It's Your Lucky Day! New March Writers Are Here!

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

Remember:
All Students:  Be sure to read the entries for this group  (March).  Everyone is required to comment on at least three different pieces of writing.  You must post the comment here on the blog (below the post is the "comments" link to click) AND cut and paste your comments, complete with dates and times, on to a Word document and turn it in to me by March 31.  You must do both to get credit for comments this month.

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

"How to Make Nacatamales" by Samantha B

Most everyone has had tamales, but very few can say they have tried the Nicaraguan take on it
called nacatamales. Nacatamales may be a bit hard to find, even in Nicaraguan restaurants, but
with this recipe you will not need to search for them, you can make it yourself! Nacatamales are
something I grew up helping my grandma make in the kitchen after school; the taste and smell
remind me of family and my youth. Making nacatamales may not give you a sense of nostalgia
as it does me, but they may be something you enjoy and continue to make in the future.

To begin, you need to know what's on the inside:

6 ounces pork, cut up
2 ½ Ibs pork ribs without the bone
2 grated sliced tomatoes
1 cup of white onions, diced
1 chopped green bell pepper
5 full garlic cloves
1/2 cup of orange juice
Salt- to your heart’s content
1 teaspoon black pepper

Cook necessary items separately, then mix together.

What's on the outside:
2 lbs corn flour
2 ½ cups lukewarm water
¼ cup of orange juice
3 cups pork lard

Mix together in a pot until you reach a mushy consistency- something a bit thicker than mashed
potatoes

The most important ingredients:
9 ounces of rice
2 diced potatoes
4 sliced tomatoes
1 white onion, sliced
12 mint leaves
1/2 cup green olives
1/2 cup prunes
1/2 cup raisins
1/4 cup red and green habanero peppers

To assemble:
2-3 rolls of smoked or boiled banana leaves
Twine, to tie up the nacatamales
Next boil your nacatamales so that the ingredients mesh together.

If you have any experience making tamales, nacatamales will not be too difficult to figure out. If
you do experience difficulties while making them, there are plenty of instructional videos which
can also help guide you. Once your nacatamales are done you can freeze the extras and simply
boil them again when you are ready to eat more. Enjoy!

"Dear Diary" by Maria D

March 19, 2015

Dear Diary,
Today I feel connected. Some days I feel intuitive, like I can feel every raging emotion in
someone with one touch, some days I feel mindful, like I can hear every sound around me and
sometimes even the beat of my heart pumping blood throughout my body, and other days I feel
lost, like in a black ocean that never sees the light. But today, I feel connected. For some reason I
have this odd feeling that everything and everyone around me has some sort of connection with
one another that leads back to one place. A place that is me. I not only feel connected to
everyone around me but the ground too … the Earth. I think it is God’s way of telling me
something, because He knows I will listen if he talks to me through the world around me,
because He knows it’s the way I speak and feel. It’s like the Earth is trying to say something to
me, show me something. There is this girl in my class that I barely know but I have talked to her
once or twice, most likely about homework or something that I didn’t catch in class. She was the
first person that I thought of this morning and I have this strong urge inside my chest. It feels like
I need to tell her something but I don’t know what it is that I have to say. I don’t even know her.
I don’t know … it’s like I need to give her advice or tell her something that she will need in the
future. Tell her something and then many years later she will think of that something and it will
make her think of me, bringing her this sense of awareness or something. Last night I had a
dream that I was on top of this canyon. The sky had hints of red and orange and I felt the wind
brushing through my hair at one moment and the in the next moment, I found myself at the
bottom of the canyon. I was not afraid. Beside me was a stream carrying small dandelions to the
other side of the canyon. And then I woke up. I thought of that girl and right now, 8:13 p.m., I’m
writing about it all. I guess I don’t know how to end this because I’m a disconnected connected
person. But I feel like I need to write this down because I have this feeling that I will understand
what it means one day in the future. I feel like one day, all of us will start to piece together our
lives and our subconscious mind will reveal connections we never recognized because our
connections weren’t fully complete just yet. We will understand why we had that urge to talk to
someone we did not even know. We will understand why we had that dream the night before we
had that urge to talk to that someone. We will understand why we took that trip in the summer of
2013 to that field of flowers and picked that one specific flower in that one specific place. We
will understand why that lit candle at the top of the bookshelf fell over and spilled the red, apple
spice wax all over the carpet. And we will understand that every little thing that happens to us
and around us is connected. It is connected to us. It will reveal to us that what we once thought
was not reality was reality.

