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Kayla Kelly                                                                                                                             9/18/18 My strength in clubs/sports

Hi I am Kayla, I am a sophomore at SLA, I am in CTE engineering, which is good, but not my only interest, and didn’t start out as I want to go in to this interest just because, because I wanted to know what it was about, then I go further. And when I am interested in something I never let go , I won't automatically say I want to quit, I say I want to go the extra mile, but if I actually do have to quit, I quit. When I am doing things I stop and try to talk to myself will I be harming myself and /or someone, what am I doing, by listening and looking, very carefully.

Curiosity killed the robot's engineer

One of my strengths is how curious I am, when I look at an interest I could have, I step in the water slowly, not all at once. If I go in all at once I will not know what to do, if I don’t like it I'd be doing something I don’t like it, I can’t go back I am to deep in to it, and I could possibly hurt someone, emotionally, or maybe myself physically. But when I am curious, I think about it theoretically , I also try talking to people about how it is, there experience doing it, I also test it so I am sure I will not hurt people, cause I do not want to hurt people in any way. I am doing a full marathon in november, I didn’t just say I am going to do it right now, I thought about it, I asked about it, and I tested out how physically fit I am, so I will not hurt myself. And when I am curious about something I do not drop it, I am always researching it , and figuring it out, I go all the way most times, if I am not stopped by anything, then I stop if I absolutely have to, to get better, or better at it.

I am not determined, said no best runner ever

I am Determined, when I do something I just don’t quit, I move on, and I just keep moving.And when someone is determined they are not the pretenders as a person who was in the olympics and works for vanguard said that his coach,” rain brings out the pretender’s, the ones who are like oh it raining we can’t run, oh I my ankles hurt , can’t run, my legs hurt everyday running I can’t run,s therefore you're all not pretenders, the ones who attended this race” because rain and pain won’t kill you, in fact it makes us stronger as runners, heck I ran 13 in the rain, while my legs and stomach (side stitches, really bad cramp on the side of you stomach)hurted, I ran though ¾ of a mile, through with bad stitches and they only got bader every time I got faster, so I kept going faster, because I was right there at the finish line, for 10 miles.But determination does reign in sport/activities area, but we don’t think that much over other stuff such as school work, work, clubs, etc. when in a club, the pretenders, it boring it's not fun, it will never ever be fun, but the people who attend there every single day even if it is boring now, or whatever, are the determined people, because if they can’t do this then they first of don’t deserve it , secondly they can’t improve if they aren't there or engaged, and they can learn from what ever happened before , like practice, like work, in practice you/body, don’t know where you pain will be to ice it and then help it grow stronger, work you didn’t do it how will you know what to do when you go back, it will be like as if your sick and didn’t know what was happening, which is weird.when I am determined in something I say my motto, don’t stop now, keep moving,when you stop now in anything it will be harder when you get back to it, like walks if you run , then walk to much your body feels like it needs to have more walk than what you want to have, or in home work you skip you won’t ever don’t know what is going on in the next one, then the next one and so on ,and you feel like not doing more then you or maybe your teacher wants to. You also need to be aware when in doing this, make sure your not too determined and break someone, something, or your self.

Last year philadelphia full marathon, Jeremy Spry, Camil, Charles, jermey 9th (I belive) camils 2nd, and charles 1st.

Observant ones get things done in anything

I am observant too, when in a place, I observe my surround to know where I am and here to go just in case for next time. I I try to use all my senses (unless I have allergies happening and stuff)  to know my surrounding, like if something will happen such as my brother breaking thing, or my dog breaking things.But I also observe from an theropedic/phycologic view, I’ll look at a person's behavior ( little experience in this, mom has depression, me and my dad has mild anxiety, and my brother has a bunch of stuff that I kind of don’t feel like talking about now) if someone skips class many times I either know they have severe anxiety or they are bad at school.Being observant is very important for everything, making sure you have all the notes in class, making sure you not going to make anyone upset either mad or sad, making sure you dog  isn’t chewing on something she can’t have and so she won’t go to the hospital and you have to spend a thousand dollar medical bill for surgerys that pretty much do on humans and cost way less than a thousand.But anyway we all need this ability for pretty much anything, which most people have it high or low amount, we all have it, but having have high mean your very careful which is very amazing and very good, if your caful on doing/saying thing with friend then you're observant in their lives,and if your car in places or situation your observant.

https://www.lynfield.school.nz/Extra-Curricular/Robotics.html

My strength can help me in working because when I am curious I find thing they probably aren't supposed to be there, such ase blowing up LED lights.when I am determined I don’t stop working i want to work after when we are supposed to leave,(with an adult). And when I am observant, well observant is like a catalyst for curiosity, when I am Observant I can find out whether something is going to blow before it does, saving money so some of these are saving techniques too.

Jacob Prunés

Pahomov

English 2- systems

9/21/18

I had just left the youth program and was waiting for my parents to pick up my older sister and I. We were outside trying to find our parents but couldn't see the car because it was extremely dark. We decided that they must be down the alley around the corner because we couldn’t find them.

When we went around the corner and was walking, we saw a very bright light. My sister and I think it’s a car light so we jogged back to the house we were staying in because the alleyway is very narrow. I noticed that it was only one light instead of the usual two, but it didn’t think anything of it. While we waited for the car to pass we realized it isn’t a car but a bike with an extremely bright headlight. The man on the bike was going slow and then he stopped in front of us.

“What are you guys doing here?”, he asks

We weren’t really sure what he meant because it’s such a strange question to ask.

“We are just coming back from a youth group.” my sister says.

“Show me, prove it. Go knock on their door.” the man says.

That’s when I finally realize that he doesn’t trust or believe us.

“Why were you guys running away?” he asked

“I thought you were a car, your light is very bright.” I said, now getting angry that this man stopped us because we were “running.”

He then made a noise that says, “yeah right!” and biked away.

My sister and I just stood there angry and annoyed. It then goes through my head that this man was racially profiling us because we were in Germantown, a mostly white neighborhood. We hadn’t done anything wrong, but the way he was talking about us made it seem like we did. I don’t like to get involved in situations so I just call my parents to find out where they are.

We finally find their car and we climb in.

“How was it? Did you have a good time?” My mom asked.

“Well, it was good until now.”, my sister says, starting to tear up.

My parents ask what's wrong. She then explains the whole story to them, about how we were racially profiled. Now, my mom is not shy or calm in these situations, especially when it comes to her kids. She instantly hops out the car, slamming the door behind her, and goes up to the man, who turns out to be the neighbor of the house we were in. We can’t really hear what’s going on and we couldn’t see very well because it was still dark but when my mom comes back she explains what happened.

When she confronted him she tells him what he did. He obviously didn’t think he did anything wrong and doesn’t really care what my mom was saying.

After she stops talking the man said, “Well, why were they running.”

So my mom explains about the flashlight on his bike.

“What flashlight?” He asked, which is ridiculous because his flashlight was almost brighter than the sun.

“That one!” She exclaims, pointing to the light on his bike. “My kids felt very uncomfortable.”

“I did too,” he said, pretending that he was the victim.

Seeing that he doesn’t care or really know what he did, my mom heads back to the car. When she tells me what happened, I get very upset about the bull**** I just heard. Eventually, we drive away after we talk to the family that we were with.

