Introduction:

High School vs. The World is basically an essay about how children are heavily influenced by the world, and because of this teenagers have no chance to discovers themselves, for it is only what society sees them as. My goal is for the reader to understand my points, and really connect to what I am saying. I am proud of my topic, I really liked it in a way that was close to me personally, but I don’t think I did that good of a job describing everything I was saying.

My high school experience is just like any average high schooler, surrounded by the bullies, temptations, and popularity that they encounter, but throughout my observations with my friends and others around me, we all seem to have a different way of interpreting high school. Our understandings of high school seem to be so exotic to each other, but it all comes back to the part of our lives where we are in the middle of childhood and adulthood, and it's not easy on anyone. We are all teenagers, and it is obvious that none of us truly know about the real world, and although people try to explain it to us, we are still ignorant as to what is going on. For this reason, we should stick together and try to help each other succeed and strive towards greatness, but what we actually do is separate ourselves.The physical and mental feeling of separation and isolation is detrimental to everyone, especially high school students.

Separation has become a normal thing in American society, proven by the numerous examples in any history book ever made. Historical events like: slavery, deportation, etc are all topics that demonstrate America’s track record with isolation. These history books have been seen by millions of high schoolers around the world, and it has managed to turn into an acceptable topic. Teenagers don’t have a good example set for them, we only have the example set by society, which affects us everyday, in the worst way. Teenagers are still children, we still are in the process of developing into society. Because of society, children can’t see themselves the way they want to be seen, but only as the world sees them. It is too early for a child to learn the rules of society before they are able to even understand what it all means. In this day and age, being categorized by race, religion, social class, and anything else is ordinary. It has led to children to form social groups in schools, and these groups contain people that are similar to each other, according to their class. This split of kids can almost always have a negative effect, just like in the history books we observe everyday. For instance, social groups often have ranks, and that means that there are kids at the bottom of the ranks. If anything else, groups can personally offend people, making them feel bad about their lives, and the situation they are in. No one is able to determine whether or not they fit into a “group” in high school, let alone the real world. It’s not anyone’s fault, and no one can change it. It leads kids to believe that they don’t belong in a place they should feel comforted in if they don’t have a place in society itself.

I was raised by my mother, who always sent me to Catholic and Christian schools. I grew up thinking that most children are the same as me, and therefore I could only be friends with people who were African American and middle-class. My first year at a public high school, I instantly made friends with other African American children, but I had no other friends. People whose hair wasn’t a natural color freaked me out, and people who weren’t middle-class made me uncomfortable. My second year at high school was a game changer, as I didn’t have a lot of black kids with me in my classes, and my upbringing made made me skeptical of merging social classes and races to make more friends. These ideas were considered radical to me, different theories of life were planted in my head for years by my community, one small group inside an even bigger one: the world. It was just then that I popped my enclosed bubble, and was introduced to society. I wasn’t separated anymore, and it was the first time in my life that I had felt alone, unwanted. I had to teach myself how to let go of the ideals I had held onto for ten years of my life, the ideals that I picked up from my original American society.

High schoolers know identity is a struggle, for most of us haven’t found it yet, and maybe never will. Figuring out who you are is hectic, and no one can do that themselves anymore, for they assume that the world has to do it for them. Life is hard to understand, and not everyone even realizes how much they are truly separated because of this society. It depicts one’s entire life, from young until old. In fact, Morgana Bailey, a speaker for a TED Talk convention and a human resources professional, admits that she and many others like her were "hiding her true identity for so long, that she became paralyzed by her fear of not being accepted". The initial reaction is to become themselves to fit into the "preferred” group by changing who they hang around or learning from past experiences, but it usually ends terribly. There is no use in trying to change who we are, as long as society is involved and in action. It’s interesting that we try to take the past and actually use it to their advantage in not making the same mistakes, but history with social systems continue to repeat history. This makes me question how future kids are supposed to attempt to break a system that hasn’t been broken for centuries. Kids and adults shouldn’t have to give up their true identities to society anymore, without even knowing them, but what can we do to regain them back?

Works Cited

Bailey, Morgana. “TED at State Street London.” TED. TED at State Street London, 9 Mar. 2018, London, England, www.ted.com/talks/morgana_bailey_the_danger_of_hiding_who_you_are/transcript.

