I zip up my bag, sit on my bed and sigh. My alarm suddenly blares. It is deafening in the quiet house. For the first time since April the central air conditioning was not on. Being alone in the quiet house gave me an eery feeling. I knew my parents would be home soon and I was very anxious for them to be. It was the Saturday of the beginning of my Father and I’s trip to Belgium. Without my laptop at hand I took out my phone. I scrolled through emails and pictures from previous, days, weeks and years, there were many fond memories, trips to different countries or cities. Looking at selfies my classmates took when I was in the bathroom or just not paying attention I laughed a little. I was going to miss my friends even though I was going for a short time. Earlier that day I had worried about the amount of storage both on my laptop and phone. It was irrational I had 20 GB’s free on my phone and over 300 GB’s free on my laptop. Still it was not enough for me. I would not be satisfied until I had used no storage which is an impossible goal. It was a new thing for me to get as much done, have as much space or the most organized thing or device I could put together. It was me growing up and becoming more mature, at least that was what my parents would tell me. To me it felt like an OCD. Suddenly I hear the front door open. Leaving my little world I realize my alarm is still blaring right next to me. “Hi Eli!.” My Mom yells up to me, it was just a habit that whenever my Dad, Mom, Brother or myself come home we yell hi. Returning my Mom’s greeting I walk downstairs. 

“When do we leave?” “We can leave in 15 minutes” my Mom responds checking her phone. Sufficient with the answer I scurry upstairs to change. I had planned on wearing a t-shirt and my most comfortable pair of pants. I slip each leg through the soft insides of my joggers and grab a shirt from my closet. As one arm slips through the short sleeve, I stop. This was not the shirt I wanted to wear. I had not put any thought into if I looked good and to be honest I did not care. The shirt was not comfortable. I stomp over to my luggage and unzip the bag. I grab one of my pajama shirts. I slide the shirt over my head and arms slip my backpack onto my back. I head down the wide stairs that cover my house. When I get downstairs I see my Mom and Dad waiting for me. The car engine is already on and and both my bag and my Dad’s are in the trunk. We hop in the car my Mom driving, my Dad in the passenger seat and me sitting alone in the back. The soft roar of the engine matched with the light whispers of my parents are the only things I hear. The ride to airport is short and the wait in the airport a little longer then the car ride. As we walked over to our gate at the airport we saw a long line that seemed to lead to nowhere. Over the loudspeaker erupted a subtle Belgian accent telling everyone in line to go to their seats. “You may sit down we are boarding from the back, starting with seats 45 to 36.” Laughing to myself the line dispersed and so did my Dad and I. Finally the section our seats fell in were called. We got on the plane a melancholic feeling came over me. The small cushioned seats looked unforgiving, knowing I was going to be there for the next eight hours. A few minutes later the plane starts to move, the hum of the engines grew louder and louder and with that I turned up my headphones. After a long and tiresome flight, we landed in Brussels where we took a train to get to Antwerp. We headed for dinner wandering the populated European streets. It was Sunday and my Dad would begin to work the following day. It would be the first time I was in a foreign city by myself. The next day I slept in, not used to being six hours ahead of Philadelphia. After about an hour I headed out of the hotel and began to explore Antwerp. The city was empty, it was midday on a Monday and most people were either at work or school. I walked into stores and looked around at the old looking buildings. It was different from Philadelphia much different. There were no skyscrapers, cars rarely traveled down the bike ridden streets. I later went to dinner with my dad and some of the people from his math conference. Most things that were said at dinner I did not understand. It was not because of the heavy Russian accents but because Math was their passion. I quietly sat through dinner enjoying my food. The following morning, I woke up and my Dad was gone. He had left for the conference leaving me by myself as I knew I would be. I wondered what I would spend my day doing at worried that I would be in the hotel too long distracted my netflix and facebook or whatever things the internet had to offer. I decided to get up and visit a museum. I never liked museums and rarely went to them but after several hours looking at art, sculptures and upholstery I felt more mature and grownup. I spent more time exploring the foreign city and eventually went back to the hotel to do homework. I had become responsible for myself and my work and worked hard to make sure I did not fall behind. Later I would tell my dad my day and getting the response of “wow, you’re growing up!” I have changed since last year and I still continue change. I feel a new sense of maturity and growth that I hope will blossom further and lead me to my adulthood.

