How Loverly

The February Writers have been published.  Lots of lovely submissions this month. 

Go read and comment!!!!

There are thirteen this month.  Read ALL and comment on five.

You know what to do.

Happy Reading!!!!!

M̶o̶d̶e̶r̶n̶ Art--Josh

The cool thing about art, is that you never really know what was going on inside of the creator’s mind at the time of conception. Despite any marxist, feminist, or neoclassical analysis one may engage, they are all solely speculation. Perhaps, Lord of the Flies isn’t actually a social comment on the manifestation of the superego lined with Freudian theories, but merely an extended dream of the mind of William Golding. Literary and art critics can easily become creators of clever allusions to reference deeper thoughts, and are endless in their pursuit behind the true meaning of anything at all. Not to discredit their work, nor the value of critical thinking, however, but sometimes it becomes simply humorous. Recently, I took a trip to some local museums in LA, to get in touch with my sophisticated palate and and mockingly become an art critic myself. One painting in particular, in the simplest terms, was a blue painting. The canvas was moderate in size, and the shade was nothing of excitement. Yet, here I stood, looking at a sixty year old painting, scrutinized for passing the invisible shield protecting a blue object at one of the most respected and prominent modern museums. Maybe slapping “modern” adds some credibility, like the rest of society aren’t as intellectually developed as others and can never capture the true essence of “Abstract Painting: Blue” (and in that case, let me slap “modern” in the title of this submission in case you don’t like it). But then again, I absolutely love how others can marvel at this same painting. Art is defined by the beholder, and beauty is relative. Luckily, this gives some less beautiful individuals, like myself, some hope for the future. “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure” holds very true for art. If everyone on Earth held the same taste, I suppose there would just be one, very big, very similar museum. Uniqueness and inquisitivity thrive under such an environment, and create our clothes, our songs, and our minds. Anyway, back to my opening sentence. Art constantly transforms, and will never truly be duplicated. Jazz musicians can improvise a solo, and never be able to replicate the style or tone, even directly after originally playing it. I constantly experience this through my embarrassing inability to draw. One moment, I will blindly sketch lines and shapes in hopes that an image will appear, and sometimes I am surprisingly content with the result. Yet, if I tried to perfect it, copying it over and taking out some of the errors, this end result is never in comparison. The original is perfectly imperfect, and unable to be matched. In the same context, our thoughts are also art. To my experience, I have found much frustration in finding the perfect line for my essay, only to be unable to repeat it when my pen hits the paper. We can never repeat a past thought exactly, because we are always and constantly influenced by new ideas and experiences. This, in my opinion, is the purest form of art. A genuine representation of the mind and the soul, a medium of thought that can never be vocalized, an attempt to communicate the complexities of yourself.

