A Letter to My Students

When I was a senior in high school my English teacher gave me an incredible gift. Actually, she gave it to our entire class, in the days leading up to our graduation, and now I am passing this gift onto you.

Her endowment came in just a few simple words and they went like this.

Dear students, she said, you are being told that these are the best days of your life, and this is such a great lie. These are not the best days of your life. Most decidedly not. Not even close.

I remember receiving her declaration like a lifeline, my lungs expanding like balloons attached to an automatic helium pump beneath the walls of my chest. I had gone through my high school years fearing that I had missed out somehow, that the good things had passed me by because I was not terribly popular, pithy, pretty or rich. I didn’t wear the right clothes. I rode the bus to school. I liked to read too much. My elbows were too bony. My shirts never fit quite right. I tried too hard. I knew that I was missing out.

Our school presented a musical my senior year – if I remember right it was Grease – and the excitement of the performances stuffed up the hallways of my high school in the days leading up to opening night. I wanted to go and see. No one invited me to go along with them. I asked my mom to the Saturday night show, and we went. When we arrived at the auditorium, some of the other kids talked and laughed and made jokes with me. It was fun. My mom said I could go and sit with them if I wanted to, that she’d be fine sitting alone. But I knew I had to sit with her. No one had asked me over to the chairs next to them.

And so I feared with all my heart that the best days of my life were such a terrible bust. Then came Mrs. Coehlo’s wonderful words. These are not the best days of your life, she said. She promised. She promised and I believed. Whether or not you’re the lead in Grease or the skinny girl sitting next to your mom, it doesn’t matter, because it gets so much better than this.

You must go forward into the great unknown and come to understand that there are love affairs to be had, children to bear, countries to visit, mountains to climb. There are things to study, colleges to attend, people to meet, dreams to behold, songs to learn, friends to cherish, jokes to laugh at, and dances to groove.

You must still go out there and live in your first, very own apartment, with the leaky faucet and without the dishwasher so that you can grow mold on your cheese and fur on your tomatoes and slime on your turkey. You must feel so proud of this accomplishment. You must promise yourself to eat healthy and immediately fall off the wagon and survive on Dominoes Pizza for a week. You must hurt sometimes, because hurt – if you let it – can become incredibly instructive. You will watch as your ennui blossoms into possibility and you flourish. You must simply trust me on this point. Someday you will know exactly what I mean.

You must get your first job, your first true love, your first broken heart, your first taste of justice, and your first whiff of the amazing expanse of whatever you know to be grace. You must become your own friend, and when you do this, you will have accomplished an incredible feat. You must learn to recognize what this feels like, because you will probably have to do it again, and again, and again. We humans like to turn on ourselves, and the knives we throw in our own backs cut hard and deep.

You must learn to do this less. You need your own companionship so much.

You will go forward and you will remember these days, some of you more fondly than others. Remember this, too, though. You can tell a lot about a person in their later years by how much their adolescence still means to them. Life is a journey toward what is ahead. And so –

Take risks, but make them smart ones. Don’t get yourself killed doing dumb things, like drinking and driving, taking too many drugs, having reckless sex, or just being stupid with guns. Know that whatever happens to you and however hard you fall, you can get up, somehow. Bear in mind that getting up is easier if somebody extends a hand in help. Be a hand for somebody else. Hope. Always hope. Don’t worry so much about looking foolish. Remember it’s always better to learn than to know. Laugh. Dance. Be.

After all, the music, the moment? You know that you own it.

--S. Martin

The moment it was out of my mouth, everything seemed to stop completely, except for Mrs. Moore’s eyes, which grew progressively bigger.

“Where?”

I could feel my best friend suck in her breath beside me as her mother stared, mouth agape.

“Indiana,” I said again.

Mrs. Moore’s eyebrows began a hesitant crawl to the middle of her forehead, where they finally perched, twin question marks already asking her next question.

“Why?”

Now this was tricky. Why indeed? I quickly considered a host of possible answers, all of them perfectly reasonable: I wanted to go to a big school, Indiana University had lots of great departments and programs, it would be good for me to move out of San Diego…

My head was brimming over with answers, but they were frustratingly slow making their way out of my mouth. Mistaking my silence for doubt, Mrs. Moore took the opportunity to intervene.

“Erin,” she said, leaning toward me over her kitchen table, “there’s still time.”

She grabbed my hand and launched into what I imagine was meant to be a pep-talk. I unproductively sprinkled her speech about the Ivy League and my creativity and being better than a public university and what about Brown with “Yes, buts” and “No, buts.” Finally she exhausted her own list of reasons and I left her house, head spinning but one thought firmly in place: I wanted to move as far away as possible from people like her.

What she said probably shouldn’t have surprised me. I spent my four high school years having my head crammed with typical prep school rhetoric. Most of my friends bought into the idea that a prestigious private college; a lucrative career as a doctor, lawyer, or businessperson; and a big house with a spouse and 2.5 kids made up exactly the kind of life they should hope for.

I knew I wanted something different.

So it was with stubborn pride that I watched my classmates scatter over the East Coast and nestle into life at tiny colleges and top-tier universities. And it was with a heart full of excitement and a stomach full of nerves that I boarded a plane bound for what seemed to everyone but me to be the unlikeliest of college destinations.

I won’t lie to you: I was scared shitless. I knew absolutely no one at I.U. I had never set foot on the campus that was to be my home for the next four years. I spent the first night in my broom-closet dorm room sweating in the late-August Midwestern heat, listening to the chorus of crickets and cicadas and the lonely call of a train whistle, wondering if this was going to work out, if I would find my way in a sea of 34,999 other students. Frankly, I felt a bit like a pet shop gold fish that suddenly finds itself set loose in the middle of the ocean.

So I swam. And I kept swimming and I kept swimming and I kept swimming.

I didn’t always know the way. I fell on my ass quite a few times (and I don’t just mean that figuratively – Indiana ice is a difficult thing for a Californian). I spent tearful nights on the phone with my mom; sometimes felt dulled by the slow tempo of Midwestern life; found the radical politics of my anarchist-vegan dorm mates confounding at best, downright scary at worst; and I never did become the Hoosier basketball superfan every Indiana undergrad is expected to be.

