Taking a Chance--Justin

 

“Nothing in life is promised except death” - Kanye West

Death–The impromptu end of a story. Most people view death as something they try their absolute hardest to avoid or even think about, but to me, it serves as a stark reminder that our time here is limited and that we must make use of it. In a grim way, it is almost a poetic motivator; The final end is what gets me to start the things that I would have pushed aside for the next day, because the next day is never guaranteed.

As senior year is nearing its end, I am swept back by an inevitable wave of nostalgia and reflection. I mean, who wouldn’t be? The culmination of years of hard work, experience, and friendships is coming to its bittersweet end. Amidst the celebrations, I often find myself at the mercy of a subtle yet powerful feeling: regret. Regret often stems from chances not taken, whether that be a class I probably should’ve chosen, a club I should’ve joined, or a conversation I should’ve started. These seemingly unimportant decisions can accumulate into a huge tapestry of what-ifs that haunt not just me, but many other students as we prepare to step into the next chapter of their lives. Despite how painful regret is, it is important to recognize that it can also be a powerful motivator; a catalyst for change that urges people to take risks and seize opportunities.

Mark Twain once said, “Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover." Funnily enough, I found this quote within Minecraft’s end-credit poem, but that’s beside the point. I try to live life by this quote; I don’t want to end up regretting the choices I didn’t make, but at the same time it is so hard to make the choice. Merriam-Webster defines taking a chance as “to do something that could have either good or bad results”. For all the chances that are taken throughout life, there are bound to be a handful of failures. Growing up as a first-generation Asian-American with immigrant parents, I got it beaten into my brain that failure was unacceptable, and anything less than perfect was considered failure. This kind of learned action is what cemented the fear of failure into my childhood self, and it has persisted until, well, it keeps persisting. My fear of failure will never go away and as a result, it keeps me from taking every chance I see. The only thing that gets me to do things is my fear of regret, which I view as so much more impactful than any fear of failure. I would much rather live with the shame of failing for a month or so as it will eventually disappear, but regret– it’s hard to lose.

I think this is why I’m so keen on these kinds of risks. Sure you might fail, but just think of what could happen if you beat the odds and win. All the happiness that could come your way and all the new memories you will look back on all because you decided to step out of your comfort zone and take that chance. I guess what I’m really trying to get across is to always take a chance; try that restaurant that you think might be good, audition for the role you want so badly, ask out that one special person. You won’t be able to go anywhere in life without taking a

chance, so when you find yourself debating whether or not you should take it–think, why the hell not?

Work Cited:

https://genius.com/Kanye-west-47th-annual-grammy-speech-annotated https://www.minecraftforum.net/forums/minecraft-java-edition/discussion/170810-mark-twains-q uote-in-minecraft-credits-is-made-by https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/take%20a%20chance

Dad?--Param

“Dad? DAD! Dad, are you okay? Dad, what happened? Dad, I’m here, it's okay!”

What just happened? How could this have happened? Did he just fall or pass out? Did he hit his head? Did he eat something wrong? How much pain could he be in? Did someone poison him? So many questions were going through my mind all at once and I felt like I couldn’t breathe or think or talk or anything. He was fine just a few hours ago. What could have gone wrong?

“SOHRAB GET THE PHONE NOW!”

...

People have always told me that my dad and I look pretty similar and that I’m the female version of him. We both have very busy schedules and are always working. We never took many breaks to make sure that we always finished everything in a timely manner.

On Wednesday, December 28th, 2022, my family and I left to get our blood drawn at 6:00am. You may think it's strange that we went to get our blood drawn very early in the morning but we all had to fast and none of us can eat very early in the morning so this was perfect for us. We’ve gone this early multiple times in the past so this was pretty normal for us.

When we arrived at the lab, my mom and brother were able to get their blood drawn but the phlebotomist struggled with my dad and I. We were told to drink as much water as we could and move around in order to get our blood flowing as much as we could. We followed the orders but still couldn’t get our blood drawn and decided to just come back in a few hours or so since we had other work to finish. Once we got home, I decided to catch up on sleep and my dad decided to run some errands before we both went back to the lab. I remember just sleeping in my bed and hearing someone calling my brother. It was a very faint call and I thought I was just dreaming until I realized it wasn’t a dream but someone right outside of my door. I sat up in my bed to try and figure out what was happening because I’d never heard someone call my brother in a tone full of pain and agony. That’s when I saw him.

