September Writers!!!!!!

September Featured Writers!!!!!!!!!


Welcome back to another month of creative writing!!!!!!!!!

This month we have thirteen featured writers.  There are three categories: Flash Fiction, How To and Personal Narrative.  This week's assignment is to choose one submission from each category and leave helpful, encouraging and thoughtful feedback.  Read ALL of the entries, but only leave comments for three.  Remember appropriate online behavior and voice.  Your comments are due Wednesday, October 5.

September writers,

Your assignment is to respond to at least two comments on your page feed AND leave a comment for a fellow September writer.  Your comments are due Friday, October 7.

Have fun this week!

Now, Go READ!!!

Feed Your Soul,

Mrs. Solano

Pigtails, Lunchboxes, and Cooties--Megan

I think most people would agree that elementary school was one of the simplest times of our lives. Well, at least I hope it was. For me, kindergarten through fifth grade was the most fun and stress free at West Heritage Elementary school. The worst thing I had to worry about was getting yelled at by Carla (the proctor) for talking too loud with my friends in the cafeteria, pulling a ticket in class from the behavior chart from green to yellow to red, or a stupid rumor that went around for about a day that I don’t wash my hands. Well, technically, the worst thing that happened to me from the eyes of others was my parents getting divorced when I was 5 years old; but come on, I was five years old, my parents loved me so much and took care of everything for me so it really didn’t affect me. I was too innocent to understand what it really meant, and it wasn’t until long after elementary school that it started to affect me, but that’s a whole different story. My memories of elementary school are all wonderful, and I would never change a thing. Although popularity didn’t matter to anybody back then, if it did, I bet you I would have been the most popular. I don’t mean that to sound conceited or stuck up, but I was friends with so many people. The main reason this happened for me is, ironically, because of my mom. My mom was a kindergarten teacher at that school, and people either had her as their teacher or knew who she was. Therefore people saw the connection because our last name, let’s just say, isn’t very common in this area. Lots of my friends were made by them simply asking me “Are you Mrs. Trevarthen’s daughter?!”, and boom next thing you know we are sitting together playing hand games at the lunch table. It was so easy to make friends, that's one of the things I miss the most. Another thing I would like to point out that stress, wasn’t in my vocabulary until middle school. I had one teacher each year, which meant that she knew the amount of homework each one of her students would have. Also, we were young, they weren’t going to pile on bunches of homework to 511 year olds. The first B I ever had was in fifth grade, so maintaining straight A’s was never an issue. I never stressed about boys or relationships either because I didn’t start having crushes on boys until the fourth grade, and that was only because my other friends started to like certain boys too. I never cared, boys had cooties so I didn’t want to mess with them anyway. The only things I focused on was tetherball, handball, digging up the most worms, or kicking the ball the furthest in kickball. Fast forward time to today, as a senior in high school getting ready to be in college, I ask myself, has much really changed since then? Yes, I agree the amount of work and it’s difficulty has gotten more extreme, but that’s how it is supposed to be. As we grow older we need the work to be challenging to see what we are good at and what we are bad at; to define ourselves as people because if it were still easy, we would all be the same. In addition, making friends could be just as easy, but it is our own decisions to have prejudice or to be kind. All in all, I dedicate a lot of who I am today to being “Mrs. Trevarthen’s daughter”. My mom has given up so much for me and I could not be the person I am today or who I will be in the future without her. I do, aspire to be like her one day. Anyhow, elementary school was more than just an introduction to me, but a metaphor of how easy and enjoyable life can be if we make it that way.

Highs, Lows, and Diabetes… Don’t Sugar Coat It--Ashlyn

I get “high” and take drugs a lot more than the average high school kid, but not the way you think… In January of 2008, I experienced something that has changed my life completely. I was eight years of age, in third grade, living a perfect life (a third grader’s idea of one, of course). That was the last time I ever felt what it was like to be just like everybody else. Normal. It was a cold Saturday afternoon and my soccer team had just won our second game. Elated, I asked my mom if I could go home with a teammate and spend the night. She said yes and I excitedly skipped off the the car with my friend and her mother. We stopped at pick up sticks to eat lunch and all I remember was filling up my drink about 20 times, not exaggerating. I figured I was just dehydrated from running around for two hours. We had to go to target before we made our way home as well. When we got there, I needed to use the restroom worse than I ever have had to in my entire life. All that lemonade needed to escape. I was relieved for about five minutes but before I could focus my attention elsewhere, there it came, once again. Cotton mouth, extreme thirst, and a bladder on the verge of exploding. I ran to the restroom once again and on my way out I started to drink water from the water fountain. I’m surprised that poor water fountain didn’t run dry because of how long I stood there slurping it down. I didn’t think anything of it, as I was eight years old and basically clueless to the fact the something could possible be wrong. The problems continued through the evening and I eventually was so annoyed and embarrassed that I asked to go home. It was one in the morning so my mother knew I wasn’t kidding when she received a call from me. She came to pick me up and by this time I was exhausted. I felt as if I had been deprived of water for weeks and hadn’t slept in months. I could hardly walk without losing my breath. I was up all night long, maybe got about and hour of sleep in all and at six in the morning my mom and I made our way to the emergency room. When we got there, there were no parking spots close enough to the front for my tired little body to walk so my mom dropped me off and told me to wait. I was so exhausted and “out of it” that I layed down on the sidewalk in front of Kaiser’s E.R. As soon as we walked in the door, someone brought a wheelchair for me to sit in and asked me to take a urine sample, which my mom had to assist me with. They took me to the exam room immediately and started pricking and poking at me all over. They tested my blood glucose level and unprofessionally, the nurse stepped back in shock and said “oh my gosh.” She showed the doctor something on a meter that she had just used on me. The next thing i knew i was being moved to the hospital building to be admitted. My mom called my dad, who then picked up my sister and made his way to the hospital. I was terrified. I was in a place that was foreign to me with a bunch of people dressed in blue and all smelled like rubber. When my dad walked into the room i began to get teary eyed; I have never seen him look so sad. The doctors came in and pulled out a giant needle. I began to squirm in the bed as they tried to insert an I.V. in my arm, so the doctor asked me if I wanted a stuffed animal. They brought out a soft little brown bear. I sat there with my dad trying to name it when he said “how about sugar?” I smiled, realizing that was the entire reason for me being in the hospital. My dad kissed me on the forehead and I didn’t realize until then that my I.V. was already in. As my family and I learned about type 1 diabetes and how to take care of it, we grew closer than we had ever been to one another. I now take self injected insulin every day, at least five times. I test my own blood sugar at least five times a day and sometimes deal with high blood sugars as well as low ones. Needles have become an everyday part of my life, drugs are normal, and the smell of the doctors office has become well known. It takes a lot of constant work to manage but it’s a lifestyle that I have learned to live and no longer let it get in the way. Diabetes and this small part of my story may not change your opinion of me, but it did change my life.

