September Writers Serving it Up!

They're here!  Find somewhere cozy to sit down and enjoy some compelling writing this month!

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


Remember:
All Students:  Be sure to read the entries for this month.  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 due date.  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!

"The Crack of Night" by Jose M

     We do this every single day, the same routine over and over again. I am getting fairly
tired of it because neither of us say how we feel. I wish I could just tell her that I love her and
that “work” is just an excuse for me to leave because when I stay too long I feel like I become a
burden to her. I know what I am doing is wrong but I sincerely can’t help it. I can’t lose her. I
won’t lose her. I do go to work everyday, but not as long as she thinks I do. I lie to her so much
and it kills me inside, I promise it does. I don’t know why I do this to myself, every time I leave
it just hurts me. People say that love is a disease and I agree, because there is no physical pain
that can hurt as much as it does when I leave for “work” every morning. I feel bad for doing this
to her, she doesn’t deserve it, but then again I also blame her for it. She stole my heart, ripped it
right out of my aching chest, and she doesn’t even care… Or know for that matter. I blame her
because she doesn’t tell me how she feels, I need to know but I can’t ask, or even worse I can’t
tell her how I feel. Could you imagine if I got rejected? I’d ruin the best thing in my life right
now. If she loved me she’d tell me right? Yeah, of course she would. I mean who could bottle up
their feelings for this long, well besides me. I hope she loves me, but I also hope she doesn’t, I
am incredibly conflicted. I don’t want to hurt her, but I know that if she loves me then every time
I go to “work” it breaks her heart too. She doesn’t love me. She can’t love me. I can’t love her. I
already do, but I can’t. This is all so wrong. I’m married and I have been for 12 years, but I don’t
love my wife anymore. My love for her faded years ago, I would’ve divorced her too if it went
for her meddling kids. They’re not mine, I mean legally they are, but definitely not biologically. I
don’t feel bad for them, because they don’t love me, but my wife does. So when I leave for
“work” it’s to see my family and actually be a decent father and cheating husband. My God I
love her so much. I know this is wrong. I know I shouldn’t love her, and I know she shouldn’t
love me. But if she does, if she loves me, I’ll leave them. She’s worth it. I wouldn’t be able to
live with myself if she ever found out. I can’t go back to how everything was, and honestly I
don’t want to go back. She’s the love of my life, and I can’t bear not knowing how she feels.
This daily routine is killing me. We wake up, I go to “work” and leave her, come back at night,
make love, and repeat. This cycle is never ending. I love the night because it’s with her, but hate
the light because I miss her. I don’t know what to do. What can I do? I want to stay with her, I
want to stop her one night and just confess my love for her. I can’t do anything but wait. I have
to wait for her to tell me how she really feels. But until then, I’ll keep loving her and be with her
at the crack of night, until the break of day.

" Every Year, Day, Hour, Minute, Second" by Oluwafunmilola S

      If one were to think that in the circumstances of their trials, life was just not important and therefore felt the need to give up, one might have to also know that there is something precious about life that makes life---life. That precious thing is time.  I once stumbled across a quote that clearly implied the importance of time in the aspect of our life trials; “Every year, day, hour, minute, second is a chance to start over.” Life is filled with all types of twists and situations that sometimes throw us under the bus, allowing us to either stay there on the ground, where we know it is easier to be missed, or dusting ourselves off and giving it another try because time is still there. There are many excuses which we use to stop ourselves from carrying on in life efficiently. Emotions and feeling are things we just sometimes can't control since we are human beings, but when it starts to take toll on your life, in the means of negativity, it becomes an issue. Depression starts to cease your mind, confusion leads you down the path to influence your decisions that lead you to the opposite path than what you had encountered before. Maybe you lost a loved one and never imagined how it would be to live without them. Fear begins to run you, the concept of life; everything but positivity is coming to mind. Maybe childhood wasn't up to a good start; rest assured you were meant to fail, nothing more and nothing less. You played the victim in “every” situation because you'd hurt the ones around you to make yourself feel better; after all, it was either blame, or be blamed. Whatever the circumstance may be, you always felt as though, it ended there, no way out, too much stress, I give up, or my favorite: it's not working out, there's no way. In every year, day, hour, minute, and second, there's always a way. The factor that hinders you from making wise decisions, from taking a chance, from trying over and over again until something works, from taking any action at all, is fear. The key to strength in situations that may bring you down, starts with self-healing; to be able to wake up the next morning and be WILLING to try again. So what if you do fall, it doesn't matter how many times you get knocked to the ground, but how many times you were able to pick yourself up. So every minute and moment that you mess up, that's okay.  When you fall or you are afraid of what life has to offer you, that's okay-- as long as you are able to cease the next minute or two that may be coming in three, two, one, take a deep breath and--- start over. That's the beauty of time and life, when it comes to making a few changes to achieve and reach the goals that your person was set up to reach, there is no limit of how many times you can rise up again. There is no wrong in falling, only if you wait too long to redeem your failure and prove yourself to success. There are 365 days in a year, 24 hours in a day, 60 minutes in an hour, and 60 seconds in a minute; take that time and use it. Each failure is a stepping stone for what is better to come, it is not necessarily the end but the beginning to your greatness. I strongly believe anyone, no matter what the lifestyle, is capable of achieving greatness; that's something we all have in common. People are overly involved in transportation crashes each day, but does not stop us from taking the risk of utilizing that specific transportation if it gets us to our destination. Kids fall and get hurt most of the time, when adventuring out on the playground, but they never quit playing. Instead of quitting, they make the effort to take more careful steps to avoid it happening again; there's always another alternative. In comparison to situations that are more physically dangerous, what compels us to disregard taking every moment or time for our best advantage and using that to create far better results for ourselves in life? It won't always be easy because the many good things to come take some time, practice, and dedication, but is 100 percent doable. When you are put to the test and the bitterness to life puts you under its wing, will you adapt and force yourself to get comfy, or will you refuse the easy offer and make the effort to find yourself some sweet?  Will you remember that every year, day, hour, minute, second is a chance to start over?