This was the first time I have ever seen blatant racism and racial profiling, first hand. I knew that people thought that way but I couldn’t comprehend that it could happen to me too. This moment really changed how I see the world. This moment shouldn’t happen to anyone. This needs to stop. I just hope one day I can walk through an alleyway with not a worry in my mind.

My name is Anthony Castro, I am in 8th grade, and I am the typical teenager. I don’t care about school or anybody, I hate homework and socializing, and I just want to get out of this school and go somewhere different because I hate everyone in it. Pan American is an ok school, but the students are constantly bullying each other including me.

However, today was a different day. As the clock on the classroom wall hits 3:00, the bell rings and I finish spacing out, gather my belongings and the students and I head out the school in a single file line. My dad beeps his car horn which alarms me that he has arrived, and picks me up as usual and we begin to drive home. My dad was asking me questions about what kind of high school I wanted to go to and we usually don’t talk in the car, so I knew something was up. I vaguely answer his questions because I just wanted to go home and rest. We arrive to my house after about 20 minutes of driving around Kensington and reaching Wyoming. As I walk through the small hallway before I  enter my living room, I can feel the heat from the many electrical heaters scorching the area, forcing me to remove my coat before I melt. I make my way to the kitchen to smell the wonderful rice, beans, and chicken my mother usually cooks for our daily diet. I serve myself a hot steaming plate and set it aside to cool down while I make my way to my room to remove my school uniform. I walk up the steps by the kitchen and head towards my mother’s room to greet her on this cold, dark, cloudy winter afternoon. I open her door and I see her with a letter in the grip of her hands.

“Congratulations! You got accepted to PMA, I am so proud of you!” PMA, or Philadelphia Military Academy, is a school that prepares the students physically and mentally for the military At this point, the heat from the room is no longer present in my head. All that I can feel is excitement, the blood rushing, my heart racing. I remove my bag and it slams against the floor, I slowly walk and grab the letter and read it out loud.

“Hello Anthony Castro, I would like to congratulate you for being accepted to this academy...We welcome you to the open house next week on...Sincerely...” In my head I am thinking, what about SLA? My mother is very supportive when it comes to the military because most of her family is a part of the military or they have high positions in their branches. I wanted to continue the legacy, but something was telling me that I needed to pick another school. I knew that I needed to go to Science Leadership Academy because all of my teachers were telling me that it was a really good school and they prepared me really well.

“Que paso? ” My dad makes a confused face and my mom explains to him that I was accepted to the school.

“Mom I have to tell you something. I know you love the military or whatever, but for the sake of my education, I think that Science Leadership Academy is a better option. I know that you are proud of me and I honestly would love to go to that school but I like SLA better.”

The smile on my mom’s face instantly turned into an angry frown. She was getting upset with me and I know that I am growing up, it’s about time I start making my own decisions.

“Unbelievable Anthony, why? How are you going to get there, who is going to buy you more clothes? I am not driving there everyday! Esto es increible!! ” Her voice was rising, and I knew that she was not playing games once she started speaking spanish, her entire tone changes

“Sorry mom, I just think it is best for me. I have enough clothes and I can just take the train. They can provide me with transpasses.” I retaliate with the best possible response I could think of.

“Ok, but if you attend this school you better get good grades, otherwise I am taking you out.” She returns back into her bed and I walk out, dragging my bag and coat in hand, depressed that I am unable to satisfy my parents. I know how much the military meant to my mom and she really wanted me to attend that school. I walk up the next flight of steps heading to my room on the third floor, remove my uniform, put on my pajamas, and went downstairs to eat my food. Felt like a black hole in my heart, my emotions twisting and turning like a stomach ache, confused as to what exactly I should be feeling right now. I knew I made the best decision for me, SLA is a better curriculum in my opinion and nothing was going to change that.

After a long discussion talking about “I am very proud of you no matter what Anthony. Military or not, you have a lot of potential and I will allow for you to attend that school.” Relief is all I feel. Does she actually mean this? As long as she is proud of me, I am happy.

“Thanks mom.”

“Ag-ner”

“A-g-ner”

“Anyae”

 “Onya”

It’s what they all said with an awkward expression. My answer was always the same.

“It’s Aigner - “On-ya”  

As long as I can remember I hated my name, especially when it came to the outside world. It would make me mad, because they had no problem pronouncing other people’s name but when they started to stutter I knew for a fact that they got to my name. Every so often I have flashbacks to when the teacher would say

“Agner”

and I would run out of the classroom crying my eyes out, as I heard the echoes of my class’s laughter.

“Why did she give me this name”,

is what I would constantly repeat in my head “Out of all names and I get stuck with this dreadful name.”.

The year of 2012 is when I started to dance. My hip-hop teacher, Mr. Balou had the hardest time pronouncing my name. It was so difficult for him to pronounce that it got to a point that he was purposely mispronouncing my name, insteading of getting to learn it. Hearing the name he gave me made me feel like I myself was not human, didn’t have no respect for me and I belonged somewhere strangely unusual. It made me wonder how my other teacher got the jist of it but he just shut downed and called me whatever was easier for him. My mom pulled me out of dance, not because of the name thing but...to be honest I don’t even know why she did such a thing. Next thing you know, I was playing tennis. For some reason I had a high hope of my coaches pronouncing my name right but I should’ve known that no matter where I go there will always be a mis-pronunciation. For the whole year I was there not once did they get it right. Based on the spelling of my name the word Ag-ner would just slip out there mouth. At time I use to think they would mess it up on purpose cause when they said it they will laugh it off. This ignorance made me mad, so I went up to her one morning and told her I quit. I never thought she would say “Ok, let me know if see other things that interest you.”.

When I would accurately pronounce my name, I would sometime say it’s french. Some people would ask numerous questions about my name. Hearing these questions would make me laugh or it would be so preposterous.

“Are you french?”

“Say something in French?”

“Were you born in France?”

“Do you have French in your family background?”

Still to this day I am ask such ridiculous questions about being French. Every so often when I explain my name to people they are amazed that the letters are silent and realize that they are adding more pressure than needed.

Seventh grade year, I remember that year because that was a year where we had a ton of substitute teachers. As soon as the bell rung at 12:15 me and my classmates rushed down to the computer lab, for the cool refreshing air. Of course, she had to do role call but I had gotten over the fact that my name was quite difficult to pronounce based on its spelling. After the words “Khairiyyah Tumaini” fled her mouth I just knew what was coming. For the first time, throughout all the substitute teachers I had she got it right, with no stuttering nor hesitation. Instead of saying

¨Present¨, I replied with a

“Thank you”.

She looked at my puzzle with her face saying

“Why so she say thank you?”,

“Everybody always messes it up”, my friend replies. For some reason hearing the pronunciation “On-ya” made me realize that I can't make assumptions and judge people's interpretation.

Long story short having this name makes me feel a lot of things, majority of the time feeling peculiar. At times I think to myself that I shouldn’t let this ruin myself.

“Today we're going to be practicing taking a disc from one place to another place he asked us what is that.”

My teamś coach, Kobe, told us that without teamwork there's no team.”

