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Getting over your fears.

Everyone has a negative mind about something. We all do. We have fear, anxiety, and struggle towards things. That’s what makes us human. But we have to learn how to take that fear and turn it into something we are brave about facing.

Art was always something I didn’t truly understand, but always had curiosity for. I never thought I was good at art. I would fear art class because I didn’t have the confidence within myself. But then I learned that life is full of unexpected moments, and we should just go with it. I started to not fear, but to stand up to the things I wasn’t comfortable with, and go out of my safety zone. I ended up loving art. One time I was taken completely off guard when I did a project that I didn’t want to do, but ended up enjoying it.

It was 8:15am on a Wednesday morning and I woke up anxious to what we would do today. I arose, brush my teeth, put on the clothes I picked out the night before, and took a quick glance at the mirror, not thinking twice about what I looked like. I was too eager to go to school, but not for art class that was first period. I rush into the classroom, passing the morning chatter, heading straight to the stool with my name on it. Ring Ring. “Good morning class, I’m very excited for the assignment we’re doing today.” My mind then jumping to the array of projects we could possibly do. Drawing still life? Going outside and painting? “In front of you, there is a small black bag, in it is clay. You will be making whatever I say to, without looking at it.” My jaw dropped, this is so stupid I thought. We started the project, and it was strange. Not being able to see what you were doing gave you a whole new perspective on art and how to interpret it. The warm clay, soft but fragile in your hands, as you change it into different pictures you realize different views of art. I thought too much on what my peers might think, and it made me scared that I had to try something new. But going through the process, really not knowing that I could see my creation gave me confidence because I had nothing to worry about. It was supposed to be a fun project that reminds you not to take everything seriously, and if your having fun what your doing you will turn out with amazing results. By the end of class, I was in love with this assignment. It taught me to be patient and to never give up on your work, to always listen and go along with different things. And lastly, to always recognize the views of other people.

Art can resemble many other life situations. A lot of times we are so caught up in something, and if it gets ruined we’re devastated. But to me, that’s why we make mistakes, to learn from them and to make the second time even better than the first. I remember one time I worked all year on a painting, and then only had a few hours to make another. But, in the end I was happy I did it, because it was better than I ever imagined.

I wobble as I walk through the door, my book bag taking up my left shoulder, and my equipment bag taking up the right. As I finally get in I drop the things on the floor, my eyes droopy and my back slouched over from the tiring day. When I walked over to grab a snack, a slow smile started to take up my face. My mom hung up my painting, the one I worked all year on, I was so proud.

I remember it. Last Thursday, wait maybe Tuesday? No, Thursday. I went in the art room at 1:30pm. The atmosphere was loud. Chatter, stools screeching, paint splatter, brushes falling, it was a mess. I put my orange, black, and red paint on a pallet with a big fluffy brush and walk over to my canvas. “Hey Sara, come here I got to tell you something.” My art teacher said slowly with a worried look on her face. “Sure” I say shaky, not knowing what was going to happen. “Rachel spilled water on your painting, I’m sorry but it got ruined.” The room suddenly started spinning, my heart, every beat was faster and louder. My mouth was so dry I couldn’t swallow. I was very silent for what seemed like forever, but was only a few minutes. My head was full of anger, frustration, and failure. “Umm, Uhh” were the only things I could get out. My teacher let me work in the backroom because I had to start over, and it would give me some quiet.

I worked there for over 6 hours. Painting, repainting, drawing, critiquing, moving, sliding, everything.

And there it was, completed. It was actually better than I ever imagined. Seeing it on my wall in my house made it even better. All my work had finally paid off.

It’s very hard to get over fear. But once you do, your entire world is open to new experience with great opportunities. Art is like a clean slate, and you can create anything within your imagination and yourself. This reminds me of coming to SLA for the first time. It was first day of freshman year. I was a tiny little freshman that people mistaken for a shadow, I didn’t know anyone. I walked in, looked around, and only talked when I needed to. But when I went into the bathroom I met this tall blonde girl that hated Justin Bieber. Excitedly, we never left each other’s side the entire day. Luckily, I was blessed with a best friend from the start. Friends can always help you get over fears. She has helped me so much from the first day, to projects, to random things I have to get over. Good friends are always there for you and can help so much with your fears and once you overcome them, nothing can stop you from being the best you can be.

Anthony Buchanico

 They say everybody in life has a passion. And if you don’t you simply haven’t found it yet. For those that haven’t, I highly suggest going on a venture to find it for the betterment of your life. My passion has been guitar for quite a while, and even though I’m not the best at it, I continue to aim higher and higher as my practice continues. And if you haven’t found a passion yet, well maybe guitar can be yours as well!