"Those Are Fool's Words!"--Josh

Panting, sweating, the man sprints deeper into the endless green forest. Only glimmers of the
harsh morning sunlight pierces through the breaks in the foliage. The curly haired, bearded man continues
to sprint with a look of unconceivable dread, with his tattered peasant robes flapping through the air.
Suddenly, flames pierce through the opening in the trees behind him and a bonechilling
roar fills up the
air.
Turning around slightly to witness his almost apparent doom, he trips over a stone that pokes
from the forest floor. Agony and pain ensued as the man holds his ankle, now dripping with blood on the
ground. The blurry visage of the enormous black figure comes towards him. The crippled man rolls over
into the surrounding brush, and silences himself, except for his short, uneven breaths. He sits behind a
large tree trunk with surrounding bushes, tears rolling down, shaking in fear, holding his ankle to stop the
bleeding and placing his hand over his mouth to prevent himself from making a sound.
Coming closer, another guttural screech breaks through the surrounding silence. Tales of old,
beasts only spoken of in legend, it approaches with obsidian scales and large ebony wings, the firebringer,
a dragon. The beast shakes the earth around him and it marches forward, only stopping next to the tree
that the man resided behind, scanning the surrounding forest, with engulfing flames in its eyes. After what
seemed like an eternity, the dragon let out yet another roar, while leaping into the air, and flying far off
into the distance. The man sat there, recollecting his thoughts and trying to digest the series of events that
just occurred.
He stands up and looks across the thick forest, noticing a faint light in a distance. Limping for a
few minutes towards the glimmer, he realizes it is coming from a hollowed tree. The tree was much larger
than its neighboring timber, and it contained an opening about half the height of him with a small wooden
door that was open. He peered into the opening, seeing the inside of the tree. It looked much like a home,
but for someone only half the size of the man. Small wooden chairs surrounded a table with empty mugs
tipped over on top and a small, unmade bed resided in the corner. A lamp lay on top of a bookshelf,
illuminating the room. The man takes a step into the room, while crouching to fit into the doorway.
“Oi, what goes there?” a raspy voice utters from behind. The smell of alcohol permeates the air.
The man turns around to see a stout fellow, with a rough brown beard and axe in hand. “Excuse me sir. I
did not mean to intrude. I only experienced some unfortunate mishaps, I’m afraid.” the man says. “Aye, I
hear ya. I cun see you had aruffer’ night than I!” peering at the man’s bloody ankle. “Well, nev’r someone
to dive inta anotha man’s business, might as well intraduce ma’self. I’m Thalasan. I’ma dwarf around the
parts, I do sum’ merchant business over in the human capital of Worthshire.”
“Nice to meet you, Thalasan.” the man says, now stepping into the house with the dwarf. “My
name is Hector. I’m a trader from the neighboring kingdom of Neggleton, visiting the kingdom of
Kalecdor to trade my potatoes when I was attacked by a menacing black dragon. My stallion has fallen as
well as my supply. But did you happen to say Worthshire? That is the capital city around these parts, is it
not? That’s exactly where I was headed.”
Thalasan, now sitting down, after chugging another beer, places his axe down in awe and looking
up at Hector. “Black dragon ya say?!” “O’ this cannot be a gud thang ma’ frien. Ya need to go t’
Worthshire? I have a loada lumber to ship, come alon’, ya need to tell King Nethelon!”
After quite a bit of bantering and healing of Hector’s wound, the dwarf and human ride on horses
carrying a cart to the capital city of Worthshire to bring a load of lumber and meet with the king of
Kalecdor. Now they arrive at the city.
The glimmer of the large, elegant city towers over them as they ride. “Ah, Worthshire, ain’t she a
beaut’?” Thalasan says. “Right now it’s tha celebration of Autumn, and tha city is fill’d wit people!” The
city streets are bustling with commotion. Elves, humans, and dwarves are littered through the streets,
laughing, drinking, trading, shopping at the bazaar, riding their horses. It was a time of great happiness.
The eloquent city stretched as far as the eye could see, split into many districts and sections.
After a while of riding, they approach the royal palace. Elegant staircases wrap around a rushing
fountain containing the statue of the King, into a large cathedrallike
palace with stainedwhite
brick. “I
believe this i’ where we depart, lad.” Thalasan utters, “I got me sum’ lumber to sell! Tell the king
immediat’ly. No lollygaggin’!” “Thank you so much Thalasan. May we meet again another day.” Hector
says as he sprints up the staircase and up to the large doors.
The two elvish royal guards stand on each side of the door and as Hector approaches, they cross
their halberds to block the door. “State your business here, peasant!” the heavily armored guard says.
“Greetings! My name is Hector, and there is grave danger approaching! I must speak to the king
immediately!” The guards let out an overdrawn laugh, “Those are fool’s words! This is no time for
rambling prophets!”
At that moment, the earth rumbled. The shadow loomed overhead, and their vision was clear,
their imminent death was approaching. The baneful dragon screeches and the sheer force of its wings
breaks the surrounding structures. It lands upon the palace, crushing it completely and engulfing it with
flames. The beast shoots out flames across the city, annihilating all of the cityfolk.
So much for medieval stories, man.

The Question--Jeshua

Here I am fighting with myself to ask before my time runs out. The spider filled
walls are closing in. I'm aching in dispair, as nothing seems to escape my mouth. My lips
are stitched together by the threads of webs that the spiders left. Everything is turning
into darkness as the light fades away. I just want to ask her a simple question, but my
mind won't let me. I know the words that need to come out, but they burn at the tip of my
tongue. Is this hell? What did I do to deserve this?! Why am I here?! Oh, I remember...
Two months ago, after a long and wet morning, the rain suddenly stopped, and a
luminescent light shined upon the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. She wasn't just an
ordinary girl, she had dark brown hair that sat just under her shoulders, pale round
smooth and squishy cheeks that fitted her face perfectly, eyes of jewels with a unique
birth mark placed on the right eye, pink lustrous lips that made any prince want a taste,
and an amazing smile that could light up anyone's world, specifically my world. Surely
enough this wasn't the first time I saw her, I saw her everyday but Sunday's. Her name
was Acuna, and she was my best friend. I never got to tell her how I felt about her
because she was perfect, and I was just me, nothing special about that, but time was
getting closer and closer to our separation. She was getting ready to start a new life,
without me of course, but our journey didn't end there. On April 10, 2014 I accompanied
her to this fancy dance on the Queen Mary, and boy was it an adventure. She got to be my
Princess Jasmine, and I her Prince Aladdan for one whole night! It was dream come true,
I felt like a teenage girl drooling over the most popular senior in school. We danced all
night till the music stopped, we had layers over layers of dirty sweat, and still that wasn't
enough to stop what we felt that night. All we needed that night was to hold hands as we
rode a magic rug over the skies, only to admire the beauty of the night, I'm talking about
her of course. Although things didn't turn out that way, we did end up holding hands on
the way back like two little innocent kids holding hands on the way to school. This was
only the beginning, of our near future...
Guys aren't normally the ones to feel emotional, but this girl just
put a spell on me and here I am fangirling about her. I fell in love with her that night, and
now I love her every single day more and more as time passes by. I mean how is that
even possible?! This was more than just love, this was sorcery! I was crazy over her, she
made every second feel like eternity, and I wanted more than just eternity, I wanted
forever. That was when I knew I had to confront her. A week after the dance, I told her
the way I felt, plain and simple. Of course she was surprised, but she looked at me like I
was on drugs or something, in my head I called her a witch for enchanting me, but what
came out was quite the opposite. Turns out I uncontrollably confessed my love for her,
and she was upset because I was emotionally blind to see that she has always loved me.
That was when I made the most horrific task of promising to ask permission from
Acuna's parents to date her. From that moment and on, I truly knew that I was under the
Love Spell of Samantha Ruth Acuna...
After scheduling a date to go to her house, I approached the tall, dark, and foggy
house, with caution. Her parents happilly took me in, but I sensed the tension, they knew.
I thought that it would be an easy task to get to the point, but they tortured me! They took
me to Joe's Crab Shack! Who would do that to someone?! Food was mouth watering, and
once again I made a fool out of myself by spilling food on myself like a child would but
they laughed, which was a somewhat good sign. After getting back to the house my
stomach started to turn, I didn't know if it was the fish hamburger that I ate, or my anxiety
and nervousness. The clock was ticking and their eyes were growing tired, they were
waiting. Samantha's Dad was starting to yawn, and she was starting to growing hopeless.
Everyone was growing hopeless! Even me! I had no hope, my palms were getting sweaty,
my legs were shaking, my heart was pumping at an extreme rate, and I couldn't say the
words. Then I took one last look at Samantha, and I saw the look on her face, the look
that tells someone that they have given up. That was when I found the courage to sit up
and let the words come spilling out my mouth.
Before I let the words off the tip of my tongue I knew that I was doing it for her,
not because I was enchanted by her spell, but because I loved her. I asked them with a
careful and nervous voice, if I could date their daughter. One might think I'm in the safe
zone, but that wasn't the case. Her father, with a deep, hispanic, and serious voice asked,
“What do you mean by date?” I died inside.
I answered, “Like holding hands, going out together, and being able to call her my
girlfriend” with hesitation because I did not want to say I wanted to kiss her too, no one
wants to hear that. After a few other questions he gave me permission to date his
daughter, only after we were done with school of course. Lucky for us we only had one
more month left, and ever since that month ended she has taught me to fight for what I
want no matter what the cost was, even if I had to fight myself to accomplish my goal.
She was my goal, and that's why I haven't lost sight of what I love.