After he said that I felt like we wanted to be a team but we didn't know how to be a team. We were counting on Kobe to teach us how to work as a team.

We split the teams up into two offense versus defense, Kobe threw the ¨discs in the middle and we started playing.¨ Alex cut left and I filled a diss to Alex then he threw it to Phoenix. We were halfway down the field then Kobe said, ¨throw it down the field Amadou then I ran as fast as I could and I felt the green and black turf in between my cleats I felt the breeze go past me as I caught the disc in the air,¨

“Let's try it with no teamwork, and see how that works,” Kobe said.

Then we started it again started with the disc and all Kobe said, “Will someone run all the way down the field .” Then we tried it with teamwork again, so I started with the disc again then I threw it at Phoenix and he threw it back to me. The Ethan had the disc.

Kobe said, ¨Sit down and tell me what were the pros and cons of the practice today.”

Phoenix replied with, “The pros were that we worked as a team and communicated with each other.”

The cons were, we weren’t working together as a team and our communication was not organized.

I finally understood what Kobe was trying to say he was trying to say that if we don't put our head together and work as a team we will never win a game.  when he told us to Try it without teamwork it was an example of how we would play if we don't work together Show us that we have to work together.

Two weeks ago, after school, at 44th and Haverford I had soccer practice. The coach told us we have a game tomorrow and we need to practice controlling the ball, passing it to our teammates,  and getting open. he advised us to gather into small groups where we would pass the ball. There was one defender in each of the group where they were supposed to block the ball, with this drill we improved in our communication skills as a team. There were a couple times we lost the ball, the coach stopped us after five minutes asking why did you lose the ball.

Ash replied “Because we weren't talking to each other and using all the space we have as a team,” Coach made us try it again.

I passed the ball to Ash and then he passes it back and we kept this up for about 5 minutes without the defender getting. The coach pointed out the difference after we played and he congratulated me, making me happy.

I learned that without working as a team and communication we will never learn to keep the ball in our possession. we have to talk because if someone behind Ash trying to get the ball I can tell Ash to pass the ball and as a team, we will learn to work together.

Hector Sanchez

Ms.Pahomov

English II

9 / 21 / 2018

Leaving Home

In June of 2016, my mom told me that we were going to move out of Puerto Rico. A  few months later in August, the day before we left, I was feeling anxious all I could think about was that we were going to move to where my aunt was living in Philadelphia. All throughout the day I was thinking about was my family and friends and how much I didn’t want to leave them behind. I started to think about everything that would happen if moved. I thought about having to start a new life in a completely different environment. I had a feeling of sadness and anxiety.

A few days after my mom told me the news she told me that she was going to leave first and a few months later I would follow. I changed my mind about leaving because I didn't want my mom to leave all by herself. I decided to go with her in August. The day before I left, my mom and I stayed at our aunt’s house. My whole family went to my aunt house to visit us. As I said goodbye to all my family members a feeling of sadness overcame me all of a sudden: I didn't want to leave anymore. After coming to terms with the fact that I was leaving, we got in the car with my uncle and he drove us to the airport.

When we arrived at the airport my uncle got out of the car and helped us carry our luggage to the inside of the airport. Before saying goodbye to him a bunch of memories came to my mind. All of a sudden I was hit with a feeling of nostalgia remembering all of the good times that I had with my uncle.after that we said our goodbye to him and he got back in the car and drove into the distances.

Everything that happened inside of the airport passed kind of quickly. We went to check our luggage and after that, we waited a couple of hours to board the plane. After a few hours of being anxious about the trip. It was time to board the plane. “We will begin boarding now.” As they were calling the groups of passengers to board the plane I thought about all the good times and experiences that I had in my old town. In my head, I was thinking to myself “This is it we are really leaving after I board this plane and it takes off there's is no heading back.”When it was our turn to board the plane my mom looked at me and said, “It’s time for us to get on the plane.” As we boarded the plane I felt like all of my anxiety was slowly decreasing. When we got to our seat I sat down and felt the coldness of the seat on the back of my head. I was really tired so I slept throughout the whole flight.

When I got to Philadelphia, my aunt Karina picked us up from the airport. I was so happy to see her. I quickly went up to her and gave her a hug I think that most of my anxiety went away because I stopped thinking about the things that I was going to leave behind and started to think about new things that I was going to experience. I was happy that I was going to see some family members that I have not seen in a long time and seeing them again made me feel better about the whole moving thing.

That night before I when to bed I started to think about more things that I was going to experience.As I was thinking I realized that when you have thought to think positively about situations that may be hard you start to find positive things about that situation. Me moving to Philadelphia helped me realized that everything happens for a reason and some that somethings happen for the best. After this experience, I try to have a positive mindset when I'm dealing with difficult situations.

Systems. That’s the big word this year, the one nobody seems to stop talking about. In class after class, we’re asked to speak about what systems affect us, which systems are visible and which are not, and what a system is. To define a system, a lot of my classmates turned to the examples of the prison system or the credit system. All these things that make people generally unhappy. I can’t speak for the world, but I’m going to go out on a limb and say that as people we don’t like feeling unhappy. We like positive systems that distract us from the negative ones and just make us feel good. For me that’s the regional rail train system.

The regional rail is just some trains. That’s really it. You get on and you get off some time later, surprisingly far from your initial location for how much you paid. I’m less interested with how it gets you where you’re going, and more concerned with the experience. I’m not sure what exactly about it I love but there’s just something meditative and calming about it. As you leave the city, you can see the urban area slowly fade and become more green; turning into a series of small towns and eventually farms and rural areas. To think that people take this ride 360,000 times each day is insane to me.  For me, it’s a calming and infrequent experience but for others, it’s their boring or stressful daily routine.

The really interesting thing with this example, though, is that it can be applied as a metaphor to any number of systems.  When one person sees a just means of protecting citizens from criminals, another sees as a flawed institution that harms minorities and prevents past felons from living a comfortable life. How a system affects the individual directly correlates to how that system is perceived. When I think of systems I think of the regional rail because it positively affects me in a way different than it affects many others. Some people like it because it gets them to work in the morning, (more often than not people hate it because it gets them to work in the morning), some people hate it because the trains usually aren’t the most punctual or clean. The majority of people, though, just don’t think about it.

When was the last time you sat down and thought to yourself, “How does the regional rail make me feel?” It’s a strange question, no doubt, but it’s also one that not many people have an immediate full answer to. The thing about SEPTA, and many other systems actually, is that they’re either not present in someone’s life at all, or all too present and the individual is just normalized to the experience. This happens a lot with systems - good or bad - all the time. Of course we don’t notice this because, well, that’s the point. Since 1976 the US government has executed 1,427 people for a criminal offense and we’re just cool with that? I mean, of course we’re not, but it’s become normalized to a point where we don’t even realize it’s scale. This example is especially true in states like Texas, where more than a third of these executions have occured.

But we don’t think about that on the regional rail because the regional rail is for peace of mind and enjoying nature go by. The regional rail is for getting your ticket after you’ve gotten on the train so you get one of the big tickets that they punch a bunch of holes in. It’s like an unintentional anti-system system. It’s this 403 mile web of steel tracks and cars going roughly 100 miles per hour, all communicating with each other over invisible waves in the air and I sit myself down and don’t exist for a few hours. It’s cathartic.