"What I Learned From Destruction" by Nick M

                  When I was a child, I showed interest in being a drummer just like my father. In fact, my mother has pictures of me as a toddler just hitting stuff on my father’s huge drum set. And because of this interest, my father got me my own drum kit. It consisted of 3 drums and 2 cymbals and I loved it with all my heart. I would occasionally show my father what I was learning and what I was doing well so I could show off. Once, when I was about 7 or 8, my father brought back a DVD of a heavy metal band in concert from one of his business trips because he had to travel a lot. He would usually bring back some sort of souvenir from wherever he went. He invited my brother and me to watch it with him because we were starting to get interested in that kind of music. It is because of my father that my brother and I enjoy the kind of music that we do. At the end of the DVD the band was ending their set and as they were ending it the entire band started destroying everything! They were breaking all of their guitars, destroying the drum set, and even throwing things into the audience. My childish boy mind was loving this and after that all I wanted to do was destroy a drum set. So one day I called my dad to my drum set to show him what I was learning. He was cheering me on and had no idea the destructive thoughts that were going through my mind as I was finishing my little show. As I finished, my father gave me a standing ovation and then was in immediate shock as he had to dodge a flying drumstick I had thrown his way. While he was still comprehending what was happening, I was kicking over every drum and cymbal I had. As I jumped into my bass drum, breaking the drum head, my father sprang into action and grabbed me and took my away from the mess I made. I was particularly proud of that mess as he took me to my room. I was of course grounded and only given drum pads for a long while after that. I find it funny in hindsight that I thought this event would be impressive and not something of concern to my parents. This experience has taught me to be less impulsive. I was very impulsive back then and slightly am now but because of this experience I have some control. Many of my childhood experiences have shaped me into the person I am today because I know now not to do anything like the dumb stunts I used to pull, they have made me generally smarter. I also learned to not destroy drum sets. I recently got another drum set and I know very well that I shouldn’t destroy it.

" The Early Years of Your Best Friend" by David K

I was born in an alley. I remember that I could barely hear, see, or smell, but I also remember my mother as she cuddled me and my four siblings close to her. We were all hungry, so I squirmed my way through my siblings, to make sure I got a chance to eat too. It was so good! Soon, I could see the big, red and gray walls all around me, as tall as the sky. I could hear strange sounds, and smell wonderful smells. One time, I tried to find them, but stopped at the entrance when I saw these tall things walking around. Suddenly my mother pulled me back, and told us to never leave the alley. Those “people”, as she called them, were dangerous, and we must stay in the alley. So we instead played with each other, tumbling over each other and running around the alley. It was so much fun! And when we were hungry, we would run to our mother, and we would drink our milk. Though, as we got older, and the milk was no longer satisfying, our mother began to leave us. She again instructed us not to leave the safety of the alley, as the world was full of dangerous things. Sometimes she brought back delicious new foods. Other times she brought back shiny things that tasted like food, but weren’t food. We went hungry a lot. Then one day, mom didn’t come back.

We waited a long time, crying out loudly for her over and over, hoping she would hear us and come back, but she never came. Instead, a giant, shiny box rolled in front of the alley. Scared, me and my siblings ran to hide behind the shiny bins and black lumps.  I saw two people get out of the box, and walk toward us. One by one, they took my brothers and sisters into the box, each of them crying for mom to save them. Finally, they took me as well. They put us all in tiny little boxes in the big box, and we started moving. We were so scared. We stopped moving, finally, and the people put each of us into bigger boxes. They each had walls like the alley, but instead of a blue sky, there was another wall. I cried out to my siblings, and they cried out to me. That night, I was so lonely. I cried out for mom, but she didn’t come. The next day, something strange happened. Two people, who were accompanied by a much smaller person, went into one of the boxes, and took one of my brothers. I called for him, but he was gone. The same thing happened over the next couple of weeks, until I was the only one left. I cried out for anyone to be with me. I was so sad. Then one day, a small person ran up to my box, and pointed at me. That person became my best friend.

