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For as long as I can remember, I've always been a free spirit. I was someone who, when comfortable, could express my opinions and thoughts without caring what other people think. I was raised to make my own choices, and those lessons I learned stuck with me, even when I felt like I was being caged in. I always remembered that no matter what, no matter who you were, nobody, not even myself, could cage my free spirit.

From the time I was born, my family was always open, there were no such thing as secrets. We were raised to be the same way. If we ever had a question, my parents would always provide an answer as best they could; like the time when I was at my uncle’s house for Christmas. The house was beautifully and intricately decorated. There were strings upon strings of both colored and white bulbs lining the railings and walls along with long strings of shiny green, red, and white garland. The whole house shone and sparkled as bright as the pretty star on top of his six foot tree.

“Mommy, why is Uncle Billy holding hands with that other man?”

    “Well sweetie, that’s his boyfriend. That's the way Uncle Billy always been. He loves boys, and always will, and that's okay.”

“Oh, okay, Mommy! Do you think they will get married?”

We were always taught to be ourselves; dance like nobody's watching, sing like nobody's listening, dress for your own fashion show, walk to the beat of our own drum. It's just how my life was, and I loved being able to be myself and make my own choices. I loved feeling so free as a child.

However, things started to change when I started elementary school.

All throughout elementary and middle school I was forced to conform, and shamed for being different. It didn’t matter how small the issue was, I was punished for breaking rules and being a “distraction.”

The dress code for my old school was ridiculous. Every shirt you wore had to have the school logo on them, all bottoms must be khaki or blue for gym days, and every shoe had to be brown for regular days and all white for gym days. All shirts had to be tucked in, no exceptions. Boys were not, under any circumstance, to be without a belt, or have their hair lay past their collar. Girls were not, under any circumstance, allowed to wear pants or shorts, have crazy hairstyles or colors, or have a skirt that was too short. That is just the short of it.

I used to get dress coded and punished often, even if the issue was minor. There was the time when I was in sixth grade. It was lunchtime and I had gotten out of my seat in the middle of the room to go buy a snack from the display of starches and sweets they had at the back wall of the cafeteria. The lady running the table gave me a bright smile and let me select and pay for my snack with ease. As I was turning around to return to my seat, I was met with the dark blue fabric of a sweatshirt, and stumbled back in surprise. I looked up to meet the cold sneer of the cafeteria security guard, Mr. Moon.

“H-hi, Mr. Moon…” I said softly.

He continued to stare blankly at me

“Your shirt,” he deadpanned.

My eyes moved nervously side to side in their sockets.

“What about it?”

“It’s untucked. Why?”

Oh crap.

“Oh uh...it felt too tight and I got uncomfortable, so I untucked it.”

“It’s still against the rules, go to the bathroom and fix it, or it’s a demerit.”

I gulped and accepted my defeat, retreating into the bathroom.

I felt caged my entire elementary and middle school career, and I knew I didn't like it. So when I got into eighth grade, I finally took charge. I started leaving my shirt out more often, and after multiple warnings, the teachers eventually gave up. I started listening to my music louder; the sound of long guitar riffs and heavy drums physically making my peers flinch in fear. I stopped letting people treat me as if I was below them, I started to stand up for myself and argue back. I remember the feeling I got when I would beat kids in an argument and see them slink away in shame and embarrassment.

Things got better when I graduated. I felt free from the chains that middle school put on me. At my new high school, I was able to express myself how I wanted. I took my new found freedom and flew with it. I cut my hair and dyed my hair crazy colors, I bought more clothes that were my style, and I stopped keeping secrets and came out to my immediate family and friends. I wanted to go to my new school as the real me, not the me that my middle school tried to make me.

With that attitude in mind, I’ve managed to make it to my junior year of high school confident and happy. I haven’t let anyone hold me back from expressing myself how I wanted to, whether it be how loudly I spoke in a class discussion or how I wore my hair. I love the freedom that being at SLA gives me, it feels good not to be in a cage anymore. I want everyone to feel the same way I do. I want everyone who is too scared to be themselves, to know that it’s okay to be you. It’s not easy being comfortable with yourself, but with a little practice, and the freedom to be as expressive as you want, I know that everyone can fly just as high as I can.

Advanced Essay:

In 2005 my mother and I moved from our spacious apartment in the thick of olde city, right under my grandmother, to a compact half-house in Woodlynne, a town bordering the well-known area of Collingswood. My house had a yard surrounding it on all sides, and dividing us from the neighbors was a wall, just thin enough for us to hear the conversations had just next door. I never listened, but the option was enough to make me feel like a spy.