The Perfect Parent

The drive to New Jersey was silent. I looked up from my phone when my mom turned around in her seat and told my sister and I to get our shoes on. This meant that we were going to be at the church in a minute or so. I reluctantly tugged on the pointy black wizard shoes my mom had bought a fews days before. We pulled into a small parking lot and passed a few cars that I recognized as family. Upon opening the car door, I was greeted with the bright sun, a heavy contrast to the tinted interior I had exited. As the rest of my family joined me I took in the building in front of me. It was different from what I expected, beige stone and brick forming a rectangular building that seemed more fitting as a convention center. As parents stopped to talk to relatives I dropped my head back and squinted up at the cloudless sky. After awkwardly greeting a few elderly people who I didn’t remember, we finally were allowed inside. As soon as I entered, a blast of warm air so thick I could taste it swept over me. My dad led us to the right side and into a middle pew next to my uncle and his family. We sat for a solid twenty minutes before the coffin was carried in and a pastor rose the podium. I quickly lost focus on the practiced words trudging out of the old man’s mouth. His gravely tone filtered through my disinterested ears like a foreign language. I focused on how the wood below my thighs suctioned them down with sweat. As I readjusted my dress for the fourth time, my mom gave me a stern look before turning back to the pastor. I dutifully followed suit and immersed myself in the figurines and the architecture behind the man. My mom startled me back into the present with a warm hand on my shoulder. I looked around as the people started trailing outside. I gingerly stood on stiff legs and slipped out of the stuffy building only to be blinded once more by the sun. I lingered at the entrance and waited for my family to step out. Once the entirety of the group had congregated outside the church, my Nana shakily stated a few words of thanks. I looked behind me at my father and was shocked to see my dad with tears streaming down his face. I had never seen him cry like this, and it terrified me. At that time I couldn’t pinpoint what had made me so uncomfortable about it. Now I realize that he is a vulnerable human, like everyone else. My mom has always appeared as a strong woman. She works the most, earns the most, and doesn’t shy away from handing out her opinion. I knew she could be angry, or upset-but even in those moments her spitfire personality shone through. It takes quite a lot to douse that flame. Though the graveyard stretched outwards for miles, we were all huddled underneath a crooked canopy tent. The feeble sunlight and biting wind had me wishing for the uncomfortable heat of the church. I scuffed my pointy toe into the firm ground and cast my gaze on the people around me. My sister was leaning against our dad, his hands resting on her shoulders. The elderly had perched themselves on spindly plastic chairs right up front, obscuring my view of the coffin. I walked around the edge of the tent towards where my mom was standing behind the gravestone. When she saw me, her hands unclasped from each other and pulled me into a one-armed hug. I gingerly leaned my head on her shoulder and craned my neck to catch a glimpse of her face. She wasn’t crying, but the lines on her face revealed her age. She looked drained and my eyes were drawn to the streaks of gray that interlaced with her auburn curls. It was difficult for me to comprehend that she could experience these things. My parents seemed to be perfect beings. I never considered that they existed for reasons other that taking care of me and my sister. Selfishly I believed their worlds revolved around us. These rare moments exposed me to a new perspective. It sent off signals of caution throughout my brain. I proceeded to act on my best behavior for the next week. I felt like a mouse avoiding a trap I couldn’t see, navigating unknown territory. My mind kept creating different situations about my parents. What were they like as a child? Was I similar? I became so consumed with curiosity that I blurted out what I was thinking during dinner one night. “What were you like as a kid?” My parents looked at me and then each other. They questioned who I had directed it to. “Both of you.” I responded. This prompted several stories of childhood mishaps and my curiosity only grew stronger. I craved the information my parents shared, and once I had taken in all that I could, I spread out my search to the rest of my family. I discovered all sorts of stories and facts that I hadn’t even considered. Looking back at this time, I am grateful I decided to explore my discomfort and step out of my self-centered world. It opened my mind and I started paying more attention to the world around me, especially my parents. I picked up the habit of doing my own laundry, unloading the dishwasher and taking care of our pets. I even started pet sitting and babysitting for my neighbors. While I still don’t pay attention to street signs and how to get around the city, I’m more aware of the people around me and how development is a lifelong process that I’ve only just begun.