The First Quiz--Sam

        As I entered my first grade classroom, various emotions flowed through my mind. New school, new friends, new language, think positively— I said to myself.  A tall, skinny lady with short blonde hair, smiled at me asking me for my name. Her name was Mrs. M. On the first week of school, Mrs. M passed out a sheet with words that seemed like hieroglyphics to me at the time. “These are definitely not in Spanish,” I thought. Thirteen different arrangements of letters neatly typed one under the other after a number. She called them vocabulary words. I didn't quite understand every single word she said, and the fact that I was a shy little six year old in a new school without a basic understanding of English didn't help very much. I recall writing down as many words as I could even though I had no idea what they meant.

       One day I walked into class like any other normal day.  As soon as the bell rang Mrs. M passed out a blank piece of paper and she told us to write our name at the top, number each line from one to fifteen and write 'quiz' at the top. At the moment I had no idea what this meant. When everyone was done, all of a sudden she said some random strange word. The room was silent. I bravely raised my hand asking how to spell that word. Everyone looked at me as if I just took candy without eating my vegetables first. Secretively, the teacher whispered in my ear—in Spanish— that she couldn't help me with that since we were getting graded in how well we could spell and just told me to do my best. That was when the panic started. I felt like the little people inside my mind started panicking  trying to look for a solution to the problem, just like in that spongebob the episode I watched the night before. I simply did not not care, I was never one of those kids. I started trying to figure this word out, trying different combinations of letters in different orders that could possibly be the correct answer. My breathing started to increase gradually until I just couldn't take it anymore. Tears started rolling down my cheeks onto the paper. My silent crying eventually became a strong sob mixed with whining, mucus and interrupted breaths. I wanted to leave and never come back. I wanted everything to make sense. I wanted to quit English.

        This time my classmates didn't bother to look at me. Silently, Mrs. M kneeled down next to my desk and began to spell out each word, carefully guiding me through and making me repeat each vowel and consonant after the other in this new language I tried to understand. When the bell rang indicating the beginning of recess, Mrs. M called my name and asked me to go over to her desk. “It's okay to ask for help,” she said. We agreed to meet during recess to go over content that I didn't understand throughout the day. She also gave me the opportunity to retake the first quiz. I earned a perfect score. By the end of the year, I was one of the best students her class. I ended up learning English for the rest of my life. English is now part of my daily life.“It's okay to ask for help.” This phrase taught me that I can accomplish my goals, if I dedicate the time and ask for help, specifically in areas that I struggle. I may sometimes feel the urge to quit whenever something is out of my comfort zone; however, knowing that I'm not alone and there are people willing to help me succeed, motivate me to try harder and do better.

How to do a back handspring in 7 easy steps--Gabbie

Have you ever wondered how gymnasts, cheerleaders, and even football players do all of those crazy flips? Well I am here to explain to you the basics. Ever since I was little, I have tried to learn how to tumble. I learned in gymnastics and it was quite a difficult and scary skill to learn. I mean throwing yourself upside down and backwards is pretty nerve wracking. But once you get the hang of it, it is one of the more simple tumbling skills and in most cases the foundation for other tumbling passes. The back handspring is a skill that gymnasts, cheerleaders, and now even football players execute. A back handspring is the skill where a person squats and then swings their arms behind them to flip over. It sounds pretty simple, but there are a few specifications I would like to add before everyone just tries swinging their ams in front of them and throwing themselves backwards. This is a skill that anyone can acquire! So nonetheless, here is the anatomy of the back handspring. Here is what you will need: Yourself, and the ground (preferably a mat or the grass). Step 1: Stand with feet shoulder width apart. Boo 2 Step 2: Squat down so that your knees are about 90 degrees. We call this “chairing” because you are literally trying to get in the proper form and that is similar to sitting in a chair. Step 3: Place your arms straight out in front of you and parallel to each other. Step 4: Swing your arms down and backwards behind you, then back upwards in front of you. This allows you to gain momentum when you throw your arms over your head to get over. Step 5: Now this step is crucial. Be sure that once you swing your arms and throw yourself over, your arms are locked out and straight when they make contact with the ground. You will be in an backbend or “bridge” on the ground, and if you fail to lock out your arms, you may risk falling on your head because they are bent. Step 6: Once you are done swinging your arms for momentum and making contact with the floor with straight and locked out arms, you finally need to snap your feet down to the ground. Essentially if you think about it in slow motion, you will be in a handstand in the middle of the back handspring. So once you are in that handstand position, your hands must push off of the ground or “spring” off. Then drive your feet downwards and snap them to the ground with feet together. Step 7: Finally, once you land with feet together, stand up with hands above you in the air and parallel to your ears. This is how a gymnast lands, and it frankly just looks clean and pretty! These are the basic steps to master a back handspring. I have shared these steps in case anyone was ever wondering how gymnasts, cheerleaders, and football players do all of those “flips” in their routines or even before a game. This is the foundation for even more difficult skills such as a back handspring back tuck, layout, full, etcetera. Although I have shared these steps with you, I do not intend for you to be reading these off of your computer and attempting Boo 3 this at home. But if you are attempting this, please make sure you have someone that is certified and experienced to spot you so you do not fall on your head. Be safe and enjoy!

How to Make a Dutch Baby--Taylor

   Fall! We all love fall! Especially the warm, cozy desserts that we get to indulge in while cuddling up in a fuzzy blanket and watching our favorite movies. Since the cold weather is creeping around the corner, wouldn't you like something sweet to keep you toasty? Well what's better than a warm Dutch Baby?! Its baked apple slices and flakey, buttery, pancake-like crust that's dusted with cinnamon and sugar is perfect for the season.

•    Equipment:
o    blender/ food processor
o    Oven
o    Oven mitts
o    Spatula
o    knife
o    9 or 10-inch oven-safe skillet

•    Ingredients:
o    1/2 cup all-purpose flour
o    1/2 cup whole or 2% milk
o    2 large eggs
o    2 tablespoons of sugar
o    1 teaspoon of vanilla
o    1/2 teaspoon of cinnamon
o    1/2 teaspoon salt
o    2 tablespoons of butter
o    1 green Granny Smith apple
o    Powdered sugar or maple syrup to serve on top