"Homecoming" by Louis S

On the stone steps of Machu Picchu, Peru, the horizon is skewed by towering ranges and the silence is absolute save for the occasional blow of an ever so gentle wind. The ground I stand on is that of my people, molded by the blood and sweat that now runs through me and yet, as I awe at the view, the pride of shared ownership couldn't be fainter. I’ve only been to Peru three times in my entire life, and this was the first time I was conscious enough to fully retain my memories of being there.

As I peer at the mountains that surround on all sides, I almost gain a sense of revelation, as if the peaks themselves have cornered me in to answer the questions I’ve unknowingly been seeking the answers to all my life. Even though proficiency in academic excellence has always been my associated definitive trait in my family, the irony is that I would all too often feel that the comfort of a certain knowledge escaped me, beyond all the books and the principles and the facts that behind their words ceaselessly yell at you “this is what you are going to need to survive, succeed and shape your own path in the world out there.” I was born in the United States, where any promise of cultural adherence can never find absolute fulfillment: Spanish-speaking households are absorbed by the tide of English conversation, arroz chaufa on weekdays is reduced to an occasional specialty, and traditional items of culture are shelved and shunned as distant reminders of our backgrounds. I’ve never really been fazed by that fact; I would always just press on, completing school, achieving to the best of my ability, and learning to brush off the all-too familiar “aren’t you Mexican?” from a stranger’s first glance with a composed response of where I’m truly from. That is why I found it easy to relate myself to running when I joined the cross country team in high school: the sport demands persistence, allowing little to no room for natural-born skill, and though monotonous in its labor at times, with each thud of your feet you can reflect on your decisions and calculate your next move, all while striding on forward to the next obstacle. The Incas were the same, erecting agricultural storages and astronomical studies buildings with a speed and engineering genius that baffles experts to this day, and although not the same particular type of work, it had to be completed on challenging terrain under unfavorable circumstances, and this is a condition I believe transcends across generations of people with my background. Nowhere does this concept reveal itself more than in the circumstances which even allowed me to reside in the states. My mother and father both came to America illegally, having to learn English and find jobs to support themselves and eventually me along with my two brothers. My father died when I was only two, and when you lose one of the main supporting members of a family, you learn the meaning of scarcity and appreciation for the things you have; for the hand you’ve been dealt. You learn not to ask for much, and though the opportunities before you have been limited, the desire to succeed past your shortcomings remains unimpeded, if not only impelled. This is importantly so, for we exist in a world where all things, whether it may be as simple as a gesture of gratitude or as complex as a confession of pent-up sentiments, are all too fleeting. It is easier than ever to lose yourself in the transience of something you desire in one moment and dismiss the very next, and thus in this process we gradually lose the essential components to our identity. This of course is not to discount the fact that we are a product of the people and experiences that surround us, for there is irreplaceable value in what you take away from the words or generosity of another; yet, as the seeds for a generational legacy we wish to cultivate, the true yield of our endeavors lies in the personal grounds of which we choose to root ourselves to. I found my anchor on that day, as I stared at mountains that were looked at hundreds of years ago with a defiant glare and conquered. I see now that who I am is someone who refuses to absorb the beauty of other cultures and simultaneously forget the value of my own; I won’t settle for having the identity that others of my background share be marginalized or belittled, and as I progress in my education I aim to ensure that the following generations may feel the same way. I realize now that though my future is not clearly outlined for me, it is nonetheless there, and I built the self-discipline and skills I need to take it. All that is left is for me to make it my own.

Back on Machu Picchu, I take in the view, and I am reinvigorated. Taking one last look around me, I break into a run up the dizzying stone steps, an unyielding confidence I had not felt before filling my lungs.

