The Next Chapter

My mom walked over to me and sat down. She looked at me with that we need to talk face and asked, “Have you decided yet?”

“No, I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow’s the last day, you won’t have any more time than that.”

“I know,” I said while getting up and going to my room.

I can remember in only fifth grade, my mom had taken me out of Catholic school and put me into a charter school. I had to start my life over, make new friends, get to know new teachers. Eventually, I did it, but in the back of mind, I can still remember my Catholic school friends. I love these new friends of mine, and I hope to always remember them.  I don’t want for them to turn into memories of good times. I want to make more of those good times, but can I do that on my own?

I have the choice to stay with my friends but I’m being drawn to another high school. Science Leadership Academy didn’t even exist in mind until my friend told me about.  He seemed to be on top of everything with open houses and applications for schools but I didn’t care that much about it. I’ll still be able to talk to him, even if we're in different schools. We may not see each other as much but we’ll still remember each other. I said the same things to my friends in fifth grade and that didn’t happen. Everything I am is because of my friends and going to high school, people will see me but in myself, I can only see my friends.

It was hard but I did what I thought was best for myself. Looking back on my decision as a junior, I still question myself what it would have been like if I decided to do something else. This summer when I had visited my family all the way in Poland I thought the same thing.

I had got to get to know my cousins, I’d spent time with my grandparents and, I had even had the chance to experience a Polish wedding. It was such an incredible time for me to be able to experience a different life that I could have lived. I can still picture it in my head, the beautifully trimmed grass, the rows of raspberry bushes next to a field of strawberries, all right outside our house. At night we would light bonfires six feet high and cook polish sausages, but the thing I remember the most and will miss the most was the stars. Every night I would lay down in the peace and quiet, and look at every bright star in the sky. This was something I could never do at home. My parents grew up here yet they left it all behind to come to the US.

   Chapter after chapter was written in their book of memories but before it could be finished, they stopped writing it and began another. After years of work, editing, and perfecting it was all left behind. A life project changed in an instant.

The very first time I had visited my family in Poland, I was able to see a glimpse of the forgotten book. I had the chance to pick cherries for the first time and learned how to start a fire but my most vivid memory was that of my great-grandmother. She was what you would expect an old lady to be, shriveled up, fragile, with snowy white hair. I remember sitting there in the log house, and I couldn’t stop thinking about how she could live here for so long. No running water. No heating. No cooling. I sat there on this old wooden chair in front of her while she talked about how lucky she was to see her great-grandchildren.

After a while, we had to leave and we began to say our goodbyes but what she said to me I can still clearly remember to this day, “I’m so happy I had the chance to meet my great grandkids, even if it was only once.” When she said that last statement I froze in shock. I was at a loss for words.

I told her, “We’ll come back and visit you, we’ll see each other again.”

I couldn’t live up to my words.

It is only after our greatest losses that we can truly understand their worth. My great-grandmother will always be remembered, my friends will always be remembered, and my parents will always remember where they came from. The past does not decide who we will become, but it does help us remember what we have been through. I see now that we never stop writing our book of memories. Unless our first chapters are only the beginning, we will never be able to clearly write the next one.

My piece Stubborn Ol’ Tony is about me reflecting on past experiences, and sharing what they helped me learn about myself and other things. I hope that when reading this piece it’ll help the audience/reader to learn or see something about their self that they didn’t notice before. A lot of my piece is about reflection, and I want people to learn to reflect on all their actions. After they reflect on all their actions, they need to learn from them and see what they will do differently next time, including myself. When it comes to my essay, I’m unsure of how I did. I personally am proud of my reflection and all pieces that revolve around me reflecting on experiences in  life. My explanation about understanding one’s perspective is also a very dominant piece in my work, in my opinion. The memories could’ve been more descriptive or just included more important english rules, for example, figurative speech for describing the scenario and everything around me.

