Anthony Nelson Remix Slide

What I changed And Learned


Usually in past presentations,  I have made my slides “Boring” as Ms. Hull would say. But thanks to her constructive criticism I have tried using some new things such as different colored words to make the presentation more attractive , I highlighted important topics and included pictures. I also gave some of my sentences colored borders. Plus I Used Word Art. When presenting to my fellow group mates I took the following things they said into consideration. Hector told me that I should change the background color because it made the text harder to read. Caresten said that I should use less words. I changed both things and I think that the slide does look much better.


Anthony Nelson Remix slide

Quarter 2 Art Work

This quarter for art class I created blind contour drawings, a watercolor painting of my choice, 3 different versions of a recreated painting, a watercolor painting based off of a song lyric, and 5 different edited photos. In order to make these art pieces, I gained inspiration through my favorite artists and musicians. For the recreated paintings I was inspired by one of my favorite artists, Georgia O’Keefe, and recreated her white irises painting. For the illustration based off of a piece of writing, I was inspired by one of my favorite musicians, Noname, and pulled my artistic ideas from her Telefone album cover. I also consistently visualize a distinct lavender color when listening to Noname’s voice and songs, so I used this idea for a color to use when creating the background of the painting. For the blind contour drawings with color, I used either warm or cool colors for each drawing, to represent the duality of human emotions. For drawings that seemed more somber or serious, I used cool colors. With happier or more positive drawings, I used warm colors. Another design concept I used was movement, because each blind contour drawing showed pencil strokes that were in a constant movement.
Although I enjoyed using both soft and oil pastels for my recreated art piece, this quarter I favored watercolors. Painting with watercolors has become my preferred art material. A technique I do enjoy while using pastels is blending, specifically with soft pastels. I learned even more this quarter that oil pastels really have to cover every inch of surface in a drawing, even if you have to blend in some areas with white pastels. During this quarter I used paint brushes, watercolors, thick watercolor paper, copy paper, markers, colored pencils, soft pastels, and oil pastels. I used paint brushes for transferring the paint onto the paper, and I used the paper as my background and surface for artwork. The watercolors, markers, colored pencils, soft pastels, and oil pastels were used this quarter as my art mediums for creating art. I utilized my studio time throughout the quarter by using each art period to complete the art assignments that were due. I even completed some of the deadlines ahead of time, because I worked hard to complete my art in class. Overall, this quarter included a lot of fun art assignments that allowed me to use my creativity and also strengthen my art skills even further.

Working Hard or Hardly Working

Working Hard or Hardly Working


Here is one thing that doesn’t help in anyway at all, it’s unproductivity/laziness. Most people find me to be a lazy person. My friends do and sometimes they can’t trust me to complete a task that I am not totally good at doing. I often hear teachers say that haven’t met my potential yet and occasionally lack focus. My mother, the one who keeps watchful eyes over me even through all her work will say that I am a heavy procrastinator. I think that it’s all true and I hate to admit it, but it has become apart of me that I really wish to change. It’s not that I don’t want to be associated with laziness, it’s just that I don’t want to be defined by it. I don’t think that I am totally a “lazy” person, but I think that I have a really big issue with procrastination. This is a big problem for me at school and I can sometimes get my priorities mixed up with other minute things at or after school.

I remember one day during my sophomore year, I was in a really heated debate within a group chat. I was so concerned about such a minute discussion that I ended up missing the whole lesson. This wasn’t the first time that something like this happened either but it severely screwed up the rest of my day. I was bombarded with work due the next day with a few big assignments that would take a while, and on top of that I had the work that I didn’t understand at all because I was so unfocused in class. That night was horrible since I had to stay up until around 2 o’clock to get the Majority of it done but I ended up having to withhold my Rosetta Stone work for the next day. The day after that couldn’t have been enjoyable either because I had to use my time in an out of classes to keep up with Rosetta. The rest of the week was like this; trying to finish an assignment close to deadline while ignoring the work I should have my focus on. Rinse and repeat. This isn’t an effective method either as my grades have stooped to averages that I would never thought that I could get, I feel like I have a legitimate problem weather it be my academic, sports or social objectives. I understand that “school come first” but sometimes I feel like school can wait, I know this type of thinking will destroy my academic progress but I do have a way to help with that.

I have this one medication that helps me focus, well I hope it helps me focus, I often can’t tell if it is. I’ve been taking the vyvanse pill for about 5 or 6 years and I don’t like talking about it, this makes me feel like I need someone or something there to help me do things that other people can do without any meds. I don’t want to make this a ADD/ADHD speil but it makes me feel like I am constantly in need of help. I hate this feeling and at times it makes me feel like I am weak and inferior because of it. It’s weird, to feel like you are less than the students right next to you because you need to put forth more effort to keep up with them, and this happens a lot during my english/writing classes.