                 

"Greystone Manor" By Raven F

     On a foggy autumn night, the horseman slowed his steed as he began to approach the large sign that read, “Welcome to Greystone Manor”. Although the horseman was weary from his journey, he was reluctant to go any further towards the large manor with the imported polynesian cobblestone that was clearly aged  and untended to. This weary traveler had heard stories of the Greystone Manor that went as far back as the mid 1500s. According to legend, the Greystone family came together in the most peculiar of ways. Aurther Greystone had apparently  met his wife, Cornelia Spruce, during a festival of which she took part in. Cornelia was raised with what today’s society now referred to as gypsies, and her family worked hard during these festivals to keep the commoners amused and make enough money to feed themselves. Aurther and Cornelia fell madly in love as time went by, but Cornelia's father, Odinah, did not approve of his daughter’s relationship with a non-gypsy. Enraged, Odinah put a curse on Aurther, making it impossible for him to give Cornelia children. Unwilling to part with her lover, she marries Aurther, and with the money from his family's inheritance, Aurther hires workers to build the Greystone Manor. As the years went on, Cornelia grew sad over not having bear any children of her own, and fell into a deep depression. Eager to please his wife, Aurther went mad trying to find a way to bring a child into their lives. Aurther couldn’t stand the thought of Odinah’s curse being the downfall of his marriage. So in a trump of desperation, Aurther left his residence in the middle of the night and went to the nearest orphanage in the village, snuck inside, and stole a small green-eyed, brown-haired infant in the dead of night. Those that speak of this story are never able to comprehend why Aurther did not just ask to adopt the orphaned infant, but assumed that his madness and desperation drove him to it. That morning as Aurther sent his chambermaid fetch the infant to show to his sad Cornelia, the chambermaid told Aurther that the infant had passed away in his sleep. Aurther was devastated. The curse that Odinah put on Aurther  was truly a force to be reckoned with. Aurther began to think to himself, that if he could not give his wife a child, then he would take his own life, so that she may find happiness with another man who can give her a child, and so he did just that...Aurther hung himself from the tallest railing in his manor. So distraught over Arthur's death, Cornelia died forty-nine hours later, from a broken heart.

An with this tall-tale in the mind of the horseman...he banged on the door with a frontal stalling motion...KNOCK...KNOCK...KNOCK.

"The Injury" by Carter C

            It was June 2013, my family and I were on our annual vacation to Pacific Beach, joyous as could be.  My older brother and I rushed down to the beach with our skim boards excited to experience the thrill of riding again. My brother threw his board across the water, began chasing it and planted himself firmly in the center as he began gliding across the water with great speed.  Then, without warning, the board went over a patch of seaweed, bounced off the ground and sliced into his Achilles tendon.  He instantly fell to the ground with a hard thud and blood began to spew from his ankle.  Filled with panic, my family and I rushed him to the emergency room where we discovered surgery would be necessary to repair his severed Achilles.  Over the course of the next nine months, I watched him battle and fight through depression as he lost all of the things he worked so hard for.  I thought I would never be able to understand that level of pain; however, I was sadly mistaken.

            Fast forward about a year from my brother’s injury.  It was June 2014, just coming out of my freshman year, my parents, little sister and I decided to head out to Huntington Beach for the day.  I walked past my brother’s skim board, picked it up and packed it in the car.  My mother looked at me grimly and said, “Carter you know what happened to your brother, do you really want to risk that?”  I confidently responded with, “Mom that was a one in a million type of thing; that won’t happen to me.”  I felt immune to any injury and was completely oblivious to what was going to occur.  When we arrived at the beach, I set my towel down and immediately rushed down to the water.  The tide was perfect; the sky was crystal clear, and there was a refreshing ocean breeze.  I thought to myself, what could go wrong?  After I got a few rides in, I remember having a quick flash back to what had happened to my brother.  I quickly put it in the back of my mind, avoiding the obvious warnings.  I threw the board down forcefully and sprinted after it.  I landed directly in the center of the board and was flying across the water.  I slightly shifted my feet and began to perform a trick, when the board hit the ground awkwardly and sliced through the air like a knife and hit me a few inches above my heel.  The color drained from my face, and I hopped to my parents on my good leg.  I could not muster up the courage to look at my wound and my parents rushed me to the emergency room.  When I was finally seen by the doctor, we were told that I had only partially torn my Achilles tendon and that the wound could be stitched up without surgery.  This was supposed to be good news, only a couple months to recover and I’d be as good as new.  However, at the time, I was extremely dedicated in my baseball career.  I would miss my entire summer season and would just barely recover when high school season would start up again.  I had to lie in my bed all summer, doing nothing, while all of my teammates were improving their skills and becoming stronger.  I began to get depressed and soon lost all of my passion for the sport that used to mean everything to me.  I was lost and confused on where I was going to end up and what I was going to do.

            During this time, my brother was just finishing up his physical therapy to come back from his injury.  He saw that I was going down a similar path and pulled me aside and talked to me.  He didn’t say much but asked me to just go to the gym with him.  I reluctantly agreed and remembered feeling very nervous as we stepped into Fitness 19.  After the first workout, I was exhausted and in excruciating pain, but I had never felt better in my life.  I immediately adopted a new found love for fitness and became obsessed with building a greater version of myself. 

