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Advanced Essay #1: That Was Then, This is Now

Posted by Ruby Ginsburg in English 3 · Block/Harmon · Y Band on

Introduction:

My intention for this piece was to touch on the importance of learning to let go of the past. I also wrote about the ways in which our perceptions of reality can change immensely as we grow up. It deals with coming to terms with growing apart from people, and how that is a part of life, and it happens to everyone. I am mostly happy with the way I reflected on my larger ideas, and how my scenes of memory tie into that reflection. For the future, I would like to improve the overall flow of my writing, and use even stronger descriptive language throughout.


That Was Then, This is Now

“Bedtime!” Wearily, I began the three-story hike up to our bedroom. With each tiring step, I dragged my hand along the unfinished wooden banister. My brother was already upstairs, getting ready for bed. I reached the final step, and moved toward our room. The thought of climbing into my bottom bunk was increasingly welcome.

All of a sudden I heard a noise. It was a monster! Its voice came booming from my bedroom. Terrified, I started to move back towards the staircase I had just ascended, but right then the monster came out of my room and tried to attack me. It became evident that the monster was my brother. Not reassured, however, I proceeded to let out my loudest scream, as the monster’s hands reached for me. Any trace of my exhaustion disappeared as I sprinted back down the stairs I had previously struggled to climb.

“Daaaaaaddyyyy!” I ran as fast as my six-year-old legs would carry me, fearful tears welling in my eyes. “Victor’s pretending to be a monster again!” My heart pounded faster. My dad met me at the bottom of the stairs and I ran into his protective arms. “It’s okay, Ruby, he won’t hurt you.” My brother followed me down the stairs, laughing. I was unconvinced that the monster wouldn’t hurt me, but as my dad carried me back upstairs to bed, I regained my desire for sleep.

As children, our perceptions of reality are intertwined with our imaginations. What we see as possible is not always true, just as I believed my brother to be a monster when he clearly was not. When we are older though, we gain a more firm grasp of what is feasible, and we become more accurate with our ability to set reasonable expectations. Similarly, when we are young, our future plans are easily formulated, yet difficult to maintain later on.

I used to dream of opening up a cafe with my best friend. Our plan was to finish high school, go to culinary school in New York together, and then share an apartment with our two dogs. After college, we would open our storefront. Our best sellers would be our smoothies and grilled cheese sandwiches. It seemed the perfect plan at twelve. I thought that I could have my entire future set in place, unwaverable. But waverable it was; and some time after my pursuit of the culinary arts ended, my seemingly undying relationship with my best friend began to fizzle. It took me a while to begin to take any notice of this, but once I did, I knew that I had to come to terms with it.

As time went on, I came to accept the fact that we had both found new friends, and that I was no longer dependent on that one friend. These new friends were all I needed, and at times it felt as though my best friend had become just a distant memory. At first, this was a dismal notion, but I now recognize that these distant memories of my best friend have faded beautifully. Everyone has at some point outgrown a relationship, and people are quick to wish that past relationships were still present, but all relationships are still part of a person’s journey. My friend and I are different people now then we were as children, but we were still essential parts of each others’ lives.

As people, we must learn that just as our relationships shift, our conceptions of how the future will fall into place is altered. Difficult as it may be, we must all part with people and places that we cherish, and then be able to rebuild ourselves stronger. And this process of letting go of relationships and ideas with grace is one that all people must learn to do.

Advanced Essay #1 The Misunderstood

Posted by Octavain Davis in English 3 · Block/Harmon · Y Band on

With this essay, I hope to give readers a glimpse into my world, providing explanations to the misunderstood, and to display the events of one of my transformation periods. Including my feelings and actions, building up to the person I am now. While I´m not always confident in my writing I believe with this piece I was able to provide readers with vivid images of my struggle with background. Providing a much more acceptable and vigorous reading experience.

A sphynx walks in front of me. She sprouts hair side by side. She suffers from death to the left of me, behind me she´s forever intertwined. 9th grade, I entered SLA doors afraid of what was to come. After the summer institute, the feeling of reassurance was high, but I knew things would shift in time. One by one I met other students, later on discovering a more exuberant side of me that laid dormant as if it was the secret behind Chamber B of the Padmanabhaswamy Temple. Negative altercations led to the truest friendships and I exposed this side of me to everyone. I first put it to use in the library, then in class, and finally with the upperclassmen. My personality was at its peak and I soon began to realize this side of me has always been visible, just wasn't accepted by others as much so here.


As time passed I began following a daily routine, around five every morning I would wake up with my eyes virtually glued shut, equilibrium off balance, and the feeling of two bushy tails brushing against my legs as I try to make my way to the lavatory. Splashing some water onto my face and staring into the mirror in a daze, fantasizing about my desired future university. A small exchange of words for an act for a group project quickly became a game of me running through the halls. While others never understood what exactly was occurring, the individual on the other end always did. Eventually, everyone came to know me as the guy who runs through the hall and soon almost everyone understood the reasoning of it just being plain fun. I had friends now, most upperclassmen. They always provided me with the feeling of acceptance, which was never done by anyone outside of my household. It was like I felt happiness for the first time again. While I was overjoyed for this, I still had a contradicting feeling. A shadow that constantly hovered over me, filling me with nothing but fear. The feeling of being alone, insignificant, and a complete waste of time appeared erratically. The feeling that I was always doing something wrong.