Having a passion can help in a number of ways. In my case, it not only gives me something to do, but something to strive to be better at as well as relieve stress, and get away from daily life. The possibilities of what you can learn or create are practically endless and show no signs of dwindling. Of course, it’s not always so simple finding something one could love to such an intense amount.

The first time I had picked up a guitar was when I was 8 years of age. After listening more and more guitar in the world my interest sprouted enough for me to walk up to my parents and say, “Mom, Dad, I want to play the guitar!” They liked the idea of me taking an interest in music, so within the week my dad took me to the only small music shop around the neighborhood and there I purchased my first and only acoustic guitar so far, A Jasmine, by the name Takamine.  It was a cheap guitar, brown body, black pick guard and lining, and an illustrious fret board. Of course back then I didn’t understand much about what makes a good guitar just that, but I didn’t care I finally had a guitar!

            I Started playing more and more through the days I had it, but no matter how much I practiced I just wasn’t getting anywhere with playing. After realizing this, my parents decided it was time for me to get some guitar lessons. With a quick search we found a local teacher who would hopefully show me where to go. Of course being a young kid around the time, I had no patience and just wanted to start rocking out riffs left and right. Sadly it wasn’t that simple. Contradicting my previous statement, I had an idea of what I wanted to learn, but as with many things, they never go as planned. My teacher was a very “classical” type of teacher. She stuck to the simple form of learning jingle bells and spending a month and a half on the G note. After about 3 months I looked at my past lessons and it hit me  “What am I doing?”  “This isn’t what I wanted at all.”

            After some discussion, I left her teachings and slowly faded away from guitar. I thought I was done with it; after all it was just some old hobby I picked up. So I put my jasmine down in the corner to collect dust for the next couple of years. I thought I was done, the end of just another short chapter in the book of life. But just like a book, you never know what’s on the next page until your there.

            I was 12 and like most twelve year olds all the days were boring and repetitive; Video Games, food and the Internet. I badly needed a hobby, my parents agreed.

“Hmm, what do we have around this house? I need something good.”

I thought to myself with no idea about what to do. Just then I started hearing piano. It was my sister playing again; she’s an amazing pianist! It seems so easy for her.

And then it hit me, I had an instrument, granted that instrument was now a pile of dust in my room it was an instrument. So I hoped up and waltz my way up to the familiar blue and orange walled safe zone I called a bedroom. I looked at the guitar and with a smile on my face thought, “Let’s try this again.”

From then on out I slowly started getting back into it; I practiced more and more, this time progress slightly quicker than last time. Now I was twelve and about to be 13, a teenager! My birthday was coming up and I knew exactly what I wanted, my first electric guitar. So my birthday came, and I got what I wanted, well almost anyway. Being a young kid I assumed I’d be able to just waltz right in and pick out the nearest multi-thousand dollar guitar. I wound up settling for a beginners pack, I was a beginner after all.

Months went by and even though the guitar wasn’t the nicest sounding it got me by. After a while I had the desire to save for a better guitar. Luckily for me I had a little friend named Christmas coming up. I’ll never forget that Christmas morning when I awoke to find a guitar under the Christmas tree. On the cold and silence of the Christmas Eve night my family and I drove home from South Philadelphia after the annual visit and dinner with my grandparents and the rest of our grand family. As we were driving home on the endless road I could sense the thoughts in the air and interest of what my two younger brothers, my older sister and my self would all receive for the amazing holiday of Christmas. About 45 minutes form departure; we finally arrived to the familiar haven we all call home. After the usual tradition of exchanging gifts between the families we all headed off to our rooms ready as ever to receive gifts and everything on the side. No matter how bad of a sleeper I am, Christmas always manages to be the exception with me quickly falling asleep like a sound child each and every time. My eyes shut, and in the feeling of a blink I was back up with 2 familiar faces in my vision.

            “Wake up Ant!”
                        “Santa Came!”

In the early morning confusion, I almost had forgotten what day it was. It was Christmas of course! As my brother and I anxiously stood at the top of the stairs Stephen, my younger brother, went to wake my parents up on this 7 am Christmas morning. As my sister comes rumbling out of bed it becomes apparent she cares more about sleep than gifts at this moment. So we let her go for later. Right after, my parents come shuffling out of their room just as ready to go downstairs as we were. Halfway down the stairs I looked over, and there it was. A black Les Paul waiting for me. Without even as much as giving the other gifts a glance I scurried to it ecstatic as anyone could imagine. And with each day of the month passing by, I could feel myself growing closer to this Black Les Paul. Now it is the only thing I use more than my computer!

            To this day guitar is still in my life every moment. There hasn’t been a single day where I have been ashamed or regretful of my choice as a passion. Although it may have seemed like rambling it was to show how much passion can take over your life and make you a better person. If there were one thing to do, it would be to implore a passion into your life someday. You won’t regret it!