            Going through this injury was one of the hardest times of my life, but I am so grateful for the lessons I have learned from it.  Tearing my Achilles taught me that setbacks are only temporary and that they do not define you. There are times in your life that you need to take a step back, dig deep, and build bigger, stronger roots because this will lead you to better things in the future.  It has taught me to never give up in anything that I do and to always persevere in order to achieve my goals.  Most importantly; however, it has taught me that I should always listen to my mother, even when I do not agree with her.                

" The event that changed my life forever" by Kyle Mc

Freshman year just ended and I was so excited for the upcoming summer I was going to
have with my teammates that I befriended throughout the year. The first week of summer was
just as I hoped It would be. I was having fun hanging out at my friend’s house and just enjoying
my summer. Then, the second week of summer comes that changed my entire life as I knew it.

On the Monday before June 1st, 2014 I was supposed to go to my dad’s house, since my parents
were divorced, but that day I made a major mistake that I could never have realized I was
making. I asked my dad if I could stay at my mom’s house for this week, he was very
understanding since I was only going to spend that night and then the next morning at his house. He said that it would be okay with him and we talked for a couple of minutes about the randomevents that occurred that week. I told him that I would see him soon and then we said goodbye to each other and that was it. I could have never guessed then that the small conversation talking about pointless things, was the last time I would hear his voice. The week goes by once again as normal until Saturday night. I was packing to go to my dad's the next morning around 11 o’clock when my older brother rushed in urgently telling me to put on clothes to go out in and that our mom was coming to take us somewhere. While I was getting ready many thoughts were rushing through my mind wondering why my brother had that frightened look on his face as if he just saw a ghost. As we wait for our mom there is no words being spoken, only us waiting patiently to leave. We hear the car roll up to the driveway and we know it’s time to go, After getting into the car my mom tells me that my dad is in Urgent Care and we are going to see him. 

On the drive there it felt as if the world got darker, the stars disappeared and the moon no longer lit up the surface. It was 11:48 when we finally arrived to Urgent Care. The building suddenly did not seem as if it was a place of restoring life but instead a place of death. As we walked towards the room I hear people rushing and scrambling around and faintly hear crying. Entering the room I see my family in tears and doctors sweating working as hard as they can, then my eyes drift to the bed. I see the body of the person I had so many memories with still as could be almost as if he was a manikin. It was at that moment I fully understood what was happening. Those moments in that room must have only been around 15 minutes, but for me it felt as if I spent the whole night watching the doctors work. I kept listening to his pulse clinging onto each and every beep the machine made. Then suddenly I didn't hear beeping anymore, it was gone. That night I learned one of the hardest lessons that life can teach. You’ll never know when you’re going to lose someone, so you should live life making sure that you won’t regret anything.

"She’s Coming" by Uriel Marquez

I bear the marks of men, scars the highest form of status for men, a trophy of status to pride yourself with and share stories, but my scars are not imbued with pride. My scars from two years ago, are scars which embedded themselves into me surrounded by hazy clouds, scars which clouds my mind like a heavy fog. Though I may be able to see through the fog I bear a scar which cannot be seen, a scar which covers my eyes in the fog leaving me stranded, ever further from the answers in a veil of fear. So I fill my lungs with smoke and pierce my skin with needles yet the one true poison was in my mind as the quivering boy repeated “she’s coming.” My life was empty like my house, one could say that a prison cell was more decorative than my house, yet my empty life changed when I met Faith a 2 year old baby girl who was in a basket on my doorstep.

She looked familiar all too familiar it caused my scars to sting yet I took her in and in that basket was a paper that said “Faith”. My house was a void, though as time passed the void filled with scribbles a toddler called art and books that knew not the concept of bad endings, my needles and herbs no longer filled my void, instead my “Faith” filled my void. Faith was my reason, to work, to live, and to love, and their wasn’t a day that passed by that her words didn’t heal my scarred mind, they were simply “daddy let’s play”. But as weeks turned into months, and months into years Faith grew of the age to enter pre-school, her fear of school and love for me was blatantly apparent as she clung to me like a cat to a tree. Yet a malevolent thought crossed me who were Faith’s real parents? And what would I do to the people who abandoned her.

