I hope everyone is having a wonderful Halloween! And if you don’t participate in the Halloween festivities(there is absolutely no shame in that); then I hope you’ve been having a wonderful day you lovely human being!
Now I, nor the rest of my family, are avid participators in the holiday that is so vivaciously celebrated in the United States. Which is all Hallows Eve, or Halloween. The day for dressing up, and obtaining a massive amount of cavities in an obscenely short amount of time. I’m not really into the horrific, bloody, gory, vibe. I don’t like being jumped or scared, or the dim colours that the holiday seems to wrap itself in. And the weeks leading up to Halloween has everyone anticipating the fun and the scares.
Of course, that doesn’t mean that I don’t try to at least dress up. Trust me I do, and my parents have both have their fair share of suffering because of my exponentially irritating antics. So this year, the night before Halloween, I simply rummaged through my dresser drawers and pulled out a casual Indian skirt and top, then going into my mother’s old clothing from India and pulling out a large(quite massive considering that it covered me like a blanket)purple scarf.
And BAM
The next morning, with some bangles jingling against my wrists as I walked along with my shoulders hunched together in the freezing cold of the morning. I was a gypsy.
A very cold.
Very sleepy.
Gypsy.
As the day progressed, I started loving the swish of the skirt, and the way the shawl billowed around my shoulders like a half-cape. And the feedback I had gotten from others about my outfit didn’t hurt either.
“Oh my gosh that is so flattering on you! Love the look girl!”
“That skirt is hella cute, where did you get it?”
“Rocking the eighteenth-century vibe! Slayin’!”
Through the course of the day, I had made encounters with princesses, superheros and villains, couple costumes, inflatable bananas and dinosaurs, an army of guys in Pikachu onesies, a few girls dressed up like boys(don’t ask)and a bunch of guys dressing up in the latest trends that girls follow(again, don’t ask, high school is weird).
My math teacher was dressed as a minion, my study hall teacher was dressed as a male character from a famous movie, since he was matching with his wife, which was extremely sweet, and when he mentioned it in class, nearly all the girls cooed, (and all the guys looked at each other, like they were being one-upped. )
My brother, despite all of my jealous side glances and ogling, was dressed as Harry Potter, and my sister was adorable as she bounced about in her bee costume. Needless to say, we all got out fair share of candy tonight, and laughed ourselves silly as each of us tried on the round glasses that came with my brother’s costume. He even said that I could keep the costume and the accessories to wear next Halloween. I was ecstatic of course, and thanked him. (Though I had the slight suspicion that he had quickly lost interest in dressing up as a book character that only I had found a love with.)
My siblings are currently fast asleep, quickly from a sugar crash and exhaustion from the pace of the day. My own eyes are drooping as I write this at a hair’s breath shy of ten o’clock.
I hope everyone who celebrates it has been having a wonderful time with family and friends. And eating lots of food and sweets! And for those of you out there who are scratching their heads wondering,
“What in the world is Deepavali? Is this some second Christmas I’ve never heard of?”
Deepavali is one of the multitude of major Indian holidays, celebrated by Hindus all around the globe. Including my own family in California. Essentially, Deepavali symbolizes the power of light over darkness, like good over evil. That’s why little clay oil lamps are often lit to represent that light, to engulf the darkness that’s it’s stark against.
Personally, Deepavali is my favorite holiday ever. Not just Indian holiday, but favorite holiday in general. It’s so bright, and has such a beautiful, symbolic meaning, not to mention that you get lots and lots food.But shhh, that’s our lil’ secret.
I also love how warm the atmosphere gets, because everyone is excited and looking forward to this holiday that’s celebrated in our home country, and we get to follow along with centuries upon centuries of intricate tradition. And when my siblings and I are older, we can learn from what our parents do, and do that ourselves.
But can I just take a moment to talk about my extremely dedicated(to the point where my father and I are silently panicking in the background)mother?
When it comes to cooking she excels at it. Like, she could create a couple dozen books, that have like, an 85% chance of becoming bestsellers. And I’m not saying this to brag. But I’m saying this so you guys can realize just how much leverage my mom has as a cook, and you would expect that from her daughter too wouldn’t you? Well surprise surprise, I’m as bad in the kitchen as she is good at whipping up a three-course meal in roughly thirty minutes flat. Want proof?
Well, it was a couple months ago, when I wanted to make chocolate-covered strawberries. Just for the fun of it. But I obviously had never made chocolate covered strawberries in the entirety of my existence. So I was left in the dust there. I tried looking on the internet for some pointers on the best and easiest way to make them, which I tried following.
And failed miserably.
So I tried melting the chocolate in the microwave for a few minutes, in different intervals to melt it into a smooth liquid to easily dip the strawberries into. And I bet you’re thinking,
“Wow, that’s ridiculously easy, I would really be surprised if anybody could screw up with something as simple as melting chocolate. And if there is someone out there who can mess that up, well they’re an idiot.”
Yeah, well guess what.
I’m that idiot.
You know I didn’t think that it was possible for me to mess up that badly with chocolate chips for goodness sake. But apparently I had proven myself wrong and had the full capability to do so! By the time I swung by to check on the bowl of chocolate chips, there was smoke coming out of the microwave! And I frantically pushed the button to upon the microwave, and was met face to face with a bowl of smoldering, burned, chocolate chips.
May they rest in peace(es).
I blame the fact that I have a serious love for strawberries and chocolate.
Anyway, the point I’m trying to make is that, my mom is an incredible cook. And I am not. But the thing is, my mom is an incredible cook, who doesn’t know her boundaries.
In the past forty-eight hours, I’m pretty sure she’s only gotten about eight hours of sleep. She had been spending every minute of the waking hours, in the kitchen, working through nearly every typical traditional South Indian sweet that she normally made for Deepavali. And the end product resulting with our refrigerator, oven, and pantry, stuffed with all the goods that she had made.
Here is a paper I wrote for Accelerated English about the educational burden, that is Common Core.
(Please don’t take my opinions the wrong way, I don’t have anything against you if you support this new education system. You are entitled to your own opinion and I respect every bit of that.)
A child in America, on average, receives about twelve years of schooling, starting from the age of five or six depending on the parent guardian’s preference. That’s twelve years of adults filling thousands of minds with math problems, decades worth of vocabulary, a variety of facts about the multiple areas in science. Don’t be surprised if you see a student spontaneously combusting from the amount of knowledge they’ve attained in their eighteen years of education.(Please note that, that statement merely was an exaggeration to give you a sense of what generations of generations of educational standards have come to for students. I assure you that homo sapiens haven’t evolved to the point where we can spontaneously combust at our on will.)
Of course, education is extremely crucial when it comes down to enriching our minds to be successful later on in our lives, but the way education is presented to students is something that the United states seems to be struggling with, in recent “studies” done by professors and educators. In terms of education, the United States is in a rough patch. But of course some esteemed persons over the age of eighteen would maintain their own opinion of, “Our education system is flawless in terms of how the curriculum is presented to the students!” But boys and girls in elementary through high school would beg to differ.
Common Core education was introduced by state leaders in 2009 as a way to improve student’s general knowledge and expand problem-solving and other mind skills. According to Corestandards.org,
“The Common Core State Standards are a clear set of shared goals and expectations for the knowledge and skills students need in English language arts and mathematics at each grade level so they can be prepared to succeed in college, career, and life.”
To make this statement evidently clear, the text is essentially articulating that Common Core State Standards(CCSS)will have a set of goals for the students to reach in English language arts and math, with each predestined grade level. Thus preparing them for futures in college, a suitable career; and life.
It seems that CCSS’s main goal is to build off of what a child already has developed and expand it to create a deeper, more extended mindset to cultivate a deeper understanding when analyzing texts or arithmetic that is greatly more ambitious. To further confirm this claim, here is another excerpt from the Corestandards.org:
“These standards are directed toward fostering students’ understanding and working knowledge of concepts of print, the alphabetic principle, and other basic conventions of the English writing system. These foundational skills are not an end in and of themselves; rather, they are necessary and important components of an effective, comprehensive reading program designed to develop proficient readers with the capacity to comprehend texts across a range of types and disciplines. Instruction should be differentiated: good readers will need much less practice with these concepts than struggling readers will. The point is to teach students what they need to learn and not what they already know—to discern when particular children or activities warrant more or less attention.”
Common Core education seems to taking basic and understandable methods of education and complicating our studies and knotting it into a thousand-foot ladder intertwined with brambles. Pricking your fingers as you try to climb higher and higher to reach a decent understanding of the curriculum. But you stumble and the brambles tear through the palms of your skin as the briars are coated with crimson. The vital fluid is a subtle reminder of how you’re slowly sinking into the boiling pool of failure as the heat rises and clouds your thoughts.. Common Core State Standards is an unnecessary addition to school systems across the country and a nuisance in the sense that these “standards” seem to be setting students up to fail. This new curriculum hasn’t been accepted graciously by my brother’s tutor, my parents, or his eldest sister; which is me.
To better understand this issue, research and quiet observation over my younger brother’s shoulder resulted in a fleeting conclusion that could have anyone ripping their hair out at the roots. A simple equation like 7+7 now has a generous amount of fear wafting into a child’s mentality. Seeing as “number bonds” and having a first grader, a child, doing ten times more work than they should be doing.