Last summer was when it came to me… It started when my best friend and I got into an argument. This argument went on for a long time due to lots of different factors. We aren’t able to see one another all the time, and that’s because of different household rules. My mother isn’t strict when it has to do with going outside, and how far I go. There are the limitations, however, for example, I can’t just go to New York out of nowhere. Some would say it sounds like she doesn’t care, but I know that she just wants me to explore, and get out more. She is treating me like a young man, and that is what I am. My lovely friend has cautious parents who don’t allow her to go outside all the time, there are actually limitations for how often she can go out.

I was as blind as a bat. I emphasize this because arguments happened.

I’d constantly say “I’m always trying to make plans and you say no”. Statements like this can have a huge strain on a relationship between people. This is the case because it seems like you are blaming someone for something, and saying that they don’t want to hang out. We don’t live close to one another, I live in Grays Ferry (South Philadelphia near Southwest), and she lives in Frankford (Northeast Philadelphia).

She’d constantly say “I am not able to hang out all the time, I don’t have as much freedom as you do”. These things are all true, she doesn’t have as much freedom as me, she isn’t always able to hang out. These arguments would go on because of me. I wasn’t putting myself in her shoes and in doing so got mad at her. It wasn’t fair, and seeing things from another’s perspective is always important and at the time I was incapable of that.

Everyone in an argument or debate will say “oh, I get what you are trying to say and how you see things.” That isn’t always the case, sometimes people just say that to say it. I’m an example of this, I figure this as much because being stubborn is what Antonio DeRock is known for. Meeting new people and entering high school helps people mature and learn more about themselves. Being stubborn was a trait I never realized about myself beforehand. Everybody in the world has their own perspective on issues or even ideas, the problem is people don’t respect their point of view. You don’t have to agree with them, but you can’t argue something if you don’t know where they’re coming from. I truly didn’t know where my friend was coming from. That is why no matter the case I was wrong in that situation. It was wrong of me to do, and didn’t have a good representation of who I think I can be. It was disrespectful, and I want to be a better person than that. I want to see other perspectives, respect them, and be open to new ideas. This is about me reflecting on past experiences and reflecting on moments in general. Reflecting on moments such as arguments and other things like debates or even conversations are important because you can learn a lot from your mistakes. Reflecting in general is an important strategy to do in life, sometimes we don’t even realize it when we’re doing it.

There was a morning recently where I was woken up due to loud noises. When I made it to the dining room window I look out and see my mom and her friend, Larry. I see the sweat going from their forehead down the side of their face. If I touched them, I know for sure that my hand would result in being moist.

I then called out “what are you guys doing?”

My mom responded “we are cleaning the garage, would you like to help?” I was hesitant at first due to me just waking up, I still decided to help though however. When I went down through the garage door, I could see that everything was basically cleaned and taken out of the garage. My mom went through the totes and she found some baby pictures of me. They were cool pictures that I’m glad that I saw. A picture of me with a bowl on the top of my head as a baby, and I had a big smile on my face as I sat in the baby seat. Moments like these are significant because we see times when we’re happy and wonder about that. As a baby, it’s either you are crying or the happiest person in the world.

I am Kiah J, a person who does not put her last name on anything. A person that doesn’t like to share her feelings, or show emotion that makes her inferior, only speaking her mind when completely necessary. Also, a person who is deeply scared of dogs.

Woof. Woof. Wooof.

A pony-sized dog howled and came right up behind me, as I ran into the recreation center, straight through the hallway, and stopped before I turned the corner. A sigh came out of my body.

I walked up to the heavy double doors and pushed through them, revealing myself to the rest of the area. Immediately the smell of feet and sweat, with a hint of febreze filled my nostrils, making them flare up, taking in more of the odor. My foot steps onto the floor, and I walk to my silver and black cubbie, placing my clothes inside. I take my vans off and crouch down, just to perfectly place them under my clothes, then straighten my legs back up to their original position and throw my backpack on top of the cubbie.

My body turns itself around looking at the door, waiting for her to burst into the gym shouting, “Haaaay KJ, haay Aunt Nikki, Haay Girls!”. Instead, all I saw was a door. A plain and now uneventful door. I notice the gym itself, observing it like it was my first day at the gym. In a weird and sorrowful way, it was my first day back in the gym. Girls warming up, coaches giving corrections, and mats piled everywhere, just because no one ever feels like putting them back to where they belong.