"So Few of Us Left" by Stephany S

     As much as humanity has been the poster child of on being intolerant to those of all
backgrounds despite the countless civil rights movements and protests that called for an end to
injustice, it has found a new group to hate and blame for all the world’s problems. This time, the
argument was targeted towards a generation of genetic abnormalities that granted random
people abilities beyond the human spectrum, ranging from the control of various elemental
forms to telepathy. When news spread of my minority’s existence, we were not seen for our
potential to contribute to mankind’s progress, but as freaks of nature and God’s mistakes.
Despite most of the superhuman community aspiring to coexist with humans and trying to play
“normal”, humanity just didn’t want anything to do with us out of fear that they can be
overpowered. The government didn’t help either, subtly promoting the unity of all humans to
combat this genetic anomaly as a silent but imminent threat, referring to us as something other
than human. Suddenly, social divides such as sexism, racism, and homophobia to fight the
nonexistent threat that is the superhuman minority. The military obtained new orders to combat
any and all superhumans regardless of intentions, and corral them into institutions they claimed
would teach them to use their powers safely, but in reality had a questionable agenda.
Once my telepathic powers manifested at age 12, my parents urged me to never use my
ability in public and keep my genetic status secret. In a way, it hurt to have to hide who I was,
and despite there existing a radical group of superhumans who prided themselves on being
superhuman, their methods were inhumane. So, day by day I lived my life, lying to everyone I
knew and fearing the practically inevitable day that I would be exposed for what I am. I
remember one night seeing on the news, two young siblings were hanged on a swing set, with
signs reading “demon” around their necks. It made me realize that some higher power in the
universe allowed crimes like that to happen, constantly punishing us for ever being born.
Eventually, such acts of local terrorism became a normal occurrence, and my fear grew numb.
That fear was awoken on one night in June, when all of a sudden a religious group called the
Crusaders executed their plan to damage mutantkind. Famously superhuman-majority cities
were leveled in the matter of minutes, and all at the exact same time at midnight, to prevent any
first-responder help aiding those who managed to survive. They even went so far as to target
someone with the power to create nuclear explosions, forcing him to detonate himself one last
time. It’s now 2 days later, and Crusader rallies have not stopped, as they march on the ruins of
cities worldwide to desecrate the memory of those murdered. I can’t help but feel useless,
because being a survivor means someone out there has something in store for me, but the way
I survived was like a coward does. I was never in any risk in the first place. Being a telepath
places even more responsibility on my shoulders, because ever since 2 days ago I haven’t
stopped hearing cries for help, others suicidal thoughts, from those I never would’ve guessed
were like me. There are rumors of a facility in the northeast where survivors are urged to go, to
be accounted for and protected by the few normal people who wish to see the conflict end.
Maybe I’ll go. Maybe I won’t. But either way there’s so few of us left to spend our energy and
security seeking revenge, because at this point in my life revenge means extinction.

