time, my mother told me a story. She told me of a place hidden somewhere over on the other side of the rainbow. A place with a rumored portal that few passed through. The story told of seven “guides”, the Women of the Prism. Women that my mother advised me to stay far away from. She told me this story as a warning, as many parents did to their children. A warning to be normal. A warning not to go out of bounds, to stay away from anyone out of the ordinary, like those fabled women from the story. She said it was an unknown place, a place no one ever returned from. My mother said no one knew much of what was on the other side, that all they knew was that it was unusual and odd, and that it was blindingly colorful all of the time. All they knew was that the people who disappeared shared such anomalous qualities with where they were headed.

My whole life this story was repeated to me. Always told in hushed tones. Always told in disgust. Always with fear ridden eyes, darting back and forth, as though by mere mentioning of the place, the mythological women would come sweep them up, and throw them through the veiled portal entrance. Children’s minds were seared with the image of mystical women taking them from their beds and dragging them through the streets to their demise. Mothers and Fathers created images of the horrible lives waiting for them if they ever made themselves victims of the Women of the Prism. Through this, they scared their children straight, scared their children into becoming stagnant beings. Children were taught that their only options were to blindly accept the status quo, or be ripped from the life that they knew. In turn, the children chattered relentlessly in the playground, taking turns telling fantastical stories about what they believed could be found on the other side. They went back and forth sharing what horrible details they could amass. “So-and-so’s father said you would be forced to forever live your worst nightmare on the other side! No, no! So-and-so’s uncle told him that the snatched victims became trapped in the rainbow forever, only getting a glimpse of their old lives on days that it rains! So-and-so’s mom said the Women of the Prism became more powerful in the presence of a rainbow!” As a result of these many ghastly stories, whenever it rained, even the bravest kids didn’t dare go outside for fear of the rainbow that would follow.

Despite all of this, no matter how many times I heard the hushed tones, and saw the fear-filled faces, I never believed that this place could be so evil. Every variation of the story told to me was just that, a story. Each person seemed to be making it up as they went. No one actually knew the truth. The only people who could know, were those who’d passed through the famous portal themselves. Everyone else was just guessing. I couldn’t ever fathom why they chose to be so afraid of it. To me the rainbow seemed peaceful . . . a symbol of love and kindness. It seemed like an escape from the grayscale world I felt so trapped within. The guides sounded poised, powerful, and progressive. I could never seem to believe that this place could be so dreadful. How could a place somewhere over a rainbow be bad? How could it not be paradise? And if it was paradise, how could those who took you there be evil?

I never quite fit into my world, the world on the “right” side of the portal that is. Everyone there was so stuffy, so perfect, so scared of nonconformity. On the other hand, I was the definition of nonconformity. I never cowered in fear at my mother’s stories, nor did I partake in panic parties on the playground. I never wanted the ordinary life they all lived by. I wanted adventure. I wanted to avoid monotony. I wanted to be happy. I couldn’t seem to achieve any of those things on the “good” side of the portal.

I spent most of my time asleep, trying to re-imagine this place of gore and lore. I chose to imagine the unknown in a more positive light, shunning the gloomy picture painted by my world.

When I closed my eyes, I would imagine the seventh woman of the prism, Violet, late at night, tapping gently on my bedroom window and inviting me to come along. Calling me to explore with her, to cross through the portal. In my dream-scape, I always did the same thing. I would slowly rise from the bed and carefully tip-toe across the room to the window. As silently as humanly possible I would lift the window and sneak out to join the iridescent guides. Then, I would fly across the sky with Violet and her sisters, like a real-life Wendy from Peter Pan. We would lazily fly over the hazy drizzling sky, waiting for daybreak, and the appearance of a rainbow. I always loved those dreams . . . imagining the nighttime from the sky, the city lights shining faintly, the droplets of mist landing on my face, the cold air brushing past me, and running through my hair. Every time we reached dawn, every time we reached the entrance of the portal, I’d be awakened from the peaceful dreamscape. I could never imagine the other side of the portal while I slept. But while I was awake . . . boy did I imagine.

Whenever I wasn’t dreaming, I could be easily found writing and drawing. I would endlessly write up descriptions for the rainbow world of my dreams. I would etch out my imaginations on math homework and hidden sketch books alike. Teachers reprimanded me for being so starry-eyed and irregular. My mother threatened that I’d be taken. What she failed to realize was that was exactly what I spent most nights praying for.