Francis

Okay, now is not the time to panic.

What do I always say when the crap hits the fan?

Make a list of what is going on and possible end scenarios. Okay, let’s do that.
1. The Museum is most definitely on fire.
2. The ceiling is falling apart
3. Smoke is quickly filling the air

BOOM!

 Oh, and something behind me just exploded.

 Fantastic.

 Well, time for the possible end scenarios:
Run.
 Panic.
Not wanting to sound like a hypocrite, sprinting towards the part of the building that is least likely to crush and/or kill me seems like the best bet. Luckily, that part of the museum is the fire escape with my name written all over it. Just have to get out of here and I'm golden.

“Someone! Please!”, crap, hand on the door and someone just had to go and add more plot to this story. Running back to where the voice came from, two figures come into view behind the smoke. “Please help!” a male voice called to me, “It’s my little sister, she's trapped behind this stupid exhibit” looking up, I see one of those mock space satellites that used to hang in the ceiling, but is now partially collapsed and blocking the hallway.

Looking at the hunk of metal, I usher for the brother to follow my lead “I think we can lift this panel upHEY KID!” I call out to the sister “me and big bro here are gonna get you out! I need you to dash outta there once you have enough room!”.

Not waiting for a response, I turn to the brother, “okay, on go, we pull up on this panel ready? Go! Kid, c’mon!” God, this thing is heavy, but a dash and a roll later and brother and sister were reunited. It'd be a happy moment, if it weren't for the fact that this whole place was coming down in a burning hellfire. “Hate to break it to you two, but I really think we should get out of here.” BOOM “Like, now”. “He's right, let's go, Sophie” grabbing his sister’s hand, we make a mad dash for the exit. I really think this whole thing will go over smoothly.
CRASH
 “ GAAAHHhh!” …

Me and my big mouth. Turning around I see a part of the ceiling fell and brother’s leg has been pinned under a beam. Adding insult to injury or… further injury to an already existing injury, he’s also unconcious. Pushing the beam aside, I hoist him on my back and usher Sophie to the fire escape. Hopefully there I can find some fireman or paramedic for this guy.

 “Help! Someone! I’ve got a little girl and an injured ma” the words die in my mouth as i look around me at what was happening. Blood running cold, not at the chaos going around me but at the complete and utter lack of things happening. No one, and I mean no one, was around the entire block was abandoned and, other than the burning building, nothing else was going on. Where is everyone? I wonder to myself walking down the street, an injured man on my back and his little sister trailing behind.
“Um….” a small voice behind me meekly states. “He’s bleeding”. Looking down at his leg, a piece of wood pokes through his pant leg.

 “Oh fu” glancing at Sophie “ture problems of mine, we need to get him patched up now, c’mon Sophie, I think there’s a pharmacy up ahead, we can patch your brother up there”. Picking up the pace, we enter the pharmacy. “Hello~!” calling out to the pharmacy “I have an injured man here!

Please! We need help!” after a moment of no response, I’ve decided to take matters into my own hands. “Sophie, I need you to find me some bandages, can you do that for me? I’m going to help your brother” setting him down and walking to the back room, I manage to find a bottle of penicillin and hydrogen peroxide. Seeing as I don’t trust myself with the names of any of the other bottles on the shelf, this would have to do. Making my way back to where Sophie was sitting next to her brother. Facing Sophie, “Alright Soph, I’m just going to clean your brother’s wound with peroxide, crush up some penicillin and sprinkle it onto his wound, wrap it up in this bandage and he should be fine” turning back around, I feel a small pair of arms wrap around my waist.