I don’t really have a personal problem with writing, but writing about something personal is the problem. I hate exposing myself, it makes me feel as if I’m naked. Everything that I normally hide, is now out on display; what scars I have, last weeks bruise, the one pimple that I can’t seem to reach or destroy, even the weakest and deepest sections of my mind and body. To me writing from the heart can feel like showing everyone one more important piece of info needed to eliminate Genero Accooe from the competition for best life achievements. I literally deleted like eight to fifteen sentences from this exercise so far . I Have stopped typing to bite my nails and fingers like 30 times.  I know that everyone probably feels this way, but at this point my insecurities now have a significant amount of power over me. My mom has told me many times before that I can’t let my self conscious get the better of me, but I can’t help but think about what others would from me. I need the approval of others, with everything like the way I may dress to the way I talk. I don’t need a verbal response to tell when something can come off as awkward, dumb or confusing, it usually comes from the way someone may look at me during a conversation or just plain old body language. This event has an effect on my writing; slowing it down, forcing me to go back and rethink my ideas regardless of if they were going in the right direction or not.

I know that it may seem like I have got myself stuck in a black hole that I will never escape, a cruel curse of self harm, and a credit card debt that  may never reach zero but this will not happen. I am getting better and better, this doesn’t mean I have never faced hardwork in my life though. I have had four jobs since the beginning of my freshman year and completed all of them with good remarks from my higher ups and shows that I am not totally unproductive and that I do have what it takes to live a more productive lifestyle. I feel like I have learned from my past mistakes, even if I feel like I am the only one who has times like these I now I stop and think. I think of my many friends that have a learning disability as well and that for us this is normal, this life and I’m going to have to move forward knowing that this will only help me become a better more productive person, I wanna be like Gucci Mane, Pharrell Williams, Will Ferrell, Charlie Brown. Anything but a Garfield.


Advanced Essay #2 [My thoughts on Freedom of speech]

Introduction: I’m hoping some people would agree with my passage and I think i would improve more details and write down more to the passage. I’m proud of the many things I wrote down relating to freedom of speech.

Advance Essay 

       If we didn’t have freedom of speech many books that are here today would be burned and many people wouldn’t know how to read. We would only have to take classes to know how to speak or read properly. Most countries around the world still won't allow violent books, games, or movies due to mature themes. In America it’s okay to make any type of entertainment they want. If dictionaries were not invented people will just have to figure out what other definitions mean. Instead of book burning there is only age restrictions to warn young kids about graphic content. If book burning still existed the authors would feel that they spent their hard work on nothing; just a pile of ashes. Freedom of speech is not just about talking freely you can also have free action expressing more about yourself and other things. Museums may contain things that aren't suitable for children, but museums are for the public 
and it’s considered freedom of speech given by artists and architects.
      Peaceful protest is allowed because it involves using words, not fists. If you live downtown or in the philadelphia area you start seeing tons of murals and public art everywhere you go. Most of the murals you see contain messages about the world of other topics. There is a yearly event called Burning man a place where you can express yourself in many different ways you can where whatever you want and do whatever you want to do, but if you want to travel around the place, you are going to need a bike. What I've noticed In my childhood, is that you can say certain things at a certain age. I wasn’t supposed to say or learn about adult phrases until I was 14 years old. Me and my dad had a “sex talk” and what diseases it can bring, and the safety of sex. He mentioned it in his car while we were on our way to a christmas event downtown Me and my brother were giggling with discomfort. In conclusion, Without freedom of the speech we would never have the things we have in our country.

Works Cited

GILMAN, CHARLOTTE PERKINS. YELLOW WALLPAPER. INWOOD COMMONS PUBLISHING, 2017.


Best Personal Essay

Reconnecting With My Culture:

When I was two years old, my dad decided to move to the United States with my brother and I in search of a better future. I frequently went back to visit and see my family members, but after a while, I stopped going. I spent 4 years in the U.S without going back to the Dominican Republic, until this past summer I finally did. 
“Bienvenidos a Santiago, Republica Dominicana”, welcome to Santiago, Dominican Republic, the pilot said over the loudspeaker as the excited passengers clapped with joy. 
“I can’t believe its been 4 years,” I thought to myself 
I stood up, got my luggage from the overhead compartment and began heading out. As soon as I stepped out of the airplane and into the airport, I felt the heat hug my body as I carried my suitcase to the immigration line. When I approached the lady tending the flyers I was expecting a woman who hated her job and who wanted to just get through the day. To my surprise, I was greeted by this extremely hospitable lady. She asked  me how I was doing and how my flight was, why I’m here and if I’m excited.  There were many people like this lady all around the airport. The overall ambient was completely different from anything that I had experienced in Philadelphia airports. After going through the entire process of immigration and getting my luggage,  I began walking out to the doors of the exit in the airport. As soon as I stepped out, there were big groups of families waiting for their loved ones. Families with old children and small children, even babies. All grinning from ear to ear. I scanned the outside of the airport and was able to locate my aunt, who brought my two cousins and my uncle with her. 
The ride to her house was a bit awkward. I hadn't seen them all in nearly five years, so it was hard to make conversation, especially with my older cousin. Last time I saw her she was starting high school, and now she was talking about her college major. So I just stared out the window, taking everything in. One of the first thing I noticed, pretty odd, was how the girls wore their hair. Back home, I never wear my natural hair out. Just seeing other girls with perfect curls or perfect straight hair made me feel somewhat ashamed of my frizzy waves, so I tried my best to hide it. In all honesty I was scared. One time a few years ago I tried wearing my natural hair out, but someone called me Einstein, and ever since I don't wear my natural hair out of the house. But the girls here wear it out loud and proud, my older cousin being one of them. I asked her if she ever tried straightening it and explained to her everything I do to my hair to mask the naturalness and she looked at me strange.  Nevertheless, I went back to looking out my window for the rest of the hour long car ride. 
Upon arriving to my aunts house, I was greeted by a delicious home cook meal. And my entire family sat around me at the table, even if they weren't eating, and we caught up on the last 4 years of our lives. After eating, I was able to walk to my other aunts house. The town was so small you could walk everywhere. As I walked with my cousin, many people I didn't recognized recognized me from my childhood. They always started with the line “I carried you when you were a baby”. The next few hours was spent walking to my family members houses and greeting everyone, which was extremely exciting. The entire ambient was so different and I had forgotten how much I loved it, in a way it was like a culture shock. The spanish was faster, laughs were louder and the love immense. It was baffling to me how I felt so at home in place I hadn't seen in nearly 5 years. 
Over the next two weeks of my stay, I visited beaches, pools, and beautiful Dominican Republic Landmarks. I was really great to be able to get back to my roots and connect more with my culture. Philadelphia is so different that it is extremely easy to forget where you come from. I often find myself trying to blend in and lose track of where I really come from and coming back gave me a chance to enjoy all of the amazing aspects of my culture. The authentic food, the music, and the people. Two weeks wasn’t enough to experience it all. 
The day to go home came in the blink of an eye. I was enjoying my stay so much, I completely lost track of time. The morning of, just like the day that I arrived, I said my goodbyes to my family members, except this time instead of crying happy tears, I was sad. I packed my things and again, my two cousins, my uncle and aunt al drove me to the airport. The hardest goodbye was my older cousin, Lala. We had grown very fond of one another. When we were younger we were like sisters, but the distance in location created distance in our relationship. The time together reconnected us. Saying goodbye to her was hard because I didn't know when I would see her again. Ater my goodbyes in the airport, I walked through the same doors once exited, but in a way I was a different person, with more confidence in myself. The plane ride seemed never ending. All I could think about was how I didn’t appreciate my stay more and how I wanted so desperately to stay for longer.
 After 4 hours, I was back in the U.S. I got my suitcase and exited the plane. I went through immigration and I was faced with a lady who seemed like she hated her job. I left the airport and no longer saw the families waiting for their loved ones. No one even got out of their cars. I felt out of place one again, but this time in my own home.

Independent or Not?

Jason Lam

Ms. Pahomov

English 3

5 January 2018


I like to think of myself as bright, smart, funny, a video gamer, a procrastinator, friendly, optimistic, resourceful, curious, accident prone, slow, organized, and independent. Being independent in life without the support or help of others is a big stepping stone for me. As a visually impaired person, I need help and support from my family, teachers, and supervisors. Of course now that I’m now a lot older than I was when I first became visually impaired, I am more capable of doing things and doing them by myself, but I’m lagging behind where I really should be on my independency. I was very lucky to grow up in a pretty big family where the adults did everything from mopping the floor, laundry, to cooking, and cleaning the bathroom. My brother and I didn’t really do any type of chore during our early childhood so we weren’t all that experienced in everyday chores. I’m not saying we didn’t do any chore or helped at all, but we weren’t really required to do them. Since I’ve been lucky to have others doing things for me, it was a hard transition from having people doing everything for me to being independent and doing things myself. One thing that comes with being independent is trust, specifically parent trust. My parents are not the most outgoing parents. They are caring and supportive to me. They are also very protective, maybe overprotective. One thing I wanted to change this year, for school, was transportation.

(Our conversation was in Chinese, so here is what it basically translates too)

“Mommy?” I asked.

She was looking at her ipad, and sitting on the floor. She replied, “Hmmm?”

I looked at her and said,“Why can’t I go on the subway to school?”

“There is no why.” she plainly said. She still kept looking at her ipad.

I grew annoyed with her reply. She always says this whenever I ask her why questions on a subject she doesn’t want to argue about or go into because she thinks it’s a waste of her breath. Tonight’s subject was about my change in transportation I made with my braille teacher/supervisor.

So I said, “Yes why!” “Why don’t you want me to go to school by myself?”

She finally looked up and said in a pretty calm yet bold voice, “We’ve had this conversation already. I don’t want you to take the subway to school because no one can watch you. Besides, when it gets cold in winter, there will be snow and ice that you will have to pull your school bag through, and you can slip and fall on the ice. Also, you have to wake up earlier to catch the subway, and it is more convenient and better for you to take the taxi to school.”

Even though she did make some good arguments, I still argued back with her. “But I can handle the cold, and I haven’t slipped on ice once in my entire life yet.”

“That doesn’t mean it won’t happen.” she rebuttled.

I looked at her with growing anger. I’ve always hated that I never got to do what I wanted to do. Yeah, sure, some people might consider a taxi as a luxury to a walk or SEPTA ride to and from school, but it’s really not.  

I said ”But the taxi is really terrible! The driver speeds, calls on the phone while he’s driving, curses and shouts at drivers that drive too slow for him, crosses red lights, and when it picks me up from school, it’s late.