"Let Go" by Sophia J

     As we are nearing the end of our senior year, I am remembering the times where we all felt
insane amounts of stress. At this point, we can look back and be relieved that those times are
over, but I remember the feelings of anxiety that would flood through my body anytime I got a
new AP score or when I started filling out college applications. I remember one day in particular.
It was the day the AP test scores would be sent out to everyone. I was up extra early that day
talking to my boyfriend Vivek on the phone at 6am about my AP scores, going to college, and
overall just what the future holds. Vivek was trying to assure me that everything was going to be
okay and to just stay positive, but all I wanted to hear were my scores. Eventually they came in
and mine turned out to be the lowest out of my entire bio class. I sat and cried for a while until I
actually looked at the situation. Ever since I was a freshman, all I wanted was to get a great
GPA, get accepted into a top school, and be successful. The only things on my mind were to get
a great SAT score and high grades in all my honors and AP classes, but all I had done was drag
myself into a deep hole and I spent my entire junior year depressed. I set very unrealistic
expectations for myself and when I didn’t achieve them, I became upset and let my emotions
get the best of me. There are times in life where you may not fulfill the goals you set for yourself
but the way you handle it determines your future. One of the worst things I did in high school
was compare myself to everyone who was close to me in regards to academics, personality,
and lifestyles choices. By comparing myself to others, I began to put myself down for not being
like everyone else therefore hurting me in the process. Almost one year later as we are all
undergoing this college process and anticipating college admission letters from many of our
dream schools, the only advice I can give to you all is to let life take its course. You will get into
the school you were meant to go to and everything will be ok. Don't take a rejection from a
school and use that as an inward reflection of who you are. I’m sure that we all have our dream
schools, and some of us are not going to get into those schools and that is fine. The rest of the
world survives no matter what school they end up going to! It is up to YOU to work hard
wherever you go and take the best education from the classes you choose to attend.
There may be times where you worked hard and other times where you slacked off, but that's
okay because it's all done now; you learned from it and it is time to move on. Be the best
version of yourself anywhere you go, and work towards your goals everyday. All throughout high
school I’ve seen my fellow peers work extremely hard just to get accepted into college and the
only conversations we have had were about school and the countless hours they spent doing
extracurricular activities. Those things are definitely important, but are you truly happy? With two
months left until graduation, our high school experience is almost over. I hope you all make the
most of your time here and carry these experiences with you to college.Academics are definitely
a huge part of our lives and is needed in order for us to succeed but we all need to take time to
breathe and enjoy life as well. Don't be discouraged because you didn't get an A on an exam, or
that you didn't end up getting summa cum Laude out of our whole senior class. And once you
get into college just remember that now you're competing against thousands of students from all
different parts of the world and they all have their own goals and dreams. There's absolutely no
room for comparison because you are your own person with your own individual capabilities. So
I'm not saying don't strive to be on top, but keep in mind that failure comes along with it. But I
can gladly say that a year ago I was nowhere close to the person I am today and I've never
been happier. I have an amazing boyfriend, family and friends who support me so much and I
know all that I've gone through is part of the process. Maybe you haven't experienced failure
yet, but keep in mind that everything in life doesn't come easy. You may think you have it all
figured out, but you'll be surprised to see how much will change in four years. So keep an open
mind, strive to be the best you can be, and just be happy because at the end of the day no
matter what college you attended, or what job you have, you're still amazing and capable of
anything you put your mind to.

"Ghost" by Summer G

     Tomorrow is the first day of my senior year, ahh a fresh start. I spent the whole summer at home
with my dog, my friends never asked me to hangout...but senior year will be different. I was
going to go to target to get my school supplies, but I know I can’t afford that so I walk to
walmart. I get all my supplies then I stop at rite aid for some ice cream on my way home I get
my favorite, rocky road. As I am walking home I spill it all over myself, what a loser. Suddenly,
I see a car speeding and ends up swerving and getting out of control. The car ends up hitting a
kid that had been walking a few blocks ahead of me. The kid flies in the air and the car finally
stops moving. I quickly approach the scene. I am in shock and I quickly grab my phone to dial
911, but of course I couldn't get my phone to work. I guess someone else called them because I
see an ambulance and police cars quickly approaching. I stand there frozen, then I watch as the
coroner's take him away. He must have liked star wars to because he was wearing the same shirt
as me. I just continued on my way home. It is now the first day of school, I walk on campus and
say hi to my friends Jimmy and Warren, they walk right past me, nothing new I guess. I walk
into my first period and as I am about to sit down someone steals my seat, sounds about right. It's
the first day same routine, the teacher, Mr. Edwards introduces himself, he's a goofy man. He
tells us about his kids and such, he starts talking about what we will learn about that year and I
raise my hand to ask him a question, he ignores me, the usual. Everyone ignored me that day.
The next day I knew it would be better, I was determined to have a good day. I walk on campus,
I wave to Jimmy and Warren and again they walk right past me like I don't exist...of course. As
I'm walking through the hall I notice a flyer, the flyer was for a funeral that night and it was for
me...what type of joke?? I am going to this funeral. I walk into the service...all my family and
friends are there. I see a casket...they are really going on with this joke. I look in the casket and I
see the star wars shirt with rocky road spilled all over it……..….it's not a joke