Which takes me here, to Mr. Block’s class, writing a 3-page essay about our memories. Sadly, the ones that I can be really descriptive on are the sad ones. Leading up to this was 2 scenes, a revise, and a “hot words” is what Mr. Block likes to call them. While I was writing I couldn’t really think on what to write until he announced, “ Everyone put ‘Free Write’ on top of your Google document. You have ten minutes.” I had no idea what so ever to put on my Google doc. I sat in class, during last period for about 4 minutes pondering on what to jot down. Words of any kind, non-stop about anything that my two scenes reminded me about a larger part in life.

I stared and stared until I finally thought of a good idea. “Who am I really?” That was a question that I was trying to answer. While trying to haul all my thoughts and words on this page quickly I finally knew what to say and how to say it. For some reason, I’ve always felt sad, the little things I picked out, and sometimes I even feel as though I’m not confident enough in myself.

I know that not everyone is going to like or approve of you but sometimes I just feel this way.  Other times, I feel empty, just as hallow as a log. I feel like I’m hiding behind a mask most of the time. Who am I really? The darker thoughts reminded me of how it all started like a punch to the face. I remembered how I first felt like I was lost in myself trying to find my true self out. It all started when my friend had called my name in technology class during the 6^th grade, “Briana?” he asked.

That’s all I could hear through the thundering of noise of voices echoing off the technology walls. My best friend David had showed me a picture of this fallen angel with it’s back facing the screen and her left wing broken and crippled but the right wing folded in. The picture was very alluring and it drew me in like the smell of a fresh homemade apple pie. I couldn’t help but understand the picture so well. With constant friends leaving, and promises broken, I understood the pain and sorrow that screamed through the picture.

With my speechless eyes I stared at the picture. I couldn’t take my eyes off it. It was if my eyes hunger for the understanding of the photo. It felt as if I needed the reassuring judgment that the photo brought to it self. The power in the photo was overpowering that everything I was supposed to hear, was closed and pushed out.

After being suck into the vibe of the photo I soon heard, “It’s time to go. Everyone line up.” I soon realized that it was time to go back to class with my homeroom teacher. And with that, I pushed in my chair with aching noises of yelling and got in line. We then as a class, left the technology room. Having this whole flashback moment I realized how many bad things must have happened when I was little.

I’ve always had friends leaving me from my side. And I’ve always been so trustworthy, believing everyone that was nice to me. Always being lied to and having to chose over friends, I’ve never really knew who was telling me the truth and who wasn’t. The constants “I’ll always be your friend” or “You can tell me anything” had always been a lie for me. Now I don’t know who’s really being truthful, and who’s not.

I guess you can say I kind of just gave up on people? I still have things to strive for, but now people are just an obstacle for me. I sound like a horrible person to others when they read this, but I’ve always learned that there's a story behind every person. There's a reason why that they’re the way they are. They aren’t just like that because they want to, something in the past created that.

But knowing that I still feel as though I would be hated for being the me that I think is my true self. Sometimes not caring is the only thing that saves you. But if you think about it, I’m not the one completely at fault. Because others didn’t like the way I was, I changed. I learned how to control my tears. I mold myself into the person that everyone wants me to be.

To them, I was the backup. The one everyone looks to in time of need. But what if the backup needs a backup? I remembered one time when I tried to pour out all my thoughts, my feelings onto paper. “Why” was the only word on the page of my spiral notebook.

 Somehow I couldn’t think of anything to say. I somehow wanted to get all the pain out. Sitting there on the farthest of my couch I thought about the happy times that used to be fun and made everyday seemed as though the sun was out and smiling down on us. That’s when I quickly snapped back into reality. I didn’t notice at first, but I soon felt a small marble like tear jump from my cheek and onto the pants of my leg.

I wiped my face with the quickness. I was angry with myself. How could I possibly cry over something that happened so many times already? With my thoughts filled with rage I finally begin to write. When I was done, I still didn’t feel any different.

I was confused with how my coping skills had failed me like my 5th grade teacher tried to do. How could I still be feeling upset if I just poured out all of my feelings on the paper that was trying to keep it hostage? After a while I just sat, and pondered on what to do next. I then noticed that all I could do was just accept all of it. Accept the pain, happiness, sorrow, everything.

And after my friendship of 8 years ended with one of my closest friends, I told my self to shut down completely. Now I can’t tell my feelings from real to fake. I just go with the flow of my life. I follow what people want from me. I smile when I feel it’s a need to, and I try to be sad when everyone else is too.

I’m numb, and I don’t know how to fix myself yet. Maybe it’s better to leave the broken pieces of glass where they are instead of trying to put them back together. So I continue to find out who I really am. Searching for the chance when that one faint light shines to lead me out of the surrounding darkness of my own shell. But until then I still look for the answer to my question, “Who am I?” 