I remember the time during my freshman year when I was waiting for the taxi, but it was late for some pathetic reason. I had waited for over 40 minutes for it when I decided to leave and head to my mother’s salon which was nearby. Boy was everyone annoyed with me.

“How come?” she questioned.

“I don’t like it when I hate to wait for the taxi because they’re late. They even lie about why they’re late too!” Unbelievably, the driver does lie about why he’s late. Once, I overheard him talking to a client on the phone about why he was late to pick them up.

“I’m sorry, traffic is just so bad.”

He said this as he was driving through an empty street! He wasn’t late because of traffic, he was late because he wasbiting off more than he could chew! He had so many clients that he couldn’t keep up with his schedule and just blames innocent traffic for his lateness. That’s why I don’t believe a word he says about why he’s late, he’s taking more clients than he can handle.

“That was just an honest mistake. Besides, you need to be more patient, son.” she said.

Be more patient? Is she kidding me? Would anyone wait for a taxi that is almost an hour late? Tell me if that is being impatient! I waited over 40 minutes before I decided to leave.

“He’s also driving me to school late now.”

“ Did you tell the office that you were late because it was the taxi?”

“I did, but I can’t keep on saying that!”

“Why not? If you’re late because of the taxi, then you got to tell them it was the taxi’s fault you were late and not you. “

“Ugh. I don’t think my teachers will keep on doing this for me every single day.”

She looked up at me and just gave me an expression that said all too clearly that she wasn’t going to change her mind no matter what excuse I told her.

So that was an unpleasant conversation I had with my mother a while back.

Still up to this day, I have SEPTA as my transportation to and from school and not the taxi. I’m not regretting my choice to switch even though it is pretty frigid and slippery outside, but sometimes and definitely before I switched, I did vacillate whether I made the right choice. Being independent is a hard thing for me even though I’m older now. Always having help and support at my fingertips was as regular as it could be. Of course, I’m not saying I’m ungrateful, in fact I’m actually happy that I had an easier childhood than most other kids in a responsibility sense. But on the downside to becoming an adult, I became really dependent on others helping me. I guess it’s never bad to ask for a lot of help, but is there a such thing as asking for too much help? Sometimes I do feel that way. I feel that sometimes when I ask questions or for help too much. It makes me feel guilty inside. It is a goal for me to be capable and confident of myself to do things that would otherwise require me to seek help.

YES, I know, it’s never a bad thing to ask for help, but it’s also never bad to do things yourself!


Admittance is the First Step

When I was in 5th grade, I got my first C ever in writing, which was a subject I struggled with. I don’t remember how it happened. I don’t count it as a huge thing for me. I don’t know why, but I could never really tie any significance to it. I remember feeling really upset about it. I don’t think I have had a report card without a C since, which I guess never really seemed to bother me. I used to be a star student. It’s not like I lost motivation or stopped caring, things just were never the same. Everything changed for the worse. Every year since then my life has seemed to get progressively worse and worse in every way possible.

That’s the version of the story I tell myself...and only myself because I don’t tell this to anyone until now. Maybe if I did it wouldn’t have taken me so long to realize what actually happened. Here’s the real story: I got my first C in 5th grade. It happened to be in writing because I struggled to write that piece and turned it in late. I saw it coming, but when I saw it in black-and-green I think it did something to me. It was very devastating and discouraging. I haven’t had a report card without one since and that’s extremely embarrassing for me to admit. I used to be a star student. I became careless and had less drive to be that star student. I had a lot going on internally and externally and was excused in many ways because of that. I think I really got comfortable with hiding behind them, because facing the actual problem would have been really hard to do. Because of this, the school aspect of my life has suffered incredulously and that in turn negatively impacted all the other aspects of my life.

I guess, you could say I began to give up on getting back to a place where I was satisfied with my academic standing because it seemed unachievable, and still does. It’s not until something motivates me that I start to gain momentum and get back on my feet pursuing school work and activities. I fall into the same slump over and over and over; it’s a vicious cycle that I can’t seem to free myself of.  The cycle usually goes like this: I get an assignment, something substantial like an essay checkpoint. I spend a few minutes trying to come up with an idea of what I’m gonna do (I’m usually unsuccessful in my endeavors). I tell myself I’ll get around to it later and then for whatever reason, I don’t and it’s not until a few days after it’s due that the pressure sets in and I’m able to finish the assignment. I usually work well under pressure, but my problem is that pressure sets in too late. I have become comfortable, in a sense, with underperforming. When I started high school I recognized that I was entering a world different than the one I was accustomed to in grade school. I set expectations pretty high for myself in a sense. I told myself I got this because confidence is key and I knew that if I went in feeling like I would fail I would. At the same time, I recognized that it wouldn’t all be smooth sailing and that things would get hard at times when it came to school; that I would turn in a handful of assignments late and even get the occasional bad grade. The only thing that mattered was that I would bounce back and get back on track.