"Misunderstood" by Alejandra A

     She smiles and laughs all the time, her presence makes people’s days. She smiles so much that her cheeks hurt, but the pain that she has in her heart is much more painful, she feels lonely even when there is people around her. She feels misunderstood, like no one really comprehends the way she feels or why she cries. Everyday she puts on a smile and thinks of it as a new beginning, she leaves her sadness in her nightmares and moves on. If only it was as easy as it sounds. Many times she feels as if the walls of her room are caving in on her and she begins to cry. Her life is so perfect on the outside, she has people who love her, a house,food, luxuries, and gets nearly everything she wants. Her life has been great since she was born but as she grew she became to feel lost and like no one was there to support her through her anxiety and depression. Why would someone with everything, have depression? Why would she feel lonely, when she has people who love her? Those questions are left unanswered because not even she knows why. All she knows is that it hurts and it sucks. Her anxiety takes over her, she begins to feel lack of control over her body and emotions. She feels her face start to tingle while the tears begin to go down her cheeks. She feels nauseous and overwhelmed with emotions.  She begins to catastrophize the future, she think she will not make it to college because she did not pass her math or english test. She cries because she feels like a failure, she cries because she thinks that her dreams of being someone in life are over. It has been a month or two where she no longer cries every night, but now she feels numb, completely numb. It is so hard for her to explain it, because she just feels empty. She is sitting in her favorite class but she no longer feels the excitement she used to, she feels as if she is not really there as if she was invisible to everyone. Now at night she wonders if feeling emotions is better than feeling nothing at all. She no longer knew how it felt to feel emotions her body feels empty inside. Her emotions were like California weather in the winter time, some days they were sunny and other days were like flash floods but at the end of the winter the spring comes by and the flowers begin to blossom, and just like that she gets a new beginning. She began to fight her emotions by always trying to be positive,even though some days are more challenging she is doing much better.

"Grandma" by Vanessa L

            This day was very different. It was almost as if I knew something was going to go wrong from the second I woke up in the morning. I was in the seventh grade and I got dropped off at school by my neighbors, just as I did every morning. The school day seemed fairly normal, however I knew something was different from the second my mom picked me up. I didn’t get the usual “How was school?” question, and she couldn’t even look in my direction. I noticed that her eyes seemed swollen as if she had been crying for hours, and this was unusual for my mom. She wasn’t the type to cry so I asked her right away what was wrong. I asked her several times, but got no response. This told me that something serious had happened while I was at school, and I just remained quiet the rest of the way home.

As we reached our neighborhood, my mom pulled into our driveway and she just grabbed my hand. I asked her again what was wrong, and all I remember hearing was, “your Grandma was diagnosed with Cancer today and she has been given two months to live,” before my whole entire world went silent. I could see in my peripheral my mom break into tears, but I couldn’t hear anything. It felt as if I was paralyzed. I wanted to cry but no tears were forming. I wanted to talk but no words were coming out of my mouth. I was in complete shock. I wanted to comfort my mother, but I was just in too much disbelief. I got out of the car, went straight upstairs and locked myself in the bathroom. I remember sitting down on the floor and just thinking about everything I did and didn’t do with my grandma. Depressing thoughts ran wild through my head and I continued to beat myself down for how much I took her presence in my life for granted. I could name millions of things she did for me, but what did I do for her? Why didn’t I visit her more often? Why didn’t I tell her how much I appreciated her more often? These were the types of questions I kept asking myself. Of course I had always treated her with love and respect but I knew that I did not make her feel as special as I could have. 

 As the weeks went on and my grandma started her chemotherapy, I remember going through a stage of pure anger. I was so mad at the world. Why my grandma? What did she do wrong to deserve this? What made me the most angry was that everybody’s lives around me continued on normally. I know this was so selfish of me, but I can remember looking around in my classes and thinking, “Wow, all of these kids are happy while my family is completely suffering.” Nobody knew I was sad and I didn’t want to put a burden on anybody else around me by sharing my situation. I felt helpless.