“Thank you, so much” a muffled voice speaks into my back. Despite the situation we’re in, I can’t help but smile “No problem, kid”

~~~~~~

A few hours later, both Sophie and her brother were fast asleep, I decide to check out the street outside. Walking down the street a few feet, a chill goes up my spine. You know that feeling, the feeling where you really shouldn’t look around? That’s me right at this moment. “Good job with the medicine, by the way” a voice speaks behind me. I can’t move. “Too bad it will be all for naught” the voice continues. I can’t speak.

“I’m sorry to say, but the story ends here” fighting harder, I manage to break through the odd trance I was in. Behind me was a man, a man that made me quake to the very core. Choking out “What is going on?” took all of my willpower. “Who are you?” “Who am I is of no importance, but what is important is that this will all be over soon” the man rumbles out. “ I believe it was T.S Eliot who said “This is the way the world ends, Not with a bang but a whimper” because that is how this world will end, quietly” Seeing the fear in my eyes, the man chuckles “None of this is real! You are fictional! The story ends!” seeing my disbelief, he asks: “Don’t believe me? Tell me, what is your name?”

Diversity--Tay

Try to imagine a world where there is absolutely nothing to differentiate one person from another. What if everywhere you turned, everything and everyone were the same? People wearing the same clothes, the same colors, the same hairstyle; people of the same race, people with the same perception, and the same way of life…every single thing exactly the same. I hope you agree that that would be tremendously boring and dull. A world like that would be no world at all. Diversity is what allows us to learn and see things differently from each other. It lets individuals be defined for who they are. It is what makes us unique and opposite. For instance, if everyone was forced to think the same way; there would be no advancements in technology, medicine, science, society, etc. That is because no one would have ever thought outside of the norm to produce the theories, potential possibilities, and incredible ideas that made the world what it is today. Diversity is innovation and development. Steve Jobs, co-founder of Apple, helped produce a new generation of technology and the way people use it by thinking ahead and challenging himself to make improvements. Diversity is the influence of distinction. It is the reason we try to find new ways to rip our jeans and tie our shoe laces. It is the drive that forces us to want to be creative and artistic because we know that standing out is a great thing. It is what gives us desire to leave a lasting impression. Diversity is the key to growth and improvement. It is what lets humans evolve mentally and physically. If people like Martin Luther King did not go against what most of society, at the time claimed was right, majority of us would not have any of the privileges we do now. A standing opinion can lead to a long lasting revolution in social reform for the benefit of all. Diversity is hope. It is what leads us to believe that things can change and get better. It is what gives us aspirations to achieve our goals. Diversity is what makes us special. The variety of cultures introduces us to intriguing languages, food, and music. It creates our backgrounds and beliefs. Diversity is opinion. It is what creates discussion in the classroom and makes us question our own thoughts. It is what makes us stand up for what we believe in. Diversity is what brings us together. It is a way for us to connect on different levels. It is what makes us eager to know more about each other. Diversity is what you and I are made from. Do not conform to society’s beliefs about how things should be done. Do things your own way, create and share new ideas, step outside of the comfort zone, and explore the endless possibilities. Diversity is a variety of things. Now, I ask you again…Try to imagine a world where there is absolutely nothing to differentiate one person from another.

Memories by the Beach--Chloe

Last summer, I only went to the beach five times. I know, to some people that sounds like a lot, but I love the beach. I mean is that not what summer is all about? Spontaneous trips, messy hair, and a good time. We spend what seems like fifty million years at school, the same hallways, the same people, until that last bell rings for summer and the possibilities seem endless. Well, three of the times I went to the beach last summer it was to get dinner, dessert, dip my feet in the sand, and watch the sunset, just as the wind started to pick up speed. On one of my trips to the beach, I rode bikes down the boardwalk, through the streets, shopped a little, and ate, of course. Only one of my beach trips last summer was filled with swimsuits, sand, diving under the waves, endless sun block, and naps under the sun. Why did I not have more beach trips like this? You see, when I was little, beach trips were all the same. My mom or dad would drive my sister and I to the beach, park, lug everything, which meant bags upon bags upon coolers upon chairs (it was never ending), to the best spot we could find, and immediately play in the water and the sand with the same sand toys, that could build millions of different sandcastles. Then we would eat, rinse off, change clothes, walk to the pier for ice cream, and go home, my sister and I always falling asleep until we pulled into the driveway of our house. Now, I may go to the beach and not step foot into the water. I can drive my friends and myself, and neither of my parents has to come. Sure, it is great to be able to drive to the beach, playing whatever music I want, laughing with all of my friends, but it is not the same. Beach trips are now filled with texts to make sure friends are still coming, asking for gas money, endless selfies and “photo shoots”, packing up everything by ourselves, and driving myself home, not being able to fall asleep until we reach the driveway of my house. It was never like this growing up. Why? Why do perfectly good things in life have to change? If it was amazing, and fun, and effortless, and some of the best memories I have growing up, why does it have to change? I can still smell the fresh morning breeze when we arrived at 15th Street in Newport Beach, the same beach my mom went to growing up. I can still hear the crunch of the sand that never failed to get in my peanut butter and jelly sandwich my mom made me. I can still feel the excitement of getting the same scoop of chocolate ice cream and hurrying up to eat it before it melted, and I can still hear my mom saying, “Wake up Chloe! We are home”. These were such good memories that may never happen again and sometimes