I laugh in between fast breaths. My twin brother and our friends chased each other around a field fearing nothing except failure. Nothing could be worse than getting frozen in freeze tag, I thought.

As my feet hit the ground, a sudden heaviness wrapped around my ribs. Wisps of constriction began to infect my throat, and I notice that following each inhale, there is a noticeable croak. I stop running. Forget being frozen, I remember being told  ‘an asthma attack can hurt you very badly’. I reach into my back pocket, where a blue inhaler hides. By now however, all my friends are familiar with my asthma. They keep playing, my brother nods to me,

“Are you okay?” He twin-spoke, using the noiseless and lucid language that only two people on the entire planet know.

“Yes, just a second.” I reply, taking the protective cap off of the device I’ve used many, many times now. I sit cross-legged in the dirt, as I feel an invisible twine wrap around my throat. I hold the inhaler to my lips, and pump the device twice. Almost instantly, I feel medicine charge down my throat, and rip through the constriction. I inhale all the air I can, again, again, and again once more. I take a moment to stuff the inhaler back into my jeans, and I stand, catching up with my friends.

I cannot remember a point in my life where I was not carrying an inhaler. I’ve always had a weird relationship with it. When I was very young, it was something that I just carried wherever I went. Sometimes, I would pretend that it was something very special, and I was chosen to carry it. As I got older however, I became more aware that this device was made to save my own life. I was first introduced to the idea of death by asthma when watching a news segment where a woman mourns the loss of her husband, who died during an asthma attack. I remember being paralyzed with fear, and very confused. I knew having an asthma attack was dangerous, but I never imagined myself being seriously injured during one.

For a few years after that, I remember becoming aware of the fact that medicine cost money, and ultimately that inhalers weren’t cheap. Most of the time, I was afraid to check the counter built inside the inhaler, which counted how many more doses were left. If it was too low, my parents would have to buy a new one. This made me very nervous, I thought that my parents buying me an inhaler would make our family go broke. I was almost always fearing an attack, not out of fear for my own health, but out of the idea that the medicine I would always need was expensive and would be always be expensive.

After over fifteen years of living with Asthma, I’ve come to the conclusion that there are many others with the disease, and most of them live perfectly normal lives, and are able to enjoy the things they want to learn. This realization helped me grow out of the complex I grew to have, in which I believed I was a sick child who could not do things normally. Truly, you can live a normal live with Asthma, you just need to be willing to do things you’re excited for without fear. As I continue to learn more about Asthma and how it affects me, I understand my own body, and my own world better. I was intimidated by Asthma when I was younger, but as I learn more about myself, I learn how to worry less, and breathe without much worry.

It’s 5:30 am and it took us about an hour to get there, we were due to board at 8 o’clock. There were seven of us and only two bathrooms. Everyone had to be dressed and ready to eat in a hour and thirty minutes. I can’t remember the last time I got up so early, but that was this morning’s issue. In 2 hours flat I’ve conquered up another issue.

People. So many people. How do you even control such an establishment? People with suitcases and backpacks, all in line waiting for one thing.

Security Checks.

I don’t know why I got so nervous, I didn’t have anything to hide, not anything that might trigger the alarms. I took off my hoodie just in case. I put my side bag and backpack in the bin and waited for my turn.

“Next,” said security.

I held my arms up above my head and spread my legs like the picture showed. Patiently waiting to hear the “clear”. But, I didn’t and my heart started racing. Maybe the machine is broken,  maybe I didn’t have my feet in the right position.

“Step out and then come back in,” the women said.

I stepped inside and mimicked the picture a second time, making sure that I did it exactly. I watched as everyone around me went through the metal detectors. I kept hearing the “clear” over and over again. Patiently waiting for the women to give me my clear.  Instead, I was told to come out and stand on the silhouettes of red feet as the women asked my age and where my guardian was.

“Since she’s under 18, I have to ask your permission to pat her down,” said security.

A pat down? Pat down what? How much could you hide in a T-shirt and tights? The lady explained that my shirt set off the system. I wore an embroidered grey shirt that had the word “Aero” spelled in jewels and glitter. They weren’t even the type of jewels that you could pick off the shirt. I guess the machine had other plans. I never got patted down before and I’ve only seen it happen in the movies. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but by the time the woman was done, I went from being nervous to being irritated. It was almost as if I thought she was going to find something. And of course when she didn’t I felt like the whole process was a waste of everyone's time. My family and I could have already been to the Florida Gate 34 by now.

However, my relief quickly turned back to nervousness as the women came walking towards me with two brown papers in her hands. She swabbed me. My palms were sweaty, I wish she could take retest me. I was frightened because I didn’t know what they were looking for. I didn’t know what type of things could affect the test. I especially couldn’t wrap my 13 year old mind around what “results” they were going to get from wiping paper on my hands. I didn’t know if they were looking for traces of chemicals or testing something completely different. Even at that age my overthinking got the best of me. I tried to slow my heartbeat, thinking that would change the test. Not realizing that a brown paper swab rubbing across my hands could have no correlation with my heart beat. Then I thought about everything that I have touched in the airport. Thinking about that made it worst. I put myself in this guilty position even though I knew I had nothing to hide.  

I didn’t really understand at the time, but people’s jobs have meaning and value. Even the littlest job has a reason for all of it’s tasks. I think about all the horrible plane attacks that have happened over the years. From suicide bombings to gun attacks. As nerve racking and pointless as I thought the checks were I respect that the women took her job seriously. You can not have a truly secure facility if there are special rules for certain people. No matter how simple something could be protocol was made for a reason.

The language teacher pointed at me and began to beckon me with her finger.

“Come here. I have something I want to say to you,” she said.

So far, seventh grade had not been my year at all. I walked around unexplainably miserable and tired all the time. I couldn’t seem to focus long enough to do my homework until the late night or wee hours of the morning, making my grades take a major hit because of it. I also hated my life and everything in it. Why? I couldn’t tell you, especially not without falling apart and bearing what felt like the darkest depths of my soul and inner psyche.

Now, anybody who knows the slightest bit about me knows that I’ve always been that kid that loves school and is always at the top of her game no matter what. For the opposite to now be true, panic spread around me like wildfire. Teachers were concerned, pulling me aside for “talks” with looks of sympathy, and my mom was yelling at me every time she saw anything less than an A on every piece of paper from school. Meanwhile, I was scrambling to fix it all, still trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with me.

We walked over to the side of the gym before she started to speak.

“Now, I’m not sure what’s been going on, but I’ve been hearing your name come up very often.”

My heart began to race as my emotions and words got caught in my throat, rendering me speechless.

“I don’t like that and I found it weird because in my mind I’m like, ‘They can’t be talking about her because she’s always on top of her work and she always tries to do her best.’ ”

My eyes welled up with tears as she continued. I blinked trying to keep my composure and hold back the tears threatening to fall from my eyes. It’s never a good feeling having your teachers talk about how poorly you’ve been performing. Not only do you know you aren’t performing up to standard, but you also hate yourself for it and beat yourself up over it every waking moment of every day.

She doesn’t even get it, I thought.