•    Instructions:
1.    Heat the oven to 425°F. Place the skillet that’s being used on the mid rack to warm with the oven. You want to use a hot skillet to help the pancake puff up. Also, this will make the edges of the Dutch Baby become crunchy and caramelized.
2.    Blend the batter: Mix the milk, eggs, sugar, flour, vanilla, salt and cinnamon in a blender or food processor. Blend for about 15 seconds, scrape the sides down, and then blend for 15 seconds again. The batter will be loose and liquidy at this point. This is done so that the batter is smooth and has no lumps.
3.    Let the batter sit for 20 to 25 minutes: Leave the batter in the blender while it rests. This gives the flour time to absorb the liquid. This gives the pancake a better texture and not an overwhelming flavor of flour.
4.    Melt the butter in the skillet: When the Dutch Baby is ready to be made, remove the skillet from the oven using oven mitts and place it on top of the stove. Lather the bottom and sides of the pan with butter in circular motions thoroughly while swirling the pan to let the butter melt. This is done so that the Dutch Baby doesn't stick to the skillet.
5.    Add apple slices to batter: Cut the apple into thin horizontal slices. Then cut those slices in half and mix into batter. Make sure they aren't too thin so it doesn't get mushy but also not too thick so the batter isn't too chunky.
6.    Pour the batter into the skillet: Pour the batter on top of the butter. If needed, tilt the pan to the side so that the batter runs evenly throughout the skillet. Then place it in the oven. Be sure to use a 9- or 10-inch skillet for making this pancake. The smaller size helps the Dutch Baby keep its shape and increase the puffiness.
7.    Bake for about 20 minutes: The Dutch baby is done when it is puffed, lightly browned on the top, and darker brown on the sides and edges.
8.    Serve while hot: Your Dutch baby is now ready to be served onto a platter. You can dust it with powdered sugar or drizzle maple syrup on top. Cut into wedges and dig in.
   Coming from a Dutch descent, this has been around in my family for years and it's something that I'll never get tired of. Each bite is just as delicious as the last.

The Streets He Takes--Jeremy

“If you’re ever stopped by an officer, both hands up on the steering wheel. Don’t reach for your license and don’t speak your mind. Do as the officer tells you.” The routine speech from Bryson Miller’s parents echoed in his ears as he took his usual drive to St. Cristiano High School in upper Manhattan. His family lived in the part of town that was ridden with drug trafficking, car robberies, and often cases of police injustice from the officers who were seemingly posted at every corner like a new liquor store. He didn’t mind driving thirty minutes to his new school. He liked his high school where he had many friends and his pop’s old ‘96 Ford Escort that got him from point A to point B just fine. A newspaper stand caught Bryson’s eye at the red light since the headline read “ Star Quarterback Slandered for Refusing to Stand fo r National Anthem.” In this world nowadays, Bryson found it exhausting to see that social equality was so hard to attain with the nation conflicted over police brutality and people of color protesting for their rights to be recognized. Once a celebrity provides their own opinion on the matter, they are heavily slandered for doing so. It was as if both sides could not come to terms after such a long struggle. As Bryson crossed the intersection of Grand & Forager, he noticed his passenger seat headlight had flicked off through a nearby store window. “Man, I better check that out so that other cars can make out my car coming.” Stopped in a nearby parking lot, Bryson popped the hood of his car to fix his headlight. Unbeknownst to him, a nearby shop owner had notified the police that a “suspicious man” was loitering near his property. In a matter of five minutes, red and blue lights accompanied by shrieking sirens could be heard rushing up on Grand. “Oh Lord, those cops are flying up the street.” Bryson thought. Two police cars with three officers in assembly hopped out and approached him with what appeared to be their hands on their holsters. They stepped to him and growled at him to vacate the parking lot. Bryson explained that he was simply fixing his headlight and was not intending to stay long. “Well,” said one of the officers, “you won’t have to worry too much about that light,” as he used his baton to smash Bryson’s headlight all over the ground. Bryson was itching to lash out against the officers who assaulted his car, but swallowed his words and muttered a poignant “Yes, officer. I'm on my way out.” The cops lingered around until Bryson left the lot and was out of sight, coldly watching him as he left. Bryson, however, memorized the names on their badges and license plates to their patrol cars. He thanked God that he got away with his life by keeping a cool head and would make sure to right the wrongdoing he just endured.

The Painted Sky--Nicole

A free spirit she was. Being told the elaborate adventures my mother had went on. I asked to
hear the same stories over and over as a coping mechanism. Those stories were the only thing
I had left of her. As a child my father would tuck me into bed and would tell me about how he
and my mother had seen what he called the painted sky. My eyes would soon begin to droop
until I had fallen into a deep sleep. A freezing cold gust of air blows the hair out of my face. All I
see is a pitch black scenery, until my eyes begin to make out what looks like trees, many trees
reaching towards the sky. That’s when I saw it, a flash of green. It was as if it was playing a
game of hide and seek, peeping out from the trees soon disappearing back into the darkness. I
begin to look for the dancing green light. It taunts me moving faster and hiding longer. I soon
prevailed when I had reached a clearing finding it in the clear night sky without any trees for it to
hide behind. That was when the light began to dance, spinning and twirling amongst the stars.
Many other lights joined the playful green light. I watched as streaks of green, blue, and yellow
painted the night sky. Until this day that night has stuck with me forever because that was the
night I saw my mother be the free spirit my father had always talked about.

In Darkness We Find Light--Kailah

The night was dark. An inky black suffocating darkness. Still the girl left the safety of her home and ventured out into the night. The night enveloped her in a familiar darkness.  She liked the cold embrace of the night…It felt warm to her, but tonight was different. The moon had taken its lofty place in the heavens and shone coldly upon her

                  “How strange” thought the girl as she walked through the forest. “The moon seems to hate and stars have forsaken me. I want only to escape into the dark. Is that such a crime? “

                  She stole a look at the moon. It glared at her coldly. She crept through the forest seeking darkness and dodging patches of moonlight that seemed to follow her.  The moon cast a silvery lukewarm light upon the forest floor.

                  “How strange. “she thought again.   “That the moon should possess such a light like the sun yet unlike it. It’s not brilliant yet it’s still beautiful. Does it wish to find refuge in the darkness? Or does it wish to fine me?”

                  She reached tentatively into a patch of moonlight. Her hand glowed silver. Frightened she drew back her hand quickly. She glanced up at the moon once more. It glowed brighter like a pearl in night sky. It didn’t seem so cold. The moon seemed to tell her “Go on try again. “She turned slowly away from the moon and stepped into the unfamiliar light.

