"I Am Not Speed" by Jeffrey B

 

I recently got my license in August of 2021. The amount of time I spent learning about the rules of driving was about to be paid off. I remember it all happening so fast. I got behind the wheel and ended up passing with only 6 mistakes. After a week of trying to convince my reluctant parents, I was finally able to drive myself to school, and my dad handed the keys to me. I vividly remember the first time I left the parking lot at the end of the school day. As I began to speed up I felt a rush of happiness and satisfaction rush through my veins, and my inner being itself felt free as if it was originally restrained from what it truly desired.

            There was one particular day that I will remember for the rest of my life. It was 7:44 AM, and there were no cars around other than mine as I approached the same route I always take to school. I felt that same rush of adrenaline and satisfaction as I sped up. Of course I checked my speedometer, and it read around 40-45 mph, and I maintained that as I came closer to the green traffic lights at the end of the street. I was calm and collected until after I crossed the lights. After that, I noticed a set of flashing lights behind me and as I looked with unbelief in the rearview, I saw a white car with the words Rancho Cucamonga Police on the side doors. Immediately I could feel my heartrate begin to rise ever higher as I tried to take deep breaths and park the car. The officer came to my window, asked me how fast I was going, and if I knew what I did wrong. I thought for a moment and said I didn’t know. You see, on the way to my school, I had to pass by Summit Intermediate school as well, and the officer told me I was speeding in a school zone and that’s when it hit me. On that day I was so thrilled that I had forgotten about the school zone, and blew right by the speed limit of 25 mph without seeing it. When I realized this, I tried to speak but it was as if I swallowed my tongue. It felt like my own mind betrayed me and gave me the silent treatment, and all I could manage to let out was “oh”. I could say nothing else and only stare at myself in shock.

            The officer asked for my license and told me to wait before going back to his car. In these moments I tried my best to calm myself. My mind would not allow it, and kept shouting the words “YOU ARE DEAD, DAD AND MOM ARE GONNA KILL YOU” repeatedly. My surroundings were not helping either. The red and blue flashing lights of the officer’s squad car reflected from the window onto my face, and for a moment I felt like a criminal on the run, in an almost cinematic way. Even though it wasn’t that serious of a situation it was the first time this ever even happened to me and I was terrified. By the time the officer came back and handed me my speeding ticket(he guessed that it was my first one) my brain was absolutely fried. The officer didn’t tell me how much the fee was and said I was free to go. I called my dad and told him what happened, and he seemed very disappointed, mainly because the insurance was going to go up. When I told my friends, they all were in shock and gave me a little bit of comfort but I was still scared of how much the fee would be. The rest of the day felt like forever, and I couldn’t focus as much on school. I came home and my parents were being very strange as I told them the story. My dad just said we needed to figure out how much the fee was, and seemed very neutral, which scared me even more than if he would’ve been angry. My mom was the same way, which set every nerve in my body on high alert.

            So eventually we found out that the fee was over $400 and when I learned that I immediately thought to myself “I am definitely not getting any Christmas presents this year.” I looked up why the fine was so high, and I learned that they usually are for teens because most are usually reckless drivers, and there had to be a suitable punishment that motivated them to be better. The speeding ticket itself said to go to court to pay the fine or fight against it, and we went the first time to appeal and then learned that my actual trial date was on December 8th. While I was waiting for that day to come, I still drove to school, church, and other places to meet friends. While I was still driving however, I always felt a small twinge of guilt deep in my heart, like a poison that prevented me from truly enjoying driving. It was like I was now stained, after just a few months of driving clean, and now I had to go to court to face my mistake. On the day of the trial I walked in with my dad, since I was still a minor, and the judge called all attendance. Then the most miraculous thing happened. My name was called, however the officer that gave me the ticket was not present, and so I was free to go and the case was dismissed as well as the ticket. I couldn’t believe it, and when I walked out the door I felt a sense of relief wash over me like a wave washing away the stain on my driving record. I now realize that while driving can be exhilarating it is important to look around your surroundings, and make sure you are enjoying that freedom at the right time. I also just go extremely slowly past Summit Intermediate now but that will get better with time. When my dad and I went back to the car, he asked me if I wanted to drive. I thought for a moment…….and said “nah.”