In an image posted on Twitter, this complicated method is shown on paper:
The question states, “Add 26 + 17 by breaking apart numbers to make a ten. Use a number that adds with the 6 in 26 to make a 10. Since 6 + 4 = 10 use 4.” After the previously stated instructions were read, the paper showed how to get the answer for the equation by using the method described antecedently:
“Think: 17 = 4 + 13
Add 26 + 4 = 30
Add 30 + 13 = 43
So, 26 + 17 = 43”
As you can see, simplicity is now a foreign term in the terrains of these newfound “mathematics.” Using traditional arithmetic would’ve given you the same answer and more practically, without wasting time on numbers that don’t even remotely relate to the problem presented to the student.
Keep note that this problem was most likely designed for a first grader to attempt and decipher. What is this teaching the student? How would an algebra like complexity help with a simple two-digit number addition problem?
To further support my claim, here(beside this paragraph, sorry for the inconveniently placed image)is a picture posted online that went viral, causing an ongoing debate about Common Core Curriculum.
Now turning away from the precision and logic of mathematics, let’s take a look at a subject that is also widely beloved: English.
English is a subject that fluctuates like the sea. Words weaving through one another to create one drapery, to tell a story, to perform a song bleeding with vehemence. Sentences crashing against each other time and time again to calm the readers soul, to enlighten the writer’s mind. Words embody what we scream for the world to hear, just through the way we speak, think, and act. If you’re blessed enough to have access to a digital device, than writing can be more than just your eyes darting across a sheet of paper with writing filling every square inch of space.
Writing and storytelling require no statistics, no straightforward directions on what needs to be done. Yes, their are terms and literature references and methods in writing, but they all are used to expand the way you manipulate the words to create something that can reap emotions from an actual person.. Whether it being fiction or nonfiction, writing can’t be put behind bars and encased to be orderly and compos mentis.
But, Common Core somehow managed to ambush English language arts in a manner that picks apart every wonderful thing there is to writing. The ever fluctuating colours of creative freedom have been turned into a sickly pale norm that would repel anyone. It’s a constant criterion that needs to remember what chromaticism feels like again. Now, the last few lines may sound over-exaggerated and melodramatic, but you must realize that life isn’t just about preparing for the near future when there’s so much that hasn’t been said yet.
In order to “prepare” students for high school level literature, Common Core leans towards non-fictional texts rather than have a coalition of fiction and the latter. The CCSS seems to have a personal and biased preference over non-fiction and there seems to be no clear end. Here is some informational text from edreform.com:
“To complicate an already confusing picture, Common Core also says that English teachers will need to increase nonfiction reading instruction. It is therefore still not at all clear what Common Core really wants English teachers to do. How can Common Core expect students to engage in literary study (or do literary reading) for 30% of their reading instructional time when they are in a high school English class for only about 20% of the school day or year (typically one period per day or a two-period block per day for one semester)? How can English teachers at the same time increase the relatively small amount of nonfiction they already teach and have always taught? It is obvious that they can increase the amount only by teaching informational or nonfiction reading 50% of English class time. But how are they to do so when Common Core’s architects insist that the high school English class should continue to focus on literary study, and they expressly want students reading literature for 30% (not 20%) of their school reading experience?”
The developers behind Common Core have taken to assume that teachers are going about with too many literary works in their classes, therefore having lower than adequate educational performers unprepared for high school level reading and text. This claim is also stated in the same article introduced before:
“The architects of Common Core assume that the major cause of this educational problem is the failure of our public schools to teach low-performing students in K-12 adequately or sufficiently how to read complex texts before they graduate from high school. That is, their English teachers have given them too heavy a diet of literary works and teachers in other subjects have deliberately or unwittingly not taught them how to read complex texts in these other subjects.”
CCSS has given many people doubts about it’s “equal” support of both genres of text, but clearly non-fiction seems to have more leverage than the heart and soul poured into fictional texts that have just as much power and detail as any work relying on the facts of life. Reading itself is better than any organized education system, flipping through countless numbers of pages and actually understanding the words; instead of struggling to decipher the meaning of a single word because the directions say to do so.
Some may argue that Common Core will enrichen an educational mindset, as well as team-building skills, critical-thinking, etc. But many high school students would disagree:
“You’re put into a group and you guys are supposed to try to solve a problem that you’ve never been taught before,” said another. “How are you supposed to do that? None of your group members know what they’re doing, and you don’t either.”
This bit of text taken from chalkbeat.org. Their article explained how Common Core has affected high school teaching methods; thus resulting in them asking students about Common Core and how their opinion stands. As you can see, it isn’t as good as anyone would want it to really be. Obviously, these methods of teaching have only really further confused the students, and the teacher’s themselves. Math should just be math. English language arts shouldn’t just be a set of boundaries you can’t cross.
CCSS’s main goal is to, obviously, help students. But the way their presenting their help is affecting student’s minds in a twisted way that adds so much unnecessary pressure and stress
Now, if we were to break Common Core State Standards, all you really have to do is look at the title itself. The keys words being “common” and “standards,” both of which literally meaning average, ordinary, regular, approved.
Approved.
Meaning that if Common Core education is implemented into your mind for at least eighteen years, what have you really learned to do in life? To, have a five second equation take as long as five minutes and twice the work? To read a fictional book, only to blankly stare instead of truly marvel at their meaning? To never see those crystalline waves crash onto that sea of altercation and freedom. To forever have thorns and brambles burying into your palms as you reach the end of that ladder waiting the end.
We would embody what the United States CCSS would want us to be. To interpret, learn and think, the way they want us to so we could be “successful” later in life. Mind you, the only things it all really is doing is fueling self-doubt and mental burden.
Complicated curriculum like this, is the main cause of stress in pre-teens and teenagers; the complexity of the methods and the added workload, as well as the pressure of whether or not their understanding the forms of procedure can have extremely negative sides on a person’s internal and external health and can have approaching mental effects on the mind as well as the body.
Even if Common Core State Standards Education was extracted from some classrooms in a few states, that still won’t cause the change that students, parents, and teachers are seeking.
The reason I decided to put this into the blog was because this was my first “official” argumentation that applied to a real world topic, that I’ve actually succeeded in satisfying myself with. I initially didn’t even want to choose Common Core education as something to write about, but as I did more research; I just got more and more pissed off. There are so many kids out there who have to deal with this absolutely ridiculous adult logic that was “scientifically proven to improve student’s readiness for high school and further circumstances”
HA
YEAH RIGHT.
The only thing this has proven is the fact that the people at Common Core think we’re all just stupid.
Welp, thanks for listening to me rant about something that rarely even applied to most of you! I’m so sorry, I just needed somewhere to put this out so other people could read this and just think a little more about what students deal with everyday. From kindergarten to 12th grade.
A lot of the time, I lay awake in the middle of the night thinking.
Overthinking really.
Everyone else in the house will be asleep, occupied with their own dreams. My own thoughts keeping me company. The light in the hallway would pool into the doorway of my bedroom, though it stayed languid. Eventually I would fall asleep but only for a couple hours until it’s early into the morning. I’d say around four, or even six am at the very least. I don’t exactly understand why my body does this, nor if my current age and sleeping times are the exact cause of this consuetude. I would usually go back to sleep and wake up much later into the day. Cause’ the odds of me waking up early is very low.
The gaps between me and sleep are usually filled with peculiar thoughts about the future, my art, or something completely out of the ordinary and just weird as heck. I mean, what do you except from a girl who is half asleep, completely alone, and thinks senselessly way too much. Let alone a girl who is me. Sure, I end up pondering a lot of things all at once. But one thought always stays in the back of my mind, surfacing at miscellaneous moments that usually lead to a longer endeavor of thought. And those thoughts circulate around each other like a swarm of mosquitoes or wasps. And that is;
One’s past life.
*dunH duNH DUNH
(O . o)
SO SPOOKY.
Reincarnation was a process I came to truly learn last year. After reading various books in which my history teacher supplied due to our lessons mostly rotating around the history and philosophy of Buddhism, at the time.
According to various texts, reincarnation or rebirth is the philosophy in which a living being, after death, takes on a new form, in a new life. Their physical body itself can take on the form of any living animate object. For example a human being, or a creature of the wild.
I feel that reincarnation has a direct connection to the doctrine of past lives; thought same may disagree that it’s an outlandish reverie based of off convictional metaphysics. Some may fancy the idea of having lived multiple lives under different personas in times before their current state.
Me, well. I guess I’m a little bit of both. I like hard-core facts, scientific reasoning, you know to make it all the more true. But I also relish some good mythology and allegorical stories. And what do you get when you put the two together?
YOU GET BAM.
A MESS.
YEAH.
The theory of past lives are sought out by many people seeking different explanations. But if you think about it, the philosophy behind rebirth takes a different turn on everyone. Depending on who you talk to, these can be based of religion, or just good ol’ belief.
For a while, ever since it had been released I’d been wanting to get the book Becoming, a memoir written by Michelle Obama and originally published in November. And while going through the book, I thought back to my night time pondering and the little past lives shebang. Reading about the life of Michelle Obama, it felt like she was living multiple different lives. But as the same person, though her soul was evolving just as her body. She was the same person going through completely different scenarios she never dreamed she would go through. A more mental form of bodily revival, rather than the said theory of reincarnation.
The main reason why I wanted this book was because she’s such an inspiration to all women out there. A fighter at heart with a burning fire and encouraging us females to never, ever, let ours die out. In my mind, she is one of the countless women who has revolutionized the way we see our own dreams and goals. I’ve read one or two of her husband’s books before, and plenty of books circulating around his eight years in office. As commander in chief, and so on. But it’s even better to read from the perspective of the person who is experiencing everything her husband does. But feeling emotions you won’t be able to read when they take the podium and give a speech, emotions you won’t be able to feel even when you’re watching them live. Just like millions of other people in the country.
