Find the shape and tell it!
All Students: Be sure to read the entries for this group --December writers). Everyone is required to comment on at least THREE different pieces of writing. You must submit comments
on Canvas (for each one, include the name of the author and the title
of their piece, and then your positive, specific comment ) by Friday, January 13 on Canvas. (Assignment will appear on Canvas when the new class is published)
It was like he knew I was leaving that night. I could’ve sworn I heard him talking to himself about what to do now that I wasn’t sold. He couldn't just get rid of me, because his entire reputation was on the line. All of the merchants would know by morrow that this home would still be occupied by my god-forbidding presence. I am still stuck between being embarrassed by him and being afraid of him. Poor guy couldn’t even get two shillings for me. Katalina was taken from us just two months ago when the market opened for spring. “Competition Season” was held from March 2nd to May 2nd every year. If you weren’t chosen or bought in that time frame, consider yourself dead in the next three days. My sister was probably in a wealthy mansion, draped in expensive silk, and drowning in tears for being stuck with a 46 year old man for the rest of her life. I think I would rather be dead than living the life she was forced into. I got out of the window without making a single creak. The midnight market was home for us. Atlas and Milan met me approximately 48 steps down the street. We dare not to talk until we reach the entrance gate of the market. One whisper in the alley is forbidden unless you’re a merchant of women. We chose to separate tonight to cover as much ground as possible. I need as many jewels as I can possibly find. The boat for the Pacific Channel leaves tomorrow at 1400. About an hour and half rushes by when Milan comes to me with an embezzled knife. The muscles construed her face to make me believe that she didn’t purchase this possession; she stole it. Atlas is pacing near the gates, waiting for us. I take as long of strides as I need because running will get us hunted. With the knife in my bag and Milan behind me, we reach the entrance and get out without a single man suspecting us. These Saturday nights are filled with lads and ladies and children all alike. It is the best time to slip through the cracks without being seen. We walk home at a steady pace without speaking again. Atlas signs at me, “Be careful.” I signed back, “He won’t have a clue.” I watch them walk through the front door of their home. No parent occupies their company anymore. I climb up the brick wall beside my window and slide right through only to find him on my bed with his glass bottle perched against his leg. “Where were you?” he said with no expression of anger. I refuse to answer and walk through my bedroom door. I hear him throw the bottle at the wall, obviously drunk and irritated now. The liquid seeps down the stairs I am descending and my back gets struck with a faux-leather belt that feels too familiar to me. The scar on my back throbs as I lose my balance and speed up my steps to get out of the front door before he gets the chance to hit me again. I hear his heavy steps rushing behind me and a pull at my left wrist as if the joint itself is yanked off. I am pulled against him and try my best to make no effort in talking or making eye contact. I kick his legs and his grip loosens allowing me to reach for my bag and pull out my stolen weapon. I use my right hand to slice the knife as hard as physically possible without committing a murder I cannot afford right now. His chest gets cut and blood seeps the tip of the knife. I use the split second he takes to react to run out of the door and sprint to Milan and Atlas' house. I push open the door for help and protection only to see Atlas over Milan, her foaming at the mouth. His hands are red and her neck is shaking while her eyes are spilling tears. I look at Altas. He forms his hands to sign, “I didn’t do it.”
Memories have the power to bring glimpses of the past into the present. Studies show that many of the negative memories that we have are naturally more impactful to our psyche than positive memories. While positivity in aspects of life is typically the goal, many would agree about how negativity is often more prominent in their minds than positivity. Time and time again, one small negative incident has enough influence to overpower an entirely positive experience when being thought back on. This frequent, subliminal, inclination towards seeking out negativity in every aspect of life is called the negativity effect or more commonly, the negativity bias.
There are different theories about this subject, some putting the blame for the instinctive bias on evolution, some on our human need to adapt, and others even mention age as a contributing factor. An article from the American Psychological Association suggested that negative memories could be remembered easier, and with more precision due to evolution. Since negative emotions may be linked to a potentially threatening situation, these particular events are associated with increased activity in the part of the brain that is responsible for memories. The bad situations stimulate activity in brain centers corresponding to emotion, and the more these centers are active, the more specific the resulting memories become. Positive events do not create the same level of vividness in memories because our brains do not react as strongly to positive experiences as they do to negative ones.
Similar to the previous article, psychologist, Laura Carstensen, states that humans are much more likely to remember negatives over positives because bad memories protect against possible similar events in the future. She proposes we need these memories in such detail to be able to adapt to our environment. Carstensen’s study also makes the interesting note that this subconscious focus on negative rather than positive is less frequent in older generations than it is in younger ones. Carstensen states that people younger than 30 are typically very focused on their future, and therefore intuitively save the negative memories that will help their future selves. The older generations are generally able to focus more on the present, and in turn see more of the positives in life first rather than second.
The Decision Lab, a behavioral science informant website, defines the negativity bias to be “a cognitive bias that explains why negative events or feelings typically have a more significant impact on our psychological state than positive events or feelings, even when they are of equal proportion.” Research justifies how society as a whole tends to automatically give attention to the negative first, over the positive, a process that starts all the way at infancy. The human brain is proven to remember the negative as more influential and spend more time focusing on a truly insignificant negative event. The bias is the cause for why we often seem to learn better from the bad than the good, how one small thing can ruin our entire day, and why first impressions are so important. For example, if your first impression of a new person is not a positive one, it will affect the way you perceive them throughout the relationship. However, it is shown that keeping mindfulness can decrease this bias. Making an active effort to focus on everything good that is going on around you as opposed to the bad is beneficial to your state of mind and perspective on life. There is always something positive to look at and appreciate. We may just have to look a little harder to find it.