I’ve had the same best friend since I was two years old. From diapers to directing films in high school, we’ve grown up and changed together. Ever since I was scrawny toddler dressed in my mismatched clothes, I’ve had him beside me influencing and affecting who I grew up to be. He and I had been thrown together as kids, an unassuming pair as a result of our parent’s friendships and out of pure luck, we happened to click. Evidence of our fourteen years of friendship hanging half-haphazardly from tacks shoved into my walls years ago. Each print, a mix of pixels and colors displaying various moments from our childhood.

When I look through each picture of us looking embarrassingly idiotic I can’t help but picture the nights spent together as kids. The two of us sitting there, huddled together and murmuring to each other, our voices the only sound resonating in the miniscule room. The pitch black space erupting in white light as our chubby fingers flick the two flashlights on. The bright light suddenly illuminating our scraped-up faces. We would recount ghost stories, read comic books, imagine we were the rulers of everything in the world. There was no end to what we could do, to what we could imagine inside our fantastical minds. Everything when we were kids seemed so utterly magical, all I had wanted to do was explore it all.

For my six year old self, the most incredible thing I could imagine in real life was the Philadelphia Zoo. Forty-two acres of asphalt, water, and grass filled to the brim with seemingly thousands of animals. We peered out the tinted windows of the rusting car, ignoring all else as we tried to glimpse the enormous zoo before us. Unable to contain our excitement we leaped out of the car before it’s dirt covered wheels had even stopped spinning and the zoo seemed never ending. Pictures of ferocious lions, cuddly koalas, and creepy insects plastered the walls of the zoo. In each direction was a new source of awe and wonder. We howled at the monkeys, roared at the lions, and tried to coax the snakes out from their dens. We scampered around the zoo attempting to emulate the very animals we saw. They sat majestically, only inches of crystallized glass keeping us from our potential playmates.

The zoo was every dream of ours brought to life. A mix of myth and reality that filled our minds to the brim with wonderment. We wanted to be as fast as a cheetah, as strong as a rhinoceros and as tall as a giraffe. Yet, even the marvels of the real world couldn’t compare to our greatest idol: The Amazing Spiderman. There was nothing like him, he was everything we dreamed of being and here was a chance. An opportunity to don the red and blue and become our hero. After 30 minutes of squirming in our chairs and our strongest attempt to ignore the incessant itching as our faces became caked with color, we emerged as two Spidermen. We came out proud and new, under the guise of someone else. The difference between us and Spiderman melting away with each stroke of heavy blue paint. We stood side to side, our pose perfected and our eyes serious. In our minds, we had placed the mask upon our faces and had become super. Then, in a bright flash, it all ended, captured forever in one 8 by 10 print.

For eleven years I’ve kept that print hanging on my wall, accompanied by an addition of crazy and fun memories of the past. Nothing seems to have changed between the two of us. Time didn’t matter between us, we always got back into that same groove. We were like two puzzle pieces, we could always slot back together and get into our old ways. Growing older with him has helped me become a better person and I’d like to believe that I did the same to him. We had never really been cool, more of a pair of awkward outsiders, but we had always stuck it out together and helped each other become the best versions of ourselves.