Writing and books are probably the closest thing to magic we’ll ever have. Each one can hold and entire universe so unlike your own, and yet still be right at your fingertips. Books can give you an intimate tour of someone else’s life itself. So instead of standing up in front of a bunch of cameras and mikes, and a teleprompter in their face; people can just sit down at home and write their entire life story as a narrative for the world.
This era of women have broken down barriers that were held against them because of gender, and or by race(s). And in my opinion, these are only a handful of thousands out there who did just that.
Michelle O b a m a
Emma W a t s o n
Amanda L o v e l a c e
Maya A n g e l o u
Ellen D e G e n e r e s
Lupita N y o n g ‘ o
Malala Y o u s a f z a i
Oprah W i n f r e y
J.K. R o w l i n g
Alexandria O c a s i o-C o r t e z
And can we just take a second to just appreciate the absolute brilliance of all of these women? And not only women; just human beings in general. I mean teachers, scientists, firefighters, policemen, men and women serving in the army. And just the people who have been so crucial in building the foundations of not only this nation, but all around the world.
Now here’s a little background on how I actually got my hands on a copy of Becoming. Or rather, how the book managed to find it’s way towards yours truly(aka ME).
My parents got me a copy for Christmas.
It was really simple, not a complicated affair of course. My parents have just accepted the fact that I would take a book over anything. Including food and basic hydration. Courtesy to the stack of books that always end up in my grasp at the dinner table. And then a thorough scolding afterwards. If you don’t believe me just picture me hiding out in my bedroom cuddling in a bundle on my couch near the window and reading with no other light except for a simple lamp to my right side. A steaming mug of tea and earbuds in my ears with music washing over me through my phone. Sketchbook always beside me in the constant scenario in which an idea will spark from my brain to my hands. Happens everyday and takes up the gap of time between almost every meal or homework session.
*Cue another meticulous scolding from my parents.
It’s quite hilarious after a while and even my parents get a good laugh out of it.
Anyway, Christmas morning, I woke up to the sounds of my little brother bounding from his bedroom to mine and whispering with a light in his eyes;
I swear I would’ve been convinced my kid brother was a snake whisperer if I hadn’t fully opened my eyes and stumbled out of bed; just in time to see him leap military style into my parent’s room and proceed to clamber on top of them in his ecstatic state of happiness. Letting the same message he delivered vocally to me and then to my parents. Which led to a series of irritated groans and choking sounds from my dad. And a tired nod and smile from my mom.
The whole process to get my parents up and out of bed on Christmas morning is something that all of us kids dreaded. Nice to see gifts under a decked out tree with my name on them. Everyone’s happy and candy everywhere! Who wouldn’t be absolutely ecstatic to see that!?
Well my parents apparently!
(It took at least a half hour to get them up and out of bed, which is less than what it usually takes mind you.)
Anyway, I got various presents that I liked, but one of my favorites was definitely the brand new hardcover copy of Becoming. With a nice baby blue background and Michelle Obama beaming in the cover. As my siblings opened the rest of their presents, I started pouring of the pages of the book and refused to put the book down for a few days afterwards.
Michelle Obama didn’t want to just be the wife of a politician with a large title. Always smiling, living a life that gave her a direct title right above her head. No, she had plans of her own that she wanted to set forth. To get her own podium and stand on it. Say what’s on her mind and let it set forth.
If the possibility of her husband becoming president was close of course. Michelle Obama revolutionized the persona of the FLOTUS(First Lady of the United States) role. She shattered the mold of a smiling, loyal spouse that only spoke when told to. She smiled when she wanted to, she spoke when she wanted to. She wasn’t just the First Lady; she was a respected women who had power and used it graciously. Using her voice with intense purpose that defied the behavioral aspects of past First Ladies.
And throughout the book she uses a style of writing that doesn’t sound regal or formal. She writes as if we’re talking over some lemonade in a nice little cafe or something. Like good friends just having a seat under the sun.
Being born and raised in the South Side of Chicago, a place in which one(at the time)would never expect a graduate of Princeton and Harvard to be brought up. Gender and race was a massive spectacle in her life. Especially since she was African American, and a women. She gives a firsthand look into her life as she grew up. Showing the ambitions and everyday occurrences of her life in a neighborhood populated mostly by African American citizens.
Her family lived in the second floor of a brick bungalow. The house itself being owned by her great-aunt and her husband. Her great aunt being a piano teacher; the constant plinks and plunks of the piano keys would be a musical constant in the afternoons. A normalcy in the life of young Michelle LaVaughn Robinson; dubbed “Mich” by her family. Her father worked for the city, working with boilers in a water filtration plant. Her mother stayed at home with Michelle, and Craig, her brother. Her father suffered from multiple sclerosis. A disease in which the immune system eats away at protective coverings on the nerves. Though, I don’t think suffered is the best way to put it.
Like most parents/guardians out there, Fraser and Marian Robinson both made sacrifices, pouring their whole being towards their children and making sure to raise them to be a set of decent human beings to inhabit the busy workplace of adult life. Michelle’s father rarely said anything. If he was feeling pain, he most certainly wouldn’t show it.
Michelle and Craig were both extremely close, growing up, they shared a bedroom, which was basically their living room but with a partition for privacy. Reading of this sibling relationship, it honestly reminded me of my own.
Of course my siblings and I have a more rigorous interrelation.
I’ve come to realize that no matter where you’re from, sibling relationships are all almost the same. Disagreements, backstabbery, getting questioning looks from parents, teaming up in certain moments against a duo of power(aka our parents)sticking up for each other etc. Just one glance and we suddenly have this homologous kinda thing going on in our minds. Thinking in a kind of silent understanding.
Now when my parents read this their gonna be like Ha, silent understanding my face. But seriously when my brother makes something and ends up showing me, or is geeking out over someone television show, he’ll obviously look to my opinion. And one of two things will happen;
“Oh my gosh that’s so(insert melodramatic adjective)!”
or
“Lol noob!”
Either way, both statements are the sibling equivalent of I love you; in any case really. It’s like the secret code of not losing our dignity. But hey all siblings out there are Birthright Besties y’all.
Michelle Robinson in front of her father’s Buick Electra
I would say that Michelle and Craig Robinson had a relationship similar to that. Just less. . .
Morbid.
Their parents trusting them to the point where there was no need to fight. But there would be occasional verbal brawls here and there. Especially at stages of distress. But Mrs. Obama made it clear that she had a childhood that was simple and golden, leading up to the happy memories that kept her going when she was down as she grew up.
In that portion, it kinda gave me a sense that she didn’t want her life to be singled out just because she was the First Lady. I knew there were going to be other signs similar to that one. Possibly for multiple reasons. And it can be interpreted differently. But I like the way she inadvertently emphasized the fact that her life wasn’t like the ones of the previous wives of the president. And not just because she was a African American women.
With leading figures, every movement, word spoken, any basic action; can be taken extremely seriously. With her writing style, she emphasized the fact that she was just as human as anyone else. That her and her husband’s lives shouldn’t be written with bold and italicized. That every simple obscenity shouldn’t be taken as a massive scandal sweeping the internet like an unruly riptide. Of course that seems almost impossible in the dawn of technological advancements and sensitive minds.
One thing I found a little interesting was, the fact that Michelle wanted absolutely nothing to do with the mess that was politics. But instead she would admire the men and women she would see walking the sidewalks in their blazers and suits, walking briskly and carrying themselves with purpose. And Michelle was ambiguous about this as well. To carry herself with the same look of purpose. But what I also learned was that she was a good student and always tried hard, but there would be moments where her grades could be slightly saddening. And I can agree wholeheartedly on that. And ironically, one of my favorite lines that she said(not in the book though, sorry). Is:
“If my future were determined just by my performance on a standardized test, I wouldn’t be here. I guarantee you that.”
And I can agree on that too. I mean look at Walt Disney, Steve Jobs, Gandhi, Lin-Manuel Miranda, Bill Gates. Some dropping out of school, some fighting to protect their country or their rights. Now look at what impact they’ve had on the world! Mickey Mouse now embodies the happiness of children and adults alike, look at any piece of tech in your house and look at the ground breaking changes between the twenty and twenty-first century. You a history nerd? Well the name Alexander Hamilton should be more familiar. Michelle Obama has gone through some hardships of her own, but that never stopped her from being ambitious and setting goals for herself to reach. Especially in school.
While her study in Harvard she was an associate attorney at Sidley & Austin in Chicago. And oh man, this love story I’m about to tell you is literally going to knock you off your feet.
She hated him.
Okay, maybe hate is a strong word.
I think a more suitable adjective would be unimpressed.
Michelle first met Barack Obama when he was taking a position over the summer in the law firm she worked at. And her first impression of the dude was a geek with a massive smile. And cute in a skeptical kinda way. I mean c’mon, a girl’s gotta have her standards. Michelle even attempted to get Barack together with some of her friends. But like most unlikely loves, romance just refused to leave Michelle Robinson without a fight.
Michelle thought he had a peculiar name, he was laid back, maybe even too laid back if you will. He was late to his first interview, and his most casual outfit for an outing( see what I did there?)looked and I quote, “directly out of the closet of Miami Vice.” But as most romances go, they slowly grew closer and enjoyed the minor qualities each one had. But one of my favorite parts in this portion of the book was when Michelle was up late at night with a skeptical looking Barack.