Freshman year was a lot harder than I was prepared for it to be. It started off just as great as I thought it would be. My first assignment was in English 1. I had to write a 350-word essay on how my past shaped who I was at the time, which is nothing compared to the 1200 word essay I’m writing now, but back then it seemed like a lot. However, because I was so determined to take high school head on, I didn’t even flinch. That night, I finished it in under an hour and turned it in the next day, no problem. I didn’t have to think about it, I just did it and I was proud of my work. Looking back that might have been the best and most confident I’ve felt in my entire high school experience. As time went on, it got a harder to stay on top of things-and it showed. My grades went from looking the best they had since 5th grade to looking worse than they ever had before in a matter of months. Still, I told myself it was an adjustment period and I was having trouble adjusting. I had plenty of time to grow and make up for it. It’s only my freshman year...but sophomore year didn’t prove to be  any better either…

I decided that junior year was going to different. I wasn’t going to mess up because I couldn’t afford to. I had one last chance to fix all the damage I had done in the past 2 years and I was determined to be successful.  Everything was going to be perfect...and it was...for a month. Then piece by piece it all fell apart, again. I had a lot of things contribute to that. I kept using surface solutions, like completing an assignment or two, but that didn’t stop the work from piling up. I wasn’t getting to the root of the problem and so I fell behind over and over and over again. I play it back in my mind and can see everything slowly unravel, piece by piece dropping like the petals on the wilting rose from Beauty and the Beast. Like it was nothing, the delicate, magical flower my motivation was, wasted away to nothing more than a stem. I couldn’t see that that was the problem, though, which made it hard to it solve it.

I was determined to hold on to and maintain the results of my hard work, but they still suffered a little bit. However, I managed to end the quarter with grades I haven’t seen since my freshman year, which was a little comforting. That comfort was short lived, though, as my grades began to drop like flies again. This was for more than one reason, but one of them was that I got lazy and I’m paying for it as I write this essay, up to my neck in overdue assignments. Only, difference is I am here, admitting out loud that my lack honesty with myself is a problem that I need to acknowledge and work on. Hopefully, now that I’ve done that, I can

move past it and learn how I can break this cycle. I realize there are times where I’ll back into old habits, but I will have to figure out a way to overcome it, which is gonna be easier now that I can see what the problem is. I can now learn and grow from this and it’ll only help me prepare to get through the problems I will come into contact with.

Admittance is the first step. I was taught from an early age that it is very important that I take responsibility for my decisions and actions. Learning that lesson took longer.  

At first, it was easy. All I had to do is tell mommy that I broke the vase accidentally. However, as I got older, the stakes got higher and honesty got more complicated for a lot of other reasons. Sometimes it’s hard to face the truth, especially when it reveals the parts of myself I’m least proud of and intent on keeping under wraps. I found that I even lied to myself… and that can get dangerous, though, because, if I believe it, it can influence the way I see a situation. That snowballed into a mess of things that could have been avoided if I had just been honest with myself.


Best Personal Essay

https://www.wevideo.com/view/1050040659

I tried to walk, but I couldn’t move. My arms and legs froze. I couldn’t feel anything. Thoughts racing through my head. I tried to breathe. Nothing came. I tried again. And again. The air slowly eased its way into my lungs. My body started to slowly come back. My mind as well.

Then I was aware of where I was, standing in the middle of the hallway. Supposed to be on my way to my 9th grade History. What had just happened? I felt my entire life flash before my eyes. I continued walking down the hall until I made it to my seat. I inched my head onto the desk. In that moment I couldn’t stand. My body was weak and tired. My legs shook. What just happened?

Eventually, I came to understand that I had an anxiety attack. Not my finest moment. Didn’t realize what it was  until I was told by my parents weeks later. My whole life got to my head. School, family, friends. Everything. Everyone always says the things you care about the most will hurt you. To be specific, what affected me so much was the constant changes in my daily life. In school I would be on track one minute, then the next I would miss a major assignment. Family is just too complicated to keep up with. Friends’ drama makes me want to never talk to them again. I wonder what it would be like to leave all those things behind. Throw it all away, and focus on myself. All of these things try to define me, and determine what I am supposed to be. How do they know who I am supposed to be if I don’t even know who that is?

Determining who I am is extremely important. I feel hellish heats roll over me when someone tries to tell me who I am, and tries to show me who I should be. Nitpick at me like some kind of play doll. Well guess what buddy, I’m not. This is my life. No one else's.

I remember sitting there. Hearing the loud voices in my ears. Not knowing what they were saying. Not realizing who was saying what. Until I found myself sitting in my bed regretting everything. Slamming my hand back and forth. Making little dents on my wall. Thinking about what just happened over and over again. I need to get my life together? What is wrong with me? My life? I am really that bad of a son? That bad of a person? Who are you to tell me any of that? Who is anyone to tell me? I am who I am. Deal with it. Instead of trying to improve myself for later, I just make it worse by resenting everyone and everything..

Everything may seem fairly confusing. I know it may not be making a lot of sense. Trust me, sometimes it doesn’t make sense to me. It’s hard to walk through life not knowing who you are, what you are going to do, and how you are supposed to turn out. It really doesn't help when you have everyone around telling you who you are, what you are going to do, and how you are supposed to turn out. They have to make it as difficult as possible for you to make a decision for yourself. What if I don’t want to do what you tell me to? What if I want to do my own thing?

They say because you care about them you have to stand down and listen to them. I can’t just do that.

