The language teacher pointed at me and began to beckon me with her finger.

“Come here. I have something I want to say to you,” she said.

So far, seventh grade had not been my year at all. I walked around unexplainably miserable and tired all the time. I couldn’t seem to focus long enough to do my homework until the late night or wee hours of the morning, making my grades take a major hit because of it. I also hated my life and everything in it. Why? I couldn’t tell you, especially not without falling apart and bearing what felt like the darkest depths of my soul and inner psyche.

Now, anybody who knows the slightest bit about me knows that I’ve always been that kid that loves school and is always at the top of her game no matter what. For the opposite to now be true, panic spread around me like wildfire. Teachers were concerned, pulling me aside for “talks” with looks of sympathy, and my mom was yelling at me every time she saw anything less than an A on every piece of paper from school. Meanwhile, I was scrambling to fix it all, still trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with me.

We walked over to the side of the gym before she started to speak.

“Now, I’m not sure what’s been going on, but I’ve been hearing your name come up very often.”

My heart began to race as my emotions and words got caught in my throat, rendering me speechless.

“I don’t like that and I found it weird because in my mind I’m like, ‘They can’t be talking about her because she’s always on top of her work and she always tries to do her best.’ ”

My eyes welled up with tears as she continued. I blinked trying to keep my composure and hold back the tears threatening to fall from my eyes. It’s never a good feeling having your teachers talk about how poorly you’ve been performing. Not only do you know you aren’t performing up to standard, but you also hate yourself for it and beat yourself up over it every waking moment of every day.

She doesn’t even get it, I thought.

She kept talking, but my thoughts were louder. I felt the first tear roll down my face, my hand flew up to catch it before anyone could see it. Just as I had done so, another fell from the opposite eye and my world crumbled down around me. She ended her spiel by hugging me. I had never felt so trapped before in my life.

As she turned around to walk away, I quickly turned about face, darting for the bathroom to clean myself up. With my luck, it was inevitable for me to run into two peers that I rarely talk to who’d definitely never seen me with tears streaming down my face.

I dodged their questioning, left the bathroom and sat with my friends, making sure nobody was looking at me funny along the way. Just like that, I had managed to pick my entire life up off the ground and bandage it together just enough so that it would appear like I had everything together like I always do.

School for me had become stressful. Waking up early to get to school early, rushing around to classes, and then going home to do more work was a lot and it took a toll on my mental health. I had to realize that it was okay to not have everything together all the time. I learned that it was okay to just cry it out sometimes and let yourself feel. Maybe not in the middle of the school gym like I did, but you get the point. School is a challenge and your mental health is a lifelong battle. Though it may be hard, you have to speak up for yourself and do what is best for who you are and what you’re capable of. You're going to struggle without a doubt, no matter who you are, but you get to decide how you overcome and learn from each challenge you face while being in school.

Justine Koffi

Pahomov

English II

21 September 2018

The First Day

SEPTA stands for Southeastern Pennsylvania Transportation Authority, but that’s really code for a very confusing system of of buses, trolleys, light rail, and commuter rail. My first time falling victim to this intricate, complex system was the summer of sixth grade.

It was the 29th of June, the first day of Breakthrough, a summer program that I was attending.  My sixth grade teacher encouraged me to apply to further my education during a time most people would be on vacation. At first, was reluctant to apply because it was all the way at 34th street, but I thought it would be be beneficial in the long run. Since that morning was my first time taking SEPTA, my friend agreed to to take the bus with me. This brought me great relief but unfortunately, I was running late that morning so she left me.  She instructed me to take the bus that stops right in front of her house. So I did.

“Next stop, 57th and Spruce!” As I sat on the bus, I thought it was kind of peculiar that the numbers were increasing rather than decreasing  since I had to be at 34th Street. She’s taken SEPTA so she knows more than I do, right? I  then dozed off a little, only to hear, “This is the last stop.”

I knew I was nowhere near where I  needed to be and I started to panic. My eyes started to fill up with tears. I had no idea where I was and I was already late. I finally decided to just go home and start the process over.  It took about 30 minutes, but I got back to my house. I called my sister and she told me to walk to Market and take the Market Frankford Line to 30th street.