Almost every child goes through the phase of curiosity, and I was no different. At the age of 7, I wanted travel around the world with my best friend, Julie. Julie and I were inseparable,--physically and mentally--she was imaginary friend, even though she was a purple sprinkle. I sought advice from Julie everyday because she was always right, ever since she popped in my head a year before.This joyous time came to an end, when a fateful Saturday afternoon ruined our relationship.

“Mommy are we gonna get ice cream?” I questioned.

My mother swiftly turned around and gave my the death stare as if to say: ‘Don’t you dare ask me that question again’. My brain immediately registered the look and I slumped back into my car seat, staying silent.

We arrived at a place full of people. My mother, Julie, and I walked through a gate, leading to rows of golf clubs hanging, all different colors. My mother handed me one.

‘What is this, a bat?’

‘I don’t know maybe mommy wants us to play’

‘Play what?’

‘I don’t know Julie!’

‘Stop yelling at me! That’s not nice’

‘Alright, I am very sorry. I’ll ask mommy what it is’

My eyes trailed up to my mother, who was handing the man at the booth money. I tugged on her shirt. She ignored me, didn’t even bother to look down at me. I grabbed her shirt again, with a better grip, and pulled it again. She rotated. Her demeanor changed, and her face looked as though it was caving inwards, with her nose scrunched up.

My curiosity is just like building up a skill or habit, it’s something I was proud of, didn’t get ashamed or embarrassed by it. Although my mother constantly wondered why I was like this, it just came naturally to me, I couldn’t control it. It was like my brain needed to learn and understand what is going on, how everything works, and how to make sense of it all. Like Ta-Nehisi Coates said in the biography, Between the World and Me: “You are growing into consciousness, and my wish for you is that you feel no need to construct yourself to make other people comfortable.” Coates explains that people who use creativity or any other way that is different to interpret the world is inspiring, and nobody should make fun of it; instead let it be an example to aspire to.

We went through a lot of different golf courses, and I went skipping along with my club swinging around in circles. I was singing my favorite song: Leave Me Alone, by Michael Jackson. Right away, Julie started singing along.

‘So just leave me alone’

‘Leave me alone, leave me alone’

‘Leave me alone, stop it!’

‘Just stop doggin me around’

Our duet came to a stop, as the screech of my mother’s voice was heard. I stopped my music video and ran back towards her, realizing I sang my way past the pretty fountain. The fountain had a humongous gold golf ball on top, with four holes in the sides of the ball. In these holes, water poured out gracefully into a pool. Intrigued with the whole thing, my body moved towards the fountain on its own.

Next thing I knew I was standing right in front of the fountain, as I climbed up into the wall and looked over the rail and into the fountain water.

This gorgeous purple golf ball was staring directly at me.

‘You know you want it, just go get it’

‘No I can’t go in the water’

‘Then put ya hand in and get the ball’

‘But…’

‘Do it, you know we want it’

With an evil grin, I let curiosity take over me. I crawled under the rail and stood up. I stretched my arm out, to where the purple ball was, and wiggled my fingers to move closer. Without thinking, I leaned forward some more, way past my limit of balance. I fell head first into the fountain, making a huge commotion.

‘Julie, this is all your fault! We are not friends anymore.’

I grabbed my purple ball and got out of the fountain, and walked a couple of feet to where my mother was standing. She looked down at me and started laughing.

Many people people saw me as a bad little girl playing around, other than my mother. My curiosity lead me to a tool to learn and grow from my mistakes. Without curiosity, there would be nothing to try, therefore nothing to learn from in my life. Learning makes me intelligent, only a fool does not learn from his mistakes. My mother understood this about me, she knew my curiosity would get me in trouble.

“You did all of that to get a purple ball?” She said, with a puzzled look on her face.

I nodded my head and raised the ball to her face.

“You are so cute, let’s go get ice cream and sit in the sun.”

Even in The Giver, by Lois Lowry, everything is so plain and boring city and everyone has to follow the rules with no exceptions, but Jonas is different. When Jonas’s eyes are unusual, he is able to see color, when most people in the community cannot. He has an exceptional gift that allows him to see and interpret things different than everyone else; he is able to see “deeper” into the world that is around him, giving him the advantage of understanding and seeing life.

Jonas and I are just the same, the same glow in the eyes that say: extraordinary. We both are anxious about the world we live in, and we learn the exact same way.