            After about three long years of harsh treatments, invasive surgeries, and a ton of medication, my grandma had an appointment that had the possibility of being life changing. This appointment was going to include a full body scan to see if her cancer was continuing to spread or if it was slowing down. All of my cousins and I missed school and all of our family united in the waiting room to receive the news together. The scan only took about an hour but after each minute passed it felt like another has been added. The waiting room was completely quiet and we all had tears streaming down our cheeks. Finally, we saw a nurse coming around the corner and we all sat up in our seats. She introduced herself to us and proceeded to give us the big news. I couldn’t stand the anticipation so I laid my head into my lap while she talked. She went on for a couple of minutes about the scan that my grandma had just underwent and then I heard her say,”Congratulations, not only did her cancer stop spreading, it disappeared completely.” As a family we all stood up and began embracing each other while our tears of sadness turned into tears of utter joy.

Although this event was one of the hardest things my family and I have had to endure together, nothing has taught me more than my grandma being diagnosed with breast cancer. I learned that life can be turned upside down in the snap of a finger, and most importantly not to take anybody in life for granted. I also learned, even though this may seem cliché, to make the most out of every single day with my loved ones. As teenagers it’s so easy to get caught up in the little things and we often forget about the bigger picture. We forget to go visit our grandparents, family members, and friends because we are “too busy.” The sad part is, one day the realization will occur that precious time with our loved ones has been wasted. Normally the day we realize this is when it's too late. So, my advice to you is to hug everybody that is important to you and let them know how much you appreciate them. Not just once but all the time. You truly never know when your life can make a turn for the worst.

"The Wonders of a Parent’s Love" by Ivanka S

Every day the thoughts of unanswered questions lurk into my mind: “Were we never enough? Why’d you go?” It was morning, we woke up from our regular slumber. I remember waking up to the sound of an immense cry of a broken heart. I ran to the other room, only to find you gone without a trace, or even a simple goodbye. We called you endlessly in desperation to hear your voice and make an understanding out of this sudden event. We believed that our love was genuine… I believed that it was.

           

            I stand outside, staring blankly at our spot where we would play catch. Memories of laughter, joy, and love we shared together blurred my judgement to fathom the reason why you did what you did. The backyard was where I would always be able to find your presence as you cultivate our garden. Now the fruits and trees that reside are replaced with the flowering lies and sins you have buried to hide from all of us.

           

You left her, you left your children, you left me. We loved you. We gave the same love and affection we credulously believed you had for us all, but you chose water over your own blood. The painful scars that you grazed our hearts with your actions can only be mended but never fully healed. She tried to hide her pain from all us, afraid that it would heighten our resentment towards you. But the quiet sound of her cries and her endless prayers could not be concealed behind her closed doors. Although we were able to pass through the storm and feel the sun, the ocean still overflows from your rain of lies. No matter how much older or wiser I can become, I will never fully understand the reason why you did what you did.

"Genesis" by Marianne S

     The basis of evolution is adaptation. We conform to changes in our environment,
strengthening our weak points and letting go of pointless habits. In many aspects, this primitive
mindset of survival of the fittest has stuck; expression of characteristics that make us fit in stay in
our gene pool for generation to generation. In our efforts to remain resilient in this philosophy,
we have lost part of ourselves in the process.
     I immigrated into America from the Philippines when I was four years old: young enough
to be malleable in character yet old enough to have a grasp of my native culture. It wasn’t
difficult for me to see how differently I talked and dressed, even in my kindergarten class, and
these differences bred a feeling within me of resentment and scrutiny from my peers. When my
mom would pack me a Filipino lunch for school, I would get upset that it wasn't a peanut butter
and jelly sandwich instead, like the other kids. I rejected my roots and, in its place, I adapted to
the ways of my American friends. As a one and a half generation immigrant, my identity was
split between my new culture and my old one, although I decided within me to neglect my old
one and make the new one more apparent. Because of this, I lost the ability to speak in my first
language, Tagalog, and could only merely understand and speak in limited dialogue since my
family began speaking more and more English at home. My discovery on the euphemism of
immigrants as “aliens” as a child furthered my embarrassment of my past. I couldn’t understand
those who took pride in our home country when I neglected it. I didn't want to be seen as the
“fob” within my peers and I saw the change from a four year old girl to over a decade I became
fully enveloped in American culture.
     But as I grew older, I grew tired of the PB&J sandwiches. I regretted letting go of the
culture I was born into and wished that I could have continued learning and growing with it. I
also came to the realization of how much Filipino culture had continued to shape me, even
without my willingness and acknowledgement. Within me, I found the Filipino characteristics of
hospitality, kindness, and friendship, becoming integral parts of my character. I recalled the
classic Filipino dishes my mom would make for dinner every night, yearning for the home
cooked meals. Entering high school, my mindset widened to see how others were so open to
embracing their identity. I came to appreciate my own identity and I wanted to show my
appreciation. My background defines who I am today, and the expression of my two cultures
have become the structure in my personality. It has shaped my perspective on finding ourselves,
retrieving it from where we have lost it. My journey to becoming self evident in the discovery of
my being meant trial and error. I take pride in the cultures I belong to: my character
manufactured by experience and influenced by nature.