We spend so much of our life around other people, that it becomes essential that we choose to surround ourselves with the individuals that care about us the most. Your circle affects your personality tremendously, regardless of whether you spend five, ten, or fifty years together. What’s most important isn’t whether you have the most or the coolest friends, it’s whether you have the right friends. The friends who care about you the most. The friends who will be there when you’re a jerk and help you when you’re down. Find your second spiderman, the rhino to your cheetah, your partner in crime. Think about yourself as a puzzle piece waiting for the right partner, if everything’s right, you can come together and create an amazing picture.

Lights on Lights off Johnny! My mother angrily said. This was not the first time this has happened. “Why are you still awake?” “You need to rest” “Wake up we are going somewhere”. Those are my memories of my mother. The switching of the lights are the same as my emotions. Lately my mother had enough. THOSE ELECTRICAL CURRENTS MAY KEEP THAT DEVICE ALIVE, BUT IT WILL NOT KEEP YOU ALIVE! mother shouted. My mother never understood me. I was just a kid trying to fit in. Making my personality like what I see. A smooth greased hair back greaser, or a jacket wearing football jock, or a glasses wearing know it all nerd. Trying to fit into a school where I had to choose who I wanted to hang out with. I could not fit with the others. So I would switch through them each an every day. It eventually became second nature to me. Till this day I still switch my personalities. I do not feel comfortable to show the real me, even though I do at times mess up and reveal the real me. A quiet male, not wanting to be near people. I remember the first time when I entered this school education system. I did not know where to place myself. I had the name Jonathan Saldivar, however I did not know if it felt right for me. Throughout my life I would just ignore that name and instead go by Johnny Saldivar. I felt like my name would be a name that will go far. Mostly everyone would ask me why do you not go by Jonathan? Why do you go by Johnny? I would just stay being quiet. Words may not be said out loud, but no one ever said they can not be said in my head. I always have judgments on everyone whether they are a good or bad. I am just another human being. When it comes to my talents/skills I tend to spark and when it comes to a time where I do not find myself confident I tend to hide and stay back. “Johnny you should participate more”. “Johnny you are a great student I just wish you would talk more in class”. I do not talk more because if I am not confident and answer the question wrong then I will like I embarrassed myself. I want to learn but I do not like failing. Whenever I have to speak in public I feel like a turtle or snail going into their shell for protection. Social anxiety puts a me in a dark spot where their is no light. “Johnny! Are you alright?” Yeah I am even though I stay looking down at the floors tile. The dirty that is on the floor reminds me of how I can not find a way to break out of this cage I am in. It creates an image within my head thinking what I could be doing instead. I do not like talking to people, I feel a heavy weight pulling me down so I can not speak. I open my mouth but the words will not come out. “Johnny!” Yes I responded. “Why are you not talking.” I just lost myself in my thoughts sorry.

Introduction This paper focuses on my legacy, how I want to be remembered. I included my thoughts on how I think people view me or think of me vs how I view and think about myself. I am proud of this piece but I also feel like I could of went into more detail in my body paragraphs. I am most proud of my conclusion. This is where I talked about how I want to be remembered and I feel like it summed the whole paper up nicely and it was a good way to finish.

Advanced Essay #1

“Hey, umm excuse me… Can I touch your hair?” random people sometimes ask me. I usually respond with a light chuckle and say “Yeah, go ahead.” It’s like I’m programmed because after I hear those words, I respond the exact same way every time. After people feel my hair they always ask me, they always ask “Do you dye your hair?”. And I respond “No, not at all, this is all natural.”. When I say that some people are a little shocked so the next question that people usually ask is “Who in your family do you get your red hair from?”. Honestly I don’t know how to respond to this question because nobody in my family has red hair, nobody that I have met at least. So I just tell people that I get it from my mom, her hair is the closest to red so I just tell them that.

As people run their fingers through my hair, I can’t fight to think like I don’t know this person at all and I don’t know where their hands have been, so what pushes us to say yes to these questions that people we don’t even know ask us? I guess it is just something that naturally happens. Maybe we are just being naturally polite or we just think to ourselves “say yes just to get it over with” without even knowing it. Not all people are like this or think this way but this is what is going through my mind when I get into this situation. Saying “yes” to a simple question like that just seems like the right thing to do, like it isn’t causing any harm and saying yes just gets it over with faster. On the other hand saying “no” just doesn’t feel right. I feel like that kind of just makes it awkward for the both of us and it gives you a bad vibe. Some people are like that where they just wanna go about their day not being bothered.