“BFF” by Kevin W

“BFF.” This term’s heard everywhere and has become so common that what it’s an initialism for is automatically understood by a randomly selected person. According to Oxford Languages, a best friend is “a person’s closest friend.” Then, I looked up what closest means, and the result I got is: “to seem to be gathering in on all sides” (thefreedictionary), but in this context, it means one who is readily available to catch you from falling apart. I’m sure many of you have “best friends,” but I want you to question whether they will help you in your hardest times. For example, your startup company is in a $50,000 debt and you ask your friend to lend you $20,000. Will he/she help you despite knowing that they may never get there money back? If they do, this clearly indicates that he/she values his/her relationship with you more than the money. My point isn’t to tear you apart from your best friend or contradict what a best friend really entails. Instead, I want to share my view of how to spot a genuine best friend.

I grew up in a small community in Los Angeles, where I, like all of the other kids in my elementary school, formed close groups of friends. Long story short, I became best friends with a person, whose name will be replaced with Bob for confidentiality reasons. We hung out on the weekends and during recess, shared similar interests in gaming and basketball, and always saw each other as best friends. That’s what I believed until the beginning of middle school, when he decided to break ties with me when I didn’t participate in one of his games. I became infuriated and lonely, not knowing why he didn’t really value what I believed to be a close friendship. He hadn’t even offered me a chance to speak nor had he tried to talk to me. That’s the moment in which I began to contemplate the true meaning of friendship and I’m still reforming my principles of what a life-long friend is.

I’ve seen on social media where people would express their concerns of how when they put in their best effort and care to show the gratitude and loyalty they have towards their best friends, they didn’t receive the same level of treatment back. According to hellogiggles, “a 2009 Dutch study found that a large majority of friendships only last about seven years.” 7 years really isn’t the length of a friendship with a close friend. A close friendship is expected to last a lifetime.

I advise people to view friendships as investments. Investing your all towards another is very risky as you would end up damaging your own self-esteem if that person does not acknowledge your care. It could also build up social anxiety, preventing one from reaching out to form bonds with strangers (speaking from personal experience). This would take a toll of your social health, a vital component, besides psychological and physical well-being, to your overall health. However, this doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t invest at all into friendships. Instead, invest moderately in all bonds as that would not only prevent you from being harmed in the long run, but it would also allow the other side to see your qualities and reveal their own character and willingness to develop the relationship. In that case, you can gradually increase your investments into those people that express the qualities of being humble, kind, supportive, loyal, and considerate towards you (urban dictionary), and are also willing to invest in furthering the connections. They would remain that way even if you encounter traumatic events such as losing your house or getting into a car accident. Keep this in mind if you don’t have a best friend or are looking for one. But if you do have one, be open towards your other close friends that may embody the traits mentioned above because you wouldn’t want to lose the opportunity to create more life-long friendships.

Come Read Our November Writers!

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

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

"Maybe" by Conner G

 

To misquote award-winning gay filmmaker Hao Wu:

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

save face (idiom)

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

 

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

 

This is how face works in my family.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

But I don't want to live like that.

 

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

 

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

 

Maybe that's all I ever truly wanted.

"A Silent Symphony" by Marissa C

 

---

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

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

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

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

 “What is this?” Elora yells.

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

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

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

“Who’s this ‘we’?

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

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

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

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

“A conflict?”

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

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

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

“Why are you showing me this?”

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

---

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

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

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

 

 

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

 

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

  

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Love Continues On” by Mia O

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Discipline" by Alexis G

 

 

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

 

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