Moments passed, laughs were exchanged, until the year finally ended when my mistake appeared vivid. I barely heard from anyone. It was like we never even really existed. As I paced outside late at night swatting the gnats that lingered among the streets like hungry predators waiting for their time to attack, my curiosity increased. Contemplating the feeling I couldn't quite pinpoint before, but now appeared so obvious. The feeling of neglect and obscure, one that I as a child experienced all too well. I cried for many nights and pondered through many mornings. It was heartbreaking to know I wasn't considered as important to them as I considered them to me. Memories of family members leaving came and went by the hour. I relived every awesome memory of me with them and I questioned everything.


¨What did I do wrong?¨


¨Is this just a repeated cycle?¨


¨Was I nothing more but a source for entertainment?¨


I've grown attached to them. Weakened by them in the most disgusting way possible. Emotionally. Depression returned and since then I vowed not to let this happen again. A game that was once a simple act of playfulness and immaturity, now used as a way of defense and disguise from others and myself.


Summer came and went, my mother came from and returned to the hospital causing me more stress than I believe she knew when sophomore year finally began. The first few weeks I observed everyone. Putting a mental labels on people that I could possibly get attached to who could make me relive the miserable feeling I had at the end of freshmen year and throughout the summer. Covered by my reputation for running through the halls freshman year, I was able to run away without the slightest sign of confusion from the individuals on the other end. Of course, this made them laugh, and surprisingly I was ok with this. Basically killing two birds with one stone, I gave others happiness and an interesting high school experience while at the same time keeping myself emotionally hidden. Unfortunately, something that's confusingly hard for me to do is lie. And it wasn't long until others wanted to know the reason for me sprinting away from them every time they came into view.


I was caught multiple times but coached by my eagerness to stay emotionally hidden. When asked, I said whatever came to mind first. Since scenes from my neighborhood replayed themselves in my head constantly, I used what I've witnessed and defined them as. Thugs and gangsters. I used the words ¨gang banger¨ many of times and shockingly I was able to navigate throughout my whole sophomore year with literally those two words. All I had to say was that and run and people would laugh and without question continue on with their day. Of course, like I said, it's incredibly hard for me to lie. And they saw right through that and soon demanded to know the real reason why. I couldn't tell them that I actually cared for them right? I mean, first and foremost, I know they wouldn't feel the same. They never do. I felt bad. I went back to my old ways of  ¨putting myself in their place¨ routine. I gave them things, wrote nice messages on the holidays. In my own slick way, trying to demonstrate love and friendship but never really confirming it. I gave things to people I barely knew just to even out the playing field so it would become less noticeable. I wanted them to know they did nothing wrong but for that, they would have to know the truth. While going through all this I saw an option of change, some hope that it would be different this year. My hands shook, my sweat glands unlocked, and my heart rate sped up. I gave me secrete to one of the seniors. As the year went by things continued to be the same. My depression soared, I watched my mom fade away before my eyes causing me nothing but agony, and me running from people I loved but I know wouldn't feel the same continued. But I waited. I waited to see if that one person I gave my secrete to would see my reason of action and at least make the effort to stay in touch and provide me with the feeling of acceptance once again. This never happened, ensuring my dark thoughts to be valid. But in a way, I was somewhat ok. For I have left her with the burden of a truth that no one would dare to believe.


As a child, I was taught to love others. Take them into account on every decision I make and consider them family. And yet inevitably, we are forced apart. Sometimes the bond of friendship is not a bond forged by choice. In fact, some would see friendship as a terrible burden. As the summer went by I replayed the memories from sophomore year mentally. The smiles I created that I will never see again with a mixture of dark thoughts that made me realize the obvious. Everything happens for a reason. While I thought this was making me weak, it was indeed making me stronger. It helped me to develop a line between me and them that was only beneficial to me. Which, I must admit, isn't a strong line but it's there. My mom had surgery and was granted a second chance reminding me of the saying ¨ Enjoy it while it last¨. Reassurance of the definition of life appeared clear. I now know that everything doesn't last forever. And there will come a time when I am truly alone. And for the first time in years, I´m actually ok with that. I won't lie, I am afraid. I've been threatened, beaten, and in a way neglected. Little did I know those things would make me more powerful and resistant now more than ever. I´m ready to start and end the junior year with a bang. But of course, this feeling I have now isn't promised. A sphynx walks in front of me. She sprouts hair side by side. She suffers from death to the left of me, behind me she´s forever intertwined.