When people ask me if they can touch or rub my hair, I’m not going to to lie, I kind of like it. I guess it just makes me feel like I’m different, and there is something about my physical appearance that stands out from other people. Unless there are people out here asking everyone if they could touch your hair, than that is a different story, but I highly doubt somebody would do that. But at the end of the day it kind of makes me feel good when someone asks me that question. It makes me feel like they see something in me that don’t really see in anybody else or at least something they don’t see too often and that makes me feel good about myself. There are also the people who make comments about my hair. “You have a beautiful head of hair” is the most common one. I also get “I love the color of your hair”. Hearing compliments like this from people I don’t know, just brings a smile to my face

I feel like my hair is the feature that people think of when my name is brought up. Like if my name comes up in a conversation people think to themselves like “oh the tall kid with the long red hair”. Of course being the tall kid with red hair isn’t the only thing I want to be remembered by, because that is just something that stands out with my appearance. I want to be remembered by who I was as a person and the things I like to do. Someone who could easily lighten up the mood and put a smile on people’s faces with no trouble at all. The guy anyone could come to if they needed advice or if they just needed to talk to somebody. And at an athletic standpoint, I want to be remembered as a great baseball player because I dedicate my life to the sport. But most importantly I want to be remembered as a rising photographer of Rough Cut Productions… Nah I’m just kidding.

Have you ever had a day that completely caught you by surprise? In days like that, things happen that you never would have imagined. When you have days like that and you wake up after a nights sleep, you wonder if you were dreaming about the events that shook your life the day before. I don’t particularly like those days because of how they make feel, and all of the unanswerable questions that they cause to flow through my mind.

It was a day in January year of 2014. I had basketball practice. I had to be there before 6:30 am. “Madison, you are not going to basketball practice” my mom said. I looked at her with a distinct face. The puzzling statement ran across my face. “Why wasn’t I not going?” I asked her. I go to basketball practice every morning. Will my coach even care? Am I in trouble? “I will tell you later, text your coach and tell her you are not coming for personal reasons.” she told me. What personal reasons I wondered. With crud in my eyes barely looking at her I said “okay”. It was weird. I just simply went back to sleep. We usually go to the train together but today she didn’t go with me. She left me alone. It was a cold winter morning. It was a Wednesday. I went on with my day proceeded with going to going to my classes. I was in my freshman year at SLA. After my last class of the day, it was time to go to TFI. I got a call from my dad. “Hey Madison I am going to meet you at TFI after your class is over, I will call you back when I am here”. For what? I was confused or should I say puzzled the whole entire day seemed crazy. First my mom, then my dad. Everyone was all over the place. After TFI I waited patiently for my parents to come. The schedule changes were messing up my normal routine. First I would walk to Suburban from TFI and catch the train home and then do homework. “Madison I’m outside come to the car” my dad said when he called me back. I did not know what to think of it. I get in the car. I see the tears on my mother’s face. I didn’t know why she was crying or what was happening. I looked at her frightened. My blood boiling rising through my veins as my heart was becoming fearful. My dad came into the car. “Madison, you’re cousin was shot early this morning.” My face broke. I couldn’t believe it. I immediately broke into tears. I didn’t know how to feel about it . I did not say anything. My legs were shivering. I didn’t even ask which cousin it was when I first found out. He is still a part of me. He is very close to me. My mom use to watch him before I was around. Is this real? Or am I dreaming? My emotions were everywhere on the way to my house. I did not want to talk to anyone. I stayed to myself praying that I would see him again. I got home and just sat. I did not want to talk to anyone or discuss what I was feeling. The tears were still trickling down my face and I could not stop them. Everything was going through my mind. The fear of never seeing him again or even the fact of seeing him well again. We shared so many memories together. He wasn’t really a cousin, he was more like my big brother. I didn’t know who I can tell I felt alone. I instantly went to my best friend at the time which was Hannah. She was the only person I could really talk to about it. Her first reaction was trying to calm me down. “You will see him again” was all she kept saying to me. I didn’t want to hear what she was saying. I was filled with anger.. Who would do this to somebody? Why to my cousin? There are people out there that have no regard for human life.