He looked vaguely troubled, as if he were pondering something deeply personal. Was it our relationship? The loss of his father?
“Hey, what’re you thinking about over there?” I whispered.
He turned to look at me, his smile a little sheepish. “Oh,” he said. “I was just thinking about income inequality.”
Income inequality.
INCOME INEQUALITY.
I’ve said some pretty odd things when I’m sleep deprived, *cough*overseas travel*cough*. But it never went to the point where I was having a mental existential crisis.
But it also goes to show just how far their relationship went. I mean look at this adorable picture:
And you could tell just from the looks on their faces. Those are looks of sweet satisfaction from gaining someone in the world to balance you when you’re in a dark state of mind. For example, when Michelle was coping with the death of her father. Or when Barack needed someone to turn to when he was politically stressed out.
And do you know what else this metaphor reminds me of?
Weeble Wobbles.
I remember seeing television commercials of these things when I was a kid. They were these little egg thingies that could literally-NO MATTER HOW HARD YOU TRY-get knocked over. I used to play with them in my kindergarten classroom too. And while everyone else found it absolutely hilarious when they would just wobble around, I would be furiously trying to press them down hard enough so they wouldn’t just teeter back up again. Just thinking about the trauma of that gives me a migraine.
*shudder*
Anyway, the only reason they reminded me of Michelle and Barack is they didn’t always have a steady relationship, they could always depend on each other. Morale of the story is,
Find someone to be the weeble to your wobble.
That is the end of my TED Talk.
Here’s a short excerpt from Becoming, in which Michelle circulates in the early stages of her marriage with Barack.
“It sounds a little like a bad joke, doesn’t it? What happens when a solitude-loving individualist marries an outgoing family woman who does not love solitude one bit?
The answer, I’m guessing, is probably the best and most sustaining answer to nearly every question arising inside a marriage, no matter who you are or what the issue is: you find ways to adapt. If you’re in it for ever, there’s really no choice.
Which is to say that at the start of 1993, Barack flew to Bali and spent about five weeks living alone with his thoughts while working on a draft of his book Dreams from My Father, filling yellow legal pads with his fastidious handwriting, distilling his ideas during languid daily walks amid the coconut palms and lapping tide. I, meanwhile, stayed home on Euclid Avenue, living upstairs from my mother, Marian, as another leaden Chicago winter descended, shellacking the trees and sidewalks with ice. I kept myself busy, seeing friends and hitting workout classes in the evenings. In my regular interactions at work or around town, I’d find myself casually uttering this strange new term – “my husband”. My husband and I are hoping to buy a home. My husband is a writer finishing a book. It was foreign and delightful and conjured memories of a man who simply wasn’t there. I missed Barack terribly, but I rationalized our situation as I could, understanding that even if we were newlyweds, this interlude was probably for the best
He had taken the chaos of his unfinished book and shipped himself out to do battle with it. Possibly this was out of kindness to me, a bid to keep the chaos out of my view. I’d married an outside-the-box thinker, I had to remind myself. He was handling his business in what struck him as the most sensible and efficient manner, even if outwardly it appeared to be a beach vacation – a honeymoon with himself (I couldn’t help but think in my lonelier moments) to follow his honeymoon with me.
You and I, you and I, you and I. We were learning to adapt, to knit ourselves into a solid and for ever form of us. Even if we were the same two people we’d always been, the same couple we’d been for years, we now had new labels, a second set of identities to wrangle. He was my husband. I was his wife. We’d stood up at church and said it out loud, to each other and to the world. It did feel as if we owed each other new things.
For many women, including myself, “wife” can feel like a loaded word. It carries a history. If you grew up in the 1960s and 1970s as I did, wives seemed to be a genus of white women who lived inside television sitcoms – cheery, coiffed, corseted. They stayed at home, fussed over the children, and had dinner ready on the stove. They sometimes got into the sherry or flirted with the vacuum-cleaner salesman, but the excitement seemed to end there.
Personally, as a kid, I preferred The Mary Tyler Moore Show, which I absorbed with fascination. Mary had a job, a snappy wardrobe, and really great hair. She was independent and funny, and unlike those of the other ladies on TV, her problems were interesting. She had conversations that weren’t about children or homemaking. She didn’t let Lou Grant boss her around, and she wasn’t fixated on finding a husband. She was youthful and at the same time grown-up. In the pre- pre- pre-internet landscape, when the world came packaged almost exclusively through three channels of network TV, this stuff mattered. If you were a girl with a brain and a dawning sense that you wanted to grow into something more than a wife,
And here I was now, 29 years old, sitting in the very same apartment where I’d watched all that TV and consumed all those meals dished up by the patient and selfless Marian Robinson. I had so much – an education, a healthy sense of self, a deep arsenal of ambition – and I was wise enough to credit my mother, in particular, with instilling it in me.
She’d taught me how to read before I started kindergarten, helping me sound out words as I sat curled like a kitten in her lap, studying a library copy of Dick and Jane. She’d cooked for us with care, putting broccoli and brussels sprouts on our plates and requiring that we eat them. She’d hand sewn my prom dress, for God’s sake. The point was, she’d given diligently and she’d given everything. She’d let our family define her. I was old enough now to realize that all the hours she gave to me and my brother, Craig, were hours she didn’t spend on herself.
My considerable blessings in life were now causing a kind of psychic whiplash. I’d been raised to be confident and see no limits, to believe I could go after and get absolutely anything I wanted. And I wanted everything. I wanted to live with the hat-tossing, independent-career-woman zest of Mary Tyler Moore, and at the same time I gravitated toward the stabilizing, self-sacrificing, seemingly bland normalcy of being a wife and mother. I wanted to have a work life and a home life, but with some promise that one would never fully squelch the other. I hoped to be exactly like my own mother and at the same time nothing like her at all. It was an odd and confounding thing to ponder. Could I have everything? Would I have everything? I had no idea.”
Reading her book, she also emphasized herself in a way that didn’t make you feel like she was on a whole different level on the social scale. She is just as human as anyone else. She accentuated that by giving us a detailed verbal tour of her everyday life when it came to balancing family and her career.
Her daughters, at the time of her husband’s campaigning; were both young and had needs only their mother could provide. And in the early stages of her husband’s campaign trail Mrs. Obama was advised by her husband’s team to spend time with Democrats in specific states. I believe her first mission was to go to every corner of Iowa, and win over leaders, address groups of citizens, etc. Basically having to fly to Iowa every week and talk to a bunch of strangers and kiss other people’s babies. On top of that, she had her own career as a the Vice President of Community and External Affairs for the University of Chicago Hospitals.
And aside from all of that, there was always one question running through her head;
“Am I good enough?”
This is a question a lot of other people my age ask too. Everyday when we pass a mirror, when someone gets a higher score on a test, when someone is more likeable at school. But also because of the way society depicts us. She would ask this question in her head when she was in different job positions, when she became First Lady of the United States.
I’m willing to talk to a lot of people and I find satisfaction in stating my opinion to everyone with a spunk and pride. But, I’m not the most social person either. And when reading this area of the book, I could relation on a personal level every time she questioned whether she was good enough for a high position in society. But look at the pride in her face. That all of the questioning and struggling was worth it. The sigh of relief when you realize Hey people actually like us for who we are! and the look of And if they don’t? So what?
I’m going to stop right here and say that Michelle Obama has become and even more admirable person to me ever since I finished reading her book and I hope you can have the same experience by at least skimming a copy or a PDF of it. Glancing over the book jacket would suffice! Reason I’m stopping here is because the rest of the book gives insight on her life in the White House and things she had to live with and learn in her time as FLOTUS. And if I typed it out here, in the open for everyone to read. It was spoil the joy of reading it for yourself. So one last thing before I sign off.
The sea spray misted my eyes, freckling my nose and staining my lips. legs balanced on the board, slicing through the waves flawlessly. The water looked breathtaking today, for such an isolated area. Than again, all secluded places seem to be the most beautiful. The sea was completely smooth, the waves curving like paper that had been wetted lightly. I guided the board through the water seamlessly, standing crouched slightly, my arms spread slightly in a fighters stance to keep my balance. The clouds above seemed to be crowded masses of grey, giving no mercy to the blue sky hidden underneath.
The atmosphere got more intense, as if the sky was taking in its last breath. The brackish water started to get less sleek, instead becoming more rough with each moment passing by. I squinted my eyes, looking into the distance. Trying to seek an asylum. Before I could give another thought a massive tidal wave confronted me in my path. I tried my best to pivot away but the sea though otherwise. The wave hit me. My heart leaped in my chest and my blood went cold. I was jostled about like a plaything between the waters that had betrayed me. I sucked in one large, final breath before everything went
b l a c k
I blinked, My eyes adjusting to the darkness of, of. . . Wherever I was. Something above me glowed. No, not a thing, a multitude of things. Crystals, gemstones, limpid stones in the colors of the sea. In those stones, I saw my own reflection. I stared up, I stared back. I ran a hand through the mess that was my hair. As per usual dark locks of hair seemed to forever get into my eyes. My eyes seemed to match the color of the gems above. Changing with each turn of direction. My bottom lip was split open, I touched it with the tip of my finger. Big mistake.It burned, as the salt that lingered on my fingers seemed to collide with the small open wound. I inspected the rest of my face a huge gash was on my right cheek, at the brink of bleeding out if it was not tended to. I sat straight up only to be pushed down in the darkness.