sphynx-cat-names-2
sphynx-cat-names-2

Advanced Essay #1: Pigeon Toes

Posted by Madelyn Malloy in English 3 · Block/Harmon · Y Band on

Introduction: For my essay, my goal is to teach the reader that it is important to love every part of you no matter what people say. I am really proud of the descriptive language, and I feel as though the reader could formulate scenes into their head while reading this essay. There is always room for improvement, so I would like to get better at making my work very descriptive and use stronger words. I still remember the days I would force my feet to walk in a straight line. My face turned a shade of red when kids blatantly asked me why I walked the way I did in front of their friends. Grade school for me was one of the worst times of my entire life; it felt like I was submerged into darkness for eight years and I could not find the light. I tried everything I could to try to walk perfectly straight to the point where I wanted to break my own bones so they’d regrow flawlessly; I wanted to be perfect. Tibial torsion is not a disease nor is it uncommon as people dramatically paint it to be. It is something that happens in the womb; the child is in an awkward position in the uterus or it can even be genetically passed through the child. It is an inward twisting of the shin bones, causing the child to walk inward, or have “pigeon toes.” It drew unwanted attention from unwanted people making grade school one of the toughest times I have ever had to go through. Her name was Abby and she was the meanest person in the entire seventh grade. I still remember those dark hallways where I encountered her; all I wanted to do was go outside and reunite with my friends. “Why do you walk that way?” Those words hung into the air as my face turned a shade of red. Yes, it was a simple question but I thought if I ignored my issue it would disappear and I would finally be accepted. It felt like those bits of laughter from her friends were closing in on me. I immediately left and tried to surround myself with my friends. Going home that day was an atrocity; like a city under attack all in the midst of my mind. My insecurities overcame me and my mind turned a black, dusted color, and no light would shine through it. I was young; fourteen years old and had no sense of direction, especially to the path of happiness. I let myself become so wrapped up in this awful insecurity that it became me. I thought of myself as that girl who could not walk straight, and so did everybody else. I started to toughen up a little bit the next year in eighth grade. I knew if I became solid as a rock, nothing could pass through me, and what stayed sensitive remained behind closed doors. Instead of words, I turned to violence; if someone wanted to trigger my insecurity again, I was not going to suffer silently this time. My feet were planted into the ground, becoming one with the cement. A bunch of kids interrogated my peace bringing up that thing I never wanted to resurface. “Why do you walk like that? You look like a pigeon.” That time I did not shy away. I did not go home and cry rivers. Instead, I threw a punch to that kid on the arm. I let my emotions get too good of a hold on me terminating any words from coming out of my mouth. I tried to ignore it, yet it crept back. I resorted to violence instead of words and yet again it came back. I was running out of my options until a little bit of light dawned on me; I could just live with it and embrace what I have. It took many years to overcome my insecurity, but where I am now is where I want to be for the rest of my life. I am happy that I have come to terms with myself. It was freshman year, and I did not know anybody. I roamed crowded hallways in a sweltering uniform and attended unairconditioned classrooms. It was third period; physics, and that’s where I met my good friend. “Why do you walk like that?”. I immediately feel my face turning that rose color. She noticed that it made me uncomfortable, but the next sentences that came out of her mouth altered my view on myself. “No, what you have is really cool. I love those kinds of things, it’s what makes a person unique.” The rose color fades from my cheeks; I did not feel like I was under great mortification for once. I felt as though I was finally accepted and appreciated for the thing I thought was “wrong” about me. I felt content knowing this seemingly everlasting weight was finally lifted. Self-love is what I needed the most during those dark times. I needed to learn that you cannot be fully happy until you are content with the way you are. I realized that this was my body forever, so I should value what I have and come to peace with myself.

Advanced Essay #1: Work Vs. Cat

Posted by Chloe Simmons in English 3 · Block/Harmon · Y Band on

My essay is to show that there's needs to be a balance between work and life. I also want people to know that not all your helpers have to be human. What I'm most proud of this essay is that I was able to convey my story and larger idea with a limited amount of words. In the future, ways I wish to improve my writing is to have more figurative language and try to introduce my idea a bit earlier in my essay.

                                                                                        Work Vs. Cat

Snow came hurling down as the winds howled in Philly. Everyone have been lured to sleep by the nighttime. I sit in my room, eyes flying over paper by paper, making sure the project is right. It’s so hard for it to be right when everything seems to be blurry. My eyes are half-open and red, sleep deprived. So much so that I hear scratching at the door. It was only until 10 minutes later that I knew it wasn’t just me. I smiled. I got up, went to my door, and opened it. Sprinted in my grey and white tabby cat, Tony. By the time I closed the door, Tony was rolling all over my papers, my pencil gone. “Ok Tony, let’s get to bed.” I look outside. The snow is deep. “I have tomorrow.” I put my stuff in my bookbag and turn off the lights. I climb into bed. I can hear the jingles of Tony’s collar as he settles in. I relax. The moon shines over us both as we, too, were lured to sleep.

Before, I would have never cared staying up late. I would have continued working into the morning. Just to make my work perfect. I didn’t have friends and I was distant from my family. I was just a machine running its program every day.