The first thing I did when I   got there was go to the bathroom and get myself together before classes started. I was nervous to meet everybody, and I was determined to not let anything get in the way of me having a good first day.

The day was a success, despite my horrible morning and it was now time to leave.

As we were waiting for the bus, there was a woman who was acting kind of strange. She was talking to herself and screaming randomly. I just ignored her. I caught my friend looking right into the eyes of the strange woman, and just before I could tell her to look away, the woman started to walk towards us. My heart was racing. My first thought was to run, but that was quickly shot down because she may have tried to chase me which was  even more scary.

“What are you girls doing here?” she screamed as if she was my mother and caught me somewhere I wasn’t supposed to be. I thought I was going to have a panic attack. “You’re too pretty to be in these streets!” she said as she slowly walked towards us. Was she delirious? I could smell cigarettes and weed all over her. I was lost in thought when she just shifted and bolted towards us, as to chase us away because we weren’t meant to be there. We ran, without looking back for even a second. I ran out of breath at the end of the block and turned back only to see that she was still way back at the bus stop.

I wanted to just leave and never look back, but my friend was convinced that we had to go back to that specific stop in  order to catch the bus, when we could've actually walked two more blocks to wait at the next bus stop. She wanted to go back, for the thrill maybe? I don’t know but being the follower I was back then, I went with her blindly.

As expected, the strange woman got angry and started screaming at us. All I could think was how much of an idiot I was to follow her knowing that it wasn’t right to come provoke her more. The same thing happened and my friend wanted to go back again. She had a smile on her face as if this was the best part of her day. I decided to walk to the next bus stop and she didn't follow me. I was proud of my decision, in that moment I stood up for myself which was something I wasn’t familiar with.

I couldn’t help but to look back. I saw that my friend picked up a crate, probably to fight back instead of running. To this day, I don’t know what happened and I honestly don’t care.

Although the day started and ended terribly, I still considered it one of the most influential days of my life.

Nile Shareef-Trudeau

Ms. Pahomov

English 2

September 21, 2018

The clock ticks to twenty minutes before closing. It was time for me to go home. I began to turn off the many lights that lit up the shop. I hear steps creaking from upstairs where my Grandad is, which means he’s gotten up from where he was working and is getting ready to take me home. When I am done closing up, we head out to his car.

After the many times my grandad has taken me home, I am pretty much prepared for what the subject of the ride is going to be. It could be one of three things, either the pristine work I am expected to be doing in school, how I should set my future up to be better than all those who came before me, or we just jam to the various genres of music being played on one of his cd’s.

“You know there are a lot of people doing different things in the world,”

My grandad says to break the otherwise silent car ride. I nod my head at first, not really understanding what he was talking about.

“Gays, transgenders.”

Ahh that’s what he meant, here we go. Just agree with what he says and maybe he won’t have extra questions and we can move on from this quickly, I think as I gaze out the window to the trees on lincoln drive.

“We accept them, although it’s pretty weird. You know, people aren’t really understanding that we need men and women to be together so that we can make more life. And then changing your body like that, it’s just not right.”, He goes on.

“Mhmm,” I reply.

I realize this is who my mom gets it from. I like to think she’s a little more open minded to topics of controversy. Then again, I can’t forget the time she stereotyped me as looking like a lesbian; short cropped hair and a nose ring. I was thirteen and had just recently cut my hair very close to my head. I was very excited because I had just gotten a fake septum ring for my nose. Later when I showed my mom, she said it was cute. However, she wouldn’t let me wear it outside the house because people might think I was a lesbian. This made me so upset, and eventually brought me to tears. Not because I was secretly a lesbian but because I never thought I should be worried about what others think of me. If I looked a certain way and people assumed things about me, so what! At the end of the day, they don’t know me.

“People may try and pressure you,” My Grandad says.

“But you can’t let them get to you.” He adds.

“Yeah,” I say, while I laugh in my thoughts because of how ignorant he is being to the fact that being gay isn’t a choice. If I was LGBTQ, pressure from my peers wouldn’t have an affect on who I am.