            Today I’m an average American kid who has been very fortunate but years before I was an embarrassed Vietnamese kid who was uncomfortable with my own name, Viet. Now I’m very connected with my culture and everyday I’m learning something new, like different sayings and the different ways of life but also the history of the country, as I go along.

Years ago I used to think about asking my parents to legally change my name to Victor or some other American name that wouldn’t stand out as Viet. When I was in school I was considered an outsider because of my entirely different name. I was different from everyone else because of my name. When I was in kindergarten everyone thought I was Chinese, at that time People stereotyped Asian people as Chinese but there were an abundant amount of different cultures in Asia. I really didn’t care at the time because I was five and I didn’t know that much about anything then and there. My cousin and I were the same age and the same ethnicity but what set us apart were our names and that changed the way people looked at him and looked at me. In the beginning my parents told me to think it over again because I could be giving up something that made me unique from the rest of the kids, my name. They saw my name as something that would separate me from all of the ordinary kids in school and on the streets. They saw it as something special that no other kid could have. At the very least my parents would let me add the American name as my middle name rather than changing my first name. About a month later my parents asked me if I wanted to change my name to something more commonly heard in American like, Victor or John, but I said no. After rethinking it over I accepted my name because it was different from everyone else. I didn’t want to be like the other American kids anymore because I didn’t want to be stereotyped as something I wasn’t.

In the summer of 2011 I went to Vietnam. There I felt at home because I was no different from anyone else there. I fit in, I didn’t feel like an outsider and I felt like that was where I belonged. No one would question me what I was doing because everyone was doing it. It was something natural there rather than something different, where, as most people would just stare at me. In Vietnam it was like being on another planet where I wouldn’t have to worry about someone accepting or someone staring at me. I could connect to everyone else because everyone was the same as me. I wasn’t that other kid who didn’t have an American name. I fit in because I had a name that wasn’t so different from others. Ironically I’ve never visited or seen Vietnam and I’ve never felt more at home when I was there. Even though I’ve lived in and was born in America I never felt the way I did when I was in Vietnam. Although I’ve been raised in America where I assimilated to the way of living here, I still don’t feel exactly where I should be at times. I eat pizza, watch TV, use the Internet, and play games. In Vietnam I sit down and really get to know my family because a lot of things in Vietnam aren’t as updated as they are here in America. I do things that are normal in America. I remember during the course of second grade I had brought coconut as a drink to school for lunch and when I opened my lunch box everyone had seen that there was something I normally didn’t have and they asked what it was. When I answered that it was coconut everyone around me looked at me like I was the craziest and most insane person to drink that. In Vietnam coconuts were extremely fresh or almost any produce for that matter but it would be delightful refreshment. I would be something that was eaten once in awhile and it was enjoyed.

On the way back to Philadelphia I missed Vietnam but I also missed my own house, where I could sleep on my bed comfortably rather than feeling awkward about sleeping in someone else’s room for three weeks. Waking up the next day to visit the family I’ve grown to know all my life. Coming back to see my cousins that I’ve grown up with was nothing like when I came to my aunts house for the first time. When I first walked into the house the majority of my family greeted me on my dad’s side that I was going meet for the rest of this vacation. Only a few other relatives were missing but it felt stuffy in the house. Most of my relatives were there to greet me, it was nice for the first day or two but after awhile it was irritating because I was the center of attention because I was the son of the brother who had the chance to live in America. I was also special because I was the son of the second or third child that was still living. For next three weeks I had become the center of attention. If someone wanted to know something about America they would ask me, instead of asking my completely fluent speaking father. I would always be asked what did I do, what did I have, was there this or that at different times of the day. I realized I should learn more about my culture and language to be able vacation in that paradise of country one day.

9/16/11

 Object to Human Connections

Do people just write-to-write, does that make that person a writer. How can you just write something random like this paper? If people just wrote because they felt like it would everyone get published or would only certain people get published. I believe that to be a writer your story has to be a person not just a story. Which means that your story must have human characteristics. When you give a story those characteristics it allows it to connect to people. The writer must make his/her story have emotion, rules, looks, anything that will connect with the reader bind with the reader. The reason why I say this is because a story without feelings is a story with no problem. Most stories have a problem even though you can’t see it it’s aproblem is what a person sees.

I wonder can I be a writer can I really? I think not. The reason for that is because I don’t have emotion and good grammar in my writing and that's one of the key points in books that are published. To just publish a book must feel wonderful so everyone gets joy and everyone connects.