When people hear of my neighborhood, looks of pity becomes common. I was sick of it. So I worked to prove them that I’m not another stereotype. Along the way, this goal became my life. That life ended when Tony was born. We had his mother, Oobie, for several years. Each year a new litter was born to give away. Nothing new. Except when we gave all the kittens, but Tony, away. Mom and Zoe decided to keep him. As long he stays out my way, I thought.

Two years later, it’s 2 am. Everyone is asleep. A project is all that’s on my mind. I’m hunched over my work, eyes half-open and red, but can’t focus. One hour has passed since the scratching and the meowing started, each minute getting louder. I sighed. I knew then I wouldn’t be able to focus with him there all night. I stood up and made sure I was steady before I move towards the door. He shot in as soon as I opened it. By the time I closed the door and turned around, he was already laying on my papers.

Not again, I thought. For the past two years of middle school, I’ve been harassed by a cat. Not a single night goes by without him. I look towards him only to see my pencil case on the floor. I stormed over to pick Tony up from my work and put him to the ground. He attacks five minutes later. He always does. Tony is like a computer virus within to my program, putting things out of order. I sat down in my bed, tears of anger and stress forming. I put my palms to my eyes. I start to cry. Never thought my cat would be my breaking point. I felt a weight on my lap. I move my hands and open my eyes to see him purring.

“Tony,” I whispered tiredly, “it’s always you.” I need to get this done soon, I thought. Before I knew it, I spilled out all of my problems to him. I went on until I couldn’t, sitting there, petting Tony. At that moment, my focus wasn’t on work. It was on Tony. I closed my eyes as I listen to him purr. I was content. I was at peace. I was happy. That night, I was ok that I didn’t finish work.

Life isn’t always working. People rush to get things done so much that they forget to look at the important things. Life. Family. And themselves. Society always sees time as an enemy. Time to work on this. Time to do that. You have no time for this. Why make an enemy that will last forever? Death is already one enemy. Time is just time. There’s no point getting to your destination as soon as you can. I will get there at my own pace. So that is what I did. Fewer nights were taken up by my work. I started to make friends. The distance between my family and I disappeared. I became a fan of many fandoms and books. Tony became my best cat friend. Every night, he would scratch on my door, ready to turn in for the night. Some nights I needed to stay up, but never late. I was content. I was happy. I felt balanced. It’s strange to see my life change for the better just because a certain cat wouldn’t give up.

In The End You'll Always have yourself to Count on

Posted by Orlando Irizarry in English 3 · Block/Harmon · Y Band on

Growing up with a parent who has a drug/alcohol problem who is abusive has bee a serious issue. A serious issue that affected me mentally, emotionally, and physically. it caused me to be very sensitive and insecure about myself. Other than that I had to find ways to live 2 lives. A life as a child and an adult which has been a hard journey. I am very proud of this piece because it took a lot of strength and confidence to talk about this. Hope you guys enjoy!

A few years ago my sister, Celita, and I always took late night walks. We would walk Hunting park to Juniata even to the boulevard.  Where we would just talk about our future, past, and present.

“Do you ever think she’ll change soon? She responds,

“I don’t know Orlando, she's missing out on you and how much your growing which pisses me off. “

“Just hope she is able to be a parent and help me when I enter high school next year. Because a boy graduates next week.”  I say.

My sister replies “Hopefully she can go. I know you want her to go deep down to see if she's willing to change.

  The night before graduation. I try on khaki pants with my lemonade dress shirt, yellow, white and navy blue striped bow tie, and navy blue suspenders. to calm my nerves. While doing so I practice my cum laude speech a few times. Once I finished I went to my mom’s room, a beige door to ask

“Mom, you have to be up by 7 tomorrow I'll call and check if you're up okay? I get no answer which leaves me curious if she heard me.

“See you tomorrow I can't wait!”

Graduation morning, I woke up at 6:30.  Brushed my teeth and got dressed in the downstairs bathroom. I make a left to head up to check if Angely is ready. Once I see her I say

“Damn Somebody looks really simple and beautiful” she smiles because I look really sharp and a bit mature.

“Did you call your mom to see if she's up?” She asks

So I call her and she doesn't answer so I call twice, three times, the fourth time she answers. “HEY momma you up? On your way?” I ask and she replies with an

“I can't go I have to work I told you.

Once I heard “I can't” I become so heartbroken and beyond furious.

Graduation time and I have nobody to witness me say my lovely speech to the students and receive 4 awards. I'm so happy but broken. A wound that will never heal because it’s an event that will never happen again. An event I did so well in and she missed it for a fucking job. I was so upset she didn't go because wanted to learn and understand that her addiction was something she is struggling with. I just wanted to see that she was trying, that Michelle my mom actually wanted to be a part of my life which she hasn't since.