No, I didn’t always know the way. And that was okay, because I made my own. My life in college was full of good literature, strange classes on everything from human reproduction to Wagnerian opera, and plenty of music. It was populated by the oddest and most dynamic of characters. There was Jolita Washington, who spent at least an hour every day jumping on the miniature trampoline she had wheeled into her dorm room. And Matt Kocher, the vegan activist who smelled like vanilla soy milk and sat on the floor of my room telling me Bulgarian folk tales. And the boys in my band, who brought me tall boys of PBR and encouraged me to rock out in ways my childhood piano teacher never had. And Murray Sperber, the hippie lit professor who told me stories of Ginsberg chanting to his dog in Vietnam-era Berkeley and worried over the effect a future in academia would have on my spirit. His advice at graduation stays with me still: “Never predict your own future," he said. "The gods will hear you and bite you in the ass.”

Good advice. But I’d like to add something else: Don’t let anyone predict your future for you either. If you have a good feeling, a strong conviction, an urge to step off the straight and narrow path and see what lies beyond the big houses and the comfortable careers, don’t just step off – jump in feet first, screaming and laughing straight into the great unknown. You just might find exactly what you didn’t know you were looking for. -- Erin Cory

Im going all the way

I don’t fall apart because of the hope that lives in my heart. Not minding what other people think, not minding what other people say, I give it all. I give it all to my education.

 I have been taught and I believe that my education is what will determine the rest of my life. I can be a failure and give up and say it’s too hard. I can’t. It’s not possible. Or I can feel the fear and still commit myself to success. People just don’t understand what my education means to me. I don’t want to be part of the statistics. Another Hispanic girl that is pregnant. Or in fact another Hispanic who drops out.

Throughout my life I have had a lot of good role models that have told me how important it is to get a good education and to eventually go to college. 

Last September, my brother and I joined Reality Changers, a program that builds first generation college students. This program helps students get through high school with anything they need. Students are expected to follow rules such as maintain good grades and serve community service hours. The program prepares them for tests such as the SAT and helps them fill out college applications in their senior year.

Seeing my friends actually commit to and go through the process made me believe even more that I could do it too.

I was born in Leon Guanajuato I was brought to California when I was one. I am considered an illegal alien when it’s not my fault. It’s very disappointing to find myself without the same college opportunities as people that are born here. But it’s even more disappointing to find teenagers throw their life away by making bad choices because they want to be cool and accepted.

 

I don’t doubt it and I live out of hope that I will go to college and a very good college and I know that I am going to commit to it.

 

One day I was talking with my cousin Elena. And we somehow started to have a conversation about education and how life is hard. It knocked me off my feet when she told me college was too hard and she was not planning to go. It was shocking to hear her way of thinking. I could not believe it. How could she not take advantage of the many advantages she has? How could she not want to reach out and grab the dream?

 

I believe and I know that I will attend college. I also want to be a good role model for my niece and for the tae kwon do kids that look up to me.

Just like there has been good role models in my life there has also been and will always be people and situations that will try to stop me from my battle. They may slow me down but they will not stop me because I’m the only obstacle to my success.

 The good thing is that I don’t plan to hold me back.

 

 

I am going all the way, I am going to college!

By Alma Mendoza 

China

“So do you guys have malls in China?” or “Why is your English so good if you live in China?” These are the type of questions I get when I tell people that I have lived in China for the past two years.

 

It all started that one day, when my dad strolled into my room. “Hey Caroline, how do you feel about moving to China?” he questioned me, leaning against the doorframe of my room, with his arms crossed. Distractedly, I looked up from my laptop screen. I was sitting cross-legged on my bed. I peered towards the doorway where my dad stood. “Um… sure Dad, that would be cool,” I said, not taking him seriously. Little did I know that that moment would change my life forever.

 

Whenever I meet new people, I tell them I’m from San Jose, the place I have lived for 13 years of my life. Then eventually comes the time where I decide to spring the news about how I have lived in China for the past two years, and I watch my friends piece together the puzzle in their brain. “…Wait, China? I thought you were American!” they almost always end up saying. The way they say the word “China” is as if they are choking out the words “Pluto”.  To clarify for them, I say, “I AM American, I just happened to have moved to China.” Then I wait for their expected reaction. “Oh… then why is your English so good? And oh! Does China have movie theaters or what?” they seem to always question. I can tell they have already made assumptions about me from just that one sentence.  Probably thoughts like “Oh my God, she must be one of those people that can’t speak English, and dress weird” or “Wow, she must have no life, because she’s been in China all this time” run through their head. So I feel the need to explain, the need to use the “Yeah I live in China, BUT…!” statement, to make myself seem like I’m someone that I’m not. 

 

Sure, moving to China was an experience I was not prepared for. And yes, my life is different there, but it’s not as different as everyone thinks of it as. In China, I live in an environment where I still speak English with my friends and teachers. I play volleyball after school. I still prep for the SATs, I still have tons of homework, just like any other American teenager. In China, I still watch TV shows like Gossip Girl. I keep up with the latest music and movies. I still use my English name. In fact, the first time I ever got called by my Chinese name was two years ago. The first time I even learned to write my Chinese name was also two years ago.

 

The point is, even though China has the world’s biggest population of more than one million individuals, it is not as poor or “third world” as you might think of it as. In every country, there are rich and poor people, it all really just depends. Just because China isn’t the United States doesn’t mean it’s worse, or that anyone from China work in restaurants once they come here. Even if someone that has once lived in China moves to America, it doesn’t mean they don’t know anything about America and are assumed to be weird. I used to make the same assumptions about people in the same situation I am in, but now I understand their point of view. I used to be embarrassed, or I try as hard as I can avoid the topic of where I go to school, but now I know it’s okay for me to tell people I live in China. I am happy to explain my situation and prove people’s judgments wrong.

 

 -- By Caroline Zhong

Passion

Passion is a thing that brings out the best in us. It evokes emotion and allows us to feel. Everyone should have something they are passionate about.

Passion is important for balance in everyday life. We all do what we have to do, but what about what we want to do? Sometimes we want to do things that are fun for the sake of them being fun and those are the things that are the roots of happiness.

I feel without passion we are little more than robots just alive to consume, complete a task, and repeat. But with a passion we can go from sad or depressed to happy and engaged. That little thing can give a person purpose so instead of just going to a job, coming back, eating and sleeping, and buying things for cheap thrills. Passion is something to be exited about or to look forward to. I have writing words and stories that take me to places far beyond my own.