I was nose to nose with a girl. She had short dark hair that curled at the ends and when the light shone on it directly it shined like a deep indigo ball of fire. She had piercing blue eyes that seemed to be boring into me trying to pinpoint my weaknesses, her lips a light, faded pink.
“Dont. You. Dare. Get. Up.“
She deadpanned as she took out something from a sack that she had on her side. I just noticed that her arms looked really built and strong as they wrapped some thick fabric like material around my torso. I looked down and saw that my stomach had something protruding from it. Just that instant I felt a sharp pain in my abdomen that made me feel like I could die any minute. “I swear to god if you move more than you already are than you shouldn’t be surprised if your dead body is on the ground of this cave right now. “
Oh the irony.
“Where am I.“ I asked
“In a cave.” She said simply
“Where?“
“On an island.“
“Where?“
“In the middle of the Pacific.“
“Where?“
” I F Y O U D O N O T S T O P A S K I N G Q U E S T I O N S I W I L L D R O W N Y O U I N Y O U R O W N B L O O D. “
I instantly quieted until she finished bandaging my wound, both of our weight supported by the cot I was laying on. “So whats your name?“ She asked simply as if she didn’t just give me a death threat. “Hugo, you?“
“Cleo.” Thats a pretty name, I slurred, I was getting tired as if she injected me with a truckload of Anastasia. I vision blurred, everything around me was a mirage. Why is the sky blue? Who is this pretty girl looking at me like I’m and idiot? Why does my entire body feel like I am being used like a human punching bag? Whats my name?
Who am I?
CLIFFHANGER! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA I AM SOOOO EVIL! But do not worry fair viewers of this blog for I will post part 2 the very next post. I hope you liked this little short story of mine. Below are two drawings, and if you haven’t guessed yet they are Hugo and Cleo. I did these a while ago that are actually two totally different characters from my one of my favorite book series. But I thought that these drawings also kinda fit Cleo and Hugo’s physical appearances. These two drawings took me about two hours each to do( both done of separate days obviously. ) These are mine and they don’t belong to any other artists but me.
So just recently, my English teacher assigned us a book report for this semester that seemed quite different from our other past book reports. We were all supposed to choose a book that had NOT been developed into a movie. Of course I started geeking out(unlike my other classmates)and went straight home grabbed my iPad and scrolled my list of books that I read already and looked for the ones that hadn’t been interpreted into a blockbuster film.( I wrote to Steven Spielberg and if you don’t know who he is[i doubt that you do]he is like THE BEST DIRECTOR EVER AND IS ONE OF MY IDOLS: Heres a picture:
So awesome oh my gods. Anyway back to the post)
Of course, if you know me well enough, THAT LIST OF BOOKS IS EXTREMELY LONG. And I started that what, a year ago probably. My eyes lingered on the title of one of my favorite trilogy ever- Across the Universe by Beth Revis. I instantly start my eight inch by eight inch poster and finish the pretend letter i had to write about why this movie should be produced. Remember its PRETEND. Anyway this is a very short letter in my opinion but I showed it too my teacher and my teacher liked it so it was all good.
Oh my god.
I just realized.
this report.
is due
in
two
months.
What the heck?!
Wellp that was disappointing, but anyway read on and yeah. Whatever. Dont judge me. Plz.
Dear Mr. Spielberg,
Recently I have started reading many sci-fi novels that seem to have a vibe and feel that truly encapsulated me into the story. Of course I myself(when I capture the spare time)enjoy reading many books but tend to have a bit of trouble picturing such convoluted situations in my mind do to the many details that seem to yet be the key to understanding either the story, the characters, and or the setting.
Recently(from a close friend’s eager suggestion, and from my own willingness)I bought the science fiction/drama series Across the Universe. This trilogy truly made me understand the importance of truth, sacrifice, and of course keeping a steady state of mind and composure when in a situation that may or may not affect the nearing future. The author Beth Revis wrote the emotions of the two astounding characters Amy and Elder, separating both their point of views in alternating chapters in the book.
Hundreds of years in the future, scientists and engineers built a massive ship by the name of Godspeed to go into deep space to a earth-like planet. On board are over 100 settlers from earth who were willing to be frozen into a capsule and put to sleep for three hundred years so they can awake to be greeted by the new planet they are to soon discover. The population of the cryogenically frozen span from doctors to scientists. Essential people needed when discovering the new planet(to study specimens, in case of finding other life and in the need to fight or if sudden death occurs and the cause of the death thus the need to investigate it, etc).
Amy Martin, seventeen year-old daughter of a military officer(her father) and a bio scientist(her mother)decides to leave her life behind on earth and go aboard the ship so she can stay with her parents though he parents let her decision hers and hers only. She is leaving behind her friends, her love, and any chance of every having a normal life(as well as other elements she starts to miss later in the story).But Amy wakes up early a few hundred years without knowing how or why. She finds herself amongst a utopian like society, the people born on the ship over the generations. Soon she meets Elder. The ships future leader and the only other teenager on board. Amy resents being in a ship and yearns for a chance to be released, to feel normal again. She and Elder are in a race against time as they must solve a murder mystery and save the ship that they are aboard which is housing more than six hundred citizens, and prevent it from breaking down a third through the journey in space. But Elder is keeping a deadly secret from Amy that could threaten her future, as well as corrupt the close relationship Elder built with Amy. But there’s something both teenagers don’t know about the ship that they are currently aboard. A secret only the affiliation supporting this degenerating ship seems to know but for Amy and Elder to soon find out.
I think this would be a movie worth filming because it shows the true struggle when someone sacrifices so many things just for one chance. Almost everything hidden from the readers in the start of the book are revealed spontaneously close to the closing of the first book and the starting of the second one. It shows the growing relationship between two teenagers from completely different worlds-literally. Amy learns to finally accept the fact that this is what she needs to get used to, while in the meantime Elder already has though he is still realizing his emotional awareness of his newfound partner in both the mysteries they must uncover-and life.
I hope you take this story into consideration and work for the film because this is truly a story that should be portrayed in the form of a motion picture.
Happy Thanksgiving everyone! I know its actually already been like two days since Thanksgiving but I have been wanting to do this post for quite a while now(two months actually)because the day is specifically meant for people to resurface what they’re most thankful for. Therefore giving their thanks for whatever or whoever they want to gratify; hence the name of the holiday. It’s a holiday mainly celebrated in North America and Canada(well according to the World Wide Web; aka the internet)but that is no excuse not to be thankful for the things and people in your life that make you feel amazing and happy. Consequently that’s what this post is about.
The last day of school before break started, during my lunch, the school counselors started up a little booth that had stacks of sticky note pads and pens. Both of the school’s counselors were standing on either side of the table “COME AND WRITE DOWN WHAT YOUR THANKFUL ON THESE STICKY NOTES AND THEN SMACK EM’ ON THE WALL!” I honestly adore the school counselors and so do the rest of the school’s population. The little things they do for the school really makes it a place for students to truly interact and be educated. There were already a bunch of people grabbing sticky notes and pens. I didn’t want to use a pen they provided in case someone else might grab it before me so I grasped a bunch of my own pens from my backpack and passed them around to my friends. With a pen in hand we all walked and grabbed a sticky note and sprinted back to our seats before we could get trampled by the hoard of other students.
We all wrote on the little fluorescent squares for about three or four minutes or so, all of us simultaneously getting up to the entryway of the MU(Multi-Use Room)We all decided to smack our little notes in a more remote area, away from the huge blob of color on the other side of the wall. Of course all of my other friends were tall enough to reach their arms onto the higher part of the wall. Of course me on the other hand had to get my friend to post it on the wall for me. One thing that all my friends had written that was similar to mine was being grateful for family, friends, good health, and a great education. Sure I agreed with them, likewise I had more things to say such as having a roof over our heads and meals on the table and food in the kitchen. Clothes in our bedrooms and beds to sleep comfortably in. We actually had to do a similar thing during my homeroom period the same day but instead of writing our thanks on coruscating pads of paper and smacking them on a nearby wall(it’s quite fun actually)we would be writing a short essay in class and then later after Thanksgiving break we would be sharing them with other people.
Each of us scrawled all over our journals for a long period of time. I managed to fill up a full page front and back and was working on the back of another page when the timer set for fifteen minutes went off. I tugged at my ear with irritation when I felt unsatisfied with the length of my work. My friend leaned over and peered down at my open journal “Hey Kanmani what did you wri- wow.” He looked down at the messy cursive scratched on the page. I huffed with disappointment as I looked down at my so-called “essay” that my friend seemed to gape over. “You think this is a lot? As flattered and humbled as I am, this couldn’t even pass for a short thesis.” I sighed as my teacher gave my journal pages stamps for finishing. See, this is the problem when your a writer in an educational environment. You get writers block at the worst moments when you really need it to go away the most. But then again you are your worst critic.
Anyway, Thanksgiving break went great and that gave me a ton of time to just sit back and read. Books and other reading material are usually at every corner in my bedroom. A couple books on a shelf on the wall, Popular Science, National Geographic, and Time magazines in a little wood crate in my nightstand. A bunch of books located in each little hanging basket in my metal hanging basket storage thingy. My Kindle and my IPad Pro either charging on my desk or just sitting next to my chronicles of magazines. I could usually go hours without eating or drinking just to finish a whole book that I am determined to finish. Of course that got me thinking Some kids don’t get the opportunity most of the time to just enjoy a book.