To heed my malevolent desires I took Faith to the doctors so that i may find my answer yet my scars stung as if to say I shouldn’t do this. When the doctor finished his job with Faith he looked dumbfounded, the doctor asked me to come into his office, alone so that we may have a private chat. My scars were beginning to sting more as if rats were feasting on my ankles and wrists. The doctor spoke with first a question “Sir are you alright, I mean why did you have your daughter take this test it seems rather strange for a father to make his own blood related daughter to take this test.” I replied in sheer shock of his words “U-um d-doc are you sure you didn’t mess up the test, I mean I already told you I adopted her, she’s not my blood related daughter I mean for crying out loud I’ve never even had a girlfriend let alone have sex with a woman.” The doctor replied “Sir there have been no faults in this test, Faith is indeed your blood related daughter.” My scars surged with pain as if my wrists and ankles were being stabbed furiously over and over again by a madman and I grabbed the doctor’s shirt “CUT THE BULL DOC I AIN’T HER FATHER NOW TELL ME WHO HER ACTUAL DAD IS SO I CAN STRANGLE THE JERK FOR LEAVING HER!” The doctor was scared his eyes radiated pure terror yet he pressed on with words “Sir you must calm yourself as the pressing matter is her mother.” F-Faith’s mother, the pain stopped in my scars and I let go of the doctor but what replaced the pain was a chilling cold that froze me as I heard the quivering boy’s words again “She’s coming.” but that was not all I heard another voice whisper into my ear the voice was cold and overpowering, it was the voice of a woman and the voice whispered “I’m coming.” I bolted out of the clinic with Faith and headed home. When we got home I tried to treat Faith like I normally would but I just couldn’t I botched the lullabies I would sing to her and couldn’t even look her in the eye as I said goodnight, yet Faith asked me “Daddy are you alright, did i do something bad?” she asked with innocent eyes worried about me, I started to cry and hugged Faith.

After Faith went to bed I entered my room and saw a boy naked in the corner of my room with spots of blue, black and purple littered about his skin almost as if the parent’s fist were not enough. The boy raised his head to show his tearful and scared eyes and that’s when i noticed the most glaring features of the boy his wrists and ankles were bleeding profusely and in front of the boy was a blood stained rope. The boy looked at me and said with a quivering voice and scared tearful eyes “Run, Run away, she’s coming, you know she’s coming, if you don’t run now you can’t escape. You’ll know what happens to if you don’t it’ll be just like those times all those years ago. Don’t you remember?” I couldn’t take it anymore, not the voices, not the test, and not him again. “SHUT THE HELL UP NOBODY’S COMING, I'M SICK OF IT! IF YOU WON'T TELL ME WHO THEN SHUT THE HELL UP!” The boy got up from the corner and limped slowly and eerily with a crimson trail behind him. In his hands was the bloodstained rope and when he was right in front of me I was terrified, it was as if I was shot by lighting and paralyzed as my whole body was stinging as he grew closer, and closer. The boy grabbed my hands and used the rope to tie them together, the ropes felt moist with warm and heavy blood, then the boy looked me right in the eye and said “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten this.” I woke up screaming in terror with cold sweat pouring down my face, yet I took Faith to school and went to work but when work ended Faith wasn’t at school.

I rushed into the school’s office demanding Faith’s teacher in which she was brought to me with a dumbfounded face and asked me a question “ Excuse me sir why are you here Faith has already been picked up by her mother, did your wife by chance not tell you she was picking her up today.” After she said those words my heart sunk, my skin was crawling as if my very skin was an ant’s breeding nest, my only reply was, “i-i don’t h-have a wife.” The teacher’s face contorted to a horrified shape and quickly called 911. I staggered out of the school’s office and slowly approached my car lifelessly as if I were a zombie and once i was inside i slowly drove home, I knew Faith was there, When I arrived home the front door was already unlocked.

I slowly opened the door and entered the house to which I heard the noises of my kitchen being put to use, and the sound of a knife repeatedly chopping something up in a joyful rhythm. As I slowly walked into the kitchen I saw a woman. I asked trembling “where is Faith?” The woman replied, “Oh she’s in her room waiting for food.” I asked another question “Did you do anything to her?” The woman answered “Of course not she’s my daughter after all.” and i asked her one last question “why are you here?” The woman answered “To see you of course.” I was scared, terrified of this woman her presence alone sends chills all over my body, freezes me in place and yet my heart is beating as fast as it has ever been. I said with a shaky voice “get out.” The woman immediately stabbed the knife into the meat that she was cooking and looked at me dead in the eyes with a maniacal grin and mad eyes. “Get out? You can tell some pretty funny jokes sometimes now and then can’t you. Do you think you can order me around, huh? Do you remember what happened last time you tried to do that, huh?” I couldn’t speak, I merely trembled in the wake of her words. “It’s okay though it’s been years since we’ve last seen each other so you're bound to act up here and there, don’t worry I forgive you.” yet as she said this she grabbed something from the ground and placed it on the table, it was a rope bathed in old blood stains. The woman then pointed the bloody knife at me and said “Hey lil brother Faith is just a sweetie now don’t you think, and I think she’s been a good girl, don’t you think? So I was thinking how about we reward her with a lil brother.” I wanted to run away, i wanted to scream for help, I wanted to fight back, but I knew it was all useless, because big sis always gets her way, and tonight was no exception.                                                                                                

"Developing an unexpected Passion" by Jacquelyn H

As soon as I was old enough to walk and run, my mom took me to the track to get used to what would soon become my passion. She had an astonishing track career herself and hoped that I would develop a love for the sport as well. We would make almost daily trips to any available track. I just chased her around the track as she easily jogged 10 feet ahead of me, instead of running willingly, crying for us to leave.