I am Kiah J, a person who does not put her last name on anything. A person that doesn’t like to share her feelings, or show emotion that makes her inferior, only speaking her mind when completely necessary. Also, a person who is deeply scared of dogs.

Woof. Woof. Wooof.

A pony-sized dog howled and came right up behind me, as I ran into the recreation center, straight through the hallway, and stopped before I turned the corner. A sigh came out of my body.

I walked up to the heavy double doors and pushed through them, revealing myself to the rest of the area. Immediately the smell of feet and sweat, with a hint of febreze filled my nostrils, making them flare up, taking in more of the odor. My foot steps onto the floor, and I walk to my silver and black cubbie, placing my clothes inside. I take my vans off and crouch down, just to perfectly place them under my clothes, then straighten my legs back up to their original position and throw my backpack on top of the cubbie.

My body turns itself around looking at the door, waiting for her to burst into the gym shouting, “Haaaay KJ, haay Aunt Nikki, Haay Girls!”. Instead, all I saw was a door. A plain and now uneventful door. I notice the gym itself, observing it like it was my first day at the gym. In a weird and sorrowful way, it was my first day back in the gym. Girls warming up, coaches giving corrections, and mats piled everywhere, just because no one ever feels like putting them back to where they belong.

She just left, how can everyone act like nothing happened? How can everyone just move on so quickly? Why can’t I do the same? Did she not mean anything to anyone? My mind was just spinning around the same questions, I couldn’t get them out of my head. All I could do was stare at everyone, until I gathered enough strength to hold back my tears. I stretched with my teammates, and decided to act just like they were, unbothered.

Containing my emotions inside, putting on a brave face, and moving on with life was what I was trying to do. My head hurt, I didn’t eat, and I couldn’t say more than 5 words when someone talked to me. I could tell that I wasn’t handling it right, I got angry. Angry that she left me, angry that nobody noticed, and angry that I couldn’t myself together. I pushed those feelings to the back of my brain. Get over it Kiah. Stop thinking about it.

Amberredz was what she loved to be called, but she settled with Ambeezy when it came to me; she let me get away with a lot of things. Because of this nickname, she came up with KJ, and it stuck onto me like glue. We were the perfect example of crazy cousins, and the perfect partners for committing a crime: the brains and the fearless. We spent countless days together, from the day I was born, to the day she died.

Your death hit me harder than anything in my life ever had.

“Get your grips on KJ... KJ!!” My coach blurted out.

“Yes,” I answered, startled.

“Are you okay? You can talk to me”

“Yea I’m good.”

I got up and let my legs take me towards my cubbie, as I was suddenly too tired to do anything important. I realized I was sulking, and I fixed my posture without a second thought. I repeated over and over in my head: You are okay. You are okay.

My hands were covered in chalk by just simply touching my grips, as I looked at the chalk, I put on the best smile my mouth would allow. Grips were on, so I went towards the rest of the group and listened to their conversation about school and what classes they had. My coach opened his mouth and began to talk.

My ears could only hear a song from the radio playing. It had become louder and louder, and I could feel myself getting weaker and weaker. It was one of Amber’s favorite songs.

I sprinted out the room, with my eyes overflowing with tears that I couldn’t control anymore. I leaned on the soda machines and fell to a fetal position sobbing, like a music video break up song. Suddenly, my coach came out, and sat down and hugged me.

“You don’t have to be strong, it’s okay.”

Although having a poker face is what I show, it doesn’t mean I’m all right. Being in a position where no one understands is hard enough, and keeping it in makes it worst. Mourning is not an easy task, it's one that seems so simple, until it actually happens, and the complexity is too much to handle. I have revealed that forgetting or pretending is not having strength, it's having the ability to admit my true feelings towards Ambeezy. It's remembering her for all the good things done together: laughing at memes; eating pizza; watching “Martin”, even if it meaning crying. It's wishing she was here in special moments: getting my belly button pierced; watching “The Wiz”; performing at competitions. It’s knowing she hasn’t left me by myself, with the same fear of dogs like she once had. A fear we once shared.

Una oda a Adrián Castrejón

Determinado, valiente, y respetable

Cuando yo te veo pienso en líder y luchador

Me haces agradecido por la progresión de la humanidad

Tú, una inspiración