Confusion. Pain. Anger. Disbelief. Overwhelming.
It all hit suddenly and unwillingly, I had to mourn the loss of my mom.
Only eleven years into my life and she was gone. Cancer did it. It won.
Many years prior to this I had no worries, just elementary school and fun family days. I would say my upbringing was pretty good and I was undeniably happy. However, those feelings don't seem to last long in this world regardless of age.
One day at seven years old, my mom sat in her bathroom in pain… We thought nothing of it but still went to the doctor just in case. Immediately they caught it, stage 4 cervical cancer. How long she had it was unobtainable but still we took action to fight it head-on. For the next four years, we had endless doctor visits and emergency 911 calls.
“I’ll be home soon” she would text me and my sisters, all holding faith knowing it was probably a lie.
I will never forget early on of her diagnosis when I first saw her seizing one time, I was all alone in the hospital room with her because my grandma had stepped out not knowing what to do.
Seeing these types of things alters your brain forever on.
While all of this was happening me and my sisters still had our own lives going on, having school and such. It was hard. My dad was not present in my life until the end and my grandma was always working or in the hospital with my mom.
So how did we do it?
With the help of our school staff. I wish I could thank them all personally today, the teachers took their time to bring us dinners, give us gift cards, baskets of snacks, and even Christmas presents when we were all alone. With those gift cards, we would all walk, my oldest sister being around 14 at the time, my second oldest being 10, and me being 8 years old, around our community to get some groceries or food.
But of course, everything must come to an end.
For it all to not feel like it was even worth it in the end. All because on April 20, 2016, at 10:28 A.M. she was declared dead. Especially hard because our grandma gave us false hope every day coming back from the hospital saying she was getting better when in reality she had been in a coma for a week and cancer had spread everywhere.
This now leads to why this is called “Unwilled maturity”. With the loss of my mom when she passed as well as even before because she was always in the hospital me and my sisters were forced to grow up in a sense. We had to fend for ourselves and make ends meet with no prior knowledge of how the world works.
Having no strong mother figure in our lives anymore caused us to make mistakes and learn from them very quickly. It seems nice because no parents to tell you what to do but it really hurts not being able to have some warning. With these mistakes though I and my sisters know now a lot more about the world and life than most people do only because we had no other choice.
We had to immediately live with our dad, stepmom, and stepsisters but that didn't do anything. We all had become very independent at such a young age now only depending on each other for advice or just a shoulder to cry on.
We all carry these traits to this day, my oldest sister acting like a mother figure, now being 23, as well as the second oldest being 19, and me being 17 having to step up for sisters that weren't even ours.
For some reason, we were made the model children in the house and everything they did was a reflection of how we acted. The pressure from my dad and stepmom got and still is extremely overwhelming especially because I am now the person they look up to. Not only the pressure to just be responsible and nice with and to my sisters but also just as a human. I cannot make mistakes because my older sisters already did that so they’re tired of it. Wake up late, grounded. Attitude, silent treatment. Standing up for myself, disrespectful. Cameras, life360, it feels like a prison.
Let's not forget the fact that my dad has spoken disrespectfully of my mom on numerous occasions with no shame to us. What he gained from that I could not tell you to be honest.
I would do anything to go back to what it was before, I wish we didn’t have to worry about how we were gonna eat, I wish we didn't have to lose our childhood.
So, almost seven years later and I can't express the amount of pain it is not to have a mom present. From spontaneous Friday movie nights and beach trips to being forced to live with someone rarely present in my life and call him “Dad”. The transition never made quite a sense to my sisters or me but life goes on, right?
Remember to tell your parents or guardian you love them and don't take anything for granted no matter how angry or emotional they can make you. You never know when they won't be there the next day.
Did you know that 2 billion cups of Coffee are consumed every day? It’s the most popular caffeinated beverage in the world. Almost 400 million people ordering coffee everyday. As an experienced barista, I’ll guide you through step-by-step on how to prepare the most common and popular drink, the “Latte”, A combination of Espresso and milk which originated in Italy. You don’t have to be a Professional barista to prepare the perfect latte, all it takes is time and practice.
Preferably amongst most people, Latte is prepared using espresso machines, but you can use other methods to make coffee for the latte such as a Moka pot, French press, and pour-over method which is way more convenient and easy. As of for this tutorial I will be showing you by using a Homebrew Espresso machine. Any brand will do. The ingredients and equipment you’ll need are below! ↓
Equipment:
● Espresso machine(Portafilter, steamer, etc.)
● Latte/Shot glasses
● Latte Mug
● Milk Frothing Pitcher
● Grinder
Ingredients:
● ½ cup of Milk
● Coffee beans
● Sugar or Vanilla syrup (Optional)
Step 1: Pre-heat Espresso Machine
The key to a perfect espresso is to make sure that the water is hot enough in order to get an even extraction. The hotter the water, the faster it is able to extract the caffeine, acids, and oils from the coffee. Be sure to keep your portafilter in the machine to help heat up your basket (your coffee extraction basket), or run hot shots of water through.
*Using cold water to extract the Coffee will slow down the process of brewing and will result in a bitter taste in your coffee. Ensuring your porfilter basket is hot as well helps better with the extraction.
Step 2: Grinding your beans
Using freshly roasted coffee beans is the key to good coffee. When grinded it provides the water with a easier and more even extraction. You can use a built-in grinder that comes with your machine or a separate potable grinder like mine.