She just left, how can everyone act like nothing happened? How can everyone just move on so quickly? Why can’t I do the same? Did she not mean anything to anyone? My mind was just spinning around the same questions, I couldn’t get them out of my head. All I could do was stare at everyone, until I gathered enough strength to hold back my tears. I stretched with my teammates, and decided to act just like they were, unbothered.

Containing my emotions inside, putting on a brave face, and moving on with life was what I was trying to do. My head hurt, I didn’t eat, and I couldn’t say more than 5 words when someone talked to me. I could tell that I wasn’t handling it right, I got angry. Angry that she left me, angry that nobody noticed, and angry that I couldn’t myself together. I pushed those feelings to the back of my brain. Get over it Kiah. Stop thinking about it.

Amberredz was what she loved to be called, but she settled with Ambeezy when it came to me; she let me get away with a lot of things. Because of this nickname, she came up with KJ, and it stuck onto me like glue. We were the perfect example of crazy cousins, and the perfect partners for committing a crime: the brains and the fearless. We spent countless days together, from the day I was born, to the day she died.

Your death hit me harder than anything in my life ever had.

“Get your grips on KJ... KJ!!” My coach blurted out.

“Yes,” I answered, startled.

“Are you okay? You can talk to me”

“Yea I’m good.”

I got up and let my legs take me towards my cubbie, as I was suddenly too tired to do anything important. I realized I was sulking, and I fixed my posture without a second thought. I repeated over and over in my head: You are okay. You are okay.

My hands were covered in chalk by just simply touching my grips, as I looked at the chalk, I put on the best smile my mouth would allow. Grips were on, so I went towards the rest of the group and listened to their conversation about school and what classes they had. My coach opened his mouth and began to talk.

My ears could only hear a song from the radio playing. It had become louder and louder, and I could feel myself getting weaker and weaker. It was one of Amber’s favorite songs.

I sprinted out the room, with my eyes overflowing with tears that I couldn’t control anymore. I leaned on the soda machines and fell to a fetal position sobbing, like a music video break up song. Suddenly, my coach came out, and sat down and hugged me.

“You don’t have to be strong, it’s okay.”

Although having a poker face is what I show, it doesn’t mean I’m all right. Being in a position where no one understands is hard enough, and keeping it in makes it worst. Mourning is not an easy task, it's one that seems so simple, until it actually happens, and the complexity is too much to handle. I have revealed that forgetting or pretending is not having strength, it's having the ability to admit my true feelings towards Ambeezy. It's remembering her for all the good things done together: laughing at memes; eating pizza; watching “Martin”, even if it meaning crying. It's wishing she was here in special moments: getting my belly button pierced; watching “The Wiz”; performing at competitions. It’s knowing she hasn’t left me by myself, with the same fear of dogs like she once had. A fear we once shared.

My heart clogged my lungs as I let out an unpleasant scream. They were taking her away from me, again.

I lived with my mom, dad, and little sister at the time. Life wasn’t going so great for me. I had good grades, all the toys I could ever want and of course, both of my parents living with me, but, they weren’t really there. My dad worked as a truck driver, so he had crazy, unpredictable work hours. My mom used to be a nurse, that is until she found a new hobby, a new friend, PCP. PCP became her new life, she got high no matter what time of day or night. The drug caused her to hallucinate frequently, wandering off into different galaxies. She would not usually get high in front of my sister and me, but when she did, my world would shatter into a billion pieces, as I watched her spineless body fall to the ground.

“You can’t blame her for becoming addicted, Doniesha” my dad always reminded me.

But I can blame her. I can blame her for betraying regularly. She would always express to me how bad she felt for disappointed me so many times. She told that I could trust her, that she wouldn’t hurt me anymore.

It felt very weird, yet, liberating in the beginning. My perception of trust for her went from subjective and attached to objective and detached. I received a lot of realizations after the many betrayals and I moved on more confident and stronger.