On the surface there is a bunch of leaves, tree leaves. There is a car above those leaves, red car. It's like a Lamborghini. In the background area there are two trees. That tress is very bushy so it covers most of the background area. The car is like an inch away from both sides of the picture. It's outdoors of course. The front of the car is flat. The leaves are small and mostly brown. The light beaming down on the car coming from the bright and powerful sunlight, striking once again to prove that no other light can be brighter. The oval shapes of these leave made the surrounding feel a lot different then it used to. Where did that car come from? It’s just there out in the wilderness all by itself taking up all the tropical breezes and rain, but still no damage done as if the car cant be touched. It’s rare not something you see everyday a stranded car not need for rescue, but what if the car need that rescue no one would care. When you see a car you knew that 3 ton metal on wheels. People always expect a person to be there. Not today there isn’t there is just a car.

One day I got a present it was very important to me. Red ropes and Black ropes they all were there. That ring they fight the one where all the dirty mess happened hand to hand combat, foot to foot combat. It’s weird how you can lose one of those ropes in just a blink of an eye. It was there i tell you it was there i remember it and up to this day I wonder where it went. I cant believe I lost that rope now all i have a hard mattress for those sweaty men to wrestle on. I looked for that rope forever I couldn’t find it, but i wonder where that rope would've gone. The picture of that ring was not complete without that rope it didn’t make sense to have that piece missing. With all the digging and searching I’ve done for that rope. Boxes and boxes i went through looking. When you can’t find that missing piece the set fells empty the present feels empty.

Did you ever get a present for Christmas? Then it broke that day, how did you feel. Let me tell you about my gift. Wrapped in red and green paper so fragile. First the tape then the wrapper off it went flying, into the air floating to the ground. A bright light shined out of the box. I dug my hands in there and took out that bright light. The light dimmed down and I saw it my present 4 wings custom paint it was there. I wondered what did I do to deserve that gift. I also didn’t want to argue with it. A box with an antenna was used to control as it hovered into the area. Of course I didn’t know how to use it so it hit the hard floor above you. SMACK. My mouth dropped just like my gift in my eyes it fell so slow like a movie when they make a dramatic scene. SWOOSH and that was it. I tried to fix it, tape I thought to fix those four beautiful wings. Once I was finished I felt success. An eager smile went across my face.

Jalisa Smith

            Everything was a haze. Everything felt like a dream as I sat there on my pale carpet, not knowing how to handle what I thought was coming next, looking up at the ceiling, which to me, needed more color. The walls were bright green, some pictures should have been hanging, holding my memories. The carpet should have been white but no one thought an eleven year old could handle white carpet. The wall needed a splash of a more vibrant color; probably some pink, just because it’s pleasing to the eye when mixed with green. There was something about that disgusting colored carpet that made me love it so much in the darkest moments of my life. It was so soft, so comforting, that I could care less if it was a terrible color.

In the basking of my bland room, my door was suddenly pushed open. So softly it seemed as though it took forever for me to see the person that was sticking their head through the door. Looking down at me, there was my grandmother. Her wrinkly brown skin seemed to be glowing. Her dark brown eyes looked caramelized as she squinted, smiling, just like my dad. I was surprised, but to some extent, I was happy.

I remember how the room suddenly got brighter. The carpet became white and instead of pictures holding memories, they were floating by. Her wrinkly smile and warm voice made my most challenging problems disappear. The ceiling became the sky, the room started to open up, like a rose that had enough sunlight. She walked over to me, step-by-step, looking down at me as though she was looking for confirmation to enter my room. I just smiled back. When she made it to my eye level, I really didn’t know what to expect, maybe a “How was your summer?” or “How is the family?” Instead, she got closer to me and touched my cheeks. Looking at her, I could tell she was happy yet she seemed somewhat desperate. Maybe desperate for me to notice her.

The room went dark, and I was in my bed, sweating bullets and streaming tears. Hoping that everything that just happened, to some extent, wasn’t just a dream.

Earlier that day, I was taking a walk with my best friend. The sun was beaming down on us and the hill we were walking seemed to get higher and higher. We didn’t know where our destination was, but that was our thing… to simply walk around and find something to do. Our future plan making was put to a halt when I got a phone call saying that my grand-mom was in the hospital.

But I couldn’t visit her. I wanted to but I just couldn’t. She was far away from me, so all I could do was pray that she’d be okay. My best friend walked me home and we said our goodbye’s.

We were all sitting in the room. At that time, the living room was open. Just two red leather couches, a TV and a piece of art on the wall. It all blended together, the couches were a deep red, the painting had various deep colors and the carpet was brown. The room itself never felt lively unless we had guests over. So, now it was dreary.

Every voice echoed and the silence made every ones’ thoughts louder.  It was quite over-bearing. Everyone had their thinking faces on, but no one had the guts to say what was on their mind. All eyes were on my dad as he got up and began pacing around the brown carpet. His footsteps were heavier than the usual. His voice was monotone, sort of scary in some way. His eyes were heavy and red, his head bowed low. He looked vulnerable. He was in his home clothes, the usual khaki shorts and white t-shirt. But the casual living of everyday life just weren’t the same after the moment he spoke. He said, “She’s died.”