"The Unforeseeable" by Ernesto P

It seemed as though it was not real. The idea of never seeing you again was overwhelming and appeared to be impossible to accept. You were my best friend and were always there for me through the best of times and the worst of times. The day when I received the horrific news about my cousin, it left a hole in my heart and a void in my life.

I had just finished elementary school in early June and was eager to start my summer. I would spend a lot of my time at my cousin's house who lived just down the street from me. He was just a couple of years older than me but I viewed him as an older brother and someone who I can look up to. We would play basketball and video games and often talk about any issues or problems that's going on in our lives. This daily routine would continue for about two weeks until one day. It was just like any other day, I went over to his house because I left my PSP over there and wanted to retrieve it back. I knocked on the door several times but no one answered. As I was leaving, I noticed a curtain move from the window out of the corner of my eye. I called out his name multiple times until he finally came out. I noticed he was holding something peculiar behind his back. I asked him what it was, in which he then reluctantly revealed my PSP broken in pieces in a Ziploc bag. I could remember the sense of disbelief and anger I perceived that day. Unwillingly to hear him out, I left after several spiteful and now regretful remarks. A couple of days passed and I still refused to attempt to make amends out of pure stubbornness. The next day I was returning home from a baseball game, and I was informed my cousin was in the hospital. My initial thought was he probably injured himself from skating as he did previous times. However, this was not the case. On the way to the hospital, it seemed as if time itself grew slower and slower. The stoplights managed to turn red as we approached them, and felt as though the universe itself was preventing us from arriving there. However once we arrived after hitting every red light, an ominous sensation emerged.

The hospital had an unwelcoming feel as we approached the entrance. Walking through the hallways, you can see the plain grey floor and walls and the grid-like ceiling composed of those polystyrene squares that do not provide any solace or comfort. The sheer bright light seemed to contrast with the darkening gloom I felt on the inside. As we grew closer to the waiting room, I saw my uncle exit the room and come towards us. The expression on his face emitted a negative feeling that I never experienced before. Words began to spill from his mouth and I could feel my heart sink into my chest. He told us he was in a critical condition from sudden heart complications. We sat in the waiting room which seemed like an eternity. The doctor came out of the room to give us the most dreadful news I have ever heard. A person whom I created many lasting memories with, lies in the room down the hall deceased. I immediately began to think of my last and final encounter with him and how I should have treated the situation. The lesson that I learned from this unfortunate experience is to appreciate the time with your loved ones while you still can. Time is limited and you should treat every second to the fullest.