To be able to feel like a kid I will just stay at my best friend's house. Where I was able to breathe and put the adult pants to the side. I would go every weekend even on holidays.  My mom noticed which made her jealous. New years eve was amazing everybody danced including my mom. Believe it or not, the first time I ever felt connected and seen some me and her. The beautiful Festive day turned into a nightmare. It began when my mom started to call me names to make me irritated, in order to avoid I moved away. 2 am she is still up and everybody wants to go sleep so they hide the extension.  My mom asks me to bring down the extension in her room but I told her

“no she's drunk”.  

After I said that she went upstairs and started a fight, it became physical and she choked me for a good minute then my sister pulled her off. She then  tells me

“Get the fuck out now. Go to Felix house since you love them more.”  I say confused

“I will don't worry. They treat me more like a son than you ever have. Don't worry I won't be here for long.

During the night I cried, just reflecting on how the Alcohol is taking over her life. She is more aggressive and inhuman towards her own kids; this shifted what my view on my mother was. It also made me feel life threatened.

The feeling of being unsafe continued. So one night she came home drunk started a fight with my sister over her graduation. The fight got worse and my mom left for the bar. This made me feel so uncomfortable in my own house so I had to text Lehmann.

“Hey I'm sorry it's late, but I don't feel safe in my house. My mom is drunk. She got into a fight with my sister and I feel unsafe. I say. He responds

“Orlando it's not a problem, I have to pick you up if you don't feel safe. Can you send me your address.”

15 mins later Lehmann came with cops and got me out safe. The next day I had a talk with Martin and Lehmann about her behavior and that I didn't want to go back. I started to live with my best friend Felix.

Weeks later Court approached. Waiting for a courtroom is the most terrible feeling. I felt so many emotions from rejected to enraged. But there was always a piece in me was always wanting to see if she’ll change. That piece wanted her to come and at least fight for me. 3 hours passed and no sign of her. This made me realize that no matter what I'll be the only one there to help and support myself.

The most important people in your life are usually your parents, they show you the right from wrong in this cruel world. They guide you and set a model for you to follow. In this case that is not for me. I had no type of relationship with Michelle my mother. Due to the fact she’s a drug addict. Being a drug addict/parent can ruin a relationship in a matter of months. So you have to fend on your own in order to succeed and live a healthy life.


Advanced Essay #1: I Didn't Jump I Was Pushed

Posted by Micah Jack in English 3 · Block/Harmon · Y Band on

Cliff Jumping: A Metaphor I started off writing about my second experience cliff jumping because that was something I was really excited about after I had done it over the summer. However when Mr. Block started to ask us to write about something a little deeper I chopped it up a bit and it became something more. Hopefully next time I can weave my ideas better so the story flows more smoothly but I think this is a good start.

I Didn’t Jump I Was Pushed

We turned the corner to the sounds of screaming. Just what we had been looking for. As we walked out of the forest into the light the sounds intensified and relief filled my body. The green trees were a beautiful background as sticks stopped crunching beneath our feet and gave way to smooth stone. Before us was a beautiful blue lake the deepest type of blue. We saw a boy jump as we got closer, the water rushing up to meet him. Splash. Yup I was back in Maine alright. Bar Harbor to be exact. It had been the location of our summer home for a long as I had been aware. I hadn’t been to my home state in six months and whenever I go back I always think about how much life had changed.


My middle school was in Auburn, Maine. A solid eight-hour drive from Philadelphia. I didn’t really fit in there. I had my friends but they weren’t truly my friends, they weren’t the type of people that I could trust the way I wanted to. I didn’t have much confidence at all, I let people walk all over me. I wondered how to change all the time. How to be cool, how to look like nothing bothered me like the coolest kids did. At that time we didn’t have much money. My dad, my brother and I all squeezed into a one-bedroom apartment for a year with no air-conditioning. Kids would say they loved my shoes. Mocking. I wore new balances, oblivious, and when the teasing started I didn’t have other shoes. I tried to change, tried to figure out what made me such an easy target. I told myself late at night that I would stop doing certain things and people would leave me alone. I had almost achieved my goal when my dad told me we were moving.


There was a lower jump and mom said we should take that first so we walked down the small path. I could feel my sandals losing their novelty as I slid-walked down the dirt path. My first experience with jumping off ledges into bodies of water had been off a bridge. That time it had taken me 40 minutes to jump. Off this little jump I drilled myself that I was going to jump in right away and that’s what I did. Straight up, then down, sinking, cold, and air again.     

“Oh wow Micah,” my mom. She jumped in after, the water jumping away from her straight up into the air. I was anxious as I got out of the water. It was time for the big jump.


I remember being so nervous my first day of school at SLA. I wasn’t wearing new balances but I was acutely aware of anything someone might find wrong with me in this alien place. But I was hopeful, I could be whoever I wanted in this new place.

My first friend at SLA was Mamadou Samassa one of my closest friend now. Basketball started and I made friend after friend and I was different but not really. I copied the way they talked but I also laughed more, we went out everyday. School was fun, interesting I liked my classmates and I could just chill be me.