            As I grew older, my mom placed me in various track clubs in order for me to stay active and hopefully find a passion for the sport. I dreaded every minute of it, waking up early just to run and tire myself out. I miserably jogged around the track and cried during each lap of the warm up, begging my mom to take me out of this pointless, unnecessary pastime. Two years dragged on and I wondered constantly why I couldn’t use my time to find something that I actually enjoyed. I didn’t even resemble a track runner as a kid. My mom eventually heard me and took me out of the track club, and I joined a couple basketball clubs instead but never gave up the idea of my pursuing track. So she decided to coach me herself. Initially, I feared for my life, thinking that she would overtrain me or work me so hard I would pass out. Her competitive athletic history scared me. I found that I actually liked this training better than with a club because my mom was able to focus on what I needed to improve upon. To my surprise, she made sure she wasn’t overworking me but instead steadily getting me to my next performance level.

I went to my first track competition in the sixth grade and hated every second of it until my event. My stomach was filled with butterflies, I was so nervous. Before I ran, I argued with my mom about having to run the 800m. I just wanted to get it over with, so as soon as the gun went off, I took off. I was in first place the first 600m but then worried, “can I hold my position for the rest of the race?” The girl right behind me was being cheered on by her coach, “come on Anna! You can pass her up no problem!” I was tired at this point, but did not want to give up and lose after a great performance so far, so I picked up my pace and did not stop until I crossed the finish line, using up every bit of energy I had left within me. I won! This moment boosted my confidence a lot on the track field and was also so relieving that I finished the race, and in first place!

Afterwards, my family took me out to a special dinner and I made a note that I would never give up on myself especially if it is a challenge. The rewards in the end will always outweigh the struggle even if it initially seems unbearable. From that moment, my passion and fire for track grew. I never would have thought I would enjoy that feeling after a race where I’m so tired I can barely walk. The hype that comes from putting my all into something to achieve a desired end outweighs the long hard struggles. I think about this realization everytime track season comes back around, and I thank my mom for instilling a drive and determination in me that elicits me to do anything I set my mind to do.

"My Strength" by Rosie B

Love is the strongest force is the world. It binds people together and allows people to grow, but the love we have for one another is nothing compared to the love that God has for us. This is what I have learned despite all the hardships I have endured in my life, the most prominent of which was the death of my cousin Andy.

It was the last week of freshman year, the Sunday before finals when I received this devastating news. I was informed outside of my aunt’s house that my cousin Andy died in a car accident. He was twenty-one years old. I remember feeling numb at first, just holding onto the little piece of strength I had left in me to try not to break into a million pieces.

I know this might sound odd, but for me, being emotional is tough, I almost feel like crying is a sign of weakness, which I know is unhealthy, but I never want people to think I am weak so I hold in every tear until I am forced to crack.

So finals came and went, like a blur that had no importance to me at all, time seemed to stop and the only thing I could hold onto was my friends, family, and most importantly my faith. The following months were filled with ups and downs, during the summer I would wait until everyone was sound asleep in their beds to break down. Cascades of tears and anguish flowed through me but during the day, I was just trying to hold myself together for everyone else.

My family all shared memories about Andy constantly, we still do, but my biggest regret to this day is that the most constant encounters he and I had consisted of the phrase “Andy! Leave me alone!” coming out of my mouth. It wasn’t like we hated each other or anything, but he was constantly trying to be the bully older cousin, who acted tough on the outside, but loved us all so much. He was like a protective older brother who was the only one that could bother us, his baby cousins.

As the months passed, I began to cling to my faith more and more, as I knew that my cycle of crying in solitude was not making me feel better, and as I started my confirmation classes at Sacred Heart, I began to open up more to God.

The most memorable encounter that I have ever had with God occurred around Christmas time, as I again began to feel the void in my family. It happened during Holy hour, as the Life Teen choir was singing, the Eucharist was in front of me and I completely broke down. However, that was the day I finally felt relief, as if God had told me “you are loved” and “everything is going to be okay my child”. I learned that day that God was at my side ready to catch me at my darkest times, I learned that God is always near and he will never abandon me because I felt his presence in my soul and his hand on my heart, I am eternally grateful that I was able to experience this kind of love despite the hardships I had to endure to reach this point.