I couldn’t do that for anyone. Including my friend from middle school. He wanted me do what he told me, and I had to be who he wanted me to be. Except he moved away. When he left. I didn’t know what to do. I worshipped him. He was like a brother to me. I fell apart at first. Didn’t think I’d ever have another friend again. I tried to talk to him as much as I possibly could. Fell into a rut in the process. I didn’t talk to anyone else. Didn’t socialize. My friend ruined my life.

Eventually I had to move past the fact that he moved to the other side of the country. At this point I was completely introverted, and didn’t see the point. I was ready to live out the rest of my life like this. Until I found a new group of friends. Kids that didn’t care who I was. Guys that will treat like an equal. So, I stayed in that friend group. We hang out everyday. I noticed a significant change in myself. I wasn’t afraid to do what I wanted to do. Didn’t have to listen to my friends. It was all me.

The summer before 10th grade my old friend came to visit, and check in. He came over and we hung out for a while. Did some stuff we used to do. He seemed to have changed. He was a kinder person than he was before. I was happy for him. I had the feeling that he found what he was looking for in life. Just wish I could do the same.

The last day he was here, we took a walk to his old house. The air was warm, and sweat poured down my face. We walked for hours. Until finally he was picked up by his parents because he had to catch his plane. We said our goodbyes. It was funny actually. The last thing he said to me made me laugh. He said, “Lose my number, I don’t like the person you’ve become”. The engine of the car slowly turned out, and drove away. Blowing all the dust in my face. I stood there. Couldn’t feel my legs, my arms were motionless. My breath slowly came out. All of a sudden I started to laugh. I couldn’t stop. I fell to the ground. What had just happened? I remember thinking that after almost three years of growth, I still am being told what I am doing wrong. People telling me who I am supposed to be. I thought my friend had changed. Had grown into a new and better person, just like I had.

Nowadays. I couldn’t care less about that kid. Don’t even consider him a friend. I haven’t spoken to him in a good year. I get the occasional text from him asking how I am, but I never reply. Friends and Family are an important element of finding who I am supposed to be. However, their job is to support me. They shouldn’t judge me. Family and friends will almost always be there, but if they cannot stand back and let me choose then I don’t want them there.

I have no clue who I wanna be. The kinda person I want to grow into or the kind of life I want to pursue. Just because I don’t know doesn’t mean it should be handed to me. If you don’t like how I act or talk then don’t talk to me. Or like my old friend, move all the way across the country. Doesn’t matter who I am as long as I’m the person I was meant to be.


Changing Self



The clock strikes a minute after midnight. January 1st 2016. As the music from my parents annual party blast from the floor under me.  I stick my head out the window and inhale the fresh 2016 air. It’s cold and stings my skin but I don’t care. I hear a knock on my bedroom door,

“Come back down and get something to eat before I eat it all.” says my little sister before I hear her running back down the steps. Before I go, I turn off all my lights and get down on my knees to  pray,

“Heavenly father please make these 6 months go by fast so I never have to be in this horrible school again. These last 4 months were the worst months of my life. Thank you for sending my abusers away forever. Amen.” I finished my prayer and walk back downstairs to the party. It’s bright with life.   Relatives catching up by the silver fireplace. Family friends sip on Merlot and rock their body´s to the slow beating music. My parents are in their own world because this day 22 years ago was the day they made their love official.


“Happy anniversary babe.” My dad says, kissing my mom intensely. She replies “Happy anniversary Dave, 22 years down , a lifetime to go.” They kiss again. I watch the setting and become unusually happy. I come back to my daunting reality and realize less than 72 hours from now i'll be back in the place that caused me more pain then a lifetime.  A dark cloud parks himself on top of my head. They may be gone but their souls, words, and actions will always linger in the halls. The rest of the night is a blur and when it's almost over the last dance of all the couples begin.  As their wedding song comes to an end so does the party


What are you doing New Years? New Years Eve.”


3 days later I’m back in the hallways of building 21 scared lonely and anxious. I don’t go to class because I know  I won’t learn anything and don’t want to be subjected to the verbal abuse. I need to be a quiet spot.  I walk down the hallway eyes on the floor at all times. The observers talk about the events that transcended. They will not forget. I can feel my peers burning their eyes into me. They see right through me.


“I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.” a muttered voice says.  I finally exhale, someone sympathizes me.


“That bitch deserved it. She’s dumb as fuck. Next time instead of letting her fake ass friends pipe her head up she shoulda walked away. She bout it but she ain’t bout it.” They both laugh. I keep walking and finally find a quiet enclosed place. My emotions are so mixed up and confused and so I begin to write. Writing has always been my source of tranquility, my escape from whichever sad predicament I face at that moment. It helps me think but sometimes I drown in my thoughts. My “friends” told me to be tough or I couldn’t hang with them. So I was tough.  I remember that day exactly.  My friend and i were sitting at a hallway table doing our homework. Suddenly Gina appeared,giving both my friend and I the evil eye. I look at her and remember when we first best friends.How did we get here?


“Do you want to fight?” I asked sitting up straight in my seat.  


“Tai if she touches you Imma fuck her up” my friend says looking back down at her phone carelessly. Gina laughs.