My literature and artwork depicted a utopia, complete with big pearly gates and everything. In this new world I was surrounded with things that I loved. There was forest greenery everywhere. The smell of eucalyptus in the air. It was beautiful. There were twinkly lights strung all about, and stunning cottage architecture. I wrote this world to have a dimmed sky. In my mind it would not be blindingly bright, instead it would be shadowy and rain-filled, with colors shining through the pale sky. Hues reflecting through the droplets, washing over the people in a bewitching fashion. Beautiful flowers magically glittering, catching the eyes of passersby, and bringing joy to all who saw them. People all around, speaking freely, loudly, happily. The world I imagined was in stark contrast to the fearful, hate-filled world I was trapped in. Every day I would escape to my mind and imagine the world of freedom. A place I could be free to be myself, a place that would grant me my dreams, a place where I could finally be happy.

For as much as I idolized this place in my head, I never imagined I would truly get there, or if I did, that my suspicions of it would be true. I never believed such a blessing would be bestowed upon me. Never in a million years did I believe I could be so lucky.

Then, one stormy night, as I was lying in bed wishing for escape, dying to explore, I heard something. A tap. Then another one. And another one. I stared at the ceiling, paralyzed in disbelief. I pinched myself, slowly rose from the bed, and pinched myself again. I stared across the room to my window. Outside was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Her skin glowed, elevating the radiant tone of her dress. It was Violet. I ran to the window, and threw it open. Overcome with excitement I abandoned my efforts to be quiet, and grabbed at the opportunity before it could evade my grasp. We flew over the city as I imagined we would a million times before, except this time as we reached daybreak, I didn’t wake up. This time, it was real. I shivered with excitement as Violet and the other six Women of the Prism opened the portal. Violet took my hand and escorted me through the entrance I’d spent a lifetime envisioning. I was living the moment I’d pictured for the last 17 years of my life. We landed in the other world. The world somewhere on the other side of the rainbow. I took it all in. I was finally home, and it was everything I’d ever imagined it to be. For the first time ever, I felt like I belonged. All it took was a trip to somewhere over the rainbow.

 

"Soy Chicana" by Amorette C

“They’re bringing drugs. They’re bringing crime. They’re rapists.” “We’re building a wall. He’s Mexican!”. Donald Trump.

1965. Born in Michoacán, Mexico. 1969. Born in East Los Angeles. Both grew in different circumstances, immersing themselves in the Mexican and American culture. The beauty of combining two diverse cultures into one. Something that anyone would be fortunate to have. Mexico in itself, a mini world. The complex states have cultures incomparable to the rest. Jalisco is known for the classical Mariachi genre and Pozole. Michoacán, known for their plato de carnitas ​plate of cut up pork meat​. A group of humans who work hard to ensure a better life for the future generations.

 

18 years old. “We walked in the desert for a couple of days until we reached a van. Us and 25 others together. I remember a lady with high heels running in the desert. I gave her my extra pair of shoes that were hanging from my shoulders.”A new generation of Mexicans migrating to America. It was an arduous and treacherous journey very few had the luxury of missing out on. For many seeking a better life, this journey for the American Dream was a must.

 

The United States, known for its growing diversity and the infamous American Dream. The cities, the opportunities, the chance of a better life. Would these statements hold any truth? “The streets were tiny. Towns small. Not that many people in the pueblos. Not like here. Totally different. Cities are enormous.” The culture shock of entering a new country, not knowing anything of its sorts. Different laws, languages, customs, people. Imagine walking into a whole different universe, so different then you are used to. The hope in you, ready to change your life for the better. Smack! Reality

hits. This is real life. How will you survive in a country built for someone that doesn’t look like you. Immigrants. Minorities. Anything other than the status quo. A country built by the power of immigrants, yet criticized for lacking a document. A country that claims to be for the people, by the people. Yet their people are being kicked out of their homes and taken advantage of. A country who allows children to be kept in cages, yet claims to advocate for a child’s living self. A country where their own leaders sit still while there is an obvious attack on minorities and people of color.

 

Born in the United States. Also immersed in the Mexican and American culture. A Chicana. First college graduate in her family. The beauty of cultures is that they are so diverse, filled with a variety of customs, foods, music, clothes, slang, etc. Los Chicanos, a whole new generation of Mexicans in America. “I traveled on the bus to go to school my entire life.” University California State University, Los Angeles. Graduated with a bachelors and masters degree. A new era of Mexicans. The hard work of her parents and generations before her to reach this tremendous milestone. The privilege to be able to go to school and learn. The hard work that it took to break stereotypes and boundaries. A new legacy was created for this family. A new standard for the future generations to come.