As I climbed back up the path I remembered that the trick is to not think. I got on the back of the cliff got a running start and jumped… up then down, down straight into the water fast way too fast. Crash. I let myself sink for moments, my heart still racing then pushed myself back up where the air was.

“How was it,” my grandmother.

“Scary,” I said. “Very scary.”


I jumped into Philly in the same manner. Thrust into a completely new situation yet I didn’t jump I was pushed. Cliff jumping had nothing had on that day. I changed a little but not as much as I thought. I had friends we called each other brothers and I tried to be kind to everybody to be someone my middle school me would like. I think a lot of people think there’s something wrong with them when they’re in a situation that’s not working out. That for some reason they’re missing something everybody else, that they’ll be stuck as a caterpillar forever, but I don’t think that’s the case.  Maybe some of us just need a little bit more time in our cocoon.


Still Nothing- Jack Eagen

Posted by John Eagen in English 3 · Block/Harmon · Y Band on

​I sit in my chair, spinning, and spinning thinking that something will change. I have been sitting here for hours and still nothing has come to me, nothing has changed. I still stare at the same blue wall, trying to come up with something to write. I am a person with not very much concentration, anything besides work always seems like a better option to me. I look around my room and see the most random thing, maybe it’s a shoe, or a picture, but whatever it is, it interests me more than my work. The smell of all this is something that I could never put into words, not in a bad way, it’s just indescribable. But as I sit their, I recognize it like an old friend. I touch the wood on my desk and feel how flat it is. Still trying to concentrate on my writing but thinking about how all of this is surrounding me as I try and fill a blank page. The essay is due tomorrow, and my ideas still aren’t clear. My mom walks in and asks “Are you working?” I say “Of course”, knowing full and well it isn’t true.
It’s not that I haven’t wanted to work, it’s just my brain. Plain and simple my brain finds any possible way to excuse getting out of work. This is a quality I very much dislike about myself, but it is apart of me nonetheless. I have tried to fix it by getting as far away from distractions as possible, but then my brain just latches on to random things. It might not even be in the room, but I will start to think about it. For example if I am working on something, going jet skiing might randomly pop into my head. I have never even been on a jet ski but it will occupy my boredom for at least ten minutes. And by the time I am able to refocus, I have already lost my train of thought. 
Obviously as humans we will need to do work at some point, so this mentality is not really helpful. In all honesty, I think most people who do this have absolutely no idea how to fix this. Yet again the problem might be that we haven’t tried hard enough. That is what I am hoping the answer is because if it’s not there might be an even worse problem. I don’t believe that it is though, I think that it is just an unwillingness to work. 
 A lot of people close to me have said that when it is something I am passionate about, something that I want to do, I will put one hundred and ten percent of my effort into it. But sadly a lot of life doesn’t work like that. I’ll just have to suck things up and get through it. That’s just a fact of life that everyone at some point in their lives has to deal with. I think that at sixteen years old, it is ok to not have dealt with that reality yet. To be able to, for at least a bit longer, live in my little bubble. But a lot of people are starting to try and wake me up to that reality. At SLA we clearly have people who already have that drive, already are ready and willing to do what needs to be done. For almost my entire life I have wanted to be one of those people. The one that stays up until four in the morning to finish a project. Not because they want to, but because they have to if they want to succeed. And I desperately want to succeed in life, I am a very materialistic person and I openly admit that. If you do not succeed in life, you do not have the option of material things. That is why I know that for me to succeed, I will need to get out of this way of thinking. 
  For me to be able to do something with my life, I need to do what is necessary. It won’t, for the most part, be what I want to do. But it will be what I need to do. It is definitely important that I acknowledge that now. Because as long as I live in my little bubble, I will never be what I want to be.

Advanced Essay #1: Smiling Through The Pain

Posted by Nasya Ie in English 3 · Block/Harmon · Y Band on

​Introduction:
My essay is about my anxiety and how it plays a role in my life. Learning how to overcome all the obstacles life gives you.  Everyone goes through struggles and we will always make it through to the other side. I am proud that I am able to make this relatable for everyone to understand. In my future, I hope to have better descriptive writing that you are able to visualize everything. 

Smiling Through The Pain 

My heart aches, my hands shakes and sweats. Looking around regarding all the musicians immeasurable compared to me.

“Why am I doing this to myself?” I questioned.

Inhale and exhale, focused on my lungs expanding and filling up with air, then releasing.

“Don’t worry I’m gonna do great, I will do my best!” I lied to myself.

A room filled with violinist and one black grand piano sits in the middle of the stage, and chairs surrounding it, adding tension to the room. I sit in the front row with other violinists. My violin sitting against the right side of my body, all four strings creating a mark on my arm, the bow shaking in my right hand, on my left hand I feel the smooth cool paper becoming warm. I sit prepared with my music but feeling unsatisfied and not good enough. I sit with anxiety next to me only focusing on my doubts. I can feel it looking down at me like I am less.

“I can ignore it for now.” Lying to myself again.