Words can take me out of my rut they can let me explore recess of my mind that I could never just speak of or think about they create a different world, one that is told to me through my mind which I then shape and form to my liking. My words let me feel in ways that my routine days don’t let me.

If someone doesn’t have passion, like writing is for me, I feel sorry for them. I remember what it was like to just do things because it was not an option to do nothing. But even now as these words flow so much better on this subject than any of the previous ones I tried writing this column on. I can’t help but feel happy. A feeling, which is much more gratifying than bored necessity with which I wrote on other subjects. That feeling of bored necessity expands to everyone without passion. To be passionate about something is to be whole.

Anyone who has a television knows it is possible to lose hours to it. But when I do I rarely find myself truly happy or entertained I barely feel anything at all. It is just something to fill the time. When I write though, I find myself happy and at feeling something.        

There are those who say they are happy with their routine that it is all they need. But they are lying, routine inherently lacks excitement or things that evoke emotion, it’s just the nature of routine. Others think they have no passion, and that their life is depressing. It’s not true. Everyone has something we just need to find it. I feel lucky that I found it early in life.

Passion is not always hard to find just try something new. Pursue a lifelong dream or try something you have wanted to do. Go with friends when they do something that gives them joy, just get out and do it. 

Regardless of whether its running, music or writing. We all need a passion to entertain us like a radio on the road trip of life. 

- Alexander Escobedo

For all the Single Father's Out there

Fighting for custody of a child is a battle for most couples that get divorced. The question of responsibility is an important one. To whom will the child go, the mother or the father?

In most situations the child goes to the mother because most people – including judges – think moms love and care the best. They’re wrong. A lot of dads are good at this, too.

I should know… my dad fought a long custody battle with my mom and we’ve been together since I was two years old. We’ve had good and bad times, some arguments and confusion but we’ve never given up on each other.

Every year for my birthday, which is Christmas Eve, my Dad and I go to vacation in Disney World. We go to Epcot Center and visit the Japanese pavilion. Inside the pavilion there is a jewelry store by the name of Mikimoto, which is very well known in Japan. One year there was a pearl bracelet on display that I had my eye on. Ever since I was a little girl, I have always been fond of pearls.  When we went back to our hotel room, my dad furtively called the store and purchased the bracelet over the phone. The next day during dinner, he surprised me with the best birthday gift ever, as if the trip to Disney World wasn’t enough. I will remember that forever and I thank him for that all the time.

Many people still question, however, if a man much less a single father, can still raise a child just as well as a mother. My dad recalls from his own experience once when I was 3 years old at Sea World.  “All the moms were staring at me changing your diaper, they couldn’t believe that I was doing that. An older woman around 60 years old came up to me and asked where is her mother? I responded ‘I am her mother. We’re divorced and she is not around.’ She was in absolute shock.”

It is very aggravating when many people assume that fathers can’t raise a child, because they can. After the incident, my dad did his best to try to prove not only to himself but also for other single fathers that a man is just as capable of raising a child as a mother.

There are many fathers that never get the chance to have custody but to those who do, I hope they realize what a great privilege it is to raise a child.

For me I think anyone who has the patience and time is a perfect candidate to take care of his or her child. Whether it is someone with a disability, man or a woman, rich or poor, if you’ re not selfish and always remember to put the child before you, you can be the best parent on earth just as long as you’re there and have the patience, you’re okay.

Nevertheless I appreciate both my parents and the sacrifices that they have made for me. I still see my mother every now and then and we get along very well but we are not as close to each other like the relationship I have with my Dad. My Dad and I are pretty close, he has given me the best he ever had, he has enrolled me in private schools since I was attending pre-school and has shown me places that I am very fond of both local and distant, all within my sixteen years of life on earth.  We’ve become so close, that I feel like we’re best friends.

My Dad probably has the most patience that I’ve ever known and I know I can depend on him. He is always there when I need him whether it’s picking me up after practice or from a friend’s house. I know that he will be there and for that I respect him all the way.

So it goes to show that, yes, a man can raise a child. When I hear the question, “Is a man suitable to a raise a child?” My response is yes, I think so because I think anyone can be a great parent, you just need patience and dedication. 

Somtimes Godbye Is a Second Chance

Sometimes we hurt the people we care about most, but what's amazing is that they love us anyways.

I wonder why Zoya gave me a second chance. It wasn't the reasonable thing to do and I definitely didn't deserve it. But that doesn't mean I'm not grateful for it. In fact, I'm indebted to her.

Zoya and I were like Rachel and Monica of "Friends" in 8th grade (We were both obsessed with that show). We wrote each other notes everyday and talked at our lockers every passing period. We studied for tests together and shared all the hard questions with only each other. We talked about the boys we liked, the teachers we hated, and whatever was on our minds.

May was already a generally stressful month. The school year was ending which meant projects, studying for finals, and homework galore. It was the worst time for something to come up, but something did. I remember when Zoya called me crying because her favorite cousin had just died in a car crash. She told me tearfully that she was supposed to visit her that summer and now she couldn't. I felt her pain, but I was so dumbstruck that I was clueless on what to do. I comforted her with the usual "I'm so sorry, I know it'll get better soon".

The next morning I spotted her in the cafeteria with red, sunken eyes and I guiltily remembered what had happened to her. I wished I knew the right thing to do, but I didn’t. I could only manage to say, “Did you get number five on the math homework last night?” She acted natural, but I saw the horrified look in her eyes. After that mishap, all I could do was pretend nothing had happened and hope she would move on.

How wrong I was. It came out of nowhere on a fairly normal day. I was reassuring her that she’d do well on her geometry final. Then she lashed out at me pointing out that was exactly what I’d said about her dead cousin. “How could you ignore what I’m going through? How could you pretend everything’s okay and do nothing to help?” she asked. I felt ridden with shame immediately. I apologized profusely and asked for forgiveness. She said she forgave me, but I knew it’d never be the same again.

For awhile, we were just acquaintances that merely greeted each other in the halls. A summer passed with no contact but in 9th grade, through mutual friends, we sat at the same lunch table. We talked to each other once more and I was grateful she didn’t give me the cold shoulder. I wanted to prove I could be a better friend and person than I was before. I helped her on little things like homework, talked to her when she looked lonely, comforted her through all the hardships, and anything else a selfless friend would do. I am forever appreciative that she gave me a second chance because both of us would have missed out on a truly great friendship.