“You won’t do anything , we can fight after school” she states, rolling her eyes and storming away. My friend and I both laugh, because in remembrance the last time Gina fought someone she lost without even thinking about.  Later that day, school is out and Gina & I are fighting. Kids circle around us, recording laughing and yelling. How did I get here? We keep fighting and I win. Suddenly , her aunts appear and they all decide to fight me at once. All of them well beyond 20 years of age. Where were my friends now? I look and see they’re sitting down on some person’s step observing. Then it was over. I left with a migraine and temporary blindness in my right eye. Later on that night, I lay in my wooden bed and drown in my endless thoughts.


“Why did  I fight her? I don’t even like to fight. In times of need why didn’t the people who I worshipped and thought would be there for me weren’t?” I only fought that girl because that's what my friends told me to do. A year before that I would never really fight anyone because I thought it was unnecessary but the people who I was friends with last year never wanted to fight. That's when I realized that the transition from going to middle school to high school didn’t just change physically. But the people, settings and feelings did. Around my middle school friends fighting was not a thing. We were having too much fun to be fighting but when I got around different people in high school all they cared about was fighting. They loved it, they gained a high off of it. Watching two people fight for no apparent reason. Or in my case fighting multiple people at once. I knew some things had to change. Not them but me.


“You can’t sit here, go find a empty classroom to sit in ma’am.” Says a hallway monitor. I come back to reality. As I grab my stuff and leave the small corner area I was sitting in trying to avoid any human interaction. I realize the change I speak of is already happening.  I isolated myself from everyone. I ignore everything whether its positive and negative. It's wonderful. The remainder of the 6 months until Im gone from that place goes by slowly at first, because I’m not used to isolation and being quiet all the time. Friendless and alone wasn’t me but then overtime it was. It felt good. Observing everyone else’s unnecessary drama unfold and it was unfolding what seemed like every day. As the year comes to an end and I regained happiness and anticipation that I will never have to step back into building 21 again.  


Ahmed's Personal Essay

In the late spring of 2011, my siblings, my mother, and I all moved to Al-Khartoum, the capital of the Sudan. Both my parents decided it would be best for them to have a divorce, completely forgetting about the impact it would have on my siblings and I. We were already going to the Sudan for the summer and they insulted my knowledge and said that we have to go now since there aren’t anymore tickets available in June and the tickets would also be a lot cheaper.

I played along even though I was already fully aware of the situation. I already knew my parents were going to get divorced but I was always scared of my dad so I had no choice but to play along and act stupid and unaware of what’s going on, especially when it comes to grown-up stuff. So we landed in the Sudan and everything seemed very normal when we came in contact with the family whom I haven’t seen in 2 years. Everyone was happy to see us, my grandmothers, and aunts showered me with kisses, they carried our luggage to the car, and of course, asked us how we were. Like every other time they see us.

About one month later I started attending Al-Mughtaribeen school, which means the school of the Expatriates. A school where almost every student is Sudanese from a country outside of the Sudan. At that time I didn’t know that much Arabic. But after 2 months in that school, I’ve learned to read and speak Arabic fluently and that’s when I started loving Sudan. I became very interested in the Sudanese culture and history.

I’ve always loved the kind Sudanese people and loved them more and more by the second. The Sudan has over 200 different ethnic groups all over the country and Khartoum is the city where these people from different parts of Sudan come to because it’s a tourist spot and a modernized city, the new world basically. My ethnic group is called the Shawayga, so I’d be a shaygy. Shawayga are from northern Sudan and carry on the bloodline of the original Sudanese, Nubians. There are over 50 different tribes today in the Northern state of Sudan, Al Shamaliya. Every part of Sudan excluding Khartoum belongs to the ethnic group and each land has many different cities which are the territories belonging to the ethnic groups’ leader or nubian prince/princess. I am a shaygy from Al-Barkal, which was one of the greatest parts of Sudan, known for its pyramids, nubian temples, and the great mountain of Al-Barkal. Both my parents are from there but my father was in Khartoum since he was a toddler after his father moved to khartoum to find a better job.

Because of our heritage, I visit Al-barkal almost every holiday and break. I stay with mother’s family and I enjoy it very much since everyone in the village is family and everyone is kind, caring, and amusingly funny. But there is one exception. Many lands in the Northern state of Sudan, Al-Shamaliya is filled with Syrian, and Egyptian refugees which we call Halab.

In Al-Barkal, the elders of the village decided to allow them to stay in our village and built many homes for them to live in but they were all built in the very end of the village to help avoid any problems.

After a while, the halab have gained the trust of the shawayga of Al-barkal and the elders allowed them to start buying crop lands to grow their food and leave their farm animals there. After some time passed, many reports of stolen crops and farm animals, such as chickens, and sheep have arised. The elders then decided to have night watchers all over the farmlands to catch and make sure it was the halab.

The first night was a success. 4 halab tennegaers all around the age of 16 were caught. They were brought to the Barkal Conferences’ room building-similar to a Cubical building, and all the elders and men who are involved with these type of situations were called to the conference room and the matter was handled then and there.

After that incident, the people of the Village were raged with anger and disgust and there have been many fights and arguments between the halab and the shawayga have raised. Within one week, 50 reports have been made. This caused a lot disturbance and stress to the people of the village. One day, 4 men proposed to the elders of the village to allow them to assassinate all the people of the halab. There was a little discussing between the elders but they came to a final decision to not allow that to happen because that was not the way the people of Barkal handle things and murder is against the religion of Islam which the people of Al-Barka followed. They decided to have a meeting with all the adults of the halab and then peace between the two has achieved through peaceful negotiation and this was the way the people of the Barkal handled things.