I didn’t speak with anyone in my new neighborhood for the entire summer leading up to kindergarten. I did everything that I did then in a usual summer - go to the beach with my dad, visit my grandfather with my mom, etc. The entire time, I was anticipating what my school would be like. I lived a block away from it, and it was only kindergarten, but a change that big is enough to worry anyone. This was a new grade, how much different would it be? Would I be as smart as the other kids? Would I start getting challenging homework? My mind raced with questions, anxiety fuelling them the whole way.

This feeling was not one I expected to encounter multiple times throughout my life. My family- immediate and extended - is one that is constantly moving around, migrating from one place to another every year or two, waiting to settle down until further into their lives. My brother had changed schools every year in elementary and middle school, my mother moved around on a boat from continent to continent, sailing the seven seas, and my brother’s mom takes vacations a couple times a month to various places. It wasn’t until later that I realized this, for the time being I had thought that I moved around the same amount everyone else did. Granted, I didn’t move the extremity that my family did, but it was still enough to have an impact on me.

When I was younger, on days where my friends were busy I would watch TV shows, mostly sitcoms. It was something to pass the time, passively listening to the theme whenever a new episode started. Being young, I had few cares about how my life would be later down the line, never stopping to appreciate what I had, a very solid friend group who I envisioned myself with always.

Over the years, I had switched schools multiple times, and moved on from elementary into high school. I had long since moved away from my tight-knit group of friends from Woodlynne, and had been longing for another. Of course, there were many people in my schools that I had considered friends, and a few that had earned the title of “best friend”, but I had yet to discover another group like previous, mirroring the casts as seen on TV from my childhood. At first, I thought that acting like one of the characters would naturally lead me to this elusive group of friends - that didn’t work. Then I tried to talk to people I’d never spoken to or hung out with before - it seems there was a reason we didn’t talk much in the first place. And after trying and failing multiple times with other methods, I began to wonder if I’d ever truly fit in. I enjoyed the people around me - don’t get me wrong - but I never felt a strong connection to anyone, and I was just wandering through life, it felt like. I always envisioned people in high school to have cliques and groups that they slowly settled into, but it seemed that it wouldn’t be that simple.

In sophomore year, I joined the Cross Country team for no apparent reason other than to look better on college applications. I was speaking with the people on the team when we started talking about what we did in our free time

“I usually just listen to podcasts like Sleepycabin”

It’s something insignificant, no one aside from me would have noticed or cared, but I had never found another person who had liked or even known about something like that, and to me, this was very special. After having a long talk about all the ins and outs of the show, we started talking more, eventually leading to hanging out. To most people, finding someone else who shares an interest would be a nice surprise, but to me it felt like finding an old friend to talk to.

Having a group of people you consider close friends is a very special thing, and something to be cherished. You may not be able to hold the same group of friends throughout your whole life, but it’s important to hold onto that for as long as possible, appreciating the consistency of friends, enjoying the same old things you did last week.

Every time I see him I am reminded. She is no longer close. When I look out my back window I am reminded of fun times and no cares in the world.  Each time he walks by a different memory flashes before my eyes but I find one coming back the most, each time more and more vivid. I don't remember how either of them came into my life but I remember them being there. I don't remember all the details of our times together but I remember the important things. The three of us would do everything we could together. Three kids, one back alley, lots of memories.

The one memory that is most vivid was playing in the rain. She and I completed each other’s outfits. I had the pants and no top and she had the top with no pants. He was running around shirtless. We splashed in puddles for hours then went into the alley behind our houses and ran until we could no more. After we were finished running we were hosed down by our parents in the back yard. We were then wrapped in big towels and carried inside the warmth of my house. That is about where my memory of that adventure ends, and I have snippets of many other times together.

Now she is off in the suburbs at a fancy school and he is back and forth between divorced parents’ houses. A friendship we swore would last forever is no more. We thought things would always be the same and never imagined how we would end up going off in different directions.

As children we see the world differently. We often see the world as sparkles and rainbows not realizing the truth of what is happening in front of us. Things that make us happy as children may not make us happy now or we may see a different side to them that we did not before. Your perspective changes as you grow older and learn more things about yourself and the world around you.

Excitement comes in many different ways. New clothes, fun trip, first bicycle, or many other things. Kids are easily excited often by the simplest things.

I remember after she moved away feeling the excitement of going to see her or spending the night over her house. I remember being excited every single time I saw him, my little heart pounding out of my chest. The excitement grew as we grew older and the visits to see her decreased and elementary school started and I would only see him after school.