I highly discourage using pre-grinded coffee because the longer you wait, the faster the CO2 will escape from the beans resulting in a poor cup. It’s also less fresh from bag then it is to grind your own beans. So I recommend, whether it is pregrinded or not, is to use you coffee grinds as soon as possible. Be also to check the roast date on the bottom of your bag!
After grinding, your coffee grounds should be at a fine texture, which is the best for Espresso brewing.
*You don’t want it to be too coarse or too fine which will result in an uncomplete extraction.
*Credits to “Coffee affection”
Step 3: Your Portafilter
When done grinding, put two tablespoons of the coffee grinds in your portafilter
Step 4: Tamping
After filling your basket, use your included tamper that comes with your espresso machine to help put pressure on the coffee grinds to help empty the air from your portafiler basket. Angle you arm at a “90 degree angle” and press firmly until it’s flat
*Credits to Clive Coffee
Step 5: Extracting the Espresso
Insert your portafilter in your espresso machine and press the button, switch, or turn the knob to extract your espresso. Your espresso should take at least 15-20 seconds to finish brewing. You run based on how many tablespoon you’ve inserted into your portfilter basket. Also be also to check for the crema, which is the light brown thin layer of foam that forms after brewing.
1 tablespoons - 10-15 seconds
2 tablespoons - 15-20 seconds
3 tablespoons- 20-25 seconds
*Depending on the size of your portafilter basket
Step 6: Steaming your milk
Your espresso is done! Switch your extraction setting to “steam” on your espresso machine. (1) Fill you pitcher to half way full. (2) Purge your steam wand and wait for a few seconds for it to remove any condensation. (3) Place you steam wand under the surface of your milk, and turn it on at full power. This allows to air to enter the milk. Since we’re making a latte your only going to hold your milk under the surface for at least 5-10 seconds. (4) Begin directing your milk around the circumference of your pitcher, creating a whirlpool. Hold the pitcher at a slight 45 degree angle to help with the direction of the milk. (5) You should feel you Pitcher gettin warm, now place you steam wand deeper into the milk to stop air from entering you milk. (6) When you feel your pitcher is getting too hot for you to hold, turn off your steam wand. Your milk should look like wet paint.
*Credits to “Crema Coffee Roasters” for this image demonstration
Step 7: Pouring your latte art
Pour your coffee in your warm coffee mug. Feel free to add turbinado sugar or vanilla syrup for sweetness in your cup prior to pouring. Be sure that your espresso is freshly pulled
. (1) Level your milk slowly on the lip of your jug with your cup tilted at a 45 degree angle. Steady pour is the key to the white layer of milk to form. (2) Circle your pitcher around the cup to ensure the crema is formed all along the surface of your coffee. (3) Stop pouring and lower your pitcher closer to the surface of your latte, and pour until you see a white color along the surface of your crema. (4) The easiest latte art to make is the tulip. Wiggle your pitcher as you move down the cup, and lastly pour up through the center.
Step 8: Enjoy
Congratulations! you made you very own homemade latte. If you made a mistake on of the steps, don’t worry! Try again! Practice makes perfect. Sit down and grab some turbinado sugar to add to your delicious beverage ( If you didn’t already add sugar) and relax. You can continue practicing until you perfected the latte art, or you can just head down to Starbucks. :(
Thanks for reading!
-Mark
Happiness is an emotional feeling expressed through the physical state for momentarily satisication within a person. Everyone always talks about how the saying “Money can’t buy happiness” is bogus. Our generation believes money can buy happiness , due to the fact that money can literally buy specifc things in life that we admire or envy. As humans were are so eager towards “money”, as it’s a want and necessity in our world. People think that the more income the consume, the more things I can buy, which will make me happier, more money doesn’t really lead to more happiness because people often overestimate, how much pleasure they’re gonna gain, from having wealthy items. Various of people are blinded really about the phrase “Money can buy happiness,” as we phase to see that both those components “money” and “happiness” are actually temporary. There are many reasons to emphasize why money can’t buy you happiness in our world. Although, various benefits of having money in general, as people we can literally get anything we desire and it can used to help pay for essential livelihood things. Moreover, money changes how person live life, in which them become greedy, selfish within their money values. As, a society we need to learn more how to use money more “sensibly” so the things purchased with the money, can actually have a value of happiness to it. Since, money is earned as an exchange for your time, to work for a business or company. As working for an hour, you essentially get paid for just working that hour. From a child’s perspective, when you get money from your parents for Christmas, kidss always know what they want to spend it on. As for me, I would probably spend my money on vinyl records for my collection, since I am a really big music person. Since, I like vinyl records, the purchase of it will bring me happiness in that current state as I get the best vinyls of my favorite artists. As I get older, I might not be “ as”interest in vinyl’s as much as I am now, therefore, the money I used to buy what I “admire”, doesn’t bring me happiness anymore in the sense that it isn’t something I’m into. Essentially, as humans since we are evolving creatures, over a current amount of time, that specific item becomes a part of our daily routine, in the use of it’s presence daily, therefore it slowly begins to lose its appeal of attraction to you. Another way to look of this point of view of “Money not being able to provide happiness” can dictate on how people actually live their lives, in situations where money is a problem but they don’t have a problem with the consumption of wanting lots of money, whereas, a rich person wouldnt’ really have to worry about money. After this argument of what the worldtruly believes if money can buy happiness, It’s safe to say that money intetionally doesn’t buy happiness as we are evolutionary creatures, who lose interest in things over time and have different situations in which how people really view money and how they choose to spend it.