I get to do so many things that a lot of kids around the globe aren’t able to do because of financial or health related issues.. We get chances to do incredible things. So here’s what I basically what I wrote on both that sticky note and my essay journal:
I’m thankful for my incredible and loving family and friends. My home and my books, my health, my doctors and dentists, my musical opportunities, my chances in the arts, my incredible teachers and the amazing people who can always make me smile and laugh like a crazy mental, maniac. I so grateful for nights that turn into mornings. Friends turned to family. Dreams that have the chances of turning into a reality.
Sure that’s not even one sixth of what I wrote but that basically sums it all up.
Thanksgiving Day we all just hung around. My mom made one of our favorite foods for dinner, their these little pastry thingies that my mom stuffs with a ton of yummy cooked vegetables inside like cabbage, potatoes, peas, and carrots. (I don’t have any vegetable jokes yet, but if you do, lettuce know! Haha that pun was totally intended.) It was really nice to just ruminate on what really makes your life a breathtaking adventure. It really pulls at your heartstrings.
From the bottom of my heart I am so thankful to everyone out there who is still reading my eccentric and bizarre writing thats on this blog. That my friends, is dedication. I’m surprised you guys aren’t weirded out by moi yet. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed this post and keep dreaming your dreams and say yes to new adventures.
If you can read all of this, be thankful to all your teachers. I’m just sayin’!
I walked hand in hand with my little brother into my mom’s cafe, the smell of baking cookies, cinnamon, and mint chocolate, wafting through the cozy building. My mom stood behind the counter sprinkling and light mix of sugar and her homemade cocoa powder across a fresh hunk of her famous banana bread with strawberries mixed into the batter, one of my favorite lazy Sunday treats. We live in San Francisco’s, so my family and I live in the two floors above the cafe. Therefore the perfume from the cafe clings on to the rest of our home. As a joke my dad made a wood sign in front of the entrance to the cafe with words, “50 ft Scented Candle” engraved into the oak below the name of the cafe(please take note that my dad is terrible at measurements.)
I was the one who came up with The Magic of My Name as the cafe’s sobriquet. Unique names run in our family actually, I mean my little brother’s name is Orion. Tell me that isn’t cool. My name is Callisto by the way, Callisto Vega. And I know, it’s sounds like a female name but I am in fact a guy so sorry to ruin your sweet little assumptions. I love my little brother to pieces and he’s the sweetest little four year old in this universe but I envy the little guy for receiving the name that didn’t make people assume his gender when first heard of.
Orion settled himself in his favorite bean bag chair in a corner below the counter that had a little bookshelf sitting beside it, filled with a bunch of kids books and stories. He pulled out a paperback of The Little Prince for my dad to read to him. Orion snuggled closer to my dad as he read. My mom watched with a smile on her face as she watched them bond through the flowing words. I walked across the room and climbed up the ladder leading to one of the lofts in the building. I settled myself in and grabbed one of the many sketchbooks I kept in a little shelf. I grabbed my graphite and charcoal pencils from my satchel and a kneaded eraser. And then I started to sketch. I lost all contact I had with my surroundings and got absorbed into my own world. Sketch. Erase. Reflect. Repeat. I continued that process until I realized that I needed a muse. Therefore I scanned my surroundings.
My parents had hung a bunch of their paintings around the lounge, abstract art mostly to make the area even more cozy. They are both artists and in their free time draw and paint a lot. I looked at one of the murals they had hung on the wall behind the counter. It was a flurry of color, yellow ochre merged with ultramarine blue creating a conspicuous green that burst across the canvas. At the heart of the cafe are these huge cushy couches that seem to let you like drown in them. There’s cushioned lounge chairs and love seats, throw pillows are scattered everywhere on furniture and on the floor. There’s plush carpets on the hard wood floor that are so soft that a baby could sleep on them soundly. What I love most however is that there’s arts and crafts materials everywhere and books. So many books. Shelves bolted to the wall overflowing with books and handmade bookmarks that I and my whole family made are stationed at every place with books.
At the wall above one of shelf areas is a medium sizish painting that both my parents made together of our whole family. My mom had her soft brown hair and soft kind eyes, at the hips of her dress you could see flour and sugar marks where she dusts her hands when baking. My dad with his kept hair, but a few stray hairs staying behind. His eyes identical to my mom’s except for a few specks of green that seemed to glow, his beard giving his endearing smile a certain glow. My little brother and his amber hair and his brownish green eyes from our dad. He has that childish vibe in him, with that feeling escalating with the little wooden car and paintbrush he holds in his hand. But then there’s me.
I look like no one in my family, not like my parents, or grandparents, and none of my relatives. Its always been a mystery to me as to why I look like no one and no one looks like me. I have unruly raven locks of hair that can’t be tamed whatsoever. My mom says I have a virile look that no one else has. I looked up what virile means and the dictionary said that it means powerful, strong, and when needed to be, lethal. I can’t imagine myself looking like that but I think my mom has a point. When I met my friends for the first time they gave me these looks that showed them hiding startled looks. But I think the most shocking thing to people about my physical appearance is that I have bright green eyes that my dads says can define my emotion so well, joy, sadness, fear, regret, anger, pride. In the painting my eyes look like sea green orbs that seem to burn into your soul or something. My parents admitted the hardest part of the entire family portrayal was doing my eyes. In the canvas, my right hand holds a simple ballpoint pen and a fatigued guitar pick, while the other holds a thick, worn leather sketchbook. My face looks stark with a hint of a smile, but my eyes hold a troublemaker glint.
My parents wanted to make the painting represent us and who we are individually after they finished it about two months ago. I got the inspiration to sketch out myself, but with my other friends standing beside me. After finishing myself and erasing the stray marks on the paper, I was about to start on my other friend when suddenly she walked into the building.
Beth’s blonde princess curls flounced hypnotically behind her in her usual ponytail, stray curls framing her face and falling at the nape of her neck. She wore a dark gray knit beanie, white scarf, gray leggings, a floral dress, a medium length gray trench coat, and a pair of chestnut colored winter boots with white tufts sticking out from the top. Her storm grey eyes were content and spunky as usual as my mom would say. “Hello Mrs. Vega, Mr. Vega . Hey there Ri!” Beth greeted. When Orion was a baby he tried to say his own name but couldn’t so instead he said Ri. So that’s what everyone calls him. I climbed down the ladder bringing my art stuff with me. Beth and I have been best friends since we were in preschool together and stuck with each other ever since. She is super smart and is into art and music just like me. She loves to read books and can never be caught without one in hand. She met me on the floor and we walked side by side to one of the big couches underneath the family portrait.
“Hey, whats up Ms. Granger. ” (I had started calling her that once she finished Harry Potter seeing how similar they both are.) “Eh, I’m bored I guess, Thanksgiving Break is fun an all but after a while it’s quite repetitive when there’s nothing to do. I mean I am not busy at all so I decided to just hang out here. My parents are out on their shift(her parents are nurses) and they usually let me go out to the library or whatever and they adore you and your family so they trust me anyway. ” She said with a huff as she fiddled with a stray curl that escaped her ponytail. “Beth it’s only been like two days since school let out-” I spoke as she perked up, -besides, I bet you have some drawings done.” I concluded.
I scooted closer to her as she brought out her tablet and sketchbook from her leather book bag. She first showed me her sketchbook which held a bunch of new additions and ideas she has been developing. One seemed to be a sketch of half a boy and the other half of the face a wolf with piercing eyes. “I know they look really bad but their just sketches so give me some credit.” She said with the tilt of her head. I looked at her with a befuddled face, “Are you kidding me right now!?” These are incredible what are you talking about!?” I said as I stared at the drawings longer. “Cal! Stop yelling like an idiot, everyone can hear you!” She said her eyes tensed on me. I looked around and I saw my mom smirk and my dad chuckle. A few other customers just grinned.
Then she grabbed her tablet and showed me some digital drawings she had worked on. I’m so jealous of how easily art comes to her. I mean she doesn’t even know how talented she is, let alone at writing and singing music. I mean it only took me till third grade to figure that out. And guess what? We’re both fifteen and almost sixteen. Me being older than her by like a month. After watching the time lapses I continued showering her with compliments that are honestly very true.
“Hey Cal?” Beth asked hesitantly.
“Yeah?” I asked question in my tone.
“You know how your parents offered to hold the talent showcase here?” I nodded my head.
“And you want me to sing and perform?” I nodded vigorously.
“Well I was thinking that maybe we could sing a duet together. I doesn’t have to be a song we wrote, just our voices singing a song.” She said rushing the last part. I instantly went pale at the thought of me singing in front of other people, playing my guitar. What if I embarrass myself and hit a wrong note? What if I don’t tune my guitar properly and it hits a wrong note during the performance?
I snapped out of my own thoughts when Beth placed her hand on my shoulder. “Callisto? Cal are you okay? I mean you don’t have to do it. I can do a solo. But it would be incredible if other’s could see how talented you are.” She said softly. I met her eyes, grey against green. I grabbed her hand and intertwined my fingers with hers. “What song-” Her eyes lit up, “-should we sing?” I said with a grin. She tackled me with a hug before pulling back just as fast. She hopped up from her spot on the couch and then started pacing, her eyes clouded with thought and anxiety. “Wait, Beth whats wrong?” I said worriedly. “Oh gods Cal I’m just terrified, I mean I’ve only sang in front of my parents and you. In front of an audience? What if my voice cracks? What if I can’t reach the highest octave? What if-” I stopped her by grabbing her wrist and making her meet my eyes. “I am just as terrified as you are.” I said. She looked even more worried. “Oh what have I gotten us into! I’m so sorry! I uh, I could probably just take out our names or something. I don’t- Uuuuuhaaaaah!” She groaned in rage and gripped her hair. She is just plain scary and freaking terrifying when she is mad but right now that didn’t matter.