I saw my father lying down right outside of my bedroom weakly calling for my brother’s name. I jump out of bed and immediately trip on my quilt. I twisted my ankle a bit and hurt my wrist but didn’t care. I run over to my dad to see eyes once full of light staring at me coldly while he calls for my brother’s name. I’m still trying to figure out what’s happening and call my mom upstairs who panicked when seeing the condition my dad was in. I ran around the house to find the blood pressure machine to check his blood pressure and immediately called 911 right after checking. I was barely able to hold my phone while talking to the operator but explained the entire situation to her and she immediately sent the paramedics. The wait for the paramedics to arrive was agonizing. When were they coming? How bad could traffic be? HURRY UP! 

What must have been 10 minutes felt like 10 years when the paramedics arrived along with the police. My dad could barely get up and talk. I answered all the questions asked, feeling numb, confused, anxious, impatient, and horrified. Watching him trying to talk and stay strong for us broke my heart. Despite being panicked, I still tried my best to look strong for my mom and brother.

As my dad was being taken away to the hospital, our neighbors came running, asking how they could help us. Somehow, I still didn’t cry after my dad was being wheeled away but I could barely talk. I called my cousins and they immediately rushed over to help out. My mom and brother went to my cousin’s home and I went with my uncle while gathering my dad’s belongings to go see him. The ride to the hospital was silent. The fear of losing my dad at that very moment was overwhelming and I didn’t know what to expect. I could only think about if I had prepared enough for this moment and if I knew all the important information my dad wanted me to know. When we made it to the hospital, we were told that he was in stable condition but that we couldn’t visit. I didn’t have any energy left to plead with the doctors to go see him so we left but as we left, my dad called and told us with all his strength that he was okay. We waited and waited and finally, after a day, we were notified that my dad could come home.

We were all so excited and so thankful that he made it home and he seemed to be in better condition. However, this excitement didn’t last too long. On the day that people all over the world were celebrating the new year, drinking, throwing parties, and spending time with their families, I barely saved my dad from severely hitting his head from passing out again. Yet again, I was on the phone with a 911 operator and yet again, I felt numb.

Eventually, he came home again and we learned that stress had been one of the leading causes of what happened to my dad. Stress. Something that society warns you about. Something that everyone must take on in their lives. Something that some (including me) didn’t see how much it could affect someone until it could be too late.

For the next two months, I took care of my dad, sat with him, and was always by his side. I stayed up for hours at night but still slept a few hours before school started to make sure that my dad was well. I slept during the day after school when I knew someone was with my dad. I always did my homework and one of my best memories with my dad was just me sitting with him and just having a conversation with him. Thankfully, his health slowly became better, and he became way stronger than he was before and is back on his feet.

This incident was when I truly understood what it meant if I didn’t control the amount of work and stress I took on. I lost sight of what was actually harming me when I thought it was helping me and seeing the consequences of these actions taught me how important it is to take care of yourself. Before this, I was scared to take breaks since I didn’t feel “productive” but now I see how productive breaks can be. I now do my best to make sure that my family and friends take the breaks they need and assist them with anything they may be stressed with. In the end, we have to be proud of ourselves for the amount of work we have gotten done and we must understand our limits. At the end of the day, our health always comes before our work and school and we always must make sure to keep an eye out for it. Only we can truly change our habits for the better and it’s time we start to learn that now and avoid any more pain in the future. 

Forgiveness--Sandra

 

“I’m sorry,” were the words my classmate and I had to say to each other in the fourth grade, as my teacher forced us to make up with each other after arguing. Followed by “It’s okay,” because we are taught to always “forgive and forget.” The word “sorry” is thought to be strong enough to right any wrongs. However, in my household, I was told “sorry means nothing.” As a child, hearing this felt absolute. I grew up giving very few second chances. Whether it be another person being rude to me, or others accidentally hurting my feelings, I refused to “forgive and forget.”