THE NIGHT was long and dreadful, and the skies were dark and dull. I was rummaging through the forest, just as any night for me, when my prey had stalked its way into my sight once again. I quickly pulled out my arbalest and began to focus on my target. Seeing it rampage towards the village, frothing at the mouth, fur blasted back from its high velocities, it was enough to make any sane man’s skin crawl. I hesitated no longer, and the trigger was pulled. A blood curdling screech was let out. Muttering to myself, I whispered, “Vile beast”. I began to track down the carcass, following the scent of the wildest animal and the spilt blood. It was certain, the town was rid of another werewolf. Its body shifted back in front of my eyes. “Damn it, Henry. ‘Tis a shame, he was a good, righteous man.”
I began my trek home, through the marsh and under the bridge, surrounded by only the night sky and the beasts that lay dormant through the night. At last, I had reached my humble cottage, home to my one and only, Catherine. She promised to always await my arrival upon the night, always restless to see if I would make it home. When she heard my faint footsteps creeping along the pathway, she reflexively greeted me at the door.
“Oh, thank goodness, my love!” she exclaimed as she tightly wound myself within her arms, “It’s a late night for you, I had grown worried for the worst,” She cried.
I calmed her, “Worry not, my Catherine, for I prevail once again,” Having a moment to share with my love, I added, “Have you mustered up some supper for myself?”
“Why, of course I have!” She attested, “It may have grown cold by now, I fear. A loaf and a bowl of pottage, just for you.” She went to the oven to grab the meal. I thought to myself, ‘Pottage? She never makes pottage’. Alas, I thought nothing of it, and I set all of my gear by the door, preparing to venture out again tomorrow. As she began to reapproach me, supper in hand, I noticed a small marking on her neck.
“What’s that there, upon your neck? How has that appeared? When did this happen? Why haven’t you told me of this?” I questioned incessantly.
“Sorry, what marking?” She started innocently, “I haven’t received any lashes of sorts, at least to the best of my knowledge.” She jokingly finished.
If she wasn’t my love, I would’ve
taken the shot right there. But I couldn’t. I knew that mark from miles away.
I, better than anyone alive, can tell a lycan from a human. I recognized
something was off, but thought nothing of it. Perhaps it truly was nothing. My
love deserves my grace, as she has been only gracious to me as long as I’ve
lived. I finally muttered, “Maybe I have been seeing things, it’s been a long
day after all. Sincerest apologies, my pure one.” I affectionately said to her.
That night, as I tossed and
turned upon my mattress, I couldn’t shake the feeling I glimpsed earlier. I
tightly shut my eyes, in an attempt to forget the moment, but nothing could
alleviate the fear from my soul. I opened my eyes, and glanced to my right,
looking for my beloved Catherine, sleeping peacefully. However, she was gone. I
looked out of the small window from my chambers, and I began to tremble. “Full moon,” I whispered to myself. The
doors were left swung wide open, and her clothes were left upon the floor, in
rags. My worst fear had become a reality. My beloved, my pure Catherine had
been desecrated. I immediately started up, assembling myself for the journey
that lay ahead of me. My heart plunged further and further into my stomach, as
I began to come to grips with exactly what was about to happen. I mantled my
arbalest across my back, and began to head into the deep, horrifying forest,
yet the enchanting night it lay in.
I could faintly hear a beast across the land, and the footsteps matched the direction. I was certain. This is where my beloved had marched. I had only one hope, to stop her before she devours me or anyone else, for I could not handle the guilt of brutally assassinating my pure one. The calls became closer, and I grew more fearful as the night grew longer. It flashed in front of my eyes for a sliver of time. A beast. I knew what must be done. I readied the arbalest, and I eased my nerves. The moment it moved again, it was mine. ‘Three…two…’ and that was it. I took the shot. The lands echoed with a screech to rival a lightning strike and the clap of the thunder. I could barely take the idea. I managed to pull myself towards the scene. My eyes hadn’t deceived me, but I wish they had. No, it was as clear as the sun in the sky, and as pure as the day I had met her. My beautiful Catherine, slaughtered by mine own hands. I took my last breath, readied the arbalest, and pointed it into my own heart.
“For you, my beloved,” I sang into the night.
“Do you know where you are?”
Now that I’ve been asked, I realize that I don’t know where I am. There’s a long road, leading to an ever growing distance on both sides. I look up, and it’s blue but the sky isn’t really there. I wiggle my fingers and look at my hands. I’m moving them but I can’t really feel it.
“Hello? Do you know where you are?”
The man across the road asking me this slowly comes into my vision. He’s so far away but I can still hear him even with the low level he’s speaking at. Suddenly, I realize just how quiet it is. There must not be any cars for miles. Or any people. I start to wonder if there is anything at all.
“I don’t know where I am.” I answer to the man with the volume he used.
“Do you want to know?”
As the man says this he walks toward me. Logic is telling me to run or to tell him to stay where he is. But my gut is alerting me. I need this man. So I respond.
“Yes, please.”
He’s face to face with me now, and he's grinning. I try to define him. Try to see if maybe I know him. But nothing except nothing comes to mind. This whole place feels a lot like nothing.
“Well, I guess I could tell you, but it might be a bit of a shock.”
I nod silently, he seems to take this as a queue.
“You’ve been lost by life and found by death. So I guess you could say you’re somewhere in between.”
I’m not sure what comes over me but I laugh. Not the giggling type of laugh but the bellowing type of laugh. He doesn’t join, however, he keeps along with his upturned lips.