it is hard to come to terms with my new reality, but I guess I realize now that things do not always have to stay the same. I do not have to go to the beach all day every time I go. I can get there at six o’clock in the morning or at night. No, those memories I have growing up and going to the beach will never be relived because I am not little anymore, but I realize that not everything has to stay the same. Having fun and feeling happy and free has no system or schedule, it simply has to do with taking life on. Changing and growing into my own person is a natural part of life, but it is challenging. The future is inevitable and it is impossible to physically be in the past, but my memories are there to bring me back to the moments I wish to remember or the experiences I can constantly learn from. I may not have it all figured out, but the beach has showed me that I have amazing memories, but it is time to make new ones. I do have a place in this world, and whether it be with a family of my own or on the other side to the world, I know that change is okay, because I will never forget the memories that make me who I am today. Life is perfectly imperfect and I do not think it should be any other way. Every time I go to the beach, I can still smell the fresh morning breeze and taste that inevitable sand in my sandwich, but now I shall enjoy driving up to my house, wide awake, and ready to share the memories of my day.

Cold Winter Nights--Devyn

It’s a stormy friday night and my parents decide to go out and have a date night, leaving me alone in the house. “Don’t worry honey you’ll be fine” mom says soothingly. I ask what time they will be home but get no response instead my dad says jokingly “Don’t wait up sport, and keep the dogs inside they will protect you from any danger, if intruders come in they will lick them to death”. I try not to freak out when they leave me behind in a hauntingly empty house so I try to drown out any fears by watching my favorite TV show. However, I can't shake off this unsettling feeling that someone, somewhere is watching me. Deciding it is just my imagination, I carry on about my business, until suddenly my dogs start barking uncontrollably at the back door. I start to question “Stupid dogs they scared the life out of me, why do they get so freaked out about rain and lightning?” so I let them out. They stop barking, feeling relieved I went upstairs and start reading a book then all of a sudden the power goes out. “What the heck just happened?” I asked myself when suddenly I hear the front door get kicked down. “Oh crap! there’s people trying to break in!” my fight or flight instincts kick in and I sprint into my closet and crawl up into a ball and pray they don’t find me. I soon realize in my cowardly attempt to hide I forgot my cell phone on my desk, “Well there goes my only chance of survival, if only I kept the dogs inside, they would have scared them away by now.” . They rummage through my entire house and eventually reach my room. I try to shorten my breath hoping they won’t hear me or check the closet. I hear footsteps nearing the closet where I took refuge in, and just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse my cell phone rings. “Just leave it we cleared out all the valuables anyways, time to go.” I hear them say. “Hold on, I just want to check the closet here for anything we might have missed” says one of the intruders. “Fine, hurry up” the other one says, the footsteps continue on. Well if this is the end, I might as well go out fighting. “If they’re gonna take me out I’ll be sure as heck to take one of them down with me”. The intruder puts his hand on the door knob, “Okay here we go on three, 1, 2, 3.”

Mere Thirty Seconds--Meghan

It was lost. That simplistic idea of perfection just shattered in a mere thirty seconds of a realization to reality. You would have thought this year to be the best year of your life, or maybe I just have that mindset at the beginning of every year, however this year it was different, utterly different. It had begun with a little girls mind of finding love, something she had thought she’d seen between her parents…her idea of true love. Every girls fantasy, true love. Are those words even real anymore, I met the boy of my dreams and it felt like a fairytale, but the thing is it was a broken fairytale. I never saw him more than twice a week and eventually that became only once a week which soon led to once every two weeks. He claimed he loved me, he showed me affection, I showed him all my scars and fears that built up the wall that he had so easily broken down, in a mere thirty seconds it fell. My wall that is, then soon came my confidence and personality, it all seemed to meld into one huge mess something like a puddle, a puddle I would have jumped over any other day for any other person besides him. He was the root. The cause of my trepidation and unknowing. I had not experienced what had seemed like “love” to me before and I felt as though no one could ever love me the same. Then it hit. My parents relationship soon collapsed as did mine, but I would not let anyone know that. I tried to keep it afloat and he just acted like he was floating on a raft. Using me for everything, “can you drive me here”, “oh I will pay you back”, “come on I really need this” and me trying to fix what was breaking at the same time. I did what he asked when he asked so I would not be questioned. It was love wasn’t it? In a mere thirty seconds I saw my dad leave and my mom sobbing her way to a bottle filled with her lost hope and her same view of “love”. Had we both not known what true happiness was or let alone the hidden word true love. Finally, after seeing my mother break down day after day and take beating after beating I built up some courage, not much but enough for a mere thirty seconds of taking a stance in my life. I told him I had to leave. He pleaded with me “no baby you can’t go, not like this, I need you, you need me” those last words staining his lips, “you need me”, I felt broken because in all honesty I felt as though I did. I was nothing without him and never will be. So I stayed, you would think that things could have changed right then and there. That I got a mind for my own but oh I didn’t. That was until a mere thirty seconds after. Nights and nights of crying and screaming my heart just couldn’t take it anymore. I went to counseling, therapy anything that would be a distraction of something that would take away the pain. I asked him to join, but of course he declined saying “we are okay, stop acting like we have a problem” making me feel like the crazy one. Then it turned he came to see me, he began to call me beautiful all the time. My confidence began to rise up from the ashes and I felt as though I beat my monster. My mom saw this “happiness” and asked where it had come from not believeing the man I calimed I loved had given it to me. Then it hit. Yes, it hit again but not with my mother but with the “man of my dreams”, he left. After all that supposedly happiness he just left. Left like nothing had happened between us and like I had not exsisted. I went into a sort of pain that I had not experienced, my friends would see if I was okay and ask me to go out and I would simply decline the invitation for the fear that it might bring another story of “true love” into my life. After a couple months of the same routine I hit my break, never feeling so low in my life I gave up. I gave up on the idea of perfection and true love for those words had no longer exsisted in my vocabulary and to be quiet honest I did not need them. I need words that will bring me to my senses and until that day comes I will be sitting a re run of my mere thirty seconds.