For as long as I can remember, I correlated forgiveness as a sign of weakness. Forgiving someone meant allowing them to hurt me again. At least, that was my thought process. This mindset cost me many relationships throughout the years. Because of this, I always thought it was natural for friendships to always come and go. I always believed that no relationship would last. This was until I began making friendships that I did not want to end. And I realized that if I wanted to keep them, I needed to forgive them if things went wrong. I realized that I wanted a friendship that can last when I make mistakes, and friendships that are forgiving and understand that I’m still growing. I decided that I do not want the idea of “forgiveness is a sign of weakness” to follow me throughout the rest of my life.

According to the Cambridge Dictionary website, the word “forgive” is defined as “to stop blaming or being mad at someone for something that person has done, or not punish them for something.” Forgiveness is not a weakness because it’s a strength that can be difficult to achieve at first. Despite the arguments I had with my closest friends, we always forgave. But we never forget since we used each other as a way to learn and grow. Because of this, I have grown to treasure the relationships I have today.

If I continued with the mindset I grew up with, I would have never forgiven anyone, which would have resulted in long-time grudges for the rest of my life. A grudge is a big, heavy rock on our shoulders and a bitter taste left over in our mouths. Grudges are the result of the lack of forgiveness we have. There can be many ways to cause you to hold a grudge. One of them is being betrayed by someone you treasure. And these feelings can easily consume you. According to the Mayo Clinic, “If you allow negative feelings to crowd out positive feelings, you might find yourself swallowed up by bitterness or a sense of injustice.” The feeling of injustice tends to take over and soon you forget why you were so hurt in the first place. A grudge is a powerful emotion that can easily swallow you. However, forgiveness can prevent these complex emotions from getting this extreme.

Forgiveness can be difficult, especially if the other person doesn’t realize how much they caused you pain. Forgiving can take time, but once you get there, you can finally feel at peace without

any unnecessary negative emotions to hinder you. Forgiveness takes time, and I am still learning it. I was taught that the word “sorry" meant nothing and that it had no meaning behind it. But it’s the first step to forgiveness, and if I want to keep the people around me, I need to say “It’s okay. Really, I forgive you.”

Numb--Maddox

The Date is Feb 10th 2023, the time is around Midnight when I woke up to sounds of distraught and yelling between two Individuals. I think to myself it’s just another argument just another argument between the two of the house then something grabs me to go solve the altercation once again as I have done before. I bring myself upwards to the sounds, grabbing the wooden staircase slowly up the two sets of stairs hoping by the time I reach the last wooden step the sounds will stop by itself so I can retreat to the emotional safety of my bed. Unfortunately I was wrong, the sounds didn’t stop. Once I reached the staircase something out of the usual procedure occurred, I saw a ring on the floor, a marriage diamond ring so shiny in the dark the glare of itself caught my eye. I dared myself to pick it up, but I got one of those feelings of cramps in my body you get when you usually don’t stretch before a game or don’t drink enough water that knott up inside you. I got it in my hand before I could reach for it. So I left the beautiful shiny ring there, but when I bent to reach it before my body told me no I noticed it was a small size ring. A ring that’s meant for a woman. The instant drop in my body overcame me. I already knew what was gonna happen when I opened the door that led to the yelling. But before then I was yet invited with another feeling, coupled with knowing of an experience without having even seen it. I started muttering to myself “it’s different this time, it’s different this time.” Yet the door opened for me and as I saw her walk out the door and the worst of it happened, I wasn’t acknowledged by her. She swiftly passed me down the treading noise of the white wooden stairs. As I looked inside the door she came out of. Glaring dark room seeing a man standing over pictures that seemed to be thrown at him. The man looks up at me, but as the man looks up at me you hear a car start. Once I heard it start I ran swiftly following the woman’s path down the stairs, ran to the front door, slammed it open and when I thought I could make it I was too late. I saw the car drive off the driveway In her brown and black kia, I just didn’t see only a car drive off I saw 8 years of feelings tear apart between two people. All the experiences, all the struggles, all the love that was