She kept talking, but my thoughts were louder. I felt the first tear roll down my face, my hand flew up to catch it before anyone could see it. Just as I had done so, another fell from the opposite eye and my world crumbled down around me. She ended her spiel by hugging me. I had never felt so trapped before in my life.

As she turned around to walk away, I quickly turned about face, darting for the bathroom to clean myself up. With my luck, it was inevitable for me to run into two peers that I rarely talk to who’d definitely never seen me with tears streaming down my face.

I dodged their questioning, left the bathroom and sat with my friends, making sure nobody was looking at me funny along the way. Just like that, I had managed to pick my entire life up off the ground and bandage it together just enough so that it would appear like I had everything together like I always do.

School for me had become stressful. Waking up early to get to school early, rushing around to classes, and then going home to do more work was a lot and it took a toll on my mental health. I had to realize that it was okay to not have everything together all the time. I learned that it was okay to just cry it out sometimes and let yourself feel. Maybe not in the middle of the school gym like I did, but you get the point. School is a challenge and your mental health is a lifelong battle. Though it may be hard, you have to speak up for yourself and do what is best for who you are and what you’re capable of. You're going to struggle without a doubt, no matter who you are, but you get to decide how you overcome and learn from each challenge you face while being in school.

Justine Koffi

Pahomov

English II

21 September 2018

The First Day

SEPTA stands for Southeastern Pennsylvania Transportation Authority, but that’s really code for a very confusing system of of buses, trolleys, light rail, and commuter rail. My first time falling victim to this intricate, complex system was the summer of sixth grade.

It was the 29th of June, the first day of Breakthrough, a summer program that I was attending.  My sixth grade teacher encouraged me to apply to further my education during a time most people would be on vacation. At first, was reluctant to apply because it was all the way at 34th street, but I thought it would be be beneficial in the long run. Since that morning was my first time taking SEPTA, my friend agreed to to take the bus with me. This brought me great relief but unfortunately, I was running late that morning so she left me.  She instructed me to take the bus that stops right in front of her house. So I did.

“Next stop, 57th and Spruce!” As I sat on the bus, I thought it was kind of peculiar that the numbers were increasing rather than decreasing  since I had to be at 34th Street. She’s taken SEPTA so she knows more than I do, right? I  then dozed off a little, only to hear, “This is the last stop.”

I knew I was nowhere near where I  needed to be and I started to panic. My eyes started to fill up with tears. I had no idea where I was and I was already late. I finally decided to just go home and start the process over.  It took about 30 minutes, but I got back to my house. I called my sister and she told me to walk to Market and take the Market Frankford Line to 30th street.

The first thing I did when I   got there was go to the bathroom and get myself together before classes started. I was nervous to meet everybody, and I was determined to not let anything get in the way of me having a good first day.

The day was a success, despite my horrible morning and it was now time to leave.

As we were waiting for the bus, there was a woman who was acting kind of strange. She was talking to herself and screaming randomly. I just ignored her. I caught my friend looking right into the eyes of the strange woman, and just before I could tell her to look away, the woman started to walk towards us. My heart was racing. My first thought was to run, but that was quickly shot down because she may have tried to chase me which was  even more scary.

“What are you girls doing here?” she screamed as if she was my mother and caught me somewhere I wasn’t supposed to be. I thought I was going to have a panic attack. “You’re too pretty to be in these streets!” she said as she slowly walked towards us. Was she delirious? I could smell cigarettes and weed all over her. I was lost in thought when she just shifted and bolted towards us, as to chase us away because we weren’t meant to be there. We ran, without looking back for even a second. I ran out of breath at the end of the block and turned back only to see that she was still way back at the bus stop.

I wanted to just leave and never look back, but my friend was convinced that we had to go back to that specific stop in  order to catch the bus, when we could've actually walked two more blocks to wait at the next bus stop. She wanted to go back, for the thrill maybe? I don’t know but being the follower I was back then, I went with her blindly.

As expected, the strange woman got angry and started screaming at us. All I could think was how much of an idiot I was to follow her knowing that it wasn’t right to come provoke her more. The same thing happened and my friend wanted to go back again. She had a smile on her face as if this was the best part of her day. I decided to walk to the next bus stop and she didn't follow me. I was proud of my decision, in that moment I stood up for myself which was something I wasn’t familiar with.

I couldn’t help but to look back. I saw that my friend picked up a crate, probably to fight back instead of running. To this day, I don’t know what happened and I honestly don’t care.

Although the day started and ended terribly, I still considered it one of the most influential days of my life.

Nile Shareef-Trudeau

Ms. Pahomov

English 2

September 21, 2018

The clock ticks to twenty minutes before closing. It was time for me to go home. I began to turn off the many lights that lit up the shop. I hear steps creaking from upstairs where my Grandad is, which means he’s gotten up from where he was working and is getting ready to take me home. When I am done closing up, we head out to his car.

After the many times my grandad has taken me home, I am pretty much prepared for what the subject of the ride is going to be. It could be one of three things, either the pristine work I am expected to be doing in school, how I should set my future up to be better than all those who came before me, or we just jam to the various genres of music being played on one of his cd’s.

“You know there are a lot of people doing different things in the world,”

My grandad says to break the otherwise silent car ride. I nod my head at first, not really understanding what he was talking about.

“Gays, transgenders.”

Ahh that’s what he meant, here we go. Just agree with what he says and maybe he won’t have extra questions and we can move on from this quickly, I think as I gaze out the window to the trees on lincoln drive.

“We accept them, although it’s pretty weird. You know, people aren’t really understanding that we need men and women to be together so that we can make more life. And then changing your body like that, it’s just not right.”, He goes on.

“Mhmm,” I reply.

I realize this is who my mom gets it from. I like to think she’s a little more open minded to topics of controversy. Then again, I can’t forget the time she stereotyped me as looking like a lesbian; short cropped hair and a nose ring. I was thirteen and had just recently cut my hair very close to my head. I was very excited because I had just gotten a fake septum ring for my nose. Later when I showed my mom, she said it was cute. However, she wouldn’t let me wear it outside the house because people might think I was a lesbian. This made me so upset, and eventually brought me to tears. Not because I was secretly a lesbian but because I never thought I should be worried about what others think of me. If I looked a certain way and people assumed things about me, so what! At the end of the day, they don’t know me.

“People may try and pressure you,” My Grandad says.

“But you can’t let them get to you.” He adds.

“Yeah,” I say, while I laugh in my thoughts because of how ignorant he is being to the fact that being gay isn’t a choice. If I was LGBTQ, pressure from my peers wouldn’t have an affect on who I am.

We arrive at my house and I’m free of his corrupted idea on the LGBTQ community. As I gather my things and step out of the car I look back and think about the recent experience I had with attempting to figure out my sexuality and finding myself. I wonder how my family would have handled it if I came to the conclusion that I did identify to be in the LGBTQ community. I let out a hmph kind of sound, with a smirk on my face as I walk up to my door, key in hand.

As I think back on this instance and the other times similar to this one, I realize that these are the moments that shape people. Those so called “make or break” moments that people have. I believe that hearing the views of my elders and those who surround me is important in the development of myself. Yes, hearing this from my Grandad, or even my mom doesn’t have an affect on my sexuality but it does open my eyes to the ridicule others must experience. Giving me a greater sense of sympathy and more of an open mind. I am thankful for this, because for some, this experience could have made them ignorant and oblivious if they chose to “go with it” instead of learn from it. We can choose our path in life and accept other people, as well as get it through our heads that we may not understand people’s notions. We must be able to adapt and find peace within ourselves, and the ever growing society we live in.

Jonathan Rodebaugh

Ms. Pahomov

9/19/18

The Ride

I start to walk up the long side walk of Frankford Transportation Center. It was my first day taking Septa by myself. I was shaking, every person I saw seemed like they were staring right through me. I walked into the building of the transportation center. I felt clueless even though I knew where to go. Throughout my childhood I have taken the L with family and felt fine about it, but sometimes I just feel really insecure about the little things. For example, if I accidently took something that wasn’t mine, I would have nervous breakdowns and not be able to sleep.  In the building I asked a million questions, just to make sure I was going in the correct place. I stepped onto the escalator that looked a mile long, as it crept higher I felt my heart pounding louder and louder.

As I got on the train, I was still unsure on what I was supposed to do. The train was mostly empty, except a man in the back. He had headphones on and a black hoodie. I asked him if the train went to my destination. He gave me an unclear answer that made me a little more uneasy. The door closed and there was no turning back now. As the train started to move, fear spread all through my body, The only thing I could think about was how many stops were left till my stop.  As the train got closer, I got more anxious. When I am a little worried about something, I get super stressed, and that is what was happening. I kept reminding myself that I had done this before and been fine. My brother, just a week before, showed me step by step on what to do. Now I felt like I forgot everything.

The almost empty train felt so cold. I was sitting alone, feeling lonely and nervous. I felt weird because I was alone, usually, I would  have a brother or a friend to talk to and just keep me company. In replacement I just have me and my thoughts. At this moment, my thoughts just sounded like a million people screaming at me. I couldn't even think, my head felt like it was going to explode with anxiety. I was counting down the stops, and also trying to pass the time until it was my turn to get off the train.  Finally, it was my stop. It felt like I was on there for hours. As I got off the train I let out a big sigh of relief. I have almost accomplished my journey. I walked on the dirty tile of 13th street station, I felt free being off the train. I neared the trolley stop, and was excited to almost be done, but I just got nervous all over again.

I arrive at the trolley stop, the automatic doors open and I walk up the steep steps and find an empty seat in the trolley. I sat down and my shaking began again. I just stared at the outside the window to make sure I did not miss my stop. Then a girl who looked about my age noticed my anxiety, and asked me, “Hey, are you ok?” I said yes, and that I was just really nervous. This was the first time in my trip that I was at ease, because someone related to me. Then I noticed my legs shook a little less than before. I had a renewed belief in myself that I could accomplish this trip.

The trolley rolled up to my stop, the doors opened and I hopped off. Then I started walking toward the steps up to the street. Each step up felt like a little more nerves were falling off my back, like a weight was being lifted. As I got to the outside, the light of the sun hit me in the face. That light felt like victory. Even though this might be a small accomplishment for some people it was huge for me. I walked up to my destination, then let out a big sigh of relief. I felt more independent, and that I could do something on my own and be okay.

Foreign

“Hey Preston, do you want to go play outside with the other children?” The woman in front of me asked.

She scared me. Her body, centimeters away from mine, made me feel tiny; like David and Goliath. It was as if her closeness to my personal bubble wasn't enough to make me uncomfortable. I could not understand a single word she was saying. She continued on but I couldn’t find a clear answer. Torrents of tears started flowing rapidly from my eyes, causing my vision to blur, nose to clog, and left a salty taste in my mouth. This was the first time in my entire life that I felt pressured.

“Did you guys watch the new Spongebob episode?”

What were they talking about? The only show I knew was Old Master Q. They all moved to sit at the table in front of me and began to discuss about the new episode of this foreign show. Again, my vision began to blur, my hands sweaty, and again, I could taste the oh-so-familiar salty liquid course through the interior of my mouth. This was the first time in my entire life that I felt clueless.

When I was in kindergarten, I hardly understood any English. Whenever I went to school, I wouldn’t communicate with any other kids because I couldn’t understand what they were saying. I felt lonely in school. Kids would speak to each other and discuss  T.V shows and toys while I sat in silence and listened. Everything I did was in Cantonese or Japanese: music, shows, my communication. The word was clueless, the cluelessness transformed into knowledge. As the world changed, so did my knowledge. I was starting to get exposed to things that were once foreign to me.

“Go wish your aunts and uncles a Happy Chinese New Year,” Mom said.

Her voice, along with the voices and conversations of the crowded dining room, gave me a brain freeze. I began to walk towards my family members on the other side of the room. My hands shaking, breathing unsteady, eyes focused on the ground. I had no idea what to say. It’d been a year since I used those phrases. I’d been exposed to so much English, that I’d fallen in love. I’d forgotten so much Chinese that I could barely pass the Chinese course I was taking.

“新年快樂!” Aunt Lisa said.

I chuckled nervously. “新年快樂!” I replied.

She waited patiently for me, red envelopes in hand. My mouth opened, then shut. I looked up quickly at her tense gaze and hurriedly averted my eyes elsewhere. My hands began to sweat again and my mouth began to dry. I regained my posture, taking a few deep breaths, and quickly excused myself.

“I have to use the bathroom, I’ll be right back. Auntie.”

This was the fastest I’d ever ran in my life. I rushed past the herd of people and shoved my way through until I reached the men’s bathroom. I stared in the mirror, thinking about the disappointment I’d face; the sneers, the looks of failure. The phrases began to resurface in my head. They don’t see the Preston that struggles with balancing two languages or the young boy who felt clueless and pressured throughout elementary school. They see the young boy who was able to speak multiple languages and is self-confident and strong.

I rinsed my face and stared into the mirror. I was going to wish them a Happy New Year and begin to balance my love for all languages, and attempt to speak all the languages I’m exposed to with the best of my ability.

“Yeah can’t talk with a gun in your mouth, huh?” I sang sternly.

“WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?!”

“It’s just a song,” I said to my mom.

She frowned, “Sing something more positive,”

“But it’s just a song!”

“Stop chanting that music, it’s brainwashing you.”

“Okay, I guess.” I chuckled.

Whenever I listen to and share my music, I am constantly criticized for what I like or who I listen to. I can be listening to one of the greats such as Biggie or Tupac and as long as it abides by my mother's rules, she’s fine. But as soon as I say something that I like, I get criticized for being myself. It doesn’t matter what genre it is, it can be pop, hip-hop, jazz, RNB, whatever it is, as long as I’m listening to it or even saying the words, I am “drawling” or “need to calm down”. It makes me feel out of place. Like I am some kind of weirdo that is obsessed with music.. But it’s not like that though. Well at least not in my eyes. Just because I like music, people think that I am now out of the place of a “Human being”: it means that I am special in my own way. Is there anything wrong with that? NO! Yes I sing lyrics but I don’t live that lifestyle and that's where my moms problem starts because she feels like if I sing the song then I will live it. I know funny right?