I believe in second chances because sometimes you just don’t realize how important some things are until they’re gone. The second chance makes you value the person or thing so much more.

Many people would say giving someone a second chance is just giving them the opportunity to take advantage of you again, but others believe in the better side of people and give them the benefit of the doubt. Second chances don’t always turn out the way you expect, but you’ll never know how it’ll turn out unless you give it a try.

There are limits on second chances however. You cannot allow people to walk all over you, but simply show them that you have faith that they can redeem themselves.

Everyone is different and depending on the person, he or she may or may not be willing to give that chance. But I give second chances, because Zoya gave me a reason to.

By Jennifer Sun

What is"RESPECT?"

 It’s a late night in the kitchen with a heat light shining over me. I was sitting there waiting till my mother came. My mother walks up to me and says “We need to talk” and I reply ”ok.” So I stare into her eyes with lots to say. She tells me that “she doesn’t even know who I am anymore”, but I tell her “she never really knew me.” 

 My mother got so angry that I talked back to her. She told me that I have to respect her. I thought to myself for a while why? Why respect a person who doesn’t know me or respect me. My mother just looked into my eyes and walked away, she felt so ashamed of what I became. I felt so bad at the end but I knew I must not apologize because if I did, then I would be letting her disrespect me for the rest of my life. 

Thinking to myself what role did I play? Was I the good guy or the bad guy? Well who am I to say. All I know is that neither of us won that argument. A couple of days passed. I had not said a word to my mother since the argument, although yes, there had been days when it seemed we wanted to say something but instead we just looked the other way and kept going. Soon I found myself being the bigger person and I went to talk to her. She was in her room. So I had to walk down the hallway and open the white door, which led me to her. So I entered the room with so much fear hoping that she would not reject me. She didn’t. 

I sat on her bed and told her “This time we are going to talk one by one and we will actually finish our conversation.” But then again she yelled at me and told me “you don’t tell me what to do” and so I started to cry and left to my room with so much frustration in my head that I didn’t know what to think. Was I the cause of our problems? Or was I just another mistake that my mother made?   

I thought that I was doing the right thing, but I guess in her eyes it wasn’t good enough. I said to myself,” see this is exactly what I mean, she doesn’t even listen.” Where does the word respect even come from? Why is it part of our daily life style towards one another if my mother doesn’t even use it. The letters “R-E-S-P-E-C-T” no longer existed in my dictionary. I went to my room and started to write all the things that I hated which included my mother. I forgot to put the paper away, so when my father called me to come eat dinner I accidently dropped the paper on the floor. My mother happened to walk by, and she picked it up and read it. She broke down into tears and went back to her room. 

My father told me to go get my mother to come eat with us at the table. It’s a custom where we all sit at the table and eat together. So I went to get my mother. Before I reached the door I heard a moaning sound. When I walked in, I saw my mother crying. I saw a tear that full of sparkle rolling down her smooth cheek. She could not even bear to look at me but I-I did not even know the reason why. 

On the bed there was a paper. I grabbed it so fast making sure my mother wasn’t able to take it away from me. I held it up to where I was able to read it and it said,  ”I HATE MY MOTHER” in bold pencil letters.  I did not know what to tell her. I was trying to figure out a way to say “sorry” but words could not come out. So I simply said, “Mom it’s not like that.” She replied,” All I wanted to do is be a good mother to you, but my best is not great.” I meant to give her a hug but all I did was stand their staring at her as if it was the last time that I was going to see her. 

I bowed my head and actually said….”SORRY.” My mother looked at me, I could see her from the corner of my eye. She said to me “I will always love you no matter what.” I felt so connected to her that my instincts pulled me to give her a hug. I held my mom so tight that nothing or no one could pull us a part.  A week later I really wanted to hit the topic again. This time our conversation was calm, but then again I will never understand my mother’s side just like she will never understand my side.  Eventually the word ”RESPECT” came back into my dictionary. I felt like this experience was not only to reunite my mother and me but also to show me respect comes in many different ways and at its own pace. I still ask myself why? Why respect a person who doesn’t know me or respect me?  It’s hard to know and it’s hard to do, but unless you try you’ll never find out. 

By:Prisciliana Pineda   

 

 

My love, my passion, my philosophy of life: Swimming

Our lives are composed of small puzzle pieces and each of these makes who we are. No one piece is better than the others and it takes all of the pieces to make a perfect puzzle.

I really love sports. All types except those that are related with a ball, and by a ball I mean soccer. I already see me running towards the ball but never reach it, just as a finishing line that is never crossed by. But among the sports, I’m focusing on a particular one, my love, my passion, my puzzle piece. Swimming.

Before starting our dive into the water, let’s clarify something. If you believe that the aim of doing sport is to win a gold medal, then I would suggest you to finish your reading here. As to me, swimming is something that goes beyond this, that is not related with any competition or winning the Olympics. Be careful now not to misunderstand me. Obviously, I would love to win the Olympics, to feel the beat of my heart pulsing at breakneck speed, at the starting block, while waiting for my name to be called. To fly in the water together with the best butterflies of the world, close to “Flying Fish”, Michael Phelps, for example.  But, for now, that’s not my premium aim.

I swim in a team since I was four. I still remember the first times in the pool when my mum had to force me to enter in the water while I screamed and cried with all my heart, as I just didn’t want to go there. Then, something made me change my mind completely and convert swimming from the simple sport itself to my passion.

My teammates share my enthusiasm for swimming. It allows us to express ourselves as we really are. It’s our life and it’s essential for our wellbeing to relax and stay in shape in a healthy way. I can imagine what you are thinking. Come on Bibi, swimming is an individual sport, there is no team. Wrong. Wrong. And again, you are wrong. Of course, it’s not like dance, soccer, basketball and I can continue by listing all the others that are made up of teams. In the pool, I know I’m never alone, I’m not the only one to be tired after sixty laps. We are a team.

The words of the coach still resonate in my mind, just like the hail on the road. “Come on, faster with your stokes! Let’s start with 200m freestyle, 100m butterfly, 50m freestyle and repeat this for four times.” The cycle continues, we feel the sweat in our eyes, our face resembles a pepper for its red color, we are exhausted. Every stroke done equates to an obstacle of our life that has been overcome.