“Don’t regret it Beth-” She looked close to a break down but I think she was starting to calm down, -besides we still have like two too three weeks before the showcase. Lets show em’ what we’re made of.” She looked much better and started scrolling through her tablet for a song that we could practice to sing and find sheet music for.
“What about this?” She said, she gestured for me to put on the other earbud that she held up. We listened to the song and it was incredible. It was called “Into the Darkness” by Gio Navas and we started to coordinate our parts with our playing. We started practicing or parts. For hours and hours each day. Beth’s powerful voice with my deep one created the perfect syncopated rhythm. The chords from my guitar creating a nice vibe for the song.
Weeks Later
“Now it’s Callisto Vega and Beth Jackson!” My dad yelled through the microphone as we both stepped onto the stage. Me in a black button down and jeans, with Beth in a flowing black dress with white lace that reached to her knees. Her hair was done up in braids and pinned to her head with curls falling down to the sides of her face. She looked a bit nervous but excited, I gave her a reassuring nod and she smiled back at me. I breathed, in and out, in and out. I put the guitar straps over my head and the familiar weight of the guitar made me feel stronger. My jaw was set and my eyes scanned the large crowd inside. I started playing the first chords as Beth sang the first few verses:
The air is thick and smoky. Salvation’s in a dream.
I walked for miles and miles until the road blurred ahead of me.
The ashes settle down like poison in our lungs.
If I tell you I love you, will dying be sweeter for us?
But I see you and it’s the only thing that’s keeping me alive.
I can feel your hand and suddenly I’m not so terrified.
And I’d give anything to ease the panic in your eyes.
Into the darkness we will fight.
Her voice electrified the crowd and the power in her voice was shocking. It took all my willpower to not just drop my guitar and just listen to her voice. I mustered the courage to start the second verse with her and my guitar;
I hear the monsters howling visceral agony.
Your hands are growing cold. I won’t let them take you from me.
I’m slipping from my head. I’m anchored by your skin.
It’s a nightmarish game, but, together, will win.
‘Cause I see you and it’s the only thing that’s keeping me alive.
And I can feel your hand and suddenly I’m not so terrified.
And I’d give anything to ease the panic in your eyes.
Into the darkness we will fight.
I continued playing as Beth started the next few lines.
The smoke is billowing
and now it’s hard to see.
Please don’t let go.
The panic’s slipping over, caging me.
Blackened waves crashing through,
I’m losing grip of you.
Please stay with me.
Follow my voice and we will make it through.
I soon joined in once again;
‘Cause I see you and it’s the only thing that’s keeping me alive.
And I can feel your hand and suddenly I’m not so terrified.
And I’d give anything to ease the panic in your eyes.
Into the darkness you and I.
Into the darkness you and I.
We both breathed a deep breath, are hands finding each other. I turned so I faced her and I touched my forehead to hers. She breathed heavily and we both had huge smiles on our faces. The crowd cheered and clapped. Her parents and mine both looked close to tears.
I wasn’t afraid, I was virile, I was strong and so was she. The adrenaline of it all was still in me and I could tell it was in her too. Right then and there I thought;
My name is Callisto Vega.
My best friend is Beth Jackson.
I found the magic in my name,
and she did too.
Fin
HELLOOOOOO EVERYONE!!!!! Oh my gods it’s been so long since I’ve written. I’m so sorry for the delay. It’s just that my life has been so hectic lately because… WE JUST MOVED!!!!! Oh my god the whole process has been lasting for like a month and a half and a post is in the works for more on that. But I hope you guys liked this simple short story. It was quite random really. But I wanted to be different because a lot of best friend relationships are usually of friends who are the same gender but I played with the concept of best friends who are the opposite genders but are as different as the sun and moon, night and day, and all those other hyperboles. Since most of my short stories feature a male or female individual, I thought maybe this could be the opportunity to try something different. I am planning on making a part two of this or maybe just continue the story as a book. I am in love with these two character and I love their relationship. I want to do a part in Beth’s point of view so we can learn more of Beth’s background.
Anyway I discovered the song that’s featured on this post off of YouTube. And it’s only ONE OF THE MOST AMAZING SONGS I HAVE EVER HEARD. Anyway it was written by an artist who isn’t famous yet but writes songs based off of book characters. I guess I wanted to base these two character’s relationship off of the song they sang because I learned that when you’re in a situation where you could possibly perish alone(I’m talking physically and/or hypothetically) than having the person you trust the most is the best thing in the world. Cal trust’s Beth more than anyone else in the whole world(besides his family of course) and would do anything for her. They both are there for each other when they are about to do something that scares them both.
So yeah I hope you guys enjoyed this short story and I am once again very sorry for the loss in content but I will try to at least post once or twice a week. I admit this story may sound cheesy to most people but that’s the best kind of friendship in this whole universe and I want to emphasize that as much as possible. So I hope you guys are living your best lives and taking all the chances you have to do something that makes you feel amazing. And do it with someone that you trust more than anyone in the world.
I cracked my eyes open a bit, the clock on my desk read 9:30 in Roman Numerals. I wanted to force myself out of bed an shower and get dressed. But my eyes felt like they were made of lead and it was hard not to let them droop. Maybe just five more minutes, it’s not gonna hurt anyone… I thought. But then just as I was about fall face first back to my comfy pillow and sleep for another eternity my mom decided to barge into the room, and tell me to get ready to go to Arwen’s house.
Arwen is one of my best friends, I met her at the start of sixth grade in band one day. She played the flute as well and we loved playing our sheet music together in band when we had the time. We grew closer with books, art, and music.
Arwen invited me and a few of our other close friends to hang out with her on her birthday. Her parents were going to take us to a place called “Livermore Limitless Escape Games” A few weeks before I looked it up once I was given the invitation. The website explained that we would be going to and escape room. We are given sixty minutes to figure out our way out of the room we were currently in with small but intricate puzzles. Then with all the clues you either escape or are taken to another and final room. You have a staff member help you and you are given limitless amounts of clues to help you. Arwen told us we were doing the “ Escape the Kracken” themed escape room. Basically we were a band of pirates who unleashed a massive curse therefore letting the “Kracken”( a mutant octopus/squid ) wreak havoc amongst us. We( the stupid pirates who idiotically decided to steal treasure that wasn’t ours) have lugged ourselves mindlessly into a cave, but we must escape the island before the savage mutant sea creature decided to come back and have our pirate booty for dinner. Therefore we must flee the island in sixty minutes or we are completely killed by an unnaturally large sea creature that looks like an octopus and a squid mushed together. Okay, that just sounds really weird. Just forget I said that.
I slipped out of bed, gods why are my calves so sore? I glared at my legs before heading to the bathroom. I brushed, showered, and headed to my room to change. I put on my black jeans, a long, comfortable grey, half cotton, half sheath shirt, a dark blue and purple flannel, and these really thick black socks. I strapped on my watch and put on perfume and put my glasses on. I went to the huge bathroom mirror a braided leather headband in hand. I ( sort of) brushed my hair and put the headband on, tucking some strands of hair away with a pin that didn’t hurt my scalp. My mom told me to put her phone in my jeans pocket. I tucked it in and when downstairs to grab an apple. My dad was seated on the dining table. He tossed me an apple and I legitimately dropped it. I washed it and to a huge bite. Okay, to be honest, in my case, a “big bite” in something will probably actually be the size of two pennies. But my dad. Oh ho, he is the total opposite. So as I peacefully ate my apple tiny bite after tiny bite. But then he plucked it out of my hand and he took a behemothic bite out of my apple. Arwen’s parents texted my dad saying that it would be best to arrive at there house at eleven forty five so we can all drive at twelve o’clock to go to Livermore Escape Room. I slipped on sturdy black Puma shoes and my dad followed. Before we opened the door my dad was like:
“Okay you remember when you have to call me right? Okay tell me.”
“I call you once we leave her house and start driving, I call you when we arrive, when we finish the Escape Room, when we leave to the restaurant, leave the restaurant, and when we arrive at Arwen’s house again so you can pick me up.” I said nonchalantly and without hesitation.
“And remember EVERY TIME I CALL YOU, YOU HAVE TO ANSWER ME. YOU HEAR?” Okay he actually didn’t say the last part but he definitely almost did.
I grabbed the huge envelope with the drawing and gift card for Arwen and I stepped out the door. I was really excited to see a few of my friends because we’re still on summer vacation but school is gonna start really soon. It was a fifteen to twenty drive and we arrived at the same time as my other friend Kate. Arwen’s parents were outside talking to Kate’s mom about the schedule and they filled in my dad about it too. My dad soon said goodbye and reminded me to call him. Kate’s mom did the same. Arwen’s parents greeted us. They are really nice and sweet and have these awesome polite accents. Kate and I walked into the house and I took in the art work hanging on the walls, the house was definitely cozy and roomy. Arwen, Ava, and a girl I didn’t recognize walked out. “Kanmani! Ava and Arwen said as they squeezed me into a long warm hug. All of us doing the same for Kate. Turns out the girl I didn’t recognize was one of Arwen’s close friends. Her name is Loreline and she’s really into theater and super nice. We became fast friends, I was a bit sad that she didn’t go to our school. We all decided to go into Arwen’s room and wait for our other friend from school, Aiden.