"The Crash" by Angela A

    It was a September afternoon in 2004, my brother Adrian and I had just gotten home from school when our front door neighbor came to our house to tell us to watch the news and see what had happened. There was a car crash on the fifteen freeway right before the Summit exit. As we are watching this I can see that my brother was beginning to worry and I at the time was too young to understand what was happening. A Little red Toyota truck had crashed into a parked car on the side of the road, causing the truck to roll and land on its side. At this point another neighbor came to our house and told us that he would take us to where the accident happened, which was near the Kohl’s parking lot. As we get there we see a crowd of people looking, cops standing, ambulance approaching, and the noise of the sirens surrounding us. We’re walking closer and now we can see the bottom of the truck facing us, I look at my brother and he seems so afraid. He worried and feared that the people in that truck would be our Dad and our two older brothers. I remember the police officer approaching my brother and I as he began to try and tell my brother to not worry, maybe it wasn’t out Dad’s truck and that he would take us to go get ice cream, just something to distract us, but my brother did not want to leave he wanted to see if it was our Dad and our brothers and he wanted our Mom to come. After this our neighbor took us back home where our Mom was outside listening to what our neighbors would tell her, but all I could see were the tears pouring down her face, the fear of not knowing what was happening, and her not knowing what to do, who to call, or where to go. My Dad and my brother Oscar were sent to Arrowhead but my brother Eric was in such a bad conditions that he was taken by a helicopter straight to Loma Linda where they specialize in head trauma. Due to this my Mom made us stay with a family friend for a while until things were in better conditions. My Dad had dislocated his hip and shoulder, ripped his forehead and nose open, and had glass in his face and under his chin. Oscar had broken his arm and ripped his nose and lip open, but Eric had it worst. Eric was in the middle seat during the car ride, when they opened the truck with the jaws of life they couldn't see him because he was folded under the dashboard extremely hurt and unconscious. He then was placed on the gurney and put in the helicopter for a faster way of transportation. They told us that on their way to the hospital Eric kept flat lining and they had to resuscitate him until he had a steady heart beat again, but once arriving at the hospital Eric fell into a coma for about Fifteen days. During the accident he hit his forehead causing his head to swell, which they then went into his first surgery where they detached a part of his skull to remove some of the pressure in his head. The next thing they had to do dwelled of having another surgery which had many parts to it. First they would remove a part of his hip bone to fix the vertebrates in his neck. Second they would have to complete a tracheostomy which is where they insert a tube in his throat to allow air to flow to his lungs, and lastly they inserted a gastrostomy tube which is a tube put into his abdomen to deliver food to his stomach. The Doctors had told my Mom that they had done everything they could but now he is in the hand of God and the only thing we could do was wait and pray that he would wake up and see in what conditions he would be in. Two or three days after the surgery Eric began to slowly wake up from his coma. Although he woke up his recovery was a very slow process where he would learn how to eat, talk, and walk again this consisted on a lot of hours in therapy. However in December that same year Eric went through his last surgery where they would place the piece of his skull that they had removed back in his head. Even though the Doctors had no faith that Eric would ever recover 100% he did, and he was classified as that one percent of those who recover completely from he went through. Looking at everything Oscar, my Dad, and Eric went through I realized that I want to become a doctor. Not for the money but because at the end of the day you make an impact on your patient’s life and you can be a part of that living miracle.

"Friendships" by Alejandra R

   I’ve always been told that people change with time. When I moved to California from Texas, I had always thought that I was the same, and I didn’t change at all. Every day I made efforts to talk with my friends in Texas, whether it be through texting or phone calls. I was starting school, which made me nervous, because I wasn’t sure how different schools, or the types of people were between the two states. To my suprise, Texans and Californians were almost nothing alike, Californians being more free thinkers, unlike in Texas; there was always so much of a feeling or need to conform. School went by as it always does, and I made friends. My friends in Texas would ask me constantly how school is, and what kinds of friends I had made. As just a general description, my friends in Texas were all extremely materialistic, and looking back at it, shallow.

   Two years after I had moved here, my mom decided it was time to go back and visit. Of course, I missed Texas a lot, but it wasn’t like I wasn’t getting used to California. I had friends and was already accustomed to school. I told all of my friends that I was visiting, which led to a flurry of excitement from them. We planned sleepovers, trips to the mall an hour away, hangouts at Starbucks. I remember being overjoyed that I had my old friends back, we were all together just like in elementary school and middle school.

   On the first day we hung out together, I immediately felt like an outsider. The three girls I had thought I could relate to about everything weren’t there anymore. We had all started high school, and I was the only one who didn’t go to the same school. We all ate a dinner made by my friend’s mom, in which I didn’t eat, because I wasn’t hungry. Immediately, my friends commented if I was trying to be rude, or if this was some kind of “California thing” where you don’t eat food offered to you. I shrugged their comments off, thinking it was just joking around. After we ate, we all went to my friend’s room, where they had decided to talk about what was going on at school, gossiping. I didn’t know who they were talking about, so I couldn’t participate in the conversation. All I heard was, “They’re dating?!..” “Did you hear about so-and-so?” “What was she wearing?! My blind grandma could’ve picked a better outfit than the one she was wearing!” I couldn’t relate to them anymore. Everytime I tried to enter the conversation I got, “You don’t know who we’re talking about.”. Constant judgement was being passed around.

   My friends told me I was different than before I moved. If they had told me this before we hung out, I would’ve disregarded the thought, because I had always thought I was the same, how could I change so much in two years? My friends had stayed the same, and they were right. I did change. I couldn’t relate to them, because I’m no longer the snobby, shallow minded person I was before I moved here.

The friendships we shared were ones I like to remember, but not ones I’d like to keep. I’d rather keep friends that bring positivity into my life rather than judgement. I’ve learned that in life it’s a difficult thing to let go of things that you’ve gotten used to, but if it can improve you as a person, it’s something that has to be done.