“Go back to your country.” How original. Who owns this country? The supposed Founding Fathers. People who believed that only white males that own properties could vote. “Freedom is not a gift bestowed upon us by other men, but a right that belongs to us by the laws of God and nature.” Benjamin Franklin. Freedom. A man who also owned slaves. A man who advocated for the enslaving of a human being. Freedom.

Who owns this country? Christopher Columbus? Took advantage of a whole group of people. Raped and killed. Brought diseases. Who owns this country?

The union of these two cultures emerged a new generation of Mexican Americans. The second college graduate in the family. A very important moment in STEM. A Chicano joining the mix of intelligent, bright scientists ready to make a change. A new generation of scholars. A person with hardworking traits stemming from generations and generations of Mexicans. Acquired many internships and published articles. Ready to change the status quo.

 

Mexicans can be drugs dealers and commit crimes, but not all fall under these circumstances. Mexicans can be a lot of negative things. But the majority of them are not. The majority of them are the hardest working individuals you will ever meet. Incredibly proud of their culture no matter what this country has in store. Immigrants. The social changers of this country. Minorities. Those who dare to change the status quo of this country. The diversity of ethinic groups. What makes America so beautiful. The youth. The ones that hold the power to change the world.

 

The Gen Z comes along. A new culture of Mexicans. Keeping the Chicano heritage alive. Has the privilege to be engulfed in the beauty that is the American Dream. Due to generations of hardworking groups of people, this individual has the opportunity to make the world theirs.

 

As you can clearly see Mexicans are not like what they are perceived on the news. The news doesn’t show the hard working individuals who stand in the heat for hours selling flowers. They do not show the hard working Mexicans breaking stereotypes in STEM. They don’t capture the beautiful culture of folklorico and Dia de

Los Muertos. ​Day of the Dead. ​The diversity of their music and food. To them they see drug dealers. We are anything but. An ethnicity united with the common trait of being hardworking. I am proud to be a Chicana.

"Nicaraguan Vajo/Baho" by Diego K

      Hello everyone, thank you for deciding to read my blog and before I get to talking about why this food means so much to me, I just wanted to give a little history lesson on how the food was brought to life. It originated from a mix of all different cultures around Nicaragua between the indigenous, mestizos, and Afro-Nicaraguan people from all over the country. This food is made for ending a tough week, so it is prepared on Saturday and finished on Sunday, in my family it can be made to end a family dispute. The reason this recipe means so much to my family is that this recipe was handed down from my great grandma who was alive during the multiple civil wars in Nicaragua and who would always make this recipe to make her kids feel safe from all the danger outside. This would be passed down to my grandma who currently makes it every Sunday and it is so delicious. It always brings a smile to everyone’s face when they can taste such rich flavors from the meat and yucca plant. Hopefully as you see the recipe you will also get interested in trying this dish, I would 100% push for everyone to try it at least once because I know you will love it. Just an FYI it does take 4-5 hours to cook because it has to be held over low heat so that the water evaporates long enough to cook the meat. So this is a very complicated recipe but a very tasty one. 

Ingredients​: 

●2kg of Brisket 

●2kg of Yucca 

●6 ripe bananas 

●3 green bananas 

●Banana Leaves 

●500ml of bitter orange juice 

●5 garlic cloves, halved 

●5 large onions 

●600 grams of peeled seeded tomatoes 

●1 small sliced red pepper 

●1 small sliced green pepper 

●Salt 

●Pepper 

 

Cooking Method: 

1.Start by cutting the onions in half 

2.Pour the meat with a generous amount of salt in a bowl 

3.Add the garlic cloves, onions, and the bitter orange juice after this let it stand for 24hours 

4.The next day wash the meat to remove the excess salt 

5.Take the onions out of the marinade and slice them into thin pieces 

6.Get all the Yucca and bananas and peel them and slice them in half 

7.Line a large casserole with the banana leaves, leaving them sticking out so there is enough room to cover the waiting meat, make sure to not leave openings between the leaves: the water we will add later should not enter. 

8.After the first layer make three more layers of banana leaves almost like a fortress 

9.Now we are going to assemble the Baho 

10.First add the Yucca 

11. Then add the green and ripe bananas standing up 

12. In the center of this add the meat and cover the meat with tomatoes, peppers, and onions. After this step close the leaves around the meat like a mummy 

13.Add 700ml of water and bring to a boil for 2 hours over medium heat. This is the part where patience is key

 14.After the first 2 hours reduce the heat and continue cooking for 2 hours. During cooking,add more boiling water if the water evaporates too much. 