Arwen started laughing hysterically. The rest of us just looked at each other in confusion until she finally said “Aiden’s gonna be the only guy with us!” We all grinned like we were crazy, before bursting into laughter of course. But the problem with when I laughed was that I just snort. It happens naturally and it’s just super embarrassing. So I wasn’t surprised when the other girls laughed even harder as I blushed. “Aww look at you a wittle and small, and adorable. OH MY GOD ARE YOU BLUSHING?! YOU LOOK EVEN CUTER!!!” Ava cooed. I met Ava on the first day of school because we had homeroom together, and the first thing she said to me was “Oh my god you are so short and cute and pretty, and adorable and just eeeeeeeeh.” She had squealed. So it was no surprise that everyday I saw her she would call me cute or something similar. I noticed that Ava had cut her normally neck length hair really short, only up the the bottom of her earlobes and she has rainbow braces. I also noticed that everyone else was wearing dresses, while I was standing there in pants and a flannel. I felt under dressed with my friends dressed in, well, dresses! Kate and Ava must have read my mind because they both placed there hands on either of my shoulders and said
“You look great, I mean I regret not wearing pants and a shirt.” Said Kate “Yeah! I mean look at me, I don’t even have on leggings!” Ava chimed in. I smiled as we continued our conversation. Suddenly Arwen’s dad popped in and said it was time to go to our impending doom. Aka, the Escape Room. I was really excited to go, it was my first time doing this so you can only imagine my reaction to the website. Aiden had finally arrived and met us in the car. As we drove I talked more with Loraline and got to know her, I goofed of with Aiden and Ava, and the other girls and I all sang an acappella version of Hedwig’s theme from Harry Potter. As Aiden recorded us and Arwen’s parents listened. We were in the middle of pretending to accept a Grammy award when Arwen’s mom pulled into a parking lot and opened the doors. We all clambered out and walked to the Limitless Escape building. While Arwen’s dad checked in, we were all told to put our phones in a little locker so they were safe.
First we are taken inside( an extremely air conditioned ) room that looked incredibly like a cave, with a treasure chest, ropes, vines,
and other pirate thingies. The staffer was really nice and smelled like raspberry cheesecake. The TV screen mounted on the corner of the wall counted down our time. We searched every corner and looked through small places. In under four minutes we managed to find multiple things that could help us. I managed to find a key that unlocked a small window on the wood plank door on the other end of the room. I screeched for the others to come and peak through the small opening. Inside we saw a room lit by black lights and I noticed something. On the pirate flag draped along the wall in the other room there were numbers scrawled onto it. My eyes widened and I told someone to write it down. I put the numbers on the number lock that locked us from the other room. I heard a click and we all whooped so loud that we heard people outside the room gasp. We still had about thirty minutes. We scrambled inside and it was a treasure trove of clues. We all split up into pairs. Ava linked her arm with mine and we searched and looked. I then saw a sketch of a traced hand on black ink I pressed my hand against it, aligning my small hand against the gargantuan one.
“Awwwwwwww your hand is so cute and tiny and small and adorable, and your fingers are so short and itty bitty just like you!!” Ava squealed. She knows that I hate being called cute, especially for my physical features.
“Shut up Avacado and focus.”
“Kay Pretzel Princess.”
I hate being called princess and I hate pretzels so at school my friends gave me the nickname.
“Ava be quiet or by the end of this hour your going to be just like him.” I pointed at the fake pirate skeleton on the wall.
“Awwww you go Wise Girl, you put the cute in execute.”
I rolled my eyes and stuck my tongue out at her. I needed to focus on the clues and see if there was anything that would help us escape in time.
Suddenly I felt a sudden shift. I looked and saw that the plank of would slipped and revealed a clue. The number eight in big bold yellow. Everyone high fived me as I uncovered a bunch of other numbers hidden under the sliding planks.
We asked for a clue to help us. As soon as we were given the clues I wondered how staffers memorized all of them. We uncovered a ton of other things keys, puzzle pieces, word puzzles, illusion answers. I was really impressed by how well all of us( a rag tag group of twelve year old barely normal human beings) uncovered the puzzles and solved them. But time was running out. We were struggling with one key part of our escape. The wheel. It had metal inscriptions and we managed to decode it all, but we were struggling with the instructions. But then Aiden said: “ I think we should read the directions more carefully, oh and we also only have seven minutes left.” I decided to try doing it and suddenly we heard a sound, like a door opening. We all lifted our heads and saw that there in all its non air conditioned glory: The door was open. We just stood there not believing that we a bunch of insane twelve year olds, managed to escape a room most adults don’t escape in time. We looked at the door then at each other. We all screamed like banshees in joy and scrambled out of that amazing yet freezing room. Then the staff gave us signs to hold up for a victory photo.
The staffer who helped us showed us the picture on the TV and said it would be sent to Arwen’s dad who would send it to our parents. And surprise, surprise, I was the shortest out of everyone. It was like being an apple tree in a forest of redwoods. We all headed outside, Arwen’s dad told us our reservation for the restaurant was in an hours so we would just hang out in downtown until we can go. We went to this grassy spot and all of us except Arwen’s parents who were watching us a few feet away sat down on the grass. We all talked about how fun it was. And we were all really impressed at how detailed and well thought out the rooms were. But we all still wondered what would’ve happened if we didn’t make it in time then being the comedian Ava is she said “Maybe a dude wearing this really cheesy octopus costume that shows his face jumps out and says: YOUR DEAD KIDS!” In a really stupid pirate voice.” We all laughed until our sides hurt, and we managed to attract the attention of a bunch of teenagers who were in other corners of the area. We all lay in the grass in a circle, our heads meeting in the middle, all of us laying on our backs. We all played truth or dare until the adults came back and told us it was time for lunch. We walked to the restaurant, it was called Simply Fondue and apparently it had really good fondues and salads, and awesome dessert fondue.
I have to admit the place was REALLY FANCY. And by fancy I mean SNAZZY. Like, i did not expect that. I could tell my friends thought the same as well. We went to a private room with a huge window, and a curtain to seclude ourselves. This was my first time eating fondue but it was surprising fun to eat and really good. We ate this really good pizza fondue where we dipped this really good squares of basil bread into the fondue and it tasted EXACTLY like pizza. We ate and talked and goofed of. I took videos and pictures of my friends as we laughed our heads of. Then for dessert we ordered a campfire fondue where it would actually be lit on fire, and a snicker doodle one that had crushed up snicker doodle cookies mixed with white chocolate and cinnamon and brown sugar. We dipped fruits and bits of cake into it, and we dared each other that if we dropped something in it, we would have to dip a vegetable in the sweet fondue. Soon our stomachs felt like they were going to explode so we all left and walked to the car. Arwen’s dad took a group picture of us, and I brought out my mom’s phone and took a selfie with Ava, Kate and Loreline photo bombing us. We climbed into the car, Kate fell asleep, Loreline, Arwen, and Aiden chatted, and Ava and I talked and goofed off just as we do in school. Soon I started getting kinda tired and my head dropped to Ava’s shoulder, I was to tired to lift me head back up again. Ava must have been tired too because I felt the light weight of her head resting on mine.
We both soon woke up and Arwen told us that we arrived at her house. We pulled into the curb and Loreline’s mom and Ava’s mom picked them up after we said our goodbyes. Arwen, Aiden, Kate and I were left. I called my dad and told him that we arrived and he told me he would arrive in ten minutes. We all walked into her house, and we were greeted by her two little dogs. They were so cute and playful and I couldn’t resist cuddling with them. For the rest of the time we all just hung out for a while, talked about school and our summer. Then my dad arrived. It was such a long day and it was awesome and I had so much fun. I said my goodbyes to my friends, wished Arwen happy birthday once again and thanked them before stepping into my dads car.
(Disclaimer: So sorry for the delay in content, I was quite busy as you can tell and I feel like a hypocrite for not writing.)
If you can’t tell already, I have written a Latin saying as my title for this post. Veni, vidi, amavi translates into We came. We saw. We loved.
I know that its quite odd to write a Latin proverb for a title that is representing a poem, but I have recently written a poem based on the elements of my trip to Yosemite recently. I thought that Veni, vedi, amavi truly represented my experiences. For we really did come, we saw, and we loved.
The glow of the scattered stars at night, the moon illuminating the river’s shine. The sweet hush in the gentle good night, the slow, alluring dying of the light.
I love a long winding, waiting road, taking me to a place that I cannot foresee, until the hills reveal a landscaped mystery.
The morning rise of the sun breaks the shadow of night. The coming and going of a saturated sunrise. The clouds praise the sun, the sun praises the sky. The sky praises the tree’s who praise the souls who pass by.
The rolling hills beam as we pass. The water waves and breaks our trance. The bears lurk in the obscurity of the forest, the mountains set fire to the rain of their shadows before we take notice.
There is another sun and sky, unrecognizable in the land of metal and gilt. The sky is bare except for its bloodless puffs of clouds, the sun a ball of gold and light.
The wind whispers to the waiting tree’s, a simple yet stirring type of a gesture. The mass conjuring a body of wind and frond.
I have stepped in a word of yellow and gold, the water a swirling sea of silver and green.
The steadfast feel of sand in my toes, the bewitching glow of the maneuvering shore.
The wind blowing constantly, the sweet taste of the ocean hanging in the air. The water, it calls me, telling me to defy the space between me and them.