“Living with Foreign Parents” by William L

    We all know our parents went through hell just to get us where we are today. They took
care of us, payed for us, fed us, etc. There are just too many to list here. Coming from parents
who are originally from Vietnam, I can see their struggles. Fitting into a new society and trying to
learn a new language you never heard of can be quite strenuous. If I remember properly, my
parents and I had a discussion about this several months ago. They told me that they came
here around September 1995, with little to no knowledge of their surroundings. The reason why
they came here was to give us a better life, so we don't have to go through the same
experience.
    Till this very day, they are still trying their best to fit in and speak the English language. I
try to fit in some time to teach them the basics and ways once in awhile, and in return, they
teach me their native language, Vietnamese. It’s quite an experience and they also share their
stories about their past. Hearing their stories gave me a different perspective of them. They did
not start off easy. They were considered one of the lower class. Started off in farm lands in the
grassy areas of Hue, Vietnam. They grew up with little to no money and had strict rules set.
    This summer I had the chance to visit Vietnam once again with my Mom and 2 of my
siblings. By the time we reach Phu Bai International Airport, I took a peek outside the airplane
window and all I saw was greens and faded colors. Houses weren’t top of the line and air quality
wasn’t the best. This is what you would expect out of a thirdworld
country. The ride to see my mom’s parents was quite a long one and that gave me time to roam around and check out what Vietnam was all about. By the time we reached their house, it was bigger than I thought. Bigger than anyone else’s in the village. Mainly, because of the donations my mom and dad has been giving them to over the past several years.
     Everyone there was excited to see us, even though we haven’t seen them in like a
decade. They welcomed us with a family reunion and loads of food. We introduced ourselves
and talked about our countries to each other. The exotic flavors of the food was something I
never experience. While I was trying out the food, one of our family members even gave me a
beer to try out.. He said to me that there isn’t a age restriction here and Vietnam is a place to
get wasted. To be honest, I accepted it and finished it, but I didn't get seconds. Everyone was
impressed and some even laughed that I accepted it, but I didn't like malty flavor it has. I
remember that day.
    After that day, it was just like any other day. Everyone went to work and it was just my
family members and my mom’s parents. They went out to the grassy farm lands to farm out rice
and fish to cook for us for lunch. I had the chance to go see their ways and to be honest, I kinda
feel bad for them. They are in their midlate 80’s and they had to go through this. I had the urge
to go and help, but I couldn’t do it. I didn’t know what to do. I did get to have a good
conversation with them with my broken Vietnamese. They had a couple giggles here and there.
I got embarrassed, but I felt better on the inside knowing what they had to go through.
In the end, it all goes to the parents who work and took care of us till their very end. They
take all their free time away, just to hang out with us. They show affection, we show them hate.
They still love us. It’s the stage they all have to go through. What I learn from having foreign
parents is that “Nothing will come easily, but if you work hard enough and put all your effort
towards it, it will sure to come and you will gain more from it than it being given at the first
place.” Knowing what they have been through and all they have done, I appreciate them.

"Friendship" By Zion

           

            Friendship has many different definitions in life. They usually differ between culture and where you are in the world and people have different views of what friendship is. The official definition of friendship is a relationship of mutual affection between people. Most children first make friends with people by the age of 3 but fully understand the concept of friendship by age 8.

We all grew up knowing that friendship on a simple level is someone you interact with on a daily basis and like to spend your time with. As children we thought friendship was just someone you would eat lunch with , trade Pokemon Cards with or play sports with. In lower grade levels it seemed everyone in the class were friends with each other. However the higher you get in education, the more noticeable it is on how people are divided and all those people you had “friendships” with are all gone now. This may not be the case for some but it is for most people,since it is unlikely to stay friends with all those people from kindergarten.

Friendship isn’t only based on how long you have known the person. It is also based on how much you connect with that person and the trust you have between each other. For example I have only known some people for a couple years now but I feel much more closer to them than to people I have talked to since middle school. Friendship really just dwells down to the point of how well you connect with each other. Not only that, but also how much effort each person is willing to put into the friendship they have. You can have someone who rarely wants to talk to you and that's okay, or you can have someone else who always wants to hang out and is willing to help you in life.

Friendship not only helps you not be lonely in life, but also having a healthy friendship with someone could also make you a better person in life. When you have a good relationship with someone then you both aren’t afraid to tell each other things, good or bad. You both will be able to help each other and give advices, whereas if someone else you didn’t know as well told you, you may get a little upset. They will tell you the truth and tell what to do and what not to do.

Soon friendship becomes something bigger than friendship itself. When asked how many friends I have, I tend to say that I am pretty chill with everyone however I do have those people who are close to me and basically my brothers. You get passed the point with someone where words can’t even describe the relationship you two have. You both are more than friends and your friendship turns into sibling level. You think that you will be close like this forever until you die. However this could all be gone in a split second. One day it could all end and that’s just how friendships work.