We arrive at my house and I’m free of his corrupted idea on the LGBTQ community. As I gather my things and step out of the car I look back and think about the recent experience I had with attempting to figure out my sexuality and finding myself. I wonder how my family would have handled it if I came to the conclusion that I did identify to be in the LGBTQ community. I let out a hmph kind of sound, with a smirk on my face as I walk up to my door, key in hand.

As I think back on this instance and the other times similar to this one, I realize that these are the moments that shape people. Those so called “make or break” moments that people have. I believe that hearing the views of my elders and those who surround me is important in the development of myself. Yes, hearing this from my Grandad, or even my mom doesn’t have an affect on my sexuality but it does open my eyes to the ridicule others must experience. Giving me a greater sense of sympathy and more of an open mind. I am thankful for this, because for some, this experience could have made them ignorant and oblivious if they chose to “go with it” instead of learn from it. We can choose our path in life and accept other people, as well as get it through our heads that we may not understand people’s notions. We must be able to adapt and find peace within ourselves, and the ever growing society we live in.

Jonathan Rodebaugh

Ms. Pahomov

9/19/18

The Ride

I start to walk up the long side walk of Frankford Transportation Center. It was my first day taking Septa by myself. I was shaking, every person I saw seemed like they were staring right through me. I walked into the building of the transportation center. I felt clueless even though I knew where to go. Throughout my childhood I have taken the L with family and felt fine about it, but sometimes I just feel really insecure about the little things. For example, if I accidently took something that wasn’t mine, I would have nervous breakdowns and not be able to sleep.  In the building I asked a million questions, just to make sure I was going in the correct place. I stepped onto the escalator that looked a mile long, as it crept higher I felt my heart pounding louder and louder.

As I got on the train, I was still unsure on what I was supposed to do. The train was mostly empty, except a man in the back. He had headphones on and a black hoodie. I asked him if the train went to my destination. He gave me an unclear answer that made me a little more uneasy. The door closed and there was no turning back now. As the train started to move, fear spread all through my body, The only thing I could think about was how many stops were left till my stop.  As the train got closer, I got more anxious. When I am a little worried about something, I get super stressed, and that is what was happening. I kept reminding myself that I had done this before and been fine. My brother, just a week before, showed me step by step on what to do. Now I felt like I forgot everything.

The almost empty train felt so cold. I was sitting alone, feeling lonely and nervous. I felt weird because I was alone, usually, I would  have a brother or a friend to talk to and just keep me company. In replacement I just have me and my thoughts. At this moment, my thoughts just sounded like a million people screaming at me. I couldn't even think, my head felt like it was going to explode with anxiety. I was counting down the stops, and also trying to pass the time until it was my turn to get off the train.  Finally, it was my stop. It felt like I was on there for hours. As I got off the train I let out a big sigh of relief. I have almost accomplished my journey. I walked on the dirty tile of 13th street station, I felt free being off the train. I neared the trolley stop, and was excited to almost be done, but I just got nervous all over again.

I arrive at the trolley stop, the automatic doors open and I walk up the steep steps and find an empty seat in the trolley. I sat down and my shaking began again. I just stared at the outside the window to make sure I did not miss my stop. Then a girl who looked about my age noticed my anxiety, and asked me, “Hey, are you ok?” I said yes, and that I was just really nervous. This was the first time in my trip that I was at ease, because someone related to me. Then I noticed my legs shook a little less than before. I had a renewed belief in myself that I could accomplish this trip.

The trolley rolled up to my stop, the doors opened and I hopped off. Then I started walking toward the steps up to the street. Each step up felt like a little more nerves were falling off my back, like a weight was being lifted. As I got to the outside, the light of the sun hit me in the face. That light felt like victory. Even though this might be a small accomplishment for some people it was huge for me. I walked up to my destination, then let out a big sigh of relief. I felt more independent, and that I could do something on my own and be okay.

Foreign

“Hey Preston, do you want to go play outside with the other children?” The woman in front of me asked.