In that instance, everything that I never noticed in life became relevant. The fact that I could wake up every morning and say good-morning to my family meant a lot to me. But the fact that I couldn’t spend one last summer with my grandmother or buy a phone card to say hello, made my heart beat seem louder and the tears building in my eyes seem heavier than ever.

That moment in my life changed me. I hadn’t seen my grandmother in 4 years. She was always so caring, so quiet, but so wise. I remember feeling terrible because every time I talked to her she’d ask, “When you comin’ down?”

And I could only say, “Soon. As soon as I can.”

But it took me a while to realize that sometimes in life, decisions can’t be made in time, once you have the opportunity to do something, you should do it instead of putting it off and regretting it in the future.

I know that she loves me, I know that she cares about me and regardless of how I feel now, I know she’s in a better place.

            Spending my last day with my comfortable, friendly, worn-out, faded brown couch I await for the dump truck men to arrive. I lay on the sofa and question myself as to why my mother would ever want to get rid of such a comfortable sofa. “Will the new one be the  same? Will the new one be as comfortable? Will the new one be as friendly?” Were the questions running through my head non-stop. I hear a faint noise; I run outside and see a retro pick-up truck. I protect my ears from the horrible gargling rumble the engine makes. I take a look at this beautiful couch and realize that this will be the last time I see her in her natural habitat. As my eyes begin to tear my father starts pulling the sofa towards the door. These two men look like they just woke up, they wore stained wife beaters, baggy pants and look like they haven’t shaved in a while. They assist my father with this painful process. I don’t think they deserve to lay a hand on this magnificent creature, but I say nothing. They finally manage to drag her out the door and on to the dirty south Philly sidewalk. “How will I say goodbye?” Is the only think I’m thinking about I run inside and grab a piece of printer paper and write, “I love you” in blue ink with sloppy 3rd grade handwriting. I fold the paper hot dog style and slip it under a cushion. They haul her into the truck and drive away, I take one last look but the smoke from the exhaust covers her. My eyes start to tear again, but I realize this was a good goodbye.

            I got so attached I called it “her”, I got way too attached to this piece of furniture. I wouldn’t just get attached to furniture; I also got attached to toys. It’s worse then it sounds, I wouldn’t give them up (like any other kid) but I would continue playing with them. I remember I had a toy pony that was a life size miniature-rocking pony that I got when I was 3.

            She is beautiful. She is a shiny, light grown plastic pony. Hair light blonde plastic smooth hair shines in the light, she as tall as me (including her springs). Although she is cold, she warms my heart. I could play all day with her. The best thing about her is her name…Peaches. I don’t know how I came up with that name, maybe because I like the fruit, but she had no resemblance of a peach. Anyway, we were in the backyard on a mission to go to the moon. “Aren’t you a tad to old to be playing with her?” My mother snarls at me. “No, she is my best friend and we’re going to grow old together!” I respond in a high-pitched voice, I knew what my mother was thinking. Today is Wednesday and trash night is Thursday, so if I can get her to separate from that thing then we can finally get rid of it. I decide to play with peaches all day long, threw dinner, and right up to bedtime. My mom asks me “When do you think you’ll be ready to say goodbye?” “Never” I respond quickly. At that point in time I realize at some point I’ll have to give her up, I might as well get rid Peaches now before it’s too late. As my father drags my best friend out of the yard and into the alleyway, I think to myself whether I’m ready to give her up. “You ready kid?” My father asks me, unsurely if he should give her to goodwill. “Yeah, I’m a big girl.” I now look back and realize that maybe Peaches was found in goodwill by some other little kid, brought home, and gave that kid a good memory or two. I also realized I had to grow up sometime, not all at once, but this felt like a good start.

            I think that was a good time to grow up. I was eight when I gave up peaches, not too young not too old. She really helped me move on, I realized mature people don’t play with rocking horses. Everyone still has a little bit of kid in them but when I reflect on that, I realize that’s ok. I feel more mature everyday, but my comfy couch and peaches the pony will always be in my heart.

  Drue Boccuti

I love giving back, and giving help to ones in need. I try to do as much as I am able to. I love knowing that what I just did helped out someone, or even just made them smile.  I don’t do really gigantic things like help build houses or anything major like that, but I do as much as I can. For example, my mom’s friend teaches in a school were the kids aren’t as fortunate as I am, so I donate what ever I can to help them and make them smile. Sometimes I don’t always see it his or her reaction but I know someone somewhere is appreciating what I did. Just that feeling is enough.