I would love to tell you that this is true, but unfortunately, it isn’t. Swimming has certainly helped me to relieve my stress but not to really overcome lots of problems I faced in my life and especially this year. Many use psychotherapy, medicines and lots of others ways in order to resolve their problems. My “medicine” is swimming. It helped and still helps me with my battle with food.

The story started three years ago during my third year of high school. It’s a very important year in the Italian school as there are totally new teachers and new subjects to relate with. I totally immersed myself in my study, as I feared that without a very hard work I would have never met my goal, to be proud of myself. I was often under great stress and I started to eat less and less until my stomach became as small as a peanut. As I love challenges, I decided to embark myself in a totally new adventure in Australia for a trimester during the summer. It was a wonderful experience, I met lots of amazing friends, but it would be a lie to say that everything was fine. The family that hosted me was composed from just one member. It ‘s enough to say that she was a woman of 67 years old. We didn’t fit each other and she made my life there a real nightmare. Her cooking wasn’t that delicious and she didn’t do anything to make it better. Once, I found a sausage (already cooked) up to the microwave and it stayed there for a few days, until a week later where I discovered it in my plate for dinner. I was disgusted, how could she ever imagine to make me eat anything like that? The problems continued. She started to weigh me every day, to forbid me to go out with my friends, to go to tango lessons (that I did anyway secretly) and worst of all, to go swimming, as she was worried it was too much physical effort for me.  In the meantime, my weight continued to decrease and when I came back home, I lost ten kilos. In a few months, with the magic help of my family, and especially that of my parents and my amazing brother, I gained them back but still some problems have remained.  I feel sometimes as an accordion, even if my mum calls me “guitar”. There are periods where I eat normally and others where I eat less. Today, I cannot say to have overcome this problem but, certainly, I’m fighting in order to come back “as I was” again.

Those three months without swimming were just terrible. She took my medicine away and I couldn’t survive a lot without it. As you have certainly understood, it’s the only place (other than my real home with my parents) where I feel my self and safe. An Italian motto says, “ Do you eat to live or do you live to eat?” Obviously the answer is very simple: we need food to survive. Similarly, swimming is essential for me to survive, otherwise I would feel just like a fish off from water.

Yes, swimming is my philosophy of life. It’s essential for my health, both the physical and mental one, and now it represents the symbol of my healthy way of living.

 Do you ever get the feeling that something is missing? I’m still looking to some puzzle pieces to balance my life and I don’t know whenever I will find them. In the meantime, I consider myself very lucky to have a fantastic family that always supports me in all the decisions and allows me to do fantastic experiences that many of my friends have never had the chance to live.  My brother who makes always me laugh even when I’m in my darkest of the days and my best Finnish friend who is just lovely. But wait, didn’t I forget something? Of course, my passion, swimming, and all the fantastic people I met during these three weeks certainly represent unique pieces that can be added to make my beautiful puzzle in the end.

                                                                                   by Bibi Blasio

 

 

Heaven in the Mountains

A sacred oasis in the middle of the mountains. In the middle of nowhere. A place so pure it could be called holy. A place to let wounds heal, to put aside your fears and experience new things. A home away from home. Forest Home. 

 Perhaps everybody needs a place to escape. Maybe if everyone had the chance to, the world would be a better place.

 I was fascinated from the minute I knew I was going to camp. Two weeks later, I found myself climbing into that white and green charter bus. Considering the driver got lost and the air conditioning wasn’t working, the ride was long and hot.  A feeling of regret crept into me, this was not a good start.

 After what seemed an eternity, we arrived. It was beautiful.From the fresh green grass to the sparkling lake, the sights were striking. The purple, pink, and orange colored blend of the horizon at dusk was astounding.

 Night fell and for the first time I saw stars so near and clear I felt I could reach up and touch them. Without any telephone lines or street lamps in the way, it felt as if the scenery came out of a calendar. The scent of pine in the air and the sound of crickets made everything so natural. Nature at its fullest.

 On one of the six days that I was there, we went down to what they call a “zip line”. A long spiral staircase led to a platform high up in the air. There they would put you into a harness and instruct you to jump off and ride to the other end. My turn came, and the feeling I got climbing those stairs was electrifying. Once up there I couldn’t bring myself to leap off, it seemed much higher than it looked. After a period of hesitation I told myself I had to jump.

 I felt like I was flying. A blur of rocks and trees passed beneath me, and it felt as if I was moving with the clouds.  For a moment, all I could hear was the whistle of the wind and the rushing water of the river. To my side a girl crossed her legs and flipped upside down, something I couldn’t bring myself to do. It was great while it lasted and the thrill it brought was incredible.

During our stay, counselors warned us not to drink water from the river or streams afraid that it might make us sick. How could anything in a place so pure like this one be harmful? I drank it, it was the freshest water ever.

 Everyday we gathered to praise the Lord and thank him for everything he gives us. People sang and danced along to spiritual music that was sung by a little band, the type of music that could inspire you to be a better person. At first, I felt awkward. I thought they looked silly. Never before had I seen people dance to music talking about God. By the end of the week I was jumping and dancing along with them.

 I got onto that green and white bus not knowing anyone. By the end of the week, the girls from my cabin and I had become like sisters. I felt as comfortable with them as I did with the friends I’ve had for years. The bond created between us was amazing. Knowing I had made such good friends bestowed an enormous feeling of accomplishment.

 Attending Forest Home was one of the best things I ever did. It made me appreciate nature, everything that surrounds me, and most of all, the people I love. I made life-long friends with the same values as mines. I learned to take risks no matter how frightening they might seem. That despite all the junk in the air there are still stars you can reach for. That jumping out into the open and not having your feet on the ground is sometimes a good thing.

 It’s summer once more, and the second week of August I’ll find myself going back to Forest Home. This year, I will flip upside down on the zip line, drink out of the river, and witness that colorful horizon and those beautiful stars once more.

        -Yaritza Hernandez

For The Love Of The Game

Imagine walking into a large gym filled with thirty other girls, each one hoping they have the talent to beat out the others and fill the thirteen lucky spots on the varsity volleyball team. Imagine enduring a form of practice that even the most athletic girls drip with sweat and are overcome with exhaustion at the days end. For some girls this sport is their life, for others it’s just an activity that gets them out of the house. I would have to say I’m in between.

During my junior year of high school, I managed to make the Varsity volleyball team.  The amount of success and achievement I felt was beyond measure. However, the passion I felt would fluctuate throughout the season.