The Murder on 85th Street--Cameron

“Jake come with me” I said to my twin brother. “Why? What do you want I’m trying to
watch football.” “Just listen to me. Last night I heard footsteps outside in the backyard similar to
your loud obnoxious footsteps but worse” “ok and what does that have to do with me? It was
probably just dad”. “No, it wasn’t him see look”. I took him outside and pointed out footprints
twice the size of any normal person’s foot. “Oh my gosh this is clearly the footprints of bigfoot.
We finally have evidence that he is real. We are going to be rich. “Jake stop being an idiot we all
know bigfoot isn’t real so these footprints have to belong to someone else. At ten o’clock tonight
we need to investigate. Meet me down here and we will sit all night until we find out where those
footprints came from”. The time came and we were both ready to become detectives. I brought
out two lawn chairs. “Are you ready to get to the bottom of this?” “I’ve been ready” said Jake.
Several hours past and nothing happened-or so we thought. “Isabella stop playing I know that
was you” said Jake. “What are you talking about? What was me?” “You just kicked my leg” “I
promise you I didn’t”. “Then what was it?” “I don’t know”. Later, I felt something rush past me.
There was no noise and nothing in sight. I thought it was a ghost but I kept telling myself it
wasn’t so I wouldn’t lose my cool so I just ignored it and went back to playing detective. About
ten minutes later I felt it again. “Jake did you feel that”? There was no response. “Jake did you
feel that?” I said again a little louder, but still no response. I got up and turned on the backyard
lights and to my surprise he was nowhere in sight. I ran inside screaming for my parents when
suddenly I was stopped in my tracks. There was blood all over the kitchen floor with a trail
leading to my parent’s bedroom. I ran to their room and there I saw both my parents and my
brother all dead in the bed. I called the police and within five minutes there was an ambulance
and about four cop cars outside my house. I went out to talk to them and the first thing the cop
said to me was “ma’am there has been an axe murderer on the loose in your neighborhood and
I think he is after you.” I was shook. He told me to come with him and he would take me to the
county jail so I could help with their investigation. Before I left I ran inside to grab my phone and
a jacket and-I can’t remember the rest but now my family and I laugh about this situation
everyday.

Planned Splinters--Audrey

He had been there for four years. He had grown so accustom to the smell of pine that he could no longer appreciate it's beauty. He left to write, to be inspired. He wanted to see more than what he saw under the roof of his own home, and in the walls of his room. The first few months were exactly what he hoped for. Every morning he woke up early to make sure he didn't miss the sunrise. He would walk past creeks, through bushes, and over hills to the edge of a tall cliff that overlooked the east. He watched the sun creep over everything that could never really be captured in a photo. Even though he came to write, he did a lot of drawing. He drew squirrels, trees, and occasionally the creatures he saw in his dreams. His favorite was the white mass with 9 arms and a heart the size of its head. He said it was the embodiment of love, I said he knew nothing of it. After a few months, he said, the mornings became what hurt the most. He imagined he could see our house in the distance. That he would be able to just walk down and see our children playing in the yard. That they would be ready to see him, and that he never even left. When he told me this, I reminded him that it's dangerous to think that way. His eyes swelled with tears and he looked away before any could fall. He hates when I see him cry. To be fair, this is why I fell in love with him. We met at a party that I was never supposed to attend. I had never seen anyone so comfortable with being the center of attention. We were in our late 20’s then. We spoke for hours, rather he spoke and I listened. I fell in love with how he saw things, I fell in love with all he knew. He had so much wisdom and I felt like a child in an interactive museum. I fell in love because he always wanted more to life, but I was wrong in assuming that I would be the “more” he was searching for. It took a year for me to realize that I couldn't raise our children with the hope that he was coming back. Even if he did, he could never really be there for any of us. I never thought I'd say this, but I became a single father. I wanted to be out there with him. To abandon everything and just go. I wanted to get splinters every morning and bug bites every night. I wanted to stand on the edge of that cliff with him and regret leaving. But that wasn't on his agenda. And none of this was on mine. I wish there was a happy ending to this story.

Stories From my Oma--Kelsey

My Dutch grandmother would often tell me stories of growing up in World War II. This is well known as the bloodiest and most gruesome war in all of human history, however, not all fighting was done on the battlefront. Many families from different races, religions, and countries were affected by the power grabs from multiple nations. This is something that my Oma, Juta Hilton, knows very well; her family was split up and forced into concentration camps created by the Japanese government. “Most history books will not mention the camps created by Japan,” she would often tell me, “But, many governments had prisons for one kind of person or other. It wasn’t just the Germans.” She would explain how multiple countries had used the war to attempt to expand their nations, and some even attempt to create new kingdoms. The Japanese took over surrounding islands to supply their growing military with natural resources. Mrs.Hilton’s family had resided on the Island Java; though now classified as Indonesian territory, the tropical island was a Dutch colony in the 1930’s. It’s lush crops and green ecosystem made it very desirable. Though her family had no connection to the Dutch government, she grew up surrounded by talk of war and separation. I would often sit on her bed as she told me stories that would make me tear up. “My mother had tried to shelter me from the surrounding war, but the Japanese officers soon arrived and began issuing questioning orders. We could not hide from them.” The Dutch military was already preoccupied in Europe, and could not provide enough military power to protect their citizens in their territories. The orders called for all males in the household to report for questioning by government officials. “My dad was a manager at a big plantation, so he was one of the first to be called, but, little did we know, we wouldn’t see him again for over three years.” She paused, “One of my older sisters had just been married before the war, which made it even more heartbreaking when her husband was called in. I remember her telling my mother just after he had left, that she was pregnant and couldn’t bear to tell him because he would feel guilty for not being there.” At that point, she mentioned that Mr. Bish, her father, had been detained for several months. My Oma’s eyes would grow in size as she relived the time she witnessed her mother grab her sister, and instruct her to run to her husband and tell him before he was gone. “Of course by the time she had arrived at the questioning station, the men were already lined up, awaiting entrance the Japanese facility, but my sister waved him down from across the road. Once she had his attention, she made gestures to her stomach until he finally understood that he was going to be a father. That was the first and last time my sister saw her husband cry. He did not survive the camp, though we are not certain if he starved or was poisoned.” As her family was being split up emotionally, Juta’s mother, Adel Bish, received no income to support her eight daughters. “We had no money for food, so my mother started a garden.” Mrs. Bish was very protective for her children, and did many things to ensure their safety. Juta Hilton’s role model was her mother during the harsh years. “I can remember my mom always making huge pots of soup at dinner, but always having so little to eat. I did not know it at the time, but questioning orders had began to arrive for my adult sisters. My mother would not let the Japanese take her children. Since I was so young, I was not told, but two of my sisters had hid for over two years in our back closet. I suppose that is where most of the soup always went.” Whenever I would refuse to finish the food on my plate, she would often bring this up, and tell me that I should be thankful for every piece of food on my place, even down to the last grain of rice. The war had changed her family, but mostly played a key role in her childhood. Though her father did return after the war, he was still sick. He would often have flashbacks and yell his thoughts about having to return home to Juta’s mom, even though he was already home. The Bishes could not return to how life was before the war; yet this was not unique to Juta Hilton, she had been surrounded by the climate for a large portion of her younger years. My Oma changed my life by telling me about her childhood; and, though I never experienced the hardships she lived through, her stories often instilled life lessons that I could not forget.