I have a deep connection with music. Ever since I was younger, like an infant, my dad would play his old dj tracks in his headphones and put them on my head. I even have a picture of that. I’ve loved music ever since. This may sound far fetched but my Dad is literally like the only one who understands me when I talk about my musical side of me. I have friends that I can talk with about different stuff related to music, but when I talk to my dad about music, we can relate to much. So many  different songs or albums from different time eras from the 70’s to now including tracks off of movies, tv shows or just tracks in general because we just love it that much. I love how strong of a musical connection me and my Dad have.

Don’t get me wrong, I still love my mom but the connection me and my father have on a musical level is crazy. We like the same genres and we are open to most musical content. I can talk to him for hours about music but when it comes to my mom, she’s more oldschool and likes the singers and is not really intrigued by rap like I am. We have a connection so strong sometimes it feels like rap could be a person, I have a love for rap. It's a part of me. And no, I’m not just ignorant to like rap, I like multiple genres of music but rap is my favorite genre of music.

Some of the artists that I like the most are Kur, Trippie Redd, XXXtentacion, Ski Mask the Slump God, Comethazine, The Notorious BIG, Tupac Shakur, NWA, Mos Def, Mase and Junior Mafia. I like these artists because they are popular but because they make music that speaks to me

Many people think that rap is all bad and thought there may be some negative things but, these artists are always pushing positive vibes regardless to their lyrics. They always show creativity in their music. They can talk about more than how many guns they have or how many women they fornicate with or how many racks or bands they have. I mean yes, they have all mentioned it but it’s not always about that with these specific artist. They can paint a picture with lyrics alone and that's what makes them so amazing in my eyes. Regardless of the music they make they were still good people and most of them know how to differentiate music from life. That's what makes these artist so good and why I fell in love with their music.    

Mo Kelly

Pahomov

English II

21 September 2018

Sexual Assault in the City

“Do you wanna hang out with me and Ida tonight?”

The text was from my friend, Kate. I instantly smiled and replied with a yes. It was the first warm night of the year, and I was desperate to leave my stuffy house to hang out with my two closest friends.

When I got to Ida’s house, they came right out.  They were dressed similar to me; in shorts and a tank top, the perfect spring clothes. We all shared a smile and began to walk down the street.

“My mom told me not to go to the playground once it gets dark, but do you want to go anyway?” Kate asked.

I thought about it for a while. I’ve lived in the city my entire life, and I’ve never encountered anything scary in the night before. It was only a playground, what was the worst that could happen? We all agreed and went on our way.

The warm breeze hit our face as we laughed and talked on our way to the park. It was great to finally be able to be outside again and even better to be with friends during it. The sun was slowly setting, and the pink and orange sky lit up our path ahead of us.

At the park, we found a place to sit down and continued talking. Around us there were some kids playing. As the sun set, they slowly began to leave. Soon, we were the only people there.

What was her mom so worried about? I thought to myself. After all we weren’t kids, we were teenagers. We knew how to be safe.

In the middle of my thought, I heard a rustle in the grass. The others heard it too. I looked up and saw a group of kids on bikes laughing. They were acting just like we were, I paid no attention to them. It was just a bunch of kids having fun.

But, they slowly started getting closer to us. The kids with bikes started circling us and began laughing louder than before. Still, I tried my hardest to not pay attention to them.

“Hey,” Someone shouted, “You guys are cute.” We muffled a thanks and started shifting away from them. I started to get very uncomfortable, “Are those IPhones?” Kate shot up and started walking away, quietly telling me that we needed to leave.

Still, they kept following us. I said goodbye to them, trying to be polite, but they wouldn't leave us alone. One boy started throwing rocks and sticks at our legs. We just moved faster.

            “They grabbed my butt.” That was when I knew I needed to get out of there, and fast. I shared a look with Kate, and we began running. The warm breeze that was so refreshing earlier was now just an obstacle getting in the way of my safety.

I ran until I noticed that Ida wasn’t with us. Panicked, I tried to search for her. My heart was beating so fast I could feel it in my throat.

“Where is she?” I shouted.

As I was spinning, a portion of the same group of kids marched up to us. Behind them, I saw Ida, slowly walking with the other kids. She was visibly scared, but she was staying cool, calm and collected. I almost wanted to laugh. She was much smarter than us.

She made her way back to us, and we yanked her away from the kids. Thankfully, there were a few girls there who stopped the group from doing anything else to us. They left as loudly as they came, and we turned the opposite direction.

“Are you okay?” We all asked each other. Everyone said yes, but no one really meant it.

I was pulled into a group hug, and I could feel everyone shaking from fear. We reluctantly pulled away and began our walk home. Although it was only a few blocks, it felt like miles.

Ida explained to us later that she thought we were right behind her when she started walking with the kids. She was walking with a few girls, who she said were actually really nice to her.

“I didn’t want to scare them or anything,” She said when I asked why she stayed with them, “I was just trying to stay calm.”

What she did really opened my eyes on what to do in these situations. You can do dumb things when you’re scared, like we did that night. Running away only made us more vulnerable. If I stayed calm, they would’ve seen that I wasn’t afraid of them and they would've left. Most young kids that do things like this just want to try and scare you.

After that night, I have been hesitant to go out in the dark or go out at all. It was one of the scariest things I’ve ever experienced. But, now I know what to do in a situation like this one: stay calm. Getting in a panic will help no one.

I made a mistake that night. But, that mistake helped me realize something incredibly valuable. Something I will never forget.

“Okay everybody, here is your benchmark project instructions.”

The day after Ms. Gasser gave us the project, we brainstormed some more ideas and came up with two inspirations for our city. We were going to take some inspiration from Philadelphia and Elon Musk, CEO of Tesla Motors. We chose Philadelphia because that is where we live and we wanted to use its street systems to help us design our own. Elon Musk was going to help us with naming our city and its buildings/streets. We had two weeks to finish this project in its entirety.

On January 9, 2018, we decided to walk around center city after school to look at the street system in Philadelphia. We were gonna take a few SEPTA buses around center city and take some notes on what we noticed. Our first bus trip went almost flawlessly and we got some great notes on how our cities streets work. On the first bus, we rode up and down Market street a few times to make sure we didn't miss anything on our notes and then the bus broke down. The person next to us was really angry. He was a twenty-something-year-old guy in business attire. He shouted at the top of his lungs.

“I’m late for my interview dammit!”

After what felt like forever, they let us off the bus and a tow truck came and took it off the street.

Our second trip went worse. When we got on the bus, it wasn’t very crowded, but after the first two stops it felt like the entire city was on the bus.

“Hey stop bumping into me. Thank you,” someone said.

“It’s not my fault this bus is so crowded,” they replied.

It was impossible to take any notes on there because we couldn’t see and we didn’t have enough room to pull out our phones to take notes on. At our last stop, we decided to get off and walk back to the original stop.

In the freezing cold temperatures, it was a painful walk back. Every few blocks we had to jump inside a store for a few minutes, but we made it back to the stop alive and now we were going to get on our final bus for the day.

This was the worst trip out of the three. Mostly because I got us lost, but partly because it was still cold outside. While waiting for a bus to take us back to SLA, it started snowing, then we saw a bus come down the street. I told Ari and Matthew that it was our bus and they followed me on without checking the bus number. It took us maybe 10 stops before we realized that we were on the wrong bus. We hopped off the bus urgently and tried to figure out where we were. Our phones came out of our pockets without hesitation. We found out we were only a 15-minute walk from SLA so that’s what we decided to do.