I vividly remember one game in particular that sent my emotions on a roller coaster. The opposing team was two points away from winning the game. Even before the game had actually started nerves and fear were rushing through my body. The referee blew the whistle and the ball was served. The opposing team made a perfect bump, set, and spike. As the ball traveled through the air, I could tell it was going to land in front of me. I positioned my arms, but my feet wouldn’t move. It was as if someone at that very moment had secretly slathered Krazy Glue to the bottom of my shoes. Within a blink of an eye, the green and white volleyball was slamming into the court. All I heard was a mixture of noise. The combination of parents screaming from the crowd, “Come on! Move your feet!”, my coach yelling, “What was that?” and the opposing team’s fans shouting with enjoyment. 

The whistle was blown again and I shook my head as if I was trying to wipe away all the noise I heard. I wiped the sweat dripping down my forehead and focused on three words: Shake it off. I repeated those words over and over again in my head as the ball was passed up into the air and the same girl is getting ready to smash it. Somehow I knew the same play would happen again yet I didn’t want to stop it. I had given up. Just as I had foretold the ball landed in front of me once again. My whole body became limp with shame as I looked up at the scoreboard- 25 to 22.

Walking back into the locker room, my teammates threw their equipment to the ground and slammed one of the locker doors closed. “That was pathetic! I’m embarrassed to even be on this team after that loss!” said the team captain. Although she was addressing the entire team, she was staring directly at me. She was implying that I had lost the game. I was pathetic and embarrassing. That had literally become my breaking point.

All I felt was regret. Pessimistic thoughts ran through my mind as I continuously asked myself why I tried out for this ridiculous sport in the first place. “I hate it,” I kept saying to myself. “I’m quitting tomorrow!” Yet each day I returned to practice, slid on my kneepads, and laced up my court shoes. As I stretched alone on the moist gym floor, I constantly searched for what made me come back every single day and then I remembered. It’s that feeling of dedication and commitment. That you’re in it all the way no matter what challenges are thrown at you. That once the season is over, you’ve accomplished something that some girls only dream of. I was able to walk through the gym door on the first day of tryouts without hesitation. I put my body, physically and mentally, through torture. And even after having everyone scream their heads off at me I still had the guts to come back. It’s these thoughts and the joyous memories that come along with them that put a smile back on my face and give me the reason to try out next year. 

-Elizabeth Holve

 

 

 

 

Butterflies

I stared out the window blankly, twirling my now too short hair between my fingers as I often do. “You’re nervous,” Micaela said simply, but it seemed to be an accusation at the time. “I am not!” I snapped at her. My sister knew me too well. She knew that I could never play in a Carl’s Jr. play place and not be smiling when I got back in the car, unless I was very preoccupied. She could see right through me. I was absolutely terrified.

 

It had been a few months since I received the invitation to UCSD’s Academic Connections program. I had dreamt about it for a long time, but when it came down to actually leaving, I panicked. On the inside, of course. I couldn’t have my parents aware that their independent child was really sitting in the back seat, worried that she couldn’t get over the stupid butterflies in her stomach.

 

I briefly considered telling my Dad that I couldn’t go through with this, take me home. If we hadn’t already paid, I probably would have. Still, I knew that everything I gave up for this program would go to waste if I quit now. So I put my game face on and pretended to be fascinated with the scars and bruises on my legs, never making eye contact.

 

I was particularly scared for dinner on that first night. I didn’t know anybody. Who was I going to sit with? That question haunted me subconsciously all day. Thankfully, as soon as I met my roommate, Stephanie, we instantly bonded. As the weeks wound on, I realized she was pretty much an extension of my being. We spent most of our time together, laughing hysterically at things that probably weren’t that funny and watched everyone around us come to the conclusion that we were crazy.

 

My three weeks at UCSD were hands down the best days of my life, so far. Academic Connections was different from anything I had ever experienced. Actually having the power to decide how to spend my own time (within boundaries) was so new to me. And now it’s almost over. In two weeks I’ll be back in high school. My teachers won’t do the sprinkler standing on an office chair like Sam. Even worse, I’ll have to actually make plans and get permission to do so.

 

Still, I feel like I have changed so much, hopefully for the better. I’ve come so far from the apprehensive little girl I was three weeks ago. In the words of Carrie Underwood, “Some pages turned, some bridges burned, but there were lessons learned.” I learned so much more than just how to write nut graphs and how to make a rad friendship bracelet.

 

I learned that sometimes the things that change you are the things that happen outside of the classroom. It’s the late night stories and the nearly broken thumbs and the almost kisses and the parties you blew off to run through the sprinklers that help make the AC experience worthwhile.

 

It’s trying to do the jerk down the stairs and automatic doors not opening when they should and being serenaded by a patio full of boys and dancing until someone sets off a stink bomb in the crowd that make you realize how beautifully ridiculous your life can be sometimes.

 

And it’s screaming in the elevator and collapsing into fits of laughter and smuggling hash browns in your back pocket and falling off your bunk and making other people uncomfortable that make you realize that you love every crazy detail of the crazy life you live.

 

For me, it took an extraordinary leap out of my comfort zone to find that while I was content, there is always room to grow. If I never stop reinventing myself, my possibilities are endless. I can’t wait to get home and tell Micaela what I have finally found. There is so much out there to learn, if you can just get passed the butterflies.

 

-Tabitha Lawrence

 

 

 

How Getting Seasick Can Be A Good Thing

I felt my stomach threaten to leap up my throat, over the railing and into the salty water. The ground beneath my feet rose and fell, rocking my insides to nausea. Please stop, I begged the boat. I tried standing in different places. The stuffy galley below the deck had a grill that constantly turned out hot dogs and burgers. Way too hot. The roof of the cabin was worse. Port side, Starboard side. No relief. The bow? Fresh air bombarded my face. It was almost relieving. The Chubasco II still forced my body to sway from side to side, but it was not nearly as bad as the torture the other parts of the boat inflicted. My head spun as my stomach churned at the base of my throat.

Through the buzzing voices of fellow students trying their hands at fishing, I heard one clearly directed at me. “Stop acting,” it said, slightly sardonically. I looked up from my hunched position at the tip of the bow. One leg hung off the ledge as my left forearm and bicep cinched my head in a comforting triangle. Peaking over the sleeve of my hoody, I saw my friends hovered around me. By the looks on their faces I could imagine them watching a polka-dotted clown with giant red shoes about to walk the plank.  They did everything in their power to suppress the laughter tugging at their throats. I attempted to remove my pitiful veneer by sitting up and smiling a half-hearted smile up at them.