I watch the fingers of each musician dance from one string to another and the bow cutting through the air. The anticipation is creeping over my shoulders, it’s almost my turn. I urge not to play in front of many pairs of eyes, and yet again I wait my turn. My music school principal arises to announce the next musician.

“Please don’t let it be me, please…” I said to myself desperately.

“Next up, Nasya Ie.”

My heart skipped a beat as soon as I heard my name. I stood up, my legs shaking and my heart speeding up.

“There’s no turning back now.”

I walked up to the stage with fear by my side, I inhaled and exhaled, leaving fear behind. Now it’s just me and music. I placed my music sheet on the stand, put myself in the courageous potion. I looked at the pianist, took a deep breath, and nod, indicating that I am ready. I read my music sheet, I’m not thinking, I’m doing, I let my fingers free and let them take control. Thinking will mess me up, so I just go. I see and feel my fingers dancing, and my bow cutting through the air. My frustration goes through my violin creating music that I made. I am one with my violin. Time was so heavy, working myself through time to get over this performance. All my hard work and dedication placed in front of everyone. A moment of peace, and there was a sigh of relief. The burden has lifted from my shoulders. I did it, and I will prepare myself for another coming.

That’s what controls me, anxiety and fear. It takes over my body leaving me stranded. I feel useless and never good enough. I have an expectation that I must reach, but that’s too much pressure, I know that this cannot be an excuse. I push myself to reach and reach, my anxiety pushing me to reach. Accepting that this is good, for my anxiety turns its back on me. More and more doubts from my anxiety telling me that I am wrong. Is it worth fighting for this goal, you might be doing something wrong, but if you don’t do it you’re just careless.

I ingest what it says to me, there’s nothing I can do, but to keep going. I’m attached with anxiety, it speaks into my ear giving me doubts, until I fall. It sits on me like a crown, a crown that keeps my head down and telling me I can’t and won’t get back up. This is life and all I can do is keep going. I will fight to reach my goal and try to leave my anxiety and fears behind me. But I know they will catch up to me and beat me down, every single time I get stronger. Anxiety will always be a part of me even though I don’t want it to. I can’t live without anxiety and anxiety can’t live without me. These are obstacles we have to go through to build ourselves to shape who we are today. It shows our strengths and weaknesses. Pushing yourself and fighting through the pain, proves it’s all worth it.


Wet Clouds

Posted by Kyla Gladney-Enos in English 3 · Block/Harmon · Y Band on

My essay is about how losing track of time and getting lost in your own world is a problem that a lot of people don't know how to balance. It starts off with a dream of me in a sky experiencing different emotions. Then, I am magically being devoured by a wet cloud that burns and feels weird. I suddenly wake up from the dream and fall back asleep only to realize I've overslept. I abruptly try to catch up with the time that I've lost but am stuck in a trance of reliving and thinking about how it all went wrong. I want you all to notice my word choices and descriptive scenes. I rarely write long, descriptive paragraphs, and with this, I feel like I've accomplished a goal. In the future, I want my writing to have less basic words and more descriptive ones. 


Wet Clouds

Blue skies were all that appeared to me. The bright, vibrant blue fills me with emotion. I’m happy. I’m sad. I’m excited. I’m mad.


“Hop away,” I tell myself.


With all of my might, I take a big jump onto something that has a polished limestone grey vibe. My feet are slowly being devoured by this thing.


“Help!”


The more I wiggle the fewer chances of me getting free. My whole body is in this thing. This awfully dull thing. I feel a slight sense of heat at the tip of my big toe. Where is this coming from? Faster and faster it heats up. First, it’s like I’m standing in an unairconditioned room. I feel my sweat glands opening up like how flowers open their leaves for sunlight. Then it’s like I’m standing in a 120-degree sauna. Slowly, I feel my skin starting to bake. I can feel it cracking open, resembling roots from a tree; a rigid, thick line. Lastly, it’s like I’m standing directly in front of the sun. My skin is starting to melt. I hear a noise loud in my ear. Oh god, what is that? I see that white light that people always talk about on tv shows. It’s getting brighter and brighter. Closer and closer. The noise is getting louder and louder.


“What am I going to-”


Beep, beep beep, beep. My eyes open and I see my pale, white ceiling with a couple of baby blue paint marks on it. Ugh, it’s Monday.


“Get up and move,” I tell myself.


But my limbs just won’t move. I turn to look at my pink and black alarm clock, which is placed on my window sill directly to the left of my bed. I place my hand on the large, silver ‘Snooze’ button and let it sit there. Beep, beep beep, beep.


“Why won’t you turn off?!” I pick my hand up and slam it down on the button.


“There we go. Peace and quiet.” The time says 6:47 AM. I can feel my eyelids slowly falling down.


“No! This isn’t the time. You have to get up! Get up!”


BOOM!


“Huh, what’s that?”