Each time I saw her we made more memories and had great times leaving me more and more excited to see her again. When she moved the three of us were no more. I still saw them both but they didn't see each other, just the occasional hello when she happened to come to my house instead of me going to hers.

The excitement started to fade as we got older. She stayed where she was but made new friends, her bond growing stronger with them with each growing year as our bond weakened. He moved on from me as we grew older and became more involved with his school and new friends. And now he spends half his time with his father who moved away.  When he is here we still exchange a few words when we cross paths and he isn't sucked into his various activities or groups of friends.

Excitement is always there but fades over time as that thing you onced loved no longer brings that spark of joy to your heart it once did. Excitement will come and go as your interests and friends change. Your interests may change in different directions from others, and if you don't experience a feeling from a certain thing over time the excitement fades until it is stored in the back of your mind as a memory.

When you’re a child you think everything will last forever and things won't change. However, the reality is that most things do and will change over time. What at the time seems like a loss is now a lesson in accepting change as new friendships form and new memories are made. The friendships you create and memories you make will always have a special place in your heart no matter how far apart you and your friends drift or how many new memories you make.

Jacobo Pastor

English 3 Water Stream

September 20th, 2017

Kaleidoscopic Art

There I was, standing in a large room as crowded as NYC Central Station, full with people and noise. The room was filled with whispers, the irritating sounds of cameras, and the works of prodigious minds that passed throughout history. Their works were not written in paper, or recorded in stone; but represented in simple white canvas. Those strokes, those layers of multiples colors were able to teach me more than any of my Art History classes. Van Gogh’s, Leonardo’s, and Picasso’s surrounded me. I traveled from hallway to hallway, appreciating every single kind of art. Whether it was cubism or impressionism, those master pieces had a story to tell and they spoke to my senses.

Although my eyes were wide open, the only thing calling my name was  The Girl with the Ball. That wasn’t just another painting for me. That Roy Lichtenstein's painting was a family symbol, a piece of history that has traveled with us from house to house, room to room, and country to country. After many years, staring at affordable copies, I couldn’t believe that I was at the MOMA museum, standing next to it. My heart and soul were filled. I closed my eyes like if I was tasting it, and I saw my past flashing right in front of me. The painting was a reminder of where I came from and what I am now.  

Artistically this painting doesn’t mean much to me as it does in an emotional way. Many people say that a picture means more than a thousand words, well, this painting reminds me of my childhood and it is difficult to summarize what it represents using plain words. Tilting my face and holding my chin as if I was some kind of art buyer or an artistic figure, I was staring at the painting and feeling transported to my old house in Madrid. I could smell the turkish carpet in the hallway, leading to the painting’s frame. I could hear my grandfather’s wall clock ringing time. I could see the door to my sister’s bright pink room. The thousand dots of the painting dragged me into my old me like if I was looking from a kaleidoscope.  

My mind dipped into the colors of the painting. From the yellow surfaces to one of the thousand... no... millions of oval shaped yellow surfaces. I closed my eyes trying to clear my mind but I couldn’t. Those dots were making me turn and spin around, in an infinite dance to the center of myself. The smell was more than just familiar. Looking closely around me it came to my senses that those yellow oval surfaces were the rice grains of a typical Spanish paella. I could see my parents cooking over the flames, that family classic dish. The yellow background of the painting was as intense as the paella’ saffron and the girl’ skin tone looked as a pale as chicken chunks mixed with the shell food represented by her red ball. I was blown away by the realization that the whole art piece made me look back, and rekindle that moment in my life next to my family. It is thrilling how present my past was.

“Jacobo, what’s wrong? You look like you are lost in another world,” my mom said.

“I’m fine, mom. I am just remembering the good old days,” I said with a funny tone.

My mom smiled at me, probably thinking that I was making fun of her “good old days,” as she over used that saying, but she rapidly realized that I wasn’t talking about her at all. In fact, I was making a connection with our family past, our memories, everything that makes us be the way we are. That evidence hit me like a supernova leaving me with a sentimental feeling, strucking and moving me. I tried to explain myself. I tried to let her know how that artwork took me miles and years away from that winter day in New York. She looked at me in the eye and said “I know, Jacobo. It is the same for me. We carry our homeland and family in these little memories that travel with us.” At that moment I realized the importance of our past’s presence in our lives. Many choose to forget their past, trying to live a new life from scratch. For me, that is impossible because in every action I take there is a simultaneous reaction of looking back and recognizing, not only my achievements, but the opportunities that lie ahead. In that particular day, I discovered that just as the works of an artist are represented in a canvas, my past was represented in that piece of art.

The Girl with the Ball