The sun disappeared somewhere below the fuzzy horizon where the sky faded into the ocean. As darkness settled in around us, students released their wriggling sardines and retired their poles to the sides of the cabin. The boat erupted with laughter as one student scrambled across the deck fumbling after his slippery, runaway baitfish. Laughter is supposed to be a powerful dose of medicine that can cure any wound. Apparently I overdosed. My head racked as my body shook with laughter and I was quickly overwhelmed with dizziness.

I hardly paid attention to anything around me. My focus was restricted to how badly I wanted to get the heck off that God-forsaken contraption. I grasped my midsection in a feeble attempt to keep my insides in their natural place. My stomach inched its way up, up. The boat lurched. Oh God, please let no one see this.

“Whoa look, a shark!” I heard someone shout right next to me. Weary from my nausea, I hesitantly looked over the side of the boat. If it was a joke I’d play it off like I thought I was going to be sick. If it wasn’t a joke, I feared I really would get sick. All over the poor shark. I searched the water below me and gasped as a massive, shining body swerved in and out of my field of vision. Sharks don’t move like that. I leaned in, staring hard in an attempt to make the figure reappear. I didn’t have to wait long. I struggled to adjust my eyes to see into the dark water. There it was. It darted along like a torpedo, always one step ahead of the boat. It rose up slightly, just near enough to the surface of the water that I could make out a curled dorsal fin, a pair of flippers and a tail attached to a glossy, curved body.

“It’s a dolphin,” I gasped.

For a very long period of my life, it had been my goal, my dream, my only aspiration, to become a marine biologist. My sole reason: to work with, swim with, and live with dolphins. I was obsessed. I had dolphin-themed snow globes and stuffed animals from friends and family who traveled to the Yucatan and the Virgin Islands. Although my fixation wore off like any stage in a kid’s life, my fascination and love for the beautiful sea mammals never died.

I sat and stared in awe. My seasickness instantly rocketed to the back of my mind. I was elated.

“Oh my God,” were the only words I managed to whisper. I was dumbfounded and could care less if I had drool running down the side of my gaping mouth. All I could see, all I knew in that moment, was a pair of utterly graceful beings weaving in and out of the constant wave that led the boat. Another appeared and I gazed on and the three played together. This may have been the single most beautiful thing I have ever witnessed. They swerved from side to side, effortlessly gliding over and under each other.

“They’re huge,” I marveled. The dolphins were easily three times my size and within reaching distance. I would have tried to touch them if the boat wasn’t racing across the water. It was marvelous.

To think, I never would have experienced this if my Dramamine hadn’t worn off too soon. My motion sickness steered me straight to the best seat in the house right before the show began.

Life is kind of like that. You keep wandering around, willing the world to stop rocking, when it’s really just trying to pitch you into the right place at the right time. Somewhere along the miserable, swaying path, you’re going to stumble upon something really beautiful, and you’ll appreciate the world for driving you there.

-Phylicia Hisel

Long-Distance Relationships

It used to be hard for me to wake up in the morning until I met him. Snug beneath my blanket, I’d roll over to the annoying beeping of my cell phone and open my eyes to see a new text message from him in my inbox. Of course, I smiled. As I scrolled down and read the words, it said, “Good morning babe.” Other days, it just said a simple “Hey beautiful.” 

For the past 10 months, our relationship has grown stronger by the second. Even with speed bumps occasionally being thrown at us, we get through it. He’s a year older than I am and the time approaches for him to leave for college. Attending the University of California, Merced, we’ll be three hours apart.

This has got to be one of the hardest situations thrown at my feet. I’m deathly frightened and think about it on a daily basis. Friends tell me, “Oh, long-distance relationships never last,” but I digress. I won’t know until I give it a try. Until my boyfriend and I give it a try. Yes, it will be difficult, but who’s to say it can’t work?

I always knew this day would come. Over the past few months, I started to despise it and it instantly became my worst enemy. I asked myself multiple times, “Why can’t you just go away and never happen? Leave me alone.” I sometimes wished I had the power to stop time, but let’s face it, this is reality, not fantasy.

In less than a month, suitcases full of clothes and bags filled with materials will be carefully packed and placed into the trunk of a car. It will travel about 165 miles North from my hometown – Bakersfield. As my boyfriend, Justin, unpacks his bags and decorates his new dorm room, he will start a new life in a new city, meeting new people everyday, without me.

I remember one night sitting in his car underneath the glistening stars with the sunroof open. We were in the middle of my neighbor’s driveway, and I suddenly started balling. I couldn’t help it. All I could think was, “Oh my gosh, I don’t want you to go, what am I going to do without you? Stay here with me.”  At that very moment, my world came crashing down. Tears ran down my face and my shirt was soaking wet from using it as a tissue. I tried to laugh it off, but it didn’t work. He asked what was wrong and held me tight in his arms. He told me not to cry. I couldn’t even look him in the eye, because I was so embarrassed. He reassured me that everything would be okay.

When I recall that moment, my heart smiles. Justin was right. It will be okay, and it isn’t the end of the world. God constantly throws obstacles in front of me to keep me on my toes. In the end, I’ve learned I can only think positive thoughts and the only direction I can and should go, is up.

So as Justin and I prepare to meet my worst enemy, we tell each other that everything is going to be just fine. I’ve decided to befriend the enemy and accept it. I just have to look fear in the eye and move past it.

Honesty and commitment is the key to our success. I believe anything worth having is worth putting effort into. Justin is definitely worth having and we’re going to put effort into our soon to be long-distance relationship. We both understand this is a battle to be fought with sweat and blood, but we will withstand it. We will see each other on holidays and special occasions, as well as my senior formal and prom.

“I love you and you love me,” he once told me, “bottom line.”

- Juanita Pha

Material Girl

Madonna swept her fans off their feet at Jean-Paul Bustier Arena May 18. The concert tickets were sold out. As soon as Madonna emerged onto the stage underneath purple lightning, the hugely enthusiastic crowd began to holler her name. Pandemonium ensued. A real bonanza was in store.