“I don’t think you understand, sir. I’m not lost.” I grow impatient.
“Well you just told me you were.” he says patiently.
“No, I told you I don’t know where I am.”
“Is that not the same thing? Well I guess you could consider perspective-”
I interrupt him.
“No. I’m not lost, I just don’t know where I am. If you would just tell me where I am, I’ll know and then I can find my way home.”
He looks disappointed and says,
“You can’t have a home. At least not here, it’s not really possible.”
I’m confused, and this confusion is beginning to frustrate me.
“Well obviously I can’t have a home here, how can anyone have a home in a place they don’t know?”
“Okay, well where is your home then?” he challenges.
“It’s… it’s um. I… I don’t know.”
He nods and reaches out his hand. I hesitantly take it.
Something comes over me, I don’t know what. But now I miss it. I miss my family. I miss my friends. I miss the sun. I miss the moon and stars. I miss music. I miss water. I miss warmth. I miss dreaming. I miss being a child. I miss being a teenager. I miss really specific things like the day in the mountains when I saw snow for the first time. I start to think about opening one present on Christmas Eve. The excitement that came with that, I miss it. I miss late night drives with someone I know but can’t quite place. Those were my favorite nights. I miss hugs. I miss someone’s smile. I miss love. I miss it so much that I start to miss less and soon enough I can’t remember what I was even missing. I want to cry but I find myself not able to shed a tear. In fact, if I’m correct, I’m smiling. He takes my chin in his hand and lifts it, as I’m gazing into his soulful eyes they start to tell me something. They tell me that maybe he misses it too.
“Where am I?” I beg to know.
“I’ll tell you where you are. You’re right where you need to be.”
And I believe him.
“I have to go. But I’ll miss you. Take care.”
Before I can say anything he turns around and starts walking down the road. I’m missing something again but it isn’t what he showed me.
“Wait, sir!”
“Yes?”
I search for my words and ask,
“Who are you?”
He considers this question carefully and opens his mouth,
“End.”
It was 2014, winter, a snowy, Christmas-like evening. There was probably only a couple of inches of ice, not the kind of perfect snow you would imagine, something very insignificant to someone living in Chicago or New York. But for me, it was one of my happiest memories, one that I laugh about when I think back. Maybe it was the feeling of being a child and not understanding why my family was living in Burney in the first place.
I remember we rushed outside when my dad had realized that it snowed, although it lasted only for a short period of time. The snowfall had stopped before we even reached the front door. Nonetheless, we got the gloves we could find, got on our boots, and headed out. Something interesting about it was that I don’t even think that my grandma, who we were living with at the time, was wearing any type of snow jacket or even a beanie. Although she did have her cigarette in hand along with her nearly ancient Samsung flip phone, ready to take low-quality pictures at any moment. We went down from the porch and had a lot of room to play in the snow, make failed attempts at snow angels, and enjoyed throwing what was essentially ice at each other. I was watching my dad throw the snow at my sisters as I was trying to be sly and build up a large ice ball in my hand, “I was going to get them good.”, I thought. Then I heard a very sudden burst of laughter from my dad and my twin, it was a laugh of slight pain. Sophia exclaimed, “Was that a rock?”. What my dad had thrown at her was in fact a small rock covered in very hard snow which he had quickly grabbed to defend himself from her vicious attacks. The situation was quickly laughed off. Although this specific occasion was not a pivotal event or influential moment in my life, I regard it as the last memory in which I had seen life through those widely known “rose-tinted” glasses. The event which would soon change my perspective on innocence, belonging, my family’s situation, and the troubles which my dad was going through, would hit me a couple of months later.
February 5, 2015, a Thursday which is ingrained in my mind forever, regardless of a few missing parts. As always, we would take the bus home, even though the town which we lived in was a mere 5 square miles. With 10 minutes, we thought we could go anywhere. Sometimes though, we were told to look out for either our dad or our grandma ready to pick us up. I would usually forget and Sophia would have to drag me out of my seat on the bus. That day, I made the mistake again. She yelled at me to get out as she had seen our dad and brother in the school’s parking lot. We made it to the car, and as soon as the doors opened I heard my brother. What came out of his mouth wasn’t some random toddler talk or rant, he clearly told us “Nana's dead.”. I was confused, shocked, and angry. I knew he didn't understand but how could he say it like that? How can a toddler like him not understand how this is a serious situation? How could he not see that my dad is trying to hold in his tears while driving us home? Sophia and I questioned the truth as if it would be some prank. When we got home we rushed into the one bedroom that my sisters, my grandma, and I shared, expecting her to be there as she always was, watching Property Brothers, reading one of her corny romance novels, or drawing random floor plans, but she wasn’t. “The bathroom maybe?” I considered, but no, not there either. Making it out of that room, reality finally hit me. From what I remember, my dad was crouched on the ground. We gathered in a circle towards the front of the house, I recall the pain I heard coming from his voice. This was the first time I had ever heard him cry.
This moment made me realize the beauty of innocence and stability. I was no longer naive. I wanted to be blissfully ignorant but I knew that real life was coming. My dad had been unemployed and with the rent due by the next month, we had to find another place to go. Luckily, we were able to move in with family friends. I found myself and my family’s situation as a burden to this family, often questioning to myself “Why can’t we just get out of this place? Haven’t we been here long enough?”. I wished that we didn’t have to move so many times. I wanted to find a place where I could maintain friendships, and not have to whisk them away when things got bad. I admire my dad for being able to look after us on his own. though he could not completely shield us, he always put us above everything else. I could understand the pain he felt and I knew that he would use a fake smile and jokes to prove to everyone that he was strong. I can’t even begin to fathom how alone he must have felt. I wonder how many times he wanted to give up. Leaving Burney, my temporary solace, led me to realize the unexpected obstacles life may bring. From this, I have learned to appreciate the comfort I currently have because, at any given moment, it could vanish.