She scared me. Her body, centimeters away from mine, made me feel tiny; like David and Goliath. It was as if her closeness to my personal bubble wasn't enough to make me uncomfortable. I could not understand a single word she was saying. She continued on but I couldn’t find a clear answer. Torrents of tears started flowing rapidly from my eyes, causing my vision to blur, nose to clog, and left a salty taste in my mouth. This was the first time in my entire life that I felt pressured.

“Did you guys watch the new Spongebob episode?”

What were they talking about? The only show I knew was Old Master Q. They all moved to sit at the table in front of me and began to discuss about the new episode of this foreign show. Again, my vision began to blur, my hands sweaty, and again, I could taste the oh-so-familiar salty liquid course through the interior of my mouth. This was the first time in my entire life that I felt clueless.

When I was in kindergarten, I hardly understood any English. Whenever I went to school, I wouldn’t communicate with any other kids because I couldn’t understand what they were saying. I felt lonely in school. Kids would speak to each other and discuss  T.V shows and toys while I sat in silence and listened. Everything I did was in Cantonese or Japanese: music, shows, my communication. The word was clueless, the cluelessness transformed into knowledge. As the world changed, so did my knowledge. I was starting to get exposed to things that were once foreign to me.

“Go wish your aunts and uncles a Happy Chinese New Year,” Mom said.

Her voice, along with the voices and conversations of the crowded dining room, gave me a brain freeze. I began to walk towards my family members on the other side of the room. My hands shaking, breathing unsteady, eyes focused on the ground. I had no idea what to say. It’d been a year since I used those phrases. I’d been exposed to so much English, that I’d fallen in love. I’d forgotten so much Chinese that I could barely pass the Chinese course I was taking.

“新年快樂!” Aunt Lisa said.

I chuckled nervously. “新年快樂!” I replied.

She waited patiently for me, red envelopes in hand. My mouth opened, then shut. I looked up quickly at her tense gaze and hurriedly averted my eyes elsewhere. My hands began to sweat again and my mouth began to dry. I regained my posture, taking a few deep breaths, and quickly excused myself.

“I have to use the bathroom, I’ll be right back. Auntie.”

This was the fastest I’d ever ran in my life. I rushed past the herd of people and shoved my way through until I reached the men’s bathroom. I stared in the mirror, thinking about the disappointment I’d face; the sneers, the looks of failure. The phrases began to resurface in my head. They don’t see the Preston that struggles with balancing two languages or the young boy who felt clueless and pressured throughout elementary school. They see the young boy who was able to speak multiple languages and is self-confident and strong.

I rinsed my face and stared into the mirror. I was going to wish them a Happy New Year and begin to balance my love for all languages, and attempt to speak all the languages I’m exposed to with the best of my ability.

Mo Kelly

Pahomov

English II

21 September 2018

Sexual Assault in the City

“Do you wanna hang out with me and Ida tonight?”

The text was from my friend, Kate. I instantly smiled and replied with a yes. It was the first warm night of the year, and I was desperate to leave my stuffy house to hang out with my two closest friends.

When I got to Ida’s house, they came right out.  They were dressed similar to me; in shorts and a tank top, the perfect spring clothes. We all shared a smile and began to walk down the street.

“My mom told me not to go to the playground once it gets dark, but do you want to go anyway?” Kate asked.

I thought about it for a while. I’ve lived in the city my entire life, and I’ve never encountered anything scary in the night before. It was only a playground, what was the worst that could happen? We all agreed and went on our way.

The warm breeze hit our face as we laughed and talked on our way to the park. It was great to finally be able to be outside again and even better to be with friends during it. The sun was slowly setting, and the pink and orange sky lit up our path ahead of us.

At the park, we found a place to sit down and continued talking. Around us there were some kids playing. As the sun set, they slowly began to leave. Soon, we were the only people there.

What was her mom so worried about? I thought to myself. After all we weren’t kids, we were teenagers. We knew how to be safe.

In the middle of my thought, I heard a rustle in the grass. The others heard it too. I looked up and saw a group of kids on bikes laughing. They were acting just like we were, I paid no attention to them. It was just a bunch of kids having fun.

But, they slowly started getting closer to us. The kids with bikes started circling us and began laughing louder than before. Still, I tried my hardest to not pay attention to them.