Madonna stepped out into the heat of the lighting, into full view of her fans. The music came on and the crowd swayed side to side to the rhythm of the song “Dress You Up.” Madonna shimmered in a green sweater paired with purple leggings and a skirt.  She walked towards the microphone and wrapped her hands over it. She hit the first note. The crowd went wild. 

Madonna’s back up dancers were so sharp on every move, never missing a beat. Madonna kept the crowd rumbling throughout her concert. She left no doubt as to why she has been ranked to be the best female artist in the 20^th century. 

Throughout the concert Madonna constantly reinvented herself by changing her appearance and outfit. Not only was her appearance a constant chameleon show, but the audience also never knew where she’d be coming out on stage next. Sometimes she came from the side. Then from below. You had to wonder if she’d drop down from a wire next time. The scene-stealer, though, was when she sang “Vogue, ” wearing sparkling and shimmering blue dress. Her hair was blonde it was clipped together with two curls hanging in the front of her face. Madonna bent down to do her moves so when she got up she stared into the distance above the audience heads. The performance was mesmerizing.   

Leaving aside Vogue, overall the music that Madonna presented seemed all the same and it did not bring any excitement. Her music was too mellow even when she hit the high pitch notes. Her energy almost seemed low. Madonna seemed to be a bit to comfortable when presenting her sexual content.

 Not everyone loved Madonna’s high sexual content, either. Many parents felt it was inappropriate. “Private parts are not for public use,” said Cheryl Moore, mother of a Madonna fan Jenny, age 8.

 Although Madonna’s music is not what it used to be, her dancing remains amazing. The material girl can groove. 

By:Prisciliana Pineda, Alma Mendoza

Madonna's Magnificent Time Warp of a Tour

  Colorfully dressed fans with layers of clothing and extravagant hairstyles and make-up danced enthusiastically into the Jean Paul Bustier Arena. The 50,000 fans, made up mostly of young women in fishnet stockings, bright jewelry, and dark blue eye shadow, pulled up in front of the arena in Madonna’s hometown, Detroit, Michigan, on May 18, 2009. 

Madonna’s Re-Reinvention Tour is hard to describe in general terms. It varied drastically from one song to the next, from fairly modest dress to provocative choreography and skimpy clothing that barely covered the dancers’ bodies. 

Flashing blue and green lights lit up the stage before Madonna’s first song of the night, “Dress You Up,” in tribute to the 80’s era. After some anticipation, one light lit up center stage, revealing Madonna’s silhouette. The crowd roared, cheering and chanting her name. The entire arena automatically sprung to life. Madonna, dressed similarly to the fans she inspires, wore a colorful denim jacket over a cropped shirt that occasionally revealed her midriff, and a tight green skirt. Her purple leggings matched the poofy purple scruncii that sat atop her head, holding her teased blonde hair. Madonna brings back memories of a time when perfection didn’t matter and elaborately mismatched earrings were not only accepted, but trendy. 

Madonna’s backup dancers followed suit with big hair and sparkling denim jackets fashioned after the 80’s style. Here we see the spotlight shining down solely on Madonna, with only two extra dancers on stage taking away from her glory. During a short instrumental in the middle of the song, Madonna and her team boogied to an excellently choreographed dance that set the audience on fire with cheers. “Oh my God, it was so amazing! It totally inspired me to be a dancer,” said a gushing fan from the tour. “Maybe one day you’ll see me on stage next to Madonna,” she winked. Madonna showed amazing talent, easily transitioning from the aerobic dance, into singing flawlessly while moving her body. 

Modesty seemed to have been chucked out the window as the second song, “Express Yourself,” was introduced by a flock of shirtless (and nearly shirtless) men with sexual dance moves up their nonexistent sleeves. 

I’d like to tell you that Madonna’s entrance was nothing short of grand. But I can’t. Rising out of the stage like a fallen angel is the biggest cliché a performer can act out today. Come on Madonna, you can do better. 

But then again, who wouldn’t want to pop out of the ground surrounded by hot men in ripped up overalls? The contrast was astounding. Madonna wore a pink corset that ran over her business suit pants, making them look like chaps straight from the Midwest cowboy days.  To her credit, the suit itself was very professional. Without the corset, she would have been able to walk into a business conference and win best dressed. But that’s another story. Her conservative 50’s haircut completely threw it off. Sexy, professional, and old-fashioned housewife, just don’t mix. In the end, it was nothing short of nauseating.

Madonna seemed to see the seasick faces of her fans. Her last performance of the night, “Vogue,” was like a shot of Dramamine. The nausea instantly disappeared when her clichéd entrance was liberated as she not only rose up from the floor, but up into the air like Christ’s resurrection. Two dancers simultaneously descended from the ceiling like angels from the clouds. The entire scene was the show’s salvation. The crowd went berserk. A breathe of fresh couldn’t begin to describe my relief. Everyone loves a happy ending. 

Madonna posed atop her platform as an art gallery unfolded behind her. She was definitely the main attraction when she moved fluidly into a headstand position with legs up in the air forming an “L.” Her black leather, knee-high healed boots, spandex shorts, and fluorescent corset with sparkling, armor-like sleeves were all put on a glorious display. 

The entire performance fit together like a high-fashion puzzle. The dancers were all dressed like models straight off a Vogue runway. One thing I must point out, however, is some of the male dancers could just as easily have walked out of a Pirates of the Caribbean movie. But even this couldn’t take away from the glittering performance. 

The same screens that portrayed the art gallery in the opening of the song, changed like a kaleidoscope, draping the stage in every imaginable color. At one point, the screen displayed a woman that wore a mask like those in the carnival festivities. It was fantastic. 

Throughout the performance, every dance move was like a perfectly arranged photo shoot. Every dancer had his/her own elaborately designed costume, each contributing to the overall theme. Every dancer was an essential piece of the puzzle. When they danced, no one ever missed a beat. They moved together like a single unit. 

The music brought everything together like the last piece of the puzzle. It wouldn’t be complete without it. Madonna’s voice was indescribable. It rang out with just as much clarity and strength throughout this song as when the first began. She remained completely unaffected by her aerobic tactics onstage. 

Apart from the utter mess of the second performance, Madonna’s Re-Reinvention Tour was a dazzling success. She brought back memories from the 80’s and brought us back into the 21^st century with her stunning grand finale performance of “Vogue.” The overall mood expressed by fans was of pure exhilaration.

 

-Phylicia Hisel & Bibi Blasio