All Students: Be sure to read the entries for this group --November writers). Everyone is required to comment on at least THREE different pieces of writing. You must submit comments
on Canvas (for each one, include the name of the author and the title
of their piece, and then your positive, specific comment ) by Tuesday, December 6 on Canvas.
Consequence is a noun—a result or effect of an action or condition.
Action is a noun as well. The fact or process of doing something, typically to achieve an aim.
What one does not think about is the consequences of one’s action. How would that affect them? How would my actions affect another person?
As the darkness entered, sunrise never happened. She lived on with no other choice. She had a friend; She trusted Her. Her friend said, “We are in this together”. Where is that promise? What happened to Her? Her mind knew no right from wrong for she was in the darkness even on this bright and sunny day. Her mind was split.
She walked across the street, after waiting for the white light, the shape of a man to appear. Her eyes gazed as She walked across the street, closely, watching..waiting …to attack. Waiting.
She is now screaming, she is left alone with nowhere to go. What happened to Her? After all, they went through together? Her not thinking of Her actions? Her actions had consequences that She had to suffer. She saw them coming, but She could do nothing about it. How could She? Weren’t they supposed to be in it together? Forever?
After She was gone there was nothing that Her heart could do. She saw the flash of the car from the side, eyes dilating with pain. Legs buckling from the impact. She felt tossed like a rag doll being thrown across a room. Too late. The car hit, quickly, before She knew what was happening. The car kept going with them inside, not stopping to see She fell with closed eyes.
“What have you done?!!” She silently yelled into the night hoping the sound would reach Her. How could it be? She took shortened breaths with each burst of pain surging through every muscle. She looks up and sees Her, watching and waiting for Her to do something. But She watches Her do nothing, standing motionless under the blinking man.
She reaches out to Her, little strength left in the ruined body. But Her body stood there watching, silently.
“Where did She go?”, they all asked, Her mouth had no response, for Her body did not know where She had gone. For Her mind knew where She had gone but refused to speak it because
Her eyes had watched, and Her mind knew who did it. It was Her own darkness who caused it. Her own actions. And Her actions had consequences
Her eyes watched as She was slowly lifted, then put down six feet into the ground. Her eyes stared, watching as She was put in the grave. Was the void happy now?!
Remembering Her mother's words telling Her, “Remember, your actions have consequences”
Her actions had consequences and Her mind understood Her actions. This realization came too late for She was long gone buried, with all of the other dead bodies. Her breath faltered, Her sadness and loneliness descending upon Her. Her eyes teared up. Her ears could hear a distant ringing, getting louder and louder. Successfully taking Herself out of Her darkness. Her hands shook as she reached out for her phone. Shakily Her hands call Her friend.
“Sorry the person that you have dialed has not picked up, please try again at a later time”
Her mind spun in circles not understanding what is happening. Suddenly Her eyes shut, falling back. Unable to catch Herself falling, Her mind switched, from sunlight to midnight. Eyes opening. Crazy. Her mind was black for that is what caused her actions. But the void was not remorseful. With a crazy glint in Her eyes, Her legs walked until she reached the road. Where She was killed. “How beautiful is this sight,” The darkness said. A smile creeping across Her face.
Consequence is a noun - a result of an action or a condition
Action is a noun as well. The act or process of doing, to typically achieve an aim.
We had gotten all the way through no man's land when the siren went off. It wasn’t until we were in the woods when we heard the shirl whistle and barking of dogs. K looked at me and I could see the fear in his eyes but only for a moment. “We have to keep moving.”
We kept running through the deep brush, under branches, and past bramble bushes that caught onto our clothes and dug into our skin. I was behind K the whole time. It was dark, but I could still see his striped uniform and scarred shaved head. My chest was burning, heart thumping in my ears. Sweat beading down my temples and nose. But my feet kept moving. As we ran, the barking of the dogs became more distant. My heart leaped.
“K, I think we lost them-” My left foot caught on something, causing me to fall. No. I hit the ground hard, tasting blood in my mouth and felt the instant pain in my ankle. K turned around and saw me on the ground. “V!” He ran to my side. “What happened, are you hurt?”
“My ankle.” K looked down at my foot which was caught in the roots of a tree. We tried hecticly to untangle my foot from the thick roots. Then we heard the whistle again. This time it was closer. The dogs began to bark and I looked at K disheartenedly. “Go.”
“-What?”
“Leave me. Go.”
K shook his head, “No, I’m not leaving you. We’re in this together, remember?” He grabbed the back of my head and pressed his forehead to mine. “But they’ll kill us--”
“I’m not leaving you, V. I’m going to get you out of here, okay? I’m going to get us out of here.”
K lifted me up and I winced at the pain in my now throbbing foot. “Can you walk?”
“Yea, I think so.”
We began to move again, more slowly this time. I was only slowing him down. But K was determined. The guards' shouts and whistles were getting louder. The flashlights through the brush and trees were getting closer. “Over here!” One of the guards yelled. I tried to move faster, but my foot hurt too much. Every step we took I suppressed a yelp in pain.
“Keep moving, V.”