Untitled--Marlene

7:30p.m.

I’m sitting here at my desk in a dark room just staring at the bright computer screen. “What type of essay am I going to write about,” I say to myself. I have an essay due in a couple of hours and I’m really stressing out. I had a lot of time to write this essay but being the “responsible” person I am, I decided to do it last minute. Dang! I’m going to die. I don’t know what to do!

8:00p.m.

I finally decided what type of essay I want to write about. I’m going to do a flash fiction. I typed my name, date, and period on the computer. As I was getting ready to type my flash fiction essay, I stopped and realized something. I sighed and said, “Great, now I don’t know what to write about.” Again, I am feeling really stressed out. I’m not really good at writing essays or coming up with creative writing. I got up and walked to the kitchen to get some food, since my stomach wouldn’t stop growling like a dog with rabies. After that, I sat back down at my desk and I then decided to take a little break from all of this writing stuff. I turned on the TV hoping to get at least some kind of inspiration to help me write my fictional story.

9:15p.m.

            After the “little” break, I felt a bit relaxed, but also a bit disappointed because I didn’t get any inspiration from watching TV. All of a sudden, my eyes started to feel heavy. “NO! I cant be tired, I have to finish this flash fiction essay,” I said as I try to shake off the sleep. “I’m so tired though, all I want to do I right now is sleep. Maybe if I close my eyes for like 5 minutes I’d feel better...”

                                                                        ….

When I woke up, I was a bit confused. I was in the middle of a white space. I looked around everywhere and saw nothing but white. “Hello?” my voiced echoed really loud. “Where am I?” I started to walk around trying to find something in the blank room. As I walked around the room I started thinking about my flash fiction essay. “What am I going to do?” I said hopelessly. I gave up and sat down on the blank floor and started to cry. “Why are you crying my dear?” I looked up shocked and saw an aged woman with a funky hat smiling down at me. I quickly stood up and tried to keep my distance from her. “Who are you?” I asked. “I am Lidia and I am here to help you, why were you crying?” I told her about my situation with my flash fiction essay and she told me she could help me. She took out a wand and took us to a castle. “This is your castle. Now create your own story about owning a castle…”

11p.m.

            I suddenly woke up and started typing my essay.

The Enchanted Dimension--Ramiz

            Jack Newman was your typical high school student who dreaded waking up every morning, and sitting through the dull classes he took in order to graduate high school. There was one class that he just couldn’t seem to cooperate with—Calculus. Each day, Jack slept through Mr. Sandoval blabbing about “derivatives,” “parametric equations,” and so forth. But after a plethora of calls and parent teacher conferences, Jack was informed that if he fell asleep one more time in class, he would not only fail the class, but also not reach the total credits required in order to graduate. Naturally, fearing he would have to spend another year in his school, Jack decides to break his sleeping habit in class.

            On one unusual day, Jack realizes he is asleep and immediately opens his eyes. “Where is everyone?” Jack examines the room and finds that it is completely deserted. “Is this a prank? Well, I bet everyone is outside.” Jack reaches for the door knob, but he can’t. “Where’s the door knob? Something isn’t right.”

            Then, all of a sudden, an ominous noise comes from behind him. Jack slowly turns around, fearing that a creepy figure lay staring at him. Fortunately, it was just the wind creeping in through a slit in the window. “That’s it! The window! I’ll just leave through the window!” Instantly, Jack runs to the window, props it open, and jumps out through the one-story building.

            As soon as he jumps out, he searches for any signs of students, teachers, and staff; but oddly enough, his school is vacant. After about ten minutes, he gives up and reluctantly sits in the field next to the forested woods. Unexpectedly, a tall, muscular man carrying an unusually large bag, appears at the front of the forested woods next to the field. Ecstatic, Jack leaps forward, and chases the man yelling, “Come back here!” as the startled man ironically runs away from the scrawny teen.

            Jack makes his way through the woods, dodging tree branches and stumps. As he hunts the man down, all Jack can think of is, “What’s happening? Who is this guy? Why is he running away from me? What’s in the bag?”

            Finally, Jack confronts the man at the edge of a cliff and mutters with his irregular breathing, “You have… nowhere to run now… so please… just answer my questions.” However, the unusual man lays his bag down, and free falls off the cliff. “Wait, NO! Come Back!” Jack dives towards the man but is too late as he trips over the bag. Not knowing what to do, Jack unzips the bulky bag, and finds an alarm clock? “RING-RING!” The alarm clock goes berserk and seems to get louder and louder until Jack falls to the ground and everything goes black.

            Once he opens his eyes, he finds himself in his classroom, sitting in his seat as the school bell rings. In front of him is his teacher cross armed, furiously staring right at him.

August Featured Writers!!!!!

Our first batch of writers has been published on the blog.  We open the 2016-2017 school year with fourteen senior writers enrolled in AP English Literature and Composition.  Enjoy reading the pieces this week.

Your task--Read all submissions and choose five that you wish to leave comments.  Remember this is like an online discussion board.  Tell the author what you enjoyed, admired, liked or can't get enough of in your comments.  Be kind, courteous and  helpful.  Your comments for the five submissions are due by Friday, September 9.

August Writers,
Since you submitted a piece this month, you do not need to leave comments for your peers this month.  Only if you wish :)  Your task is to reply to at least three comments on your blog piece.  Keep checking the blog and watch your comment page.  Your replies/comments are due by Monday, September 12.

Enjoy reading, commenting and replying this week.  Our August Featured Writers have set the bar.

Now, go read!  Or should I say, go eat????

Feed your soul,

Mrs. Solano

The Forest--Allicia

The moment she stepped into the forest the bright, blue sky gave way to trees and darkness that seemed to press inwards, confining her. She looked back where she came from, and seeing only endless trees, she turned back to face her destination: her brother. She didn’t know where he was, only that he’d run into the forest after telling her not to follow because “little sisters aren’t allowed”. She was going to find him and show him that she didn’t need to be left at home. She could handle whatever he was doing. So she walked. And walked. And walked. Until she realized that she was too far in to ever find her way out, and there was no sign of her brother. She turned around and saw a looming, dark figure standing there looking down at her. It bore no resemblance to any kind of creature--human or animal--than she had ever seen or heard of. It appeared to her to be more black smoke than substance. Her childish imagination having not yet abandoned her, she did not assume it meant her any harm. Perhaps it would even turn out to be a friend. “Hello!” she said tentatively. “Who are you?” It tilted the dark mass that she assumed was its head and grinned, displaying sharp, shining white teeth. “You are lost,” it said simply. Its voice was as grating as nails on a chalkboard though it spoke in what was closer to a rush of air than a true voice. “Yes,” she replied, not feeling any sense of unease. “I’m looking for my brother. Have you seen him?” “Yes, but I am terribly lonely,” the creature said. “Come play with me and I will show him to you. Let us go this way.” It glided past her and she did as she was told for once in her life, and began to follow. As it led her deeper into the forest she began to realize that it was odd that there were no birds or other animals. It was almost as silent as death, the only sound being her own footsteps and the subtle rushing of air from the creatures gliding in front of her. Suddenly it stopped, her right behind. They were in the middle of a small, gloomy, clearing. “Is he here?” she asked, craning her neck to see every possible inch of the area surrounding her as if her brother might pop out from around a tree. Maybe he would be there to play with them. “Oh yes, child,” the figure replied. “He is here in spirit. As are so many children before him.” It flashed its sinister smile at her again. She frowned, her brow furrowing in confusion. “I don’t get it.” Where there was only shadow, there was suddenly bright, blinding circles that she assumed were the creature’s eyes. Around them, the clearing grew brighter, glowing shapes swirling all around them. She spun around, her eyes widening in shock, awe, and suddenly fear. She immediately recognized the shapes as humans, though they seemed to be floating in midair. They had their eyes closed. She turned slowly, looking at all of them, eventually facing the creature again, its face locked in a perpetual grimace. A familiar voice whispered in her ear, “Run. Don’t trust it.” Her brother. Now she was truly, utterly terrified. Directly behind the creature, she could see his form, as ghostly as the rest, though he was standing upright in one place, eyes open, his brow furrowed as if it took all his concentration to remain stationary. Suddenly the shadowy figure’s eyes snapped shut and its smile vanished instantly. “You have chosen to play with me, as did your brother. Would you like to join him?” She shook her head, feeling tears well up in her eyes. “I wanna go home,” she whimpered. “This is your home now,” it whispered, drawing close to her. “You can’t leave me now, not after you promised you’d play with me.” The grin had returned, and now it was so close to her that she could see a very real mouth behind the teeth, unlike the misty surface of the rest of the creature. She screamed, tears streaming down her face. Then suddenly everything was dark and hazy and cold. Very, very cold. And she could hear her brother’s voice saying “I told you not to follow me.”

A Father’s Love--Keala

You’re tucking your beautiful daughter into bed. Your wife finished her bedtime story, kissed her cheek, and left the room with a smile. Now it's your turn and as you walk in you hear a “daddy!” from the sweetest voice you've ever heard in your life. You look up and there she isfull of life and half her smile hiding behind her long, wavy brown hair. She jumps out of bed and wraps her little arms around your neck and you smile. You put your finger to your lips and she does the same as she follows you out to the balcony across the hall. You look up and tell her everything you know about the stars and the universe and she stares up with amazement from her curious bluegreen eyes. She asks on about why she's able to see the shooting stars and wonder to what's beyond our galaxy. You answer everything about a mileaminute because you are just as excited as she is. There is no doubt that she is yours. You never thought you could love anyone this much. She is a living piece of you and the woman you loved so much to take as your wife. This is a completely different love, one so new and pure. Your heart jumps when she cracks a smile at you and becomes solid as a rock if you're told someone is not treating her like the princess she is. And then she asks you where the Millennium Falcon is up there and you both start laughing so hard but then stop as you hear footsteps leading your way. You look your daughter in the eyes and tell her you'll take care of this one, wink, kiss her cheek and tell her to run straight to bed. Your wife looks at you and begins to remind you that she has school the next day until you pull her in from her waist and shush her with a kiss. You continue to kiss her until she forgets everything else on her mind. This is what it is like to be in love. Everyone tells you that nothing is perfect but this here, your family, is something you wouldn't trade for the world. And when you gently pull away, she bites her lip, attempting to hide the smile pounding in her blushed cheeks. Without hesitation, you swoop her off her feet and move along into your room and she laughs and the smile doesn't leave your face. They say it comes like a thief in the night but it is more the devil that could not be beat with all powers of heaven. Your eyes fall towards your little angel as she lays to rest for the last time. Reality settles in and the pain grips your heart and leaves it shattered. The girl you welcomed into your loving home eleven years ago, the same girl who held your hand and laughed with you under the stars has been robbed of the one thing you cannot give backher life. It's only matter of hours until a part of you is buried forever.

To Be Continued--J'Noie

I’ve had a lot of pivotal moments in my life: when I lost my first tooth, found out that Santa wasn’t real, and when I finally wasn't afraid of the dark anymore. These moments as small as they may be still have helped shape who I am today. One of my most memorable moments and most life shaping moments is when I found my happiness and decided I wanted to be a musician.

At the beginning of June I made the decision that I was stressing myself out. I cared about the little things and carried everyone's weight on my shoulders. Consequently I decided to take a break from the world. I turned my phone off and decided to start enjoying life. I drove a lot whether it was just to the grocery market or if it was to music I spent a lot of time alone which is what I needed. I learned more about myself and about the people I choose to surround myself with. Specifically speaking the people I call my “bestfriends” really aren't I mean one’s a dancer she's never anywhere to be found and then when I called her it was like I was bothering her. With my parents I learned that they're on the borderline of getting a divorce and they'd be a lot happier apart and with myself I learned that I need to stay focused.

My biggest problem throughout high school and throughout life is that I've always been easily distracted. Now not all distractions are bad distractions but they should be temporary. I let the little shadow in the corner become my main focus in life.  Then i realized that my distraction was my talent. I had always put all of my energy into pointless AP classes and spent all my late nights doing homework and was struggling to focus on what was important to me. My distraction was music.  Music wasn’t just a distraction though, it was my life.  I always chose to ignore it and  that’s where I went wrong. I denied myself the right to be who I actually was.  My biggest mistake was denying me myself.  All the time I spent being unhappy and bitter and resenting people that had hurt me. I hadn’t forgiven others because I hadn’t had time to forgive myself.  These epiphanies had helped me decide that I wanted to be a musician.

My happiness was hard to find due to my recent. I have a very hard time letting things go.  Due to the neglect in my life I've never really felt it necessary to seek an apology from anyone.  I don’t want people’s sympathy at all. I mean when your “bestfriend” gets you dropped from an honors chemistry class what do you say to them ? “Say sorry” no you keep moving.   This isn’t a bitter plea for attention or a want for an apology but the point in saying this is who cares? At the end of the day people don’t care and you shouldn’t either. This doesn’t mean go and be reckless but effort goes both ways why force something or beg someone when you can be happy alone.  I always put myself in positions to be hurt by people who only looked out for themselves.  After all the time I’ve invested in people I decided to invest in myself.  Emotionally I stopped seeking support and gave it to myself “dried my down tears” so to speak and kept moving.  My personal evolution came when I decided I knew what my worth and what I deserved.  After drawing the lines with people who treated me less than I started to see the sunshine and myself in a different light. It’s so important to surround yourself with people that value you and more importantly to value yourself.  It seems like an unspoken virtue to have but most people tend to forget how much value they actually do have.  Imposing yourself worth upon people will help you distinguish the good from the bad and everything else will fall into place.