15.During this step we like to make a nice salad with the leftover tomatoes and peppers by mixing it together with lettuce and adding vinegar making very acidic and it goes well with the Baho 

16. After the next 2 hours are done the Baho is ready to be served, We make sure everyone’s plate has at least a piece of ripe banana, a piece of green banana, a piece of Yucca and a portion of meat. Also the salad on the side.

Hopefully you aren’t discouraged by the banana leaf part, this is probably one of my favorite foods that my family makes so I hope I can get some people to try my Grandma's dish, thanks for trying it out!

 

"A Night to Remember" by Ashlee M

            It was the night of All Hallows Eve and everyone was getting ready in the room upstairs. I was downstairs talking to my parents, when I heard a loud thud from above. I ran upstairs to find Rebecca on the floor, Cassie nowhere to be found, and blood on the corner of the vanity. Not knowing what happened, I panicked and dropped to the floor to try and help. Suddenly, Rebecca sprang up and scared me half to death. Cassie walked out of the closet laughing because of how frightened I got during that moment. Little did I know, that was just the start of everything that was going to happen that night.

            Time passed and we all were finally ready. Rebecca, Cassie, and I dressed as the Powerpuff Girls this year, showing off our true personalities. I of course was Blossom, Cassie was Bubbles, and Rebecca was Buttercup. The three of us walked down the stairs to show my parents the finished look. We took pictures, said our goodbyes, and walked out the door. We were finally on our way to the Halloween Party of our dreams. This party happened every year, but it was always a “Seniors Exclusive”, meaning all of the underclassmen weren’t invited. Rebecca parked the car down the street, the three of us hopped out, and started walking towards the house. I say house, but this was no ordinary house. Not only was it massive, but there was something off about it. The outside was decorated with spiderwebs, skeletons, and crazy pop-outs that were there to give you a fright before you got to the door. The grass was covered in fog and you could feel a chill as you walked up. At the door, I could see a man in a scary clown mask. He looked as if he was a statue, but I figured he wasn’t. I walked up close to Rebecca and Cassie because I wasn’t too fond of what I had just saw. We got past the pop-ups and made our way to the entrance. I looked around for the man in the mask, but he was nowhere to be found. I was creeped out, but I decided to let it go and enjoy my time at the party. We opened the door and it was like walking into a spooky wonderland. There were decorations everywhere; they filled the room and made you feel like you entered a different atmosphere. The DJ was set up in the main room, but we knew there was more to see. We walked through the strobe lights, pushed aside the streamers, and entered the room full of snacks and drinks. We decided to stop and get some of the “Vampire’s Blood” drink, which we assumed to be fruit punch. I looked over my shoulder, and there he was again, the man in the clown mask. I looked back quickly, trying not to make eye contact. I grabbed my drink, turned around, and he was gone.

            Some time had passed and we had done so much already. I mingled and talked to a lot of different people from the school, we all explored the house, danced, and even entered the costume contest, which we were obviously going to win. But there was only one thing we didn’t go explore, the upstairs. For some reason, I didn’t want to go upstairs. It didn’t feel right. Something felt… different. I told Rebecca and Cassie, but they told me to stop being a wimp and that everything was fine. I didn’t want to “wuss out”, so I went up with them and began to look around. Nothing looked different, but there was some weird feeling that it gave me. Rebecca and Cassie began walking to the end of the hall, where there was a reddish colored door. I don’t know why it was there because all the other doors were white. I stopped for a second because I felt a presence behind me. I turned around and I saw the man in the clown mask again. I was frightened and walked closer to Rebecca and Cassie. This man was following us, I knew he was. I told them to look, but when they turned around, he was gone. We turned back towards the red colored door, and there he was. We all turned to run down the stairs, but when we turned around, there was nothing. No stairs, no people, no party, no way out.

            We were forced into the room, but we couldn’t see anything. The strobe lights and fog made it almost impossible to see our surroundings. The next thing we know, we’re all tied up, our arms behind our back and duct tape over our mouths. He sat us in a circle, so we all stared at each other in fright. The clown circled around us, tapping our heads as if he was playing a game. Was it duck, duck, goose? I didn’t know. All I could do is sit there in fear of what was going to happen next. He stopped above Rebecca, his finger on her golden blonde hair. He played with it and then started to drag her into the darkness. She screamed and we tried to save her but we couldn’t. A couple seconds later, the screeches went away and he walked back out. Behind him was a trail of dark, red blood. Cassie and I looked at each other with terror. Our friend was just killed and we knew we were next. He walked to Cassie next and whispered something in her ear. I couldn’t hear what he said but all she did was cry. He walked around her, then suddenly grabbed her leg and started dragging her into the darkness. I didn’t know what to do. My two best friends were just murdered and the clown was coming for me next. Who was he? Why was he doing this? I guess those were questions I would never get an answer to. He came back and I stared at him, terrified of what was about to happen. He crept towards me and it felt like he was walking in slow motion. My heart was pounding, tears were rolling down my face, and my palms were sweaty. He came up close to my face and slowly peeled off the duct tape that was over my mouth. He walked away and I screamed, “Who are you? Why are you doing this?” He ignored me and grabbed what looked like a pink chainsaw. He was walking back over and all I could do was sit there. His hand started inching towards his face. Was he going to show me who he was? He grabbed his mask and started to take it off. This was it; I was going to see who was doing these horrible things. The mask was almost off now and... “BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!”

            I woke up to the sound of my alarm for school. Was it really all a dream? I couldn’t fathom the fact that it was all just a fiction of my imagination. It felt so real. I sat up in my bed and looked around my room. Out the window, I could see the sun barely rising, so I decided to lay back down. I turned to face the wall and there laying in my bed was the same man from my dreams. He put his hand over my mouth before I could scream. I couldn’t move, I was in shock. He came closer to my ear and whispered to me, “You thought it was over?”

“THIS IS HALLOWEEN” by Jessica H

      Everyone has heard of this notorious song from the Nightmare before Christmas. The on slaught of repetitions of “This is Halloween’s” almost serves as a yearly alarm clock, warning us of the quickly approaching winter, of another year gone by, of the beginning of a new holiday season. For some, this may just be a slightly unpleasant experience as holiday songs start to get stuck in their heads for the umpteenth time. For others, this holiday is a celebration of their lifestyle, a central part of their self-identity. And still yet for others, this may just be a chance to score some free candy. For me, it has always been a holiday shrouded in mystery, literally. I had never really understood the hype of it. How has an outdated holiday about scaring away spirits, a macabre holiday celebrating fear, the unknown, and death gained so much cultural relevance,especially in a time in which the majority of the population does not believe in the undead anymore?

      If you were to explain Halloween to someone completely oblivious of its cultural background and significance, you may start by off defining its origins in Ireland, where in Celtic tradition,people drove away mischievous spirits on All Hallow’s Eve, a time in which they believed that the souls of the dead would come to back Earth and the souls of the newly dead would journey on to the afterlife (“Halloween”). However, Europeans were not the only ones fascinated with death. For example, ghosts and spirits have been recognized, celebrated, and feared in African,Asian, and Hispanic cultures as well. From a pragmatic standpoint, this kinda makes sense.People used to live such nasty, brutish, and short lives. They arbitrarily died at young ages from diseases, and they blamed it on the supernatural because science, medicine, and germ theory were not mainstream knowledge. It made more sense that there were terrifying ghosts and spirits luring people to their graves on eerie late-autumn nights than invisible microscopic organisms interfering with a person’s homeostasis. In these societies, holidays similar to Halloween held cultural significance because it symbolized their fears of death, which seemed to be lurking around every corner, ready to reap any unsuspecting human souls. It was a mark of the irresistance to death when they lacked other means of deterring it. If they believed that they could ward off spirits by lighting fires and wearing costumes to disguise themselves, it gave them a sense of power in a time in which they felt so vulnerable with their own sense of impending mortality. 

      The person who you are explaining this to might all of a sudden go, “Yeah, that makes sense.But why do we still celebrate it?” On a superficial level, they may have a point. It’s an outdated holiday based on outdated primal human emotions. However, you still have yet to explain the significance this holiday has in our current modern society. Although most people don’t believe in the supernatural or in ghosts or spirits or any impending unexplainable doom, there is a new fear: a fear not of physical death, but of ​metaphysical ​death. It is so common for people in our society to be “dead on the inside.” So many people seem to work jobs that they don’t like, or feel like that they are always “burnt out,” or are forced into going to school when they don’t even seethe point of being alive. For a brief day, the spirit of Halloween gives us a vacation from the seemingly pointless institutions that trap us and kill our souls. It allows us to explore the meaning of being alive on a more purposeful level; it gives us a chance to be human in a world that sometimes values us more as cogs in a machine, to explore your individuality, one of the most important parts of being alive, through limitless choice in costume and expression. On Halloween, you can escape all the other hardships that plague your life the 364 days of the year.

 

Works cited“Halloween.” ​Encyclopædia Britannica​, Encyclopædia Britannica, Inc., 19 Oct. 2020,www.britannica.com/topic/Halloween.