The last time that I helped someone was sometime near my birthday. What did I do? I bought a pair of Toms shoes. You’re probably wondering what’s so special about that. Well, when purchasing Toms shoes you help a child in need get a pair. I was ecstatic to get the Tom that I’ve been wanting since last January! I remember opening the box like it was yesterday. The first thing I noticed in the box was a bag that serves as a bag or you can hang it up as a flag. Then a small sticker that has the Toms logo and then I finally grabbed the shoes. I slipped them right on my feet, and ran right to my mirror to see how great they looked. Once I stopped looking at my feet, I went out. I didn’t take them off the whole night even when I got home!

The last time that I’ve been this excited for a new pair of shoes had to be Christmas! I had gotten two new pair’s of Uggs that I wore everyday of the winter last year. I love Christmas, spending time with my family and friends. One person that I really love spending time with would have to be my dad. He’s such a caring person who is nice to everyone and he always makes me and everyone else laugh. I think me wanting and liking to help people out comes from both my parents, but more him. My dad is the type of guy who will help an old lady carry grocery bags, or cross the street, help a little kid get a cat out of a tree. Just all around good things to help anyone. I remember this one time he even shocked me.

“Bye thank you for having us” I said hugging my grand parents while dragging my feet out of their house.

“Thank you for coming!” My grandma said to me as she shut the door behind my mom walking out of her house.

“Where did we park at dad?” I asked looking around for our baby blue mini van, like a child looking for a parent in a supermarket.

“Were right on that corner. You look very tired.’’ He said with a smile on his face.

“I am! All I want to do is get to my bed!” I said.

            On the ride home which felt like it was taking much longer then it normally did, I kept my eyes closes and occasionally looked up. Then all of sudden our car had pulled over. I was so excited because I thought we were home. We weren’t, we were only on Broad and Synder.

            “Oh my gosh. What’s going on over there?!” My mom was shouting and she sounded extremely worried.

            “I jumped up and suddenly didn’t feel tired anymore. My dad had remained calm and pulled the car over and jumped out and ran across the street. That was when I laid eyes on the old man.

            “Oh my gosh!!! What happened?” I was freaking out.

My dad went over to the corner grabbed the old man from under his shoulder and him and 2 other older man began to lift this man off the ground. At first they were struggling but then they finally lifted him off the ground. I thought my dad was going to let him go, but my dad had helped this man all the way back to the senior center.

After seeing that, I believe that made me gain more respect for my dad. No one else that I know would ever do that, yeah they might stop and look but no one else would actually get out and help. I do kind of feel bad because the biggest thing that I had done to help someone out is donate a pair of shoes.

Tuesday September 7^th  2011, that was the first day of school as a sophomore for me. I was extremely nervous because it was a new school year, and I have all new teachers. I was more upset then nervous because I didn’t want summer to be over, so I tried to think of something that would make me excited to go back to school and leave the shore. All I could think of was seeing my friends. I didn’t really keep in touch with anyone over the summer except for Lexy, Karly and Goldie. I was excited to see them and everyone else. The first day of school was the prefect time for me to show off my new shoes! I was really excited to wear them to school so I made my outfit match them and everything!

“You’re wearing your toms!” Goldie said all excited.

“Yes! I love them! They’re so comfy and adorable!” I said just as excited. Every time I wear them I think of the time I unwrapped them for my birthday.

Every time I wear my Toms which is almost all the time, or see my flag hanging in my room, I am reminded that I helped out a child who isn’t as lucky to have what I have. Sometimes when I see my moms friend I think about all the things that I gave away so some kids to have a better Christmas and that always makes me feel good.

This is about a game that becomes real. A story of death and murder. A story of power and love. Video games become real. I think if you play something enough you start to feel like you’re in it. And this a story of war and victory with lose of a friend. You will soon know of his story his name is Ox kin.    

The Game Start. Load character Ox kin. Load guild banner. “O.k. men we need to take this base by force to kill this Dark Lord and save over homeland. Well if you don't know I'm Ox kin raid commander of the guild”. As the ship lands the light that shines out the window is soon replaced by a dark Aura. “O.k. opens the door we need to move do you have the guild banner.” well yelling over the doors gears a man yells yea I got it.

Mission starts the assault on the dark lords frozen dark base. O.k. men charge. As the guild members charge past me I feel a dark feeling whisper into my mind: saying you will die like the weak. Before I can react all the men run into a full wall of undead knights. As I charge into the battle the natural powers swarm arrowed me and I get pulled into the form of a bare. “Men don't stop fighting life is too good to die now.” As I say that a lowed yell comes out of the dark castle you will never defeat me you slime. “Look out here comes more knights.” A dark flash of lightning; black bones and decaying flesh get up. “Kill them before they get out of the ground.”

A lot of the men around me die as a frozen bone dragon fires frozen bolts down at us. I look around for help as an old wizard I didn’t want to bring fires a fire bolt shaped like the guild symbol at the dragon hitting it in the head. singeing a mark on its head showing we took the Court yard of the base.