In short my growth and development came from recognizing who I was and what I deserved.  In the long run it’s worth it to remove people from your life that hold no value. You don’t deserve less than and it’s okay to demand chivalry.  It’s okay to cry as long as you get yourself back together and get up. Lastly, it’s okay to love and not in a romantic sense but just love what you’re around and what you do.  Be happy. Be you.

  

Society--Nathan

We have grown too accustomed to blaming our faults and shortcomings on a common
scapegoat: society. When we blame society for something, however, we have a tendency to not
specify what people that society includes and what geographical area it is talking about.
One problem with assigning blame to society for something is th at we are society. We are so
quick to blame society for so many things and yet we are a part of it and we do not actively try to
correct them. It is easy to say that certain problems continue to exist and that nothing can be
done about them simply because society wills it so. Why is it then that we sit by passively and
watch the issues keep happening rather than step in to do something? For example, someone
could say that prejudice exists because society encourages it. They likely aren't making an effort
to stop it. If everyone just chooses to blame society for a problem rather than a specific cause, no
solution will be developed and the issue will be allowed to fester and only grow worse.
The word society, when used without specifying what people or what location is a part of it,
could include anyone and could refer to any location, though the usage of the word now tends to
refer to the United States as a whole. Blaming a society implies that everyone in that society is a
part of that problem. If the society in question includes everyone in the nation or a specific area
without excluding anyone, then every person there, even someone complaining about society, is
a part of it.
When the accusation is made that society is at fault for a problem, what geographical area
does the word society encompass? Is it a small community, a city, a county, or a whole state? Or
is it the entire country? Everyone is different. Each person has different beliefs, lifestyles,
customs, ideologies, tastes, preferences, to name a few things among a plethora of other
characteristics that makes each person unique. Differences exist between people of different
cities, so how can people of completely different parts of the country still be compared?
Someone from California will be very noticeably different than someone from the East Coast. In
such a large, diverse country like ours, how can one big blanket statement be applied to every
individual? With so many differences, it is quite difficult to assign blame to society on a large
scale when most of that society is likely not even remotely involved with the problem.
Who is included in society? Everyone will have varying levels of involvement in society, if
they are at all involved, and some may choose not to participate in some aspects of it. For
instance, someone that does not use social media will have a different contribution to society
than someone who posts regularly on social media. Some will try to have frequent interactions
with society while others will avoid them at all costs.
It is often unclear who is addressed when the word society is used. When it is used without
specifying what people or what area it includes, it is making a one size fits all assumption about
everybody there with no exception. Doing so could even encourage problems to continue and
prevent them from being solved.

The Mystery that She Was--Esther

When one thinks of the moon, the embodiment of mystery is among the many traits that come to mind. Sure there’s beauty, with a hint of darkness but I just could never seem to get past the mystery. When I looked at her, it felt like I was looking at the moon. There was a quiet sense of serene beauty, but a screaming sense of a little darkness. It was the air of mystery that had always captivated me the most. It was almost as if she was the moon herself. Her eyes brought you in one second, just to suddenly blink and cast you away the next. The old saying goes that the sun died every night just to let the moon breathe. Despite seeing her everyday, I was nothing more than a stranger. I was a shadow in her world doing all that I could to ensure her happiness. The mystery that she was to me, was that she would never remember me. Each night she closed her eyes knowing me, only to wake up the next day forgetting.

Schlongberg Heisting--Shayne

            There once lived a man who lived at the corner Milehigh Ave and Rolland Road. Born on June 10, 1978, Ryan Johnson is a single middle aged resident of the Softborough neighborhood. The people who live around him believed he was an accountant working for the Schlongberg banking and finances. This would be but a cover job. In reality, he is a part of a team of bank robbers on FBI and International watch lists that has robbed 6 banks in the last 6 years and is planning their next heist. His cover job at the bank has allowed him to gain inside information on the inner working of the bank and how its vault works. After a year of planning, he and his team were ready to strike on Schlongberg banking and finances.

            The heist begins on a calm morning in the barely awake city of New Mombasa on June 10, 2016. Suddenly it seemed the entire city was awake in a matter of moments. Home phones rang, radio towers went off, satellite dishes went hay wire, and cell phones started ringing and calling. And all devices began sending distress calls to the understaffed Police Station of New Mombasa city. Automated voices hijacking phones and signals called 911 with fake problems, fake emergencies, and fake disasters, sending the police force into chaos.  The understaffed Police Station would very soon receive a distress alarm from Schlongberg banking that would go unnoticed for far too long a time.

            Ryan and his team consisted of 5 people: himself the planner and leader, Alex Brawnson the muscle and equipment specialist, Jim Nasium the computer and hacker genius, Adam Clear the deadly accurate weapons specialists, and Sean Boom the explosives expert. Each member had covers as different workers in the bank and each member knew the bank like the back of their hand. Together, they hit the bank minutes after the Police Station was sent into chaos at 10 A.M. Not wanting to deal with hostages, the team used grenade launchers to send in gas grenades to knock out any civilians inside and used tranquilizer darts to knock out anyone still awake. A small pack of C-4 from Sean got them past the first armed door and into the vault room. 2 more tranquilizer darts and two more surprised then asleep guards in the room. The vault was protected by a prized Worthmister vault door that had eye scanners, a password, lock combination and a steel coated lock that prevented drilling. Too bad for Schlongberg, Jim Nasium’s job as an engineer had revealed cost cutting plans in the architecture of the bank that had left the wall just to the left of the door unprotected. Another pack of C-4 and they were inside the vault packing 50 million dollars an energetic but corrupt business owner had deposited there into black bags. By 10:30 they were lock and loaded and heading to the 20^th floor of the office section of the building. At this time, the cops had finally been alerted to the ongoing heist and sent in swat units. Alex Brawnson began setting his up his hook launcher as swat teams arrived at the base of the bank. The swat teams arrived at the 3^rd office of the 20^th floor to see an open window with a hook and line shot and attached to the nearby office building across the street. Across the street on the roof of the office building, Ryan had his team assemble their gear as a low buzz was heard. The low buzz was their escape helicopter coming in to pick them up. Gear and money strapped on, they clipped themselves in to ropes dropped from their escape helicopter and took off. Swat teams were too late and didn’t have the equipment to do anything about the escaping helicopter. The escaping helicopter took the team to an unmarked plane which flew them to an unmarked safe house where unmarked cars took each member to separate locations where they went their separate ways to spend their share and wait for the next heist.