“My Experience” by Gaby R

     As a child you really don't have a say about what school you can attend nor do you actually really know the difference. You just kind of go with the flow until something actually bothers you and then you realize, “hey I really don't like this school”. When I was in kindergarten I attended Solorio elementary and I was happy with all the friends I made until my parents told me that we were actually going to move to Rancho and that they were sending me to another school. Of course as a 5 year old I wasn't thinking about it too much but one thing that changed was that I had to wear a uniform because they were sending me to a Catholic School known as Sacred Heart. I was okay with the idea when I first actually went there but I wasn't so thrilled since I found out that they were really strict and I could barely leave a class just to go to the bathroom. I was upset with my parents sending me there and all I wanted to do was go back into a public school and have my old friends back. Having those new friends wasn't bad at all especially since every year they were going to be in my class seeing that Sacred Heart only had one class for each grade. I had an understanding later on that my parents sent me there to learn about religion but also when they were younger their parents put them in Catholic schools. In reality what people didn't know was that this school was actually not that great considering it cost a lot of money to send me their and they were behind in their teaching. My purpose isn't to talk bad about this school but the fact that my parents realized that spending all this money wasn't even worth sending their child to that school. When I was in 5th grade I found out that my parents weren't going to send my back to that school for the following year and I was going to go back to a public school for 6th grade and all I could remember was how happy I was. My parents didn't have to spend so much money on uniforms even though it was nice not worrying about what to wear everyday since I already knew. The fact that I got a better education in a public system says a lot and I couldn't be any more thankful for my parents making the decision that they did to make sure I wasn't struggling in school. I guess you can say is I did struggle when I first went to Summit Intermediate but I worked so hard to try and catch up to everyone else. Some people might not feel the same way but that's my personal experience and how I had a bad time going to Catholic School. Just because you pay to try and get a education that you think it's good doesn't mean it's always the best.

"Gratitude" by Darlene C

Gratitude- an emotion we can forget to put into use. Instead, our thoughts are clouded with simple and at times senseless things in life. These distractions sometimes make us forget to recognize how lucky and blessed we are. It has happened to me countless of times, and it continues to occur.

My family; my grandmother, my mother, my father, and two sisters are the most important people in my life. They have sacrificed so much for me, giving me the opportunities they never had. They have been through everything; giving me their wisdom, their support and unconditional love. So, when the possibility of any one of them no longer being there with me became a possibility, it became one of the most frightening moments I have experienced to this day.

One afternoon near the end of 2013, I got into my mother’s car after school and looked up to see her crying. Worried, but knowing that she was trying to calm herself down, I waited to receive the news. After months of discomfort and noticeable change in my father’s behavior, the doctors discovered several masses on the left side of his brain. I sat in shock and in silence during our drive, knowing that when I got home, I was going to have to say goodbye to my father as he was going to be admitted to the hospital for more testing. Days passed by and he underwent several CAT and MRI scans, but those results led to no new discovery as to what those masses were. His health deteriorated rapidly, he was visibly thinner, his strength weakened and his quick and sharp mind slowed. Hope still lingered in our hearts, it was the last thing we could hold onto, but it began to diminish with the lack of hope the doctors had. They gave my mother two options, both showing slim chances of his survival.

It was at that moment that my naivety towards life was cleared, the people you love are not guaranteed forever. After two weeks in the hospital and a small change in the course of my father's health, he was discharged. He came home days before Christmas and we spent it with fears and worries that it would be our last one together. Days and months passed, and to the surprise of the doctors, my father began to regain his health.

Today my father thankfully is still with us, and as every day goes by my gratitude strengthens. I have not only been fortunate enough to have such an amazing family, but I have been given a second chance to appreciate them more than I did before. The thing I have begun to learn about life in these last couple of years is that every event and moment happens for a reason. That no matter what goes on, there is always something to be grateful for. Although sometimes these kinds of events may be difficult to understand, or even justify, they all have a purpose. Sometimes we forget to look for this purpose, but we just have to take the time to look around us to find it.

February means great writing! (New work is here!)

 This is a particular good collection this month!  I think you're really going to enjoy them.  :)

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

Remember:
All Students:  Be sure to read the entries for this group  (February).  Everyone is required to comment on at least three different pieces of writing.  You must post the comment here on the blog (below the post is the "comments" link to click) AND cut and paste your comments, complete with dates and times, on to a Word document and turn it in to me by the February 28.  You must do both to get credit for comments this month.

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

"Death Brought Life" by Lauren L

            January 28, 2017

2:30 p.m.

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

2:45 p.m.

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

5:00 p.m.

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

January 29, 2017

3:47 a.m.

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

8:05 a.m.

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

8:15 a.m.

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

8:45 a.m.

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

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

           

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

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

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

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

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

" Unexpected Love " by Arely M.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"The Water Polo Life " by Camrin W.

 

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

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

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

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

"The Laughing Sun" by Haley J

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

"Boxes" by Lauryn D

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

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

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

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

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

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

          

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

           

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

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

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