What is Terrorism?--Kamran

For many of us, the first images that pop up in our minds when the word ‘terrorism’ is mentioned is that of a Muslim Middle eastern man with a beard or Muslim woman covering from head to toe. To makes thing clear, a group like ISIS does not represent Islam or Muslims. And as a Muslim, I will never defend their actions because Islam teaches us to stand up against injustice and oppression. But if we take a critical look at history, ISIS are certainly not the first terrorists to pop up on the world scene. And since we are on the topic of terrorism, lets define what Terrorism is. By definition Terrorism is violence, fear, or intimidation placed upon a group of people or nation in order to achieve a political, religious, or a social goal. Understanding this, let us apply this definition to events in history. Terrorism is the entrance of the ivory skinned men into Africa claiming they were coming to bring God and ‘tame’ the so called ‘savages’ when they actually came with rape, plunder, and with the intentions to take all the resources Africa had. Terrorism is enslaving over 12.5 million Africans, taking them from positions of royalty and power to positions lower than that of the white man’s cattle. Separating families, putting chains on their bodies, and forcing them to enter boats filled with smallpox and starvation. Terrorism is mentally breaking the African slaves, so that they could pick on the white man’s plantation without any protest. Taking away their identities, and giving them the slave master’s white european names, like ‘James’ and ‘Smith’. Terrorism is turning lynching into a national sport, white communities gathering so they can can laugh and feel proud about their actions. Leaving innocent blacks hung up, beaten and charred like a strange dangling fruit. Terrorism is systematically killing black leadership like Fred Hampton and Malcolm X, who were just preaching to their people to have love for themselves. And terrorism is police violence particularly against black communities. Terrorism is the 1948 Palestinian exodus in which over 700,000 were forced from their homes, to make room for ‘settlers’. Forcing thousands of Palestinian to roam in the desert like Pharaoh did to Moses. Terrorism is Israel dropping white phosphorous on the Gaza strip, burning alive men, women, and children. Terrorism is Israel is dropping bombs on schools and hospitals, because they are filled with ‘terrorists’ and they were ‘defending themselves’. Terrorism is western involvement in Iraq and Afghanistan, killing thousands of people and taking natural resources in the name of democracy and liberation. Malcolm X once said: “ The media is the most powerful entity on Earth. They have the power to make the innocent guilty and make the guilty innocent, and that’s power. Because they control the minds of the masses”. It is important that we as human beings and intellectual individuals do not let our biases decide what is and isn’t terrorism. It is not fair label one group of people as terrorists, but then try to give excuses to try to justify terrorist actions by the so called ‘good guys’. Next time you see an action of violence done, analyze the situation, and judge it with your humanity; not your prejudice. Sources: "Life on Board Slave Ships International Slavery Museum, Liverpool Museums." L ife on Board Slave Ships International Slavery Museum, Liverpool Museums . N.p., n.d. Web. 20 Feb. 2016. Morris, Benny, and Mark Tessler. "The Nakba: The Palestinian Catastrophe of 1948." Lost Islamic History . N.p., 23 Apr. 2013. Web. 20 Feb. 2016. "ORB Survey of Iraq War Casulties." W ikipedia . Wikimedia Foundation, n.d. Web. 20 Feb. 2016.

Book Review: I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings--Kamilah

Are you bored and looking for something new to read? Are you looking to expand your horizons with a female black author for black history month? Perhaps looking for something completely banned in several Virginia, Massachusetts, and Florida school districts? If you’re looking for a book to challenge your values on womanhood, blackness, and sex I might just have the book for you! Maya Angelou’s debut album I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings (1969) is a remarkable coming of age story that details her molestation, rape, pregnancy, and racism in America. Despite her exceptional writing skills Angelou remains on more banned book lists than any other author. Her vivid details on the less beautiful parts of her life have rallied groups to completely ban her books from high schools and complete school districts. Between 2001 and 2010, the book was ranked number six on the list of the most challenged and banned books. Topics that Angelou covered weren’t new but still ground breaking the controversial topics she covers were apart of a movement of African American women writers following the civil rights movement that addressed the quest for independence, personal dignity, and self definition. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou is a beautifully written autobiography that travels with Maya until after the birth of her baby as a teenager. The first in a seven volume series, it is a coming of age story that illustrates how strength of character and a love of literature can aide in a young girl’s battle against racism and trauma . Our first introduction to Angelou is as a child, still referred to by her loved ones as Marguerite she is in Easter service ready to leave. Marguerite is dressed in a white woman’s purple thrown away dress starched to look newer. Unpleased with her appearance she imagines herself as a movie star with ivory white skin, blonde hair, beautiful blue eyes, and sparkling smile. Marguerite is a peculiar child to most because she never manages to pick up the southern twang, hated most Southern food, and was quiet. Feeling like an outsider she thought she had been placed in the wrong family. Convinced she was placed incorrectly Marguerite would wish for the the evil witch who had cursed her and made her skinny, with broad feet, a negro, and a smile with a gap so big it could hold a pencil to undo her spell. The anti blackness that Angelou internalizes as a child causes her to equate it with ugliness, and a poor self image that clouds her childhood. The first chapter opens to Marguerite and her older brother at the tender age of 3 and 4 being sent to live with her grandmother and uncle in Stamps Arkansas. It becomes strikingly clear for the reader that the cycle of poverty is a bleak reality for the poor black community in Stamps. Even with her own home being a sundown town Marguerite accepts this as the reality of being black. Everyday as a child Marguerite witnesses poor sharecroppers and day laborers work away for wages too low to buy anything at the white general stores. In her own words “The Great Depression hit the white section of Stamps hard we were so poor we didn’t notice until much later.” Told from a child’s perspective the situation is almost comedic as her limited world view contrasts with her reflective interjections that Angelou provides throughout the book. As a child she is strikingly self aware of her position in the world. Angelou’s diction might be viewed as peculiar to those who have never been exposed to strong Southern accents, this aspect of the story really speaks to the authenticity of the book. The way words are pronounced serve as a reminder of not only the location but the low level of education and economic standing in Stamps that plagues everyone she is acquainted to. Other literary devices central to the telling of this story are biblical and literary allusions to the Cheshire cat, and her commitment to have Deuteronomy completely memorized by order of her grandmother. The biblical allusions also come from her grandmother’s influence in Maya’s life that instilled into her to a relationship to literature and God. This book is personal favorite, near and dear to my heart that I think everyone should read once in their lifetime. For those of you who are still not convinced in response to the book ban efforts Maya Angelou responded,“I feel sorry for the young person who never gets to read it.” Be daring, read a banned book today.

The present--Lorena

Buddha once said, “Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment”. Buddha said these words thousands of years ago and it is still something that most people in today’s day and age have not achieved. Buddha’s buddhism focuses on the practice of the nurturing of the mind through meditation in order to be more aware of one’s surroundings and to have a clear mind needed for “understanding oneself, other people, and life itself”. The quote reveals the fact that the moments that are happening around us, are wasted because too many of us are too wrapped up in trivial things. Many of us dwell on mistakes and wasted opportunities, or daydream of would could be or what could have been, the consequence is the fact that the moments happening now go unnoticed because we are just going through the motions. One reason as to why the present is such a valuable time is because the future fully depends on decisions being taken now. The emotions and occurrences that are in the present affect the future because the choice you make right now can cause a chain reaction for future choices. An example is, if you chose to help somebody around you, the feelings of content or helpfulness will most likely drive you to do the same in the future, whereas choosing not to help said person can lead to feelings of guilt for not helping, or can lead to further actions of selfishness. Not to say that the future is controllable through choosing the right choices, because sometimes decisions are not black and white. The point is that, the future is unpredictable and there is no use sulking in the pondering of every decision ever made or every decision you are making. This brings the question of analyzation of the past. Buddha’s quotes advises to not dwell on the past but to instead learn from the past; mistakes and wrong turns are made as lessons to learn from. Also, the idea of “concentrat[ing] the mind on the present moment” is something that many of us have lost touch with. An argument can be made about going to a concert and watching it through the screen of your iPhone and whether or not it can be considered to be living in the moment. I believe living in the present really is accomplished through the act of being aware of your surroundings, a way of achieving this is using the five senses. Not only would it count to be physically being present but it would also manage to mentally being present. This practice has been overlooked by many people because of different distractions. A relevant excuse for modern times is the enticement of technology. One could argue that technology allows for people to live in the moment by making sure they remember the past, through photos for example. But would the ease of being about to look back on a photo, which can capture emotions and surrounds, affect how the mind perceives the present moment? Would the ability to have to mentally remember details and specifics be overshadowed by the ability to glance back at an old photo? I believe the importance of the idea of living in the present helps us register what really matter about what is going on around you and it is pertinent as the moments occurring now will one day become fleeting memories.

Katrina

At the ripe age of 12 I came to the realization that my life is meaningless. It’s strange to look back at that time because I would assume that most people who become aware of their cosmic insignificance do so because they are prompted by some eyeopening event. But in my case I remember being perfectly content living in my vapid seventh grade universe and then simply waking one day to crippling existential dread. I guess I'll never know the reason why my little bubble of pubescent happiness was shattered but all that matters is that I had suddenly seen my pathetic life flash before my eyes and I couldn't think of one good reason to continue living. This may sound a little dark for a 12 year old but I've always had a bit of a morbid side. And so I lived in a stagnant world where I was unable to return to my previous innocence but also unable to advance my thoughts past the fact that all my actions were futile in the face of the void. So when I was able to have my thoughts to myself, I would spend hours considering my options. The obvious solution was to commit to a spiritual bond with some god or supernatural being that could assure me meaning in my life. But as hard as I