Are we Home Yet?--Jessica

            As per usual, the war began after dinner was finished, ten minutes subsequent to the muttered and hurried dismissal of the boys to their rooms; him sitting on the couch while she paced in routine perturbation of what the future holds. However, tonight was different; the words, though much louder, were slurred practically to the point of unintelligibility. There, like most times, was yelling, but this time, unlike most times, footsteps came in irate sporadic steps towards the boys closed door. In fear the boys leapt out their window into the dim yard and started running; they ran until the fear passed and only then did they realize they were completely lost. They made their way through the dense fog using the limited moonlight to search for some sign of familiarity. After hours of what seemed like aimless wandering they thought saw the familiar glow of the lamp post that marked that they were at the end of their street. “Are we home yet, Theo?” the younger one inquired. As their house, now appearing dearth of any life or happiness, came into view the older one responded, “I’m not sure if we are, Billy. I honestly don’t know what home is anymore.” According to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary home is “one’s place of residence”; however, I think that home is much more than that. I believe that home is not a physical place but, instead, is an emotional state of solace that is composed of the people in one’s life as well as the experiences that one goes through.

            Home is comprised of a myriad of scents that we’ve encountered in our lives. Sometimes it can be the fresh scent of our beds after a prolonged period of absence; the smell so familiar that it feels as tender as a mother’s kiss goodnight. Other times it can be the sweet aroma of a lover, a fragrance so comforting that it resides in our metaphysical bedroom, the place where we feel most secure; the scent of them acts as a sort of aromatherapy bathing us in their temperate love as if we were relaxing in the bathtub.  Maybe it is the tantalizing aroma of a pepperoni pizza from Domino’s that takes us back to the late nights and quiet conversations held in the kitchen. The nights where our bodies were so close to another’s that we could smell the garlic powder from the pizza crust in their hot breath, where the stench didn’t matter since what was felt was much more important than what was smelled. All these smells along with many others can be experienced throughout our homes, though the locations may vary for each person.

            Additionally, this figurative home is built with our memories of people and places that we’ve encountered. If we were to walk barefoot through our homes, with every step we would feel the names of our friends and family in the grains of the hard-wood floors providing us with the stability we need to stand on our two feet. The warmth of our blankets on a cold winter night would remind us of the warm embrace of our loved ones. The foundation, support beams, and roofing of our homes would be composed of the encouragement provided by our friends; so, of course, our homes would be strong enough to survive even the most formidable natural and unnatural disasters. The walls of our homes would be decorated with paintings that made us feel secure along with stills of some of our best memories to bring jubilation to us as we walk down the corridors; the walls themselves are painted with all the kind smiles of strangers and friends that we could always lean on whenever we felt exhausted. Throughout all of the rooms of our homes lie the innumerable memories that we have compiled during the period of time in which we have existed.

            While we may, in fact, live in one particular house for the majority of our lives, it by no means has to be denoted as our home. Home is wherever and whatever you want or need it to be. It doesn’t even have to be a place; it could very well be a specific person or group of people. Moreover, it is perfectly acceptable to feel at home when eating a certain food or hearing a particular sound. All these sensations, emotions, and individuals compose our homes, differentiating each of our homes from one another for we all have varying experiences; some homes may be amusingly eclectic while others can be meticulously uniform. All in all, whatever and wherever our home is does not depend on the mundane, tangible crafting of some architect but, rather, depends on the masterpiece that our minds produce through the course of our lives.

How to make steamed eggs like a pro--Lisa

Grab a random person and ask them to list ways to cook eggs. The most common answers would be, “scrambled, boiled, fried,” and maybe “poached” and “pickled” here or there. But how many people do you know who eat their eggs steamed? This may have something to do with culture, because Asians such as Koreans and Japanese may commonly enjoy steamed eggs but Americans and Europeans are not as exposed to them. As an Asian who grew up in an Asian family in an Asian country living the Asian ways, I was very much exposed to steamed eggs, and now I realize, that this wonderful food must be shared among my closest friends and acquaintances. I realized not a lot of people know about steamed eggs, and knew I had to spread the pleasure around to everyone. So, if you ever get tired of eating eggs that are cooked the same old way each time, this is the perfect manual! Fried, poached, boiled, scrambled eggs may be good at first, but one’s bound to seek for new ways to enjoy eggs. Process of steaming eggs is much easier than one would think it would be, and the great thing about it is that it increases the quantity of an egg so it would fill up a stomach better than one fried egg. It’s soft and easy for everyone at all ages to eat. Those with weak teeth can enjoy eggs without pain or discomfort.

Ingredients

·       Microwavable bowl (glass or ceramic)

·       Minimum 2 eggs ( for one to two people, use 2 eggs. More than two, use as many number of eggs as there are number of people)

·       Water

·       Salt

·       Plastic wrap or lid

·       Rice (optional)

Steps

·       Prepare a microwavable bowl and crack two eggs into it. Be sure the bowl is big enough to contain about 4 eggs worth of content. Dispose of eggshells.

·       Beat eggs clockwise or counterclockwise (one way only!) with whisk or spoon until the white and yolk are well mixed together. If you change direction of whisking in the midst of beating the eggs, the egg will not have its soft texture in the end.

·       Add two pinches of salt to season the eggs, unless you prefer it bland.

·       Beat again until the salt has been dissolved into the egg mixture.

·       Add water to the egg mix at a ratio of 1:1. Stir together until mixture ends a watery yellow.

·       Put lid or plastic wrap over the bowl and put in microwave for 2 minutes.  Lid will prevent any spills from boiling out of the bowl in the extreme heat of the microwave.

·       Note: Beware the heat! Use kitchen gloves to prevent burning of hands.

·       Serve hot, best with hot white rice

·       Content should look fluffy and soft like yellow pudding. Dip a spoon inside to confirm that the insides have been thoroughly cooked. There will be excess water but you don’t have to drain it. People prefer for it to have plenty of excess juice to prevent eggs from becoming dry. If the egg is too watery and egg plops down to the mixture, put back into microwave and heat for 30 seconds. Continue heating at 30 seconds until eggs are cooked to desire.

I once told my mom when I was 4 years old, after several years of loving eggs that I wanted to eat them in a different way. I thought this would be a huge challenge for my mother because I thought eggs were only supposed to be eaten fried, scrambled, boiled, or poached. However, the next day, my mom served me something that looked like yellow pudding for breakfast. I had no idea that it would be eggs; so naturally, I was very surprised to taste it and realize that not only was it not sweet like a pudding, it tasted like eggs, but a thousand times better! My mother had steamed the eggs, and I knew this was my favorite style of eating eggs as soon as I felt the texture and swallowed it. My mother explained that she often fed me steamed eggs instead of baby food when I was a toddler because it was easy to make and to swallow with no teeth, and also because it was healthier than store bought processed baby foods. Because I had much interest in cooking as a child, I immediately learned how to make it, and was very surprised to find that it was simple and quick to make!