After a few more steps I couldn’t take it anymore. The pain was too much. I fell to the ground on my hands and knees. We’re not going to make it. K bent down and tried to pick me up again. “V, we have to keep moving. We’re almost there.”
“I can’t.” I replied, defeated and in pain. We were silent, understanding that we might die. The dogs were getting closer, we could hear their collars jangling. K looked around desperately for an escape, until his eyes fell upon the muddy swamp under the large roots of the trees. “I know how we can lose them.”
We began to crawl to the swamp, avoiding the lights of the guards and the sound of the dogs' collars. K motioned for me to get in the mud, and I did, until my whole body was fully submerged. K was right behind me, until we were facing each other more than neck deep. He suddenly started covering me with it. On my shaved head and on my face after he did the same to himself and put his finger to his lips as the dogs that were chasing us emerged from the brush and began sniffing the area that we just were crawling through. I held my hand to my mouth, to keep my teeth from chattering due to freezing mud. K pushed my head more under until our eyes were the only thing above the mud. The guards flashed their lights at the swamp, but we were too deep inside to be spotted. We continued to watch the dogs sniff us out, the guards with their flashlights followed them earnestly out of sight. After a few moments until we were sure they were gone, we emerged from the mud and K helped me walk the rest of the woods until we got to the main road.
“Do you think they’ll help us?” I asked K, as we spotted a small farmhouse a few miles down the road. “They’ll have no choice.”
Once upon a time, there was a carrot by the name of Kix. Kix lived a busy life and was always rushing places. Although he was an adult he believed fairies were real and often said he saw them. One early morning Kix was late to work and his bus was taking forever.
Kix stands impatient and perturbed “Of course the one morning I’m running late this stupid bus wants to take its time.” A turnip named Trix on a pogo stick suddenly appears out of nowhere and approaches Kix. “Don’t stress brah. Live life to the fullest. Enjoy it.” Trix exclaims. Kix slowly acknowledges the eye sore of a turnip and dryly responds. “I won’t be enjoying anything if I get fired from my job. Trix takes a deep breath and gets an airy look on his face. He begins to say, “One door closes…” Kix quickly realizes what is happening and cuts off Trix midway through his sentence. “Oh God not another cheesy saying, ” he says. Trix hesitantly says, “…I don’t know what comes after that.” Trix pogos an inch or two away as he notices the carrot’s mood worsening. Kix deadpans, “Are you serious right now?” As he speaks, the annoyed look on Kix’s face becomes more evident. “As a heart attack brah,” Trix states matter-of-factly. Kix suddenly becomes silent and focuses his attention elsewhere. In a confused tone, Trix inquires, “Aren’t you gonna help me out, man?” Kix lets out a big sigh and reluctantly turns to face the godforsaken turnip again. “I was hoping you’d leave if I stopped speaking to you.” Trix looks hurt and exclaims, “Totally not radical dude!” Kix gives Trix a dirty look at the sound of his poor vocabulary and states, “I hope you can hear how cretinous you sound right now.” Trix, in a perplexed tone, says, “Just cuz I don’t use big words like crate nose doesn’t mean I’m stupid.” Trix then begins to smile to himself as if he has learned something. Kix is unaware of Trix’s sudden revelation and instead in a sarcastic tone says, “Oh really? How so?” Trix starts laughing and says, “Well your bus pulled up a minute ago, and now it's leaving without you. Bet ya didn’t notice that huh.” Kid acquires a ghastly look on his face as he quickly turns around and screams, “My..MY BUS! WAIT DON’T LEAVE ME HERE WITH HIM!!” Kix runs a couple of feet before realizing that his efforts are futile and the driver isn’t planning on turning back anytime soon. As Kix accepts defeat, Trix is still pogoing in place behind him. He then says in a pleased tone, “Told you I’m not stupid.” Kix whips around and hisses, “Go pogo somewhere else ‘brah’” Trix, content with the outcome of the situation, listens and starts to leave. “Alright, catch you later brah.” Under his breath, Kix mutters, “Maybe in another lifetime.” Out of nowhere Kix spots a fairy, and his lifelong love for them overcame any dignity or common sense that he once had. “Wait, is that a fairy over there?!” Kix exclaims as he runs across the street. Trix seeing this turns and shouts, “LOOK OUT BRAH” Bet you didn’t see that one coming did you? Kix’s body lays still in the street as the plastic bag he thought was a fairy floats away. Kix’s spirit now seems to be talking to us. “This isn’t funny,” he says in an irritated tone. His guts are hanging out. His body has been shredded. He’ll make quite nicely for this salad I’m eating later. Kix’s spirit interjects in a disgusted tone, “You’re sick.” Trix the turnip looks at the gruesome patch of asphalt that Kix’s demolished body lays on. In a resigned tone, he says, “Guess another lifetime came a little too soon for you huh brah,” as he begins to escape the crime scene on his pogo stick. Kix’s spirit is still here and in a heated tone he roars, “Screw you, you pogo-stick-using, illiterate, hot-breath turnip dude. I don’t even know your name!” He can’t hear you, you’re literally dead. Kix’s spirit lashes out with his hot breath and fiery features and says, “Go to hell.” as he floats away. Sheesh so hostile. So caesar or ranch dressing?