tried, I couldn't bring myself to have faith in what seemed so illogical and uncertain. It was simply too much to ask of me to spend my single lifetime in blind servitude to the possibly of an afterlife. So I moved on to the very tempting solution of death but that didn't sit right with me either because if death was the solution to life then all the serendipitous events that led to the evolution of humankind were not actually happy accidents but sick jokes that condemned those aware of life to also despise it. Finally, I turned to literature and those I assumed to be much more knowledgeable than I was, only to find that no one else seemed to know the answers to the burning questions on my mind. Resigned to failure, I allowed myself to remain in the purgatory that my life had become. But finally one day, I realized that the answer had been in front of my face this entire time. The meaning of life was simple: a box of kraft mac and cheese. Sorry that was anticlimactic, I know. But seriously, my parents rarely buy mac and cheese so when they do, I can't stop thinking about it. As soon as I start feeling hungry my mind drifts to that solitary box on the pantry shelf and I feel a tug in my heart that I can only describe as pure longing. The same thing happens when I spend too much time looking at pictures of forests freshly damp from the rain. Or when I memorize the pathway of blood through the heart and the major veins and arteries of the body just for fun. I was so consumed by looking for meaning on a deep and universal level that I never even considered the fact that the meaning of life could be simply that there is none. We're alive and sentient and have passions and longings and a constant need to better ourselves and isn't that enough? Isn't it enough to just simply exist? Probably not. But for now it's the solution that I'm going to go with. I'll probably have a new theory about the meaning of life by the end of the week but that's just because over analyzing things is a full time occupation for me. I fully subscribe to the belief that definitive answers don't exist anyway. Thus, I suppose that the problem of finding meaning in my life is the largest problem I will ever face and also probably never solve.

Self Love--Paige

With this month being February and Valentine's Day just passing,I feel as if it's necessary to have the topic of love. During this month it could either be a really good time or a very sad one during Valentine's time it's no in between. On one hand we have the people with their significant others and on the other hand not so much but feel as if they do need someone to spend quality time with just for the holiday. I'm not talking about all just a general statement from what I hear around. Personally the concept of love is not just for one holiday and gifts but to actually reflect on why you love that someone/something. It’s not all about having someone yeah It’s nice to be with someone but take into consideration we are young we have plenty of time to find someone. Maybe later in life you will find the one youre destined to be with as of for now enjoy yourself. So here is when self love comes into play, since it’s the time of year to love and be loved why don’t you reflect on why you love yourself. Some of you are probably thinking this sounds a little selfish, self absorbed way of thinking having that mentality, meanwhile it's just showing appreciation to yourself once in awhile. We all are very busy,stressing or even at this point the feeling of not caring at all so why not tend to yourself occasionally. With being a high school student i have found myself very Selfless putting school first, staying up late, making myself more stressed than I should be assignments and more assignments due it’s been a rough couple years aha. Whereas now I came to the point where I’m learning to balance myself and school. It is important to find balance, having your inner sanity controlled. Self love is to reflect on what things you do good, what you have accomplished, what things make you genuinely happy even if it's treating yourself to something you feel you deserve go out and do so. Putting yourself in a more positive place and state of mind gives you an imaginable feeling and it's great to see your self worth. Falling in love with the person you are or hope to become is overall self love. Putting yourself first is self love and most importantly obtaining happiness is self love. Coming to the actualization of the idea of love and loving yourself is an essential key to life.Reflecting back on this month personally with having self love seeing what I have going for myself and the actual being in love with who I am as a person makes me so much happier and content with life at the moment. So the next time February comes around don’t dread it as much love is in the air even if it’s just for yourself. Not even just the month of February but all year round take some time for yourself and reflect how you can have self love.

How to Snowboard--Sirikanya

How to Snowboard Hey! Guys, I think this would be a perfect time to learn how to snowboard. (I am writing this How to during Christmas break) I am not an expert on snowboarding but here are some of my tips for beginners and first day riding. Gear: Snowboard Bindings Snowboard boots Helmets Thermal layers Snowboard Jacket Snowboard Pants Snowboard Shocks Beanie and/or Helmet 1.Stand: It is important to learn your stand before you snowboard. Two types of stand : Goofy and Regular. A Goofy stand is going downhill with your right foot first. And Regular stand is the opposite. 2.Skating or One foot riding: Skating, this skill is necessary for getting on and off the lift. Skating is when one foot (usually your dominant foot) strapped to your board. 3.Strap up: Next step is to strap up before you start you need to strap up with both feet. Sit down and strap your board up with your knee bends. 4.Stand up: to stand up, grabbing your board by reaching your hand forward and use the other hand to push you from the back. 5.Heel slide: once you stand up, try to balance yourself on the board. Control the speed by sliding your heel edge, your knees bent as you are sliding. If you want to change direction, point your hand and put more pressure in the direction you want to go. 6.Turning: turning, just like the heel slide, point you hand to the direction you want to go, keep in mind that your board needs to be across the hill. 7.Stop: use the ankles to help balance over the board, apply the edge, so the board starts to turn across the hill and use the legs to steer the board for the rest of the way. 8.Posture: it is very important to keep your shoulders above the board because this is the best way to avoid falling. (Tip: do not lean back too much.) Have fun Snowboarding! :)