“Hey,” Someone shouted, “You guys are cute.” We muffled a thanks and started shifting away from them. I started to get very uncomfortable, “Are those IPhones?” Kate shot up and started walking away, quietly telling me that we needed to leave.

Still, they kept following us. I said goodbye to them, trying to be polite, but they wouldn't leave us alone. One boy started throwing rocks and sticks at our legs. We just moved faster.

            “They grabbed my butt.” That was when I knew I needed to get out of there, and fast. I shared a look with Kate, and we began running. The warm breeze that was so refreshing earlier was now just an obstacle getting in the way of my safety.

I ran until I noticed that Ida wasn’t with us. Panicked, I tried to search for her. My heart was beating so fast I could feel it in my throat.

“Where is she?” I shouted.

As I was spinning, a portion of the same group of kids marched up to us. Behind them, I saw Ida, slowly walking with the other kids. She was visibly scared, but she was staying cool, calm and collected. I almost wanted to laugh. She was much smarter than us.

She made her way back to us, and we yanked her away from the kids. Thankfully, there were a few girls there who stopped the group from doing anything else to us. They left as loudly as they came, and we turned the opposite direction.

“Are you okay?” We all asked each other. Everyone said yes, but no one really meant it.

I was pulled into a group hug, and I could feel everyone shaking from fear. We reluctantly pulled away and began our walk home. Although it was only a few blocks, it felt like miles.

Ida explained to us later that she thought we were right behind her when she started walking with the kids. She was walking with a few girls, who she said were actually really nice to her.

“I didn’t want to scare them or anything,” She said when I asked why she stayed with them, “I was just trying to stay calm.”

What she did really opened my eyes on what to do in these situations. You can do dumb things when you’re scared, like we did that night. Running away only made us more vulnerable. If I stayed calm, they would’ve seen that I wasn’t afraid of them and they would've left. Most young kids that do things like this just want to try and scare you.

After that night, I have been hesitant to go out in the dark or go out at all. It was one of the scariest things I’ve ever experienced. But, now I know what to do in a situation like this one: stay calm. Getting in a panic will help no one.

I made a mistake that night. But, that mistake helped me realize something incredibly valuable. Something I will never forget.

“Okay everybody, here is your benchmark project instructions.”

The day after Ms. Gasser gave us the project, we brainstormed some more ideas and came up with two inspirations for our city. We were going to take some inspiration from Philadelphia and Elon Musk, CEO of Tesla Motors. We chose Philadelphia because that is where we live and we wanted to use its street systems to help us design our own. Elon Musk was going to help us with naming our city and its buildings/streets. We had two weeks to finish this project in its entirety.

On January 9, 2018, we decided to walk around center city after school to look at the street system in Philadelphia. We were gonna take a few SEPTA buses around center city and take some notes on what we noticed. Our first bus trip went almost flawlessly and we got some great notes on how our cities streets work. On the first bus, we rode up and down Market street a few times to make sure we didn't miss anything on our notes and then the bus broke down. The person next to us was really angry. He was a twenty-something-year-old guy in business attire. He shouted at the top of his lungs.

“I’m late for my interview dammit!”

After what felt like forever, they let us off the bus and a tow truck came and took it off the street.

Our second trip went worse. When we got on the bus, it wasn’t very crowded, but after the first two stops it felt like the entire city was on the bus.

“Hey stop bumping into me. Thank you,” someone said.

“It’s not my fault this bus is so crowded,” they replied.

It was impossible to take any notes on there because we couldn’t see and we didn’t have enough room to pull out our phones to take notes on. At our last stop, we decided to get off and walk back to the original stop.

In the freezing cold temperatures, it was a painful walk back. Every few blocks we had to jump inside a store for a few minutes, but we made it back to the stop alive and now we were going to get on our final bus for the day.

This was the worst trip out of the three. Mostly because I got us lost, but partly because it was still cold outside. While waiting for a bus to take us back to SLA, it started snowing, then we saw a bus come down the street. I told Ari and Matthew that it was our bus and they followed me on without checking the bus number. It took us maybe 10 stops before we realized that we were on the wrong bus. We hopped off the bus urgently and tried to figure out where we were. Our phones came out of our pockets without hesitation. We found out we were only a 15-minute walk from SLA so that’s what we decided to do.