I abruptly sit up and look around. Everything seems to be in place. My bed is somewhat made, with half of the black with white polka dots sheets on the mattress, my turquoise owl comforter is on the floor, and my clothes are symmetrically thrown on the floor. I hear my sister, Anasia, scrambling through her drawers, looking for something to wear. She’s disregarding my cat, Saturday, who’s impatiently waiting to be pet. Yup, that’s normal. I turn to look at my alarm clock again which is still placed on my window sill directly to the left of my bed. The time says 7:15?


“No, that can’t be right. I only closed my eyes for like 10 minutes.” I rub both of my eyes--first the left and then the right--with my right hand and look back at the alarm clock. 7:15 it says!


“How could this happen? How could you do this, AGAIN?”


I jump up and out of bed, not realizing my comforter is wrapped around my foot, causing me to trip and fall. Bang! This steamy, sizzling feeling is at the peak of my elbow.


“Great, now I have a rug burn.”


I get up, run to the bathroom, and turn on the shower. Everything seems normal. My black and white polka dotted shower curtain is still intact, my turquoise toothbrush container is where I left it, and my clothes are symmetrically thrown on the floor. I rush into the shower and look at the water trickling down. For every ounce of water coming down is another second I can’t get back. Time only goes forward, not backward. Fighting your inner self is a battle that many people don’t know how to fight. I look down at the tub’s floor and see the water going around in a circle--slowly trying not to meet its fate--and see all this time I’ve wasted since I’ve gotten out of bed. It's hard knowing how to separate your inner self from your outside duties. You get lost in yourself, which results in lost time.


Advanced Essay #1: Losing Control

Posted by Salvatori Camarote in English 3 · Block/Harmon · Y Band on

Introduction:


My goal for this essay is to explain how my anger issues have controlled me. Throughout the essay I talk about how I am striving to gain better control on my temper. I mainly describe what I do when I’m angry and what has happened because of my anger. I want to improve on condensing my writing in my future considering there was a lot more I wanted to talk about and get to, but couldn’t considering the word count. I also want to improve on my use of figurative language like metaphors and also include more thoughtful dialogue.


Losing Control


I have always struggled to control my anger. My anger sparks at small things and builds up. I get angry and frustrated by looking at social media post, trying to solve problems I don’t understand, playing games, and just when things don’t go my way. I know I shouldn’t act the way I do, but sometimes I just can’t control myself. The first time I started noticing these anger issues was in middle school.


My friends and I always played wall ball at recess.  We played everyday but I was the worst out of all of us. Frequently fumbling the ball out of my hands. I always tried harder knowing this and got upset everytime I loss. One time I attempted to catch the ball and it slipped out of my hands towards my friend. I ran full sprint, not even bracing myself to stop before impact. I touched the wall and heard the thud at the same time, but I wasn’t sure whether I was first. Everyone told me I was out and I refused to accept it. I chucked the ball and throwing it away from the wall, I felt my index finger scrape across the wall as I threw, burning badly. I was already upset, Only taking a few seconds for me to start crying. I held my finger as people came to look. I was bleeding, not bad, but for a 5th grader it was a decent amount of blood. We examined it as I sniffled, tears pouring down my face. Something white was inside the cut, my friend Liam said “You gotta go to the nurse, I think that’s your bone.” I was terrified, I had never had a bad injury, I thought I was gonna lose my finger or permanently damage it. Without knowing it I had cause damaged to myself.

My experiences with gaming  also helped me realize how angry I get. I yell at my friends for the way they play, I blame other people for my mistakes and freakout. I often slam my fist onto my arm chair or desk.  The desk has suffered lots of damage. Underneath my mousepad lies two holes and dents from my fist slamming against the top layer. The desk being tired of my abuse retaliated everytime I hit it, if I slammed it hard enough it would turn off my computer by pulling wires, causing me to get disconnected. These periods were times to cool down and think. My keyboard is missing the S key because it popped out too many times from me slamming my desk. Once I moved to my dad’s I got a little better with my anger. More yelling as opposed to physically hitting my desk, mostly due to my desk at my father’s being a stronger material that leaves my hand sore for a few days after hitting it. When I get angry I can lose all control, the only thing I can think is “Where could I slam my fist down that it wouldn’t break anything.” However, as time goes on I improve on controlling these outburst. After every incident, I look back on how much I was overreacting only taking a few seconds to truly understand. I know these are only games, but my friends don’t understand that I can’t stop myself from reacting. I don’t enjoy getting angry and yelling at them, but sometimes it’s just the way I am.


My anger is a part of me, having been a factor in my life that has shown no signs of stopping. I’ve gotten better in controlling my anger towards most things other than games. I’ve learned that I can’t change the way I am, but I’d rather get furious about games than anything else. My anger issues are most likely from my father, throughout my life I have memories of hearing him throwing something across the room. Usually occurring if the team he was rooting for lost or messed up, and he’d throw the TV remote. To me I see that as his version of gaming. My anger is something that has gotten the best of me at times, ruining experiences for me. By understanding more, it has been easier to try and take back parts of my life.


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2018-19

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