“Ok men now it’s time to force owe way into this crested place. Watch your step here there could be traps any ware.” As I sad that ten men fall into the dark abuse of death. “Well we came here we knew there would be losses now lets keep going.” As we turn the corner a large bone monster is floating at the bottom of a frozen pillar using a frost to stay in the air. ”Attack it” As we all charged in it yelled bone storm and started to spin like a top ripping throw any in its way luckily the rangers were abele to kill him. As we reformed the team we plunged deeper into the citadel were confronted with more and more challenges. But the worst of all was when we need to get a war gunship up to the ramparts to continue thrown the citadel.

There we are at the gate to Hell lights fall a death knight emerges from the large door shaped like a skull as he yells “ death knight yells: now all of you mortal scum will meet your doom.” while we prepare for battle the dark warrior charges me and him clash in combat as a young paladin walks up and casts a burst of holy light into the death knights chest killing him. Into the next room the hallways were set up so if you went to fast throw them then you would freeze to death. So we get past and there are three ways to go so we start from the left.            

When in there were two big decaying dogs with there masters decaying flesh giants. As we killed them the giants got mad and started to attack with different goo and slime attacks. When we killed them there creator came to play with us. Turning him self into a monster and using chemicals to bother the fight then as we killed him he pozinded the flag carrier making him drop it luckily the paladin name Mustaang grabbed it.

We went to the next room were there dead people were with a vampire above them as she raised them we saw they were linked in a way so I gave the command to kill them. She flew up to her chamber. We quickly followed and as we got there the doors locked us in so when we were fighting she killed the wizard and turned him into a vampire as he began to call all of his arcane magic into one bolt of purple and blue casting it at me and the other warriors. A warrior named Gottoms charge up a wall jumping of it and killed her in mid air.

The next room we go into we have to kill the dark undead. Then we find a dragon but it wasn’t a dead dragon well not yet any way we need to use its power of healing to save it form the waves of undead attack. When we finished healing it in natural holy waves we keep going were we meat the bone dragon queen when we walked in the room with her she froze 10 of the men and killing then as we charge in she fly’s up into the air firing frost bolts down at us as Gottoms and I charge up walls to get on her back while we cut at her she flails around knocking us of. When we finally kill her. her body drops to the ground and freeze all of the people in the ice.

Then on to the Dark Lord Gokuen. When we get there he was waiting for us when we charge agents him he starts to kill all the men we have. Then he froze me in ice. Then attacked gottoms as they fought for a while showing a display of devastating power. As he stabs gottoms in the chest freezing gottoms internal organs when I broke free I charged him and throwing the sharp blade flying like a boomerang at the dark lord as he deflects it I see a flare burst out of it. Then I charging at him as we sit in the middle of the field fitting he cast a dark spell on me I feel a dark shadow looming over me as I cast a bolt as green and blue hitting him to the grown. I pull my sword out putting it to his neck. I sad to him “you aren't event worth killing you will suffer in a world were you can be killed.” as I walked away from him I feel a paralyzing feeling to my back I look back at him. I see him casting a spell with dark Aura swarming around his hands then delivers his final bolt to me as I fall I hear him say “ you were worth killing ha ha ha ha” and that's why I'm here in the after life now. As the game over sign flashes and I get turned back into Sean.

Game start. Dark lord gokuen loaded health low. “Now that I was humiliated by that low class druid now its my tern that stupid blue flag” as he spits a dark flaming bolt on it igniting it in a flash “I know were that Little camp they call a Base I will Bern it to the ground. Arise my undead knights”. With a flash of lighting black bones and decaying flesh gets up.

“Mustaang yells Why should we resurrect him it will make us no different form that slime of a empire gokuen” “guild master commands back yes but if we don’t then we won’t be strong enough to fight back agents his dark forces we don’t need him you insolent boy you don’t know what we need” “Mustaang yells back yes I do Kalazar”. “Kalazar yells Oh and were is that young Mustaang” “Mustaang I’m just saying that we don’t need him” “Kalazar you know nothing boy your gust a kid” “mustaang fine resurrect him I will be going then ill take down the dark lord by my self” “Kalazar you will die and he’ll resurrect you as a mindless slave” “Mustaang then so be it.” “Kalazar Arise champion arise and fight once more for the guild” in a bright yellow flash of holy power Ox kin gets up and proclaimed we need to get this base ready for war.“Ox kin slime of a wrecked you will pay for the lives of that you slain” with a flash of natural light terns into a bear charging him. Kalazar throws Ox kin a guild battle stand. With a flash the screen goes dark and I feel normal once more.

I think if you play a game or something enough. you start to feel like your in it. This is why I think if you play a game enough you feel like you start to live it. But it is a just a game. But its just for fun not to talk your life up.

Soy de ..

Soy de ..

Soy de filadelfia 

que es donde yo vivo

pero yo so Haiti 

que es mi casa