The snow, wind, and temperature made the walk brutal.  When we finally got back to SLA we were freezing cold and covered in snow, so we took a break and decided to warm ourselves up before we looked over our notes.

The most important note that we had was that there were no unnecessary streets. Every street was used and helped the flow of traffic get through the city quickly. Also, most of the smaller streets flowed into bigger streets to direct traffic to the main streets. So, when we designed the road system of our city project, we used a minimalist approach. We used as few streets as possible and we only had a few main streets, but every small street led into the main street.

Even after getting lost, the freezing temperatures and the broken down bus studying the street system in Philadelphia allowed us to create a beautifully designed city for our project. The journey around Philadelphia allowed us to prevent the problems we faced when we designed our city. We created a street system that would, in theory, prevent people from getting lost, long waits on broken down buses, and overcrowded buses.

The teacher begins to teach her lesson on propaganda and its influence in society. She shows us 3 videos on how the different aspects of it trigger different ideas. Of course, the first one triggered emotional ideas and it had to be a film on the poverty in Africa. I felt several pairs of eyes burning into the side of my face. Here we go.

How the media portrays the living situations and lifestyles of Africans is a very inaccurate, yet vivid image. They painted us as the lowliest and the loneliest. We’re seen as anorexic, dirty, needy, and uncared for people in a neglectful society. When you think of Africa, your mind redirects to wild animals roaming around the village and little kids in minimal clothing. Or a medical station with cots all pushed together while the cameraman zooms into the little boy, his bones defining his body and his sweat matching his mother’s tears. Or better yet, a short documentary of a little African girl walking 5 miles to her only source of water, with healing feet that get the same recurring cuts everyday due to lack of shoes.

“With only a dollar a day dramatic pause, zooms in on stomach of hungry child, sad music gets louder we can help feed all the starving children in Africa.” I hate this, why do we have to listen to this bullshit bs? Can a dollar a day help educate this woman? Sheesh. Why is it that this is so easy to believe? But God forbid it be true that kids can grow up stable, have an amazing childhood and never fear for food not being on their dinner table. That education is provided, that clean water exists, and that they walk from place to place in shoes, and still are raised in Africa.

I hear someone across the room make a smart remark, “Do they even have clean water?” I take it upon myself to raise my voice and say “Yes,” head turning as fast as my soundwaves reach the ear of the imbecile. Turning back around slowly, sharing a glare and an eye roll with them and their peer. Mainstream media and their lies leave a permanent mark in the heads of the close minded. There are many places all over the world that lack proper distribution of food and resources. Why is it that they choose to bash Africa? Even if it were true, that Africans have very limited resources, why do people make fun of it? Poverty must be funny right? Where does the term African booty scratcher even come from? When you surround yourself with lies, you end up sounding just as foolish as the person behind them. Yes, some parts of Africa suffer from severe poverty, but so do many other places around the globe. Didn’t we learn that many countries in Africa were raided by invaders because of their resources and goods? Or did that history lesson jump over your head and all you got from it was enslavement?

To be African has several different definitions. Either you embrace the fact that your ancestors were slaves or indulge in the greatness that you and/or your parents are African immigrants. My parents with their Ivorian and Malian blood makes me genetically apart of two countries in West Africa. As a family, we’re all gracefully allowed to take pride in being bilingual, or so in my parents case, multilingual. Growing up African was never something to take pride in. To continuously be ridiculed by a bunch of uneducated nuisances, for being different and an outsider had a lot of cons to it, barely any pros. I wasn’t known as Hawa, I was known as an African booty scratcher who isn’t familiar with clean water and buildings as if I built huts in my free time. I didn’t consider this as bullying and I still don’t. This was a time in my life where I was forced to find the beauty in where I come from, because I am who I am and no matter the negative and biased opinions that come with it, the pride I take in my African blood is far greater than the irrelevant and ignorant comments deriving from a sad soul.