Because of this event, my life has changed completely. I view my friendships differently now and I am more aware of my surroundings. But I do cautiously break boundaries with exploring new relationships because it’s worth taking the risk. “You can’t know what to expect , unless you explore it for yourself.”

This essay was written as a way of getting many things off of my chest. Especially a very important memory that I hold deep in my heart. writing this essay was extremely relieving as it allowed me to remember something I haven’t thought of in a long time. I am proud to share this memory and writing as I am extremely afraid of sharing these types of things. I do need to work on my description of things, as well as adding more life into my writing.

“My leg hurts…” I cried to myself as I sat on my bed in a medical room. The room was extremely clean, with glossy white walls and floor, as well as white everything. The only things keeping the room from being completely white was the small decorations of random Brazilian cartoon characters that littered the room. I was in pain. The slightest movement I made caused my body to feel like millions of needles covered in alcohol were slowly piercing through my body. I had suffered an infection in the thigh bone of my left leg and would be having a surgery soon. A serious surgery. Surgeries scared me. I’ve heard stories from cousins that had experienced it before, and they were not pleasant. I was tired. My body felt weak, fragile and vulnerable as if a rogue gust of wind would blow me off my bed and slam me against the wall. I have been in this hospital for about two weeks now and I just want to go home and play with cousins.

Other than me, there was also another boy that occupied the same room. I never knew his name, or rather I never bothered to ask. I just knew that he was also going to be treated for something serious. Just like me. The boy was the same age as me. Eight. His skin color was lighter and his hair was shorter. His eyes showed signs of happiness even though he had been there longer than me. He slept a lot. He would always be taken away from the medical room and brought back. He was always tired. “Can I play with your toys?” He would ask me every time, and being the selfish brat I was, I would always reject it. Living in a house with over eight cousins, and having everything I shared with them go missing, I couldn’t trust anyone. He was always lonely. His family never came to visit, and despite that there was always happiness and hope in his eyes. He had made many attempts at talking to me, and even though sometimes I talked back, I never considered him my friend. Even though I was extremely bored with my toys, deep inside, that boredom was quickly taken away by his presence every time.

One evening, both me and the boy had to leave the medical room. I was being taken away because I had to go through surgery, however, I didn’t know what the reason behind his departure was. I was injected with something which caused me to black out and sleep. After going through the process of surgery I was taken back to my white room. I was the first to be taken back, therefore, I began to play with my toys with an uninterested look on my face, almost looking like I was forcing myself to play with it. In all truth, I was. I was waiting for the boy to return and tell me about his day or how much he wished to explore the world. I received Silence. Hours went by and nothing. The boy never returned. The nurse never told me what happened to him either as she would always tell me to rest. At this moment I looked at my toys with hatred. I was alone. I had realized that without the presence of the boy, the toys were useless. The white room was quiet. From inside I could hear the steps of every nurse in the hall echo through the world. I could hear the engine of every car going by the hospital. But sadly I couldn’t hear the boy.

Reflecting on this today, allows me to understand how mistaken I was. A friend with such a pure heart and honest mind like so should be treasured. They are extremely difficult to come by. I was ignorant to not allow someone like him experience better days than staying in that hospital watching some other kid playing with his toy. Although I am still the same cautious person I was back then, I am more aware of my surroundings and of those who are honest and deserving of my friendship. Inanimate objects can only get you so far, as far as happiness goes. However, a true friendship can last a lifetime. I will often wonder where the boy is or if he is even alive. But my life moves on. As he slowly leaves my mind.