The snow, wind, and temperature made the walk brutal.  When we finally got back to SLA we were freezing cold and covered in snow, so we took a break and decided to warm ourselves up before we looked over our notes.

The most important note that we had was that there were no unnecessary streets. Every street was used and helped the flow of traffic get through the city quickly. Also, most of the smaller streets flowed into bigger streets to direct traffic to the main streets. So, when we designed the road system of our city project, we used a minimalist approach. We used as few streets as possible and we only had a few main streets, but every small street led into the main street.

Even after getting lost, the freezing temperatures and the broken down bus studying the street system in Philadelphia allowed us to create a beautifully designed city for our project. The journey around Philadelphia allowed us to prevent the problems we faced when we designed our city. We created a street system that would, in theory, prevent people from getting lost, long waits on broken down buses, and overcrowded buses.

The teacher begins to teach her lesson on propaganda and its influence in society. She shows us 3 videos on how the different aspects of it trigger different ideas. Of course, the first one triggered emotional ideas and it had to be a film on the poverty in Africa. I felt several pairs of eyes burning into the side of my face. Here we go.

How the media portrays the living situations and lifestyles of Africans is a very inaccurate, yet vivid image. They painted us as the lowliest and the loneliest. We’re seen as anorexic, dirty, needy, and uncared for people in a neglectful society. When you think of Africa, your mind redirects to wild animals roaming around the village and little kids in minimal clothing. Or a medical station with cots all pushed together while the cameraman zooms into the little boy, his bones defining his body and his sweat matching his mother’s tears. Or better yet, a short documentary of a little African girl walking 5 miles to her only source of water, with healing feet that get the same recurring cuts everyday due to lack of shoes.

“With only a dollar a day dramatic pause, zooms in on stomach of hungry child, sad music gets louder we can help feed all the starving children in Africa.” I hate this, why do we have to listen to this bullshit bs? Can a dollar a day help educate this woman? Sheesh. Why is it that this is so easy to believe? But God forbid it be true that kids can grow up stable, have an amazing childhood and never fear for food not being on their dinner table. That education is provided, that clean water exists, and that they walk from place to place in shoes, and still are raised in Africa.

I hear someone across the room make a smart remark, “Do they even have clean water?” I take it upon myself to raise my voice and say “Yes,” head turning as fast as my soundwaves reach the ear of the imbecile. Turning back around slowly, sharing a glare and an eye roll with them and their peer. Mainstream media and their lies leave a permanent mark in the heads of the close minded. There are many places all over the world that lack proper distribution of food and resources. Why is it that they choose to bash Africa? Even if it were true, that Africans have very limited resources, why do people make fun of it? Poverty must be funny right? Where does the term African booty scratcher even come from? When you surround yourself with lies, you end up sounding just as foolish as the person behind them. Yes, some parts of Africa suffer from severe poverty, but so do many other places around the globe. Didn’t we learn that many countries in Africa were raided by invaders because of their resources and goods? Or did that history lesson jump over your head and all you got from it was enslavement?

To be African has several different definitions. Either you embrace the fact that your ancestors were slaves or indulge in the greatness that you and/or your parents are African immigrants. My parents with their Ivorian and Malian blood makes me genetically apart of two countries in West Africa. As a family, we’re all gracefully allowed to take pride in being bilingual, or so in my parents case, multilingual. Growing up African was never something to take pride in. To continuously be ridiculed by a bunch of uneducated nuisances, for being different and an outsider had a lot of cons to it, barely any pros. I wasn’t known as Hawa, I was known as an African booty scratcher who isn’t familiar with clean water and buildings as if I built huts in my free time. I didn’t consider this as bullying and I still don’t. This was a time in my life where I was forced to find the beauty in where I come from, because I am who I am and no matter the negative and biased opinions that come with it, the pride I take in my African blood is far greater than the irrelevant and ignorant comments deriving from a sad soul.

Kankoue D. Folly

Ms.Pahomov

English 2

18 September 2018

                                                  The Pain Microaggressions Cause

It really started two summer ago, racial profiling that is. It began once I started to grow taller and taller. First, it was the unintentional staring and the pulling back of purses that occured on the bus and public areas. At first I didn’t care, however things start to get annoying over the course of time. I thought it would go away, I thought I would soon be safe from the stereotypes that come with the color of my skin, this never happened it never got better if anything it worsened. I eventually got used to this daily mockery is what I considered it.

“Goodbye.” I said to my parents before I exit the house.

“Have a good day.” My mother answered back with a heavy accent.

It was a chilly morning so I put on my hood as soon as I got out of the house, put on my headphones and started walking to the bus stop. When I  finally reached the bus stop there was no one there except for a lady with a handbag and cigarette between her fingers. I walked past her and stood behind the bus stop, mostly to avoid the smell of the burning cigarette.  As soon as she saw me I could see the fear she had instilled in her, she held her bag closer to her, I ignored this.

“She’s just worried about her belongings, it's normal” I thought to myself. I took out my phone in an attempt to make things less awkward. Then,I started to get anxious,

“Whats taking the bus so long?” I started thinking to myself. The bus seemed to be nowhere near us so there I stood with this lady that would look back at me every fifteen seconds to make sure I wasn’t going to rob her. The bus eventually came and when I got on I sat all the way in the back, to avoid making any more people second guess their safety because of my color and size. The bus picked up more and more people at every stop, then we eventually reached the transportation center. I walked down the stairs and went into the terminal and there I waited for the broad street line southbound express to arrive. The terminal was pretty packed I could tell that the train would be packed as soon as it arrived, I shook my head in discontent.

“Doors are opening ” Said the robotic voice as when the train arrived and started opening its doors. I entered the train and unsurprisingly it was packed. I made my way over to the closest empty seat and unfortunately for  me it was an older civilian. This resulted in the usual response of gripping the bag and facing the window to avoid eye contact. I sat there and pretended not to care or notice, but the longer this went on, and the harder I tried, the  angrier I got. It wasn’t normal anger, rather it consisted mostly of confusion, I was angry about how I was being treated and I had no idea as to why I was being treated so.

“Why do you clench your bag?” I thought to myself. As the train stopped in Race-Vine, I thought about asking the lady the question, however I decided it was not worth my time. I got  off at the next stop and took off my hoodie. I took off my hoodie as if it was going to make any difference. As I was walking it came to the conclusion that people will always judge me based on the color of my skin, no matter how hard they try. This made me understand what I was going to have to endure everyday for possibly the rest of my life. Something not only unique to me but to every other black male out there. It made me think about how I was a lucky one, the fact that I haven’t been shot, or killed like some black males my age. I was lucky that I was alive.  Now that I look back on certain incidents, I do not blame people for what they do, rather, I blame their surroundings, for people are a product of their surroundings. People do not just act towards me the way they do because I am black rather it is because of the things I, a black male, is portrayed as in society. To this day, I still undergo racial profiling on a day to day basis. Everytime I see that my presence causes the squeezing of belongings, I too squeeze my eyes shut, and I think of a better tomorrow.