Isolation leads to boredom and boredom leads to loneliness and loneliness leads to sadness and sadness eventually places you in a state of depression. During quarantine I lived through all these stages. As I was already forced into physical isolation due to a pandemic I then pushed myself to emotionally isolate myself from my friends and family due to depression. Being alone you are stuck within your own thoughts and feelings to overthink the image of disappointment you see in yourself. The constant dread of performing simplistic tasks like eating, brushing your teeth and even changing the same clothes you have been wearing the past few days became my new lifestyle. Consumed by the feeling of being tired all the time but unable to bring myself to a full night's sleep because I spent all night staring at my reflection questioning if my existence is even real. I was stuck in this endless cycle for months. Living through my mental state I felt misunderstood and alone, no one reached out to help me because I had deleted myself from social media to not be contacted. I also found myself alone in my room away from my family so they could not question why I was in such a negative mental state because I knew they would respond in criticism and insults. Undergoing such a lifestyle brought me to feeling alone and not cared for. Almost a year of being lost and feeling alone, I then explored my new form of therapy, music.
Before music my head felt drowned in my own negative thoughts but was now then flooded by relatable lyrics and endless rhythms. What had consumed my sadness the most was the idea that I had felt like no one understood me, exploring music and analyzing lyrics opened my eyes that other people were undergoing similar situations and feelings. Analyzing the meaning behind songs became my new hobby and taught me that I was not struggling alone. Within my battle I had craved the feeling of being heard and understood. A variation of artists taught me that my complicated feelings of not being able to accept love or finding comfort in harmful habits were all things someone else was also struggling with. I always enjoy the loud bass or the soothing acoustic rhythm but it was the lyrics that held my attraction to music. Understanding the meaning of music and its story gave me life. Not only was the music my inspiration but it also gave me the understanding of other people's growth. Many rappers come from horrible backgrounds but were able to build art from their trauma and are now currently thriving in success. They projected how capable we are as humans and how life is all about your reaction to situations. I learned that our reaction to life's challenges and how we choose to take action is what builds our character. Knowing people have gone through much worse situations and are still able to succeed granted me knowledge that I was able to get out of the situation I was in. Listening to music furthered my knowledge on many more topics as well. It has taught me acceptance, healing, self love and how to set self goals. Following self lessons I also learned the struggle of others and how to be open minded towards types of discrimination and peoples backgrounds. The acceptance of new knowledge through music has built me to be more open minded to my peers and their struggles from their backgrounds. Both music and artists have built me mentally as a person pulling me away from the dark and guiding me towards a new mentality.
Music is life saving in numerous ways. Finding a form of therapy to lose yourself in a void of comfort is the antidote to self confusion. The power of being able to manage your feelings and emotions through your choice of music gives you self control. Control empowers you to understand yourself as a person which allows you to come to your own senses. All the needed steps to better yourself mentally can be achieved through music. The idea of music is overlooked and seen as a source to break silence in the car but it is also a form of therapeutic art that saved me. Being able to interpret music in a way that you want it to help you whether it is to find relation to your current struggle, a need for motivation, a sound of comfort or even learn about life and its lessons can be used in so many beneficial ways. When struggling you are never alone or misunderstood because music is able to understand you in ways others can not. When in need of comfort or enlightenment music is able to grant all needed.
https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2d31tMZCzriVk3gwaNZkKx?si=d5c6d37adb3f463e
My spirit was silenced again. My voice, yet again, ignored. Replaced with the soothing sounds and “encouraging” murmurs of the one who seeks to mutilate her mind. She follows him blindly, knowing not the mayhem he intends for her life. She follows, convinced he’ll bring her gratification. “This time will be different”, his forked tongue hisses into her innocent ear. She can hear my gentle promises ringing in her heart, yet she shudders at my tone and delights in the enchantments of his double bladed words. She suppresses my greatest efforts and succumbs to his seductive artistry.
Moments after their meeting, he abandons her. Empty. Vulnerable. Distraught. She realizes instantaneously that she’s not only misjudged the situation but fallen into the depths of her emotions. Tears moisten her eyelashes. The salty droplets sting her lips. One by one, they spill out until her vision is blurred and her mind is silenced by the pounding of her head. Remorse. Guilt. Loneliness. Foolishness. She seeks his comfort but he’s nowhere to be found. She reaches out, waiting for her cries to be subdued by his presence but he laughs in the distance. Mocking her. Her tears symbolizing to him, his victory over her spirit. Just as quickly as he found her, he moves onto his next victim.
Alone, she calls out to me and my spirit converges with hers within the thought of my name upon her heart. She closes her eyes and she can feel me, her Father, enveloping her into my arms. Her tears stain my breast. My scarred hands hold her firmly. She is my lamb, and I, hers. My innocent daughter, lured in and masticated by the cunning wolf. Yet my bruised hands heal the wounds of her soul, circumcise the deadness of her heart, and new flesh begins to yield anew. She cries out to me “Abba” and, I to her, “Daughter”. Our spirits intimately joined together again. As her ear presses against my chest, listening intently to my heartbeat, I whisper softly to her “Be strong and courageous. Do not fear or be in dread of him. For it is me who goes with you. I will not leave you or forsake you.” Hearing this, she breathes in deeply. As she exhales, the sight of me fades. She opens her eyes to find her vision restored. Her heart beats softer. Although her physicality has not changed, she feels as if the weight of one thousand pounds has been lifted from her chest.
“Thank you Jesus.” she says aloud. I smile down at her from the Heavens. A smile she cannot see but feels eternally in her heart.
Author’s Note: I encourage you to read this again, now understanding that the story is told from God’s point of view about his precious child falling into the talons of Satan. Whether or not you believe this to be true, I pray you can appreciate the beauty of this story as the love of a father for his wandering daughter or any other way it can bless you.
“Surely I am coming quickly. Amen. Even so, come, Lord Jesus! The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you all. Amen.”