I visited the summer after I first moved to Sudan, which was also 20 years after the peace between the halab and the shawayga was agreed on. I stayed there for all of Ramadan and another 2 weeks after. 3 days after Eid-Al Fitr, my cousins who lived in Al-barkal all went to school along with the other villagers in school. The village was quiet in the daytime like always.

Me and four of my cousins who were also expatriates- two from Dubai in the UAE, Mustafa (13) and Adam (15), one from London, Ali (14) and the other from Qatar, Ismael (13)- decided to go the Nile river for a swim. We all put on our swimming shorts and took out the horses that our friendly neighbor who is also family told us to take if we wanted to go somewhere.

We raced on the long road between the beautiful fields of mango trees, guava trees, and date palms to the very end before the sharp left turn to Karima, a big city 15 minutes away from Al-Barkal. We rode our horses slowly on the small pathways of sand between the plants and trees heading towards the river, and out of nowhere my older cousin Adam stopped.

“Did anyone hear something?” he asked us.

“Shut up! You didn’t hear anything, you’re just trying to scare us.” Ismael yelled.

We laughed and continued moving forward slowly towards the river. When we arrived, We all dived straight into the water but Adam and Ali went to go tie the horses. A couple minutes after they left, as my cousins and I were swimming and enjoying the cool water in the burning sun. 3 halab teenagers the ages of 19 and 18, started throwing rocks near us in the water, making us backup deeper and deeper. We seen them wearing green stained thobes and each were holding long, sharp sickles in their hands. We all got scared because we were moving towards the middle of the Nile river where the water was running towards Egypt at a speed over 25 miles per hour. If we were to end up there it would’ve been over for us. We were all short and skinny anyway which would’ve got us swept away even easier. We dived into the water and started swimming as fast as we could to the land but they were persistent.

They kept throwing rocks and boom Mustafa was hit with a huge rock right to the head, and fainted. He started floating on the water and we all swam to rescue him. He was a couple feet away from guaranteed death.

I thought it was over. I started to think of how life would be if he were gone.We were too far out. There was nothing we could’ve done. My cousin Ismael started to cry as he swam persistently to save Mustafa and out of nowhere Ali, who was an extraordinary swimmer dived into the water from the cliff and and lifted Mustafa from beneath. Adam, who was the oldest and strongest out of us hit two of the halab in the back of their heads with two giant bricks knocking them both down.

“I knew someone was tailing us from earlier but why? Why are you doing this? These are little kids. What could you have possibly been thinking?” Adam asked raged with anger.

We started swimming to the land as we helped Ali take Mustafa to land. We got to land and Adam told Ali to go bring all of the horses to that very spot we were at. He gave him one of the halab’s sickle.

“We know about the staff at Al-barkal Elementary and Middle School teach to the kids. They tell you all these lies and rumors about us halab so guys could hates us then decide to kick us all out. We have nowhere to go and our parents and other adults can't do anything because of the peace treaty, so we’ll do something.” the halabi man said.

“Listen we’re here for vacation we don’t even go to school here.We don’t even live here. And even if we did, this is not something anyone should do. The people of this village allowed you to live here in our land and allowed you to buy farm land properties, and the point of that treaty was to achieve peace at last. Everything is finally peaceful here in this village but what you’re doing is the complete opposite.” Adam yelled.

“There can’t be peace here if there is still discrimination and racism towards us halab. This is the only place we can live in in peace...or that’s what we thought at least.” said the tall halabi guy.

“Why are you still talking to him Adam? He’s talking out his ass. We came here to swim, and he’s over here talking about some other shit.” I yelled.

“Yeah seriously, just drop him dead already.”  Ismael agreed.

Ali finally arrived with all 5 horses. Adam punched the halabi man then Ismael and I ran to assist him in the fight. He ran. The two who were dropped by Adam were still knocked out laying down on the hot burning orange sand. Ali and Adam tied the two halabis up and carried them on their backs. We got on our horses and went to our grandfather. He was one of the elders of the village. We told him everything that happened and he conducted a meeting right away.

“Ok. I’ll take care of this. Go eat.” he said as he handed me a $20 bill. “Pass me my             cane. Adam drop me off there. We’ll take your uncle Asaad's car.”

My cousins and I went to the shawarma restaurant which was a block away from the house. My cousin was fine as were eating and chilling in the restaurant. We enjoyed each other's company while we were chewing on fries and shawarma sandwiches. We left the restaurant to go to the house. As we walked in we ran into my grandfather if he was ok. My grandfather we assured us the situation was handled.

In that moment, I realized that my grandfather's words would haunt me for the rest of my life. He had said “You children shouldn’t worry about adult issues of enemies and finding peace. If finding peace happens it won’t happen now.” Whether my grandfather knew it or not our enemies weren’t into peace and neither were we looking forward to it. The relationship between the self and the changing world is that there can’t be a world of peace if the people of this world can’t reach peace within themselves. In today's world peace is always the best answer, but in reality, peace can never be found.