Over the weeks, she began getting slimmer and her neutral facial expression became very bland. She got into many car accidents and physical altercations while under the influence of this evil, corrupting drug. This caused her to become a frequent inmate, both in the county jail system and in her very own psychological prison. The worst part about the entire situation was that she betrayed me. My mother was supposed to be someone that I could look up to. I no longer had that uniform female in my life to talk to me about love and menstruation.

Being raised in an environment where my female role model, modeled nothing but bright orange jumpsuits and my father’s broken heart caused him to entirely box himself out from the real world, I began to become depressed. So to cope with my depression, I began to write all the time. Somehow, I managed to build a new life and start fresh, at least, that's what I thought.

One Saturday morning changed everything. I recall having the best dream of my life. That all was ruined when I was rudely awakened by a loud thudding sound coming from the front door. As I querulously crept downstairs to investigate, I heard an unfamiliar voice at the door. Whoever the mysterious voice was, it was asking for the whereabouts of my mother. My dad let out an angry sigh and opened the door completely to let this stranger inside of our safe home. When the man stepped through the door, I heard a raspy dispatcher’s voice on a small walky-talky and I realized that the stranger, in fact, was a police officer looking for my mother. I sat on the last step of the staircase and began to cry. I knew he was here to take her back to jail. It wasn’t anything new.

“Abbigail?” the officer projected “Where are you?”

My mother walked down the stairs with a large chef’s knife in her hand.

“Drop the weapon Abigail!” the officer demanded.

“They told me to come with them, it’s better in the underworld” my mom stated tediously.

I hopped up from the step and gazed at her black, soulless eyes with trepidation. I will never forget the sound of that stainless-steel hitting the steps, tip first. The officer handcuffed her, took her to his car and drove off. I still remember sobbing louder than the sirens as I heard them fade off into the distance. My dad slid his sore slender back against the wall and sighed again. But this time it was a good sigh. A sigh of relief.

I view the idea of betrayal as a learning experience, it has a positive connotation. I speak for myself when I say that being betrayed makes you more vigilant in how you manage relationships that you encounter. You no longer trust the betrayer the same you're always skeptical and on edge when you are dealing with the betrayer. I soon had to realize that trust wasn't supposed to be given but it needed to be earn. Even for the people who promised that would never betray you.

When I was in 8th grade, I had to take part in court-mandated therapy sessions.

"Go and share your thoughts, and maybe it will help you feel better" the judge expressed.

So I went and at first, I really enjoyed it. The therapist would get me to express my feelings by playing board games and coloring. I started to open up more, I started to trust her. That's when things changed. When I walked into her office on Thursday evening, there were no board games, there were no coloring books, but instead there sat my therapist behind a rusty brown desk. She instructed me to come in and sit down.

"W-where are the games?" I questioned bafflingly.

"There are no games today sweetheart, we need to talk."

She told me that everything that I told her was confidential, but at that age, I didn't understand what that word meant.

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"It means that I can't tell the judge, mommy or daddy what you tell me tonight, it's a secret, just between you and I."

I didn't really have any reason to not trust that she wasn't telling me the truth not to confide in her, so I began to talk. I talked and talked for an hour straight, expressing all of my thoughts and feelings without holding back. I began by telling her about this boy that I had a crush onto this very day,  and later on, I went into more serious topics.

"And sometimes my mommy hits me," I stated as I took a big gulp trying to hold back the vicious tears ready to stream down my cheeks.

After I said that the therapist stood up and gave me a big hug and told me that I did a wonderful job tonight.

The next morning, I get called into the office at school and there are two women standing there waiting for me. They restated word for word everything that I said to my therapist. I felt a big rush of dizziness as the upsetness took over my stomach.

"How could she tell them?" I thought to myself.

I trusted her and even though I didn't understand the severity of the things that I told her the night before, the simple fact was that she betrayed me.

As I grew older these betrayals changed my trustworthiness of others. I learned that trust is valuable. It affects everything. So to this very day, it is very hard for me to trust people, simply because I have been betrayed. Breaking someone's trust is like crumpling up a piece of perfect piece of paper. You can smooth it over but it's never going to be the same again.