exchanged physically and emotionally. The trust and faithfulness torn apart. The eeriness and discomfort in my body turned into rage, anger and hate. I ran upstairs expecting a fight of my own with my rage. The door that was once opened was closed. I open the door being ready to yell at the man myself but once I open the door I see something I’ve only seen one other time. I saw fear and regret, when I looked at the man’s eyes I only saw fear, but not only fear of the woman but fear of being rejected not by the woman but by me. Thousands of words were exchanged through our eyes. I understood that I needed to go. I walked out the room realizing what had happened, as before. When I saw the ring on the floor again I picked it up this time and went to my room. I sat on my bed and reflected on what happened. Only other time I’ve seen fear and regret in that man was when it was with my mother. I was mad at myself arguing with myself and almost disappointed in myself. Not because what had left wasn’t just a woman, wasn’t just another one, wasn’t just another person coming into my life and leaving again. It was my home, my emotional gateaway, my rock, she was my mom. I was mad at myself because it happened so much that I didn’t feel anything, I was numb. I went numb about it, it felt like it was just a regular occurrence. I was so mad at myself because I wanted to feel something but I couldn’t and till this day I still don’t know why I struggle. But I learned to be grateful for all the experiences that happen to you even if sometimes it’s your fault, good and bad. It taught me to be numb with a lot of behaviors and keep moving as there is always light at the end of the tunnel. 

The Truth--Melanie

 

• TRIGGER WARNING : RELIGIOUS THEMES AND SUGGESTED SA

  A young girl, about 11 years old, named Mary Kate Sierra attended St. Gabriel Catholic School. After her husband had died, her mother took it upon herself to provide the best she could for her daughter by working two jobs nearly every day. Since most weekdays her mother isn’t off until 5 pm, Mary decided to join as many afterschool activities as she could to pass the time; Decathlon on Mondays, soccer on Tuesdays and Thursdays, church choir on Friday evenings. This particular Wednesday, Mary’s track meet would be canceled.

  “Today, Pastor John is going to share a theology practice to strengthen our connection with God,” announced Mrs. Chapmen. “I will be in the classroom across the hall to speak with Mr. Smith about arranging times for everyone who hasn’t already, to go to confession sometime this week. Please be on your best behavior when you’re with him as he will be listening to your confessions and pardoning your sins.”
  She exits the room and is replaced with Pastor John’s presence. His build is thin but his shoulders are just wide enough to fill the door frame. His blonde hair is thinning and beginning to turn grey. He towers over the little students in their desks as he adjusts the collar of his vestment. Despite Pastor John’s excellent reputation as a priest, I always found him to be spiritually intimidating as he would never hesitate to push someone in the right direction of God’s will. Near the end of last year, he gave a stern one-on-one talk to Will, one of the kids who used to always act out. After that, he never behaved badly again, but I’ve always found it strange because he ended up transferring before the next school year started.

  He clears his throat with a nasally cough and presents himself, “Good afternoon children. We are going do a spiritual exercise,” he proceeds to walk over towards the switch and turn the lights off, “First, you are all going to close your eyes and imagine a closed door that leads to your safe place. A place where you can talk to Jesus.”

  I think of the door to my old apartment building where my mother and I used to live when my father was still alive. I remember before we moved away I used to draw family portraits on the porch with chalk. I like to keep remembering it like that.

  “Now,” he continued, “Imagine a light peeking out of from the other side. All your hopes, dreams, and prayers await you. However, your sins shackle you to unfulfillment.”

  Pastor John started to walk around; the sound of his footsteps accompanied by the sound of quiet breathing echo throughout the room. I can feel his voice getting closer.

  "And there’s only one person who can forgive them.”

His footsteps stop.

“Jesus is waiting for you as the door opens completely.”

His voice feels as if it’s ringing in my head.

“He extends his hand to you.”

A chill shivers down my spine as I feel icy fingers touch the back of my neck.

“Only you can choose to reach out to him.”

The rough, dry hand slowly trails down my back.

“And accept his mercy.”
Suddenly, his hand retracts and I can hear his footsteps retreating. The lights are back on. My vision is distorted as a result of having my eyes closed for too long. My heart is pounding like a drum and my face is feverish from the adrenaline. Did that really happen? I watch Pastor John and Mrs. Chapmen exchange a few words in the doorway as they both look back at me. I sink into my seat and avoid eye contact.

“Mary, I need to speak to you,” she calls me into the hallway. I get up and realize my legs are shaking from the thought that I have to face him. To my relief, Pastor John is no longer in sight but I have no idea what to do once I speak with her.

“I’ve spoken with Pastor John and he said he has a slot available after school today for you to go to confession.” I feel blood rushing to my brain. “I know you and your mother have difficult schedules but I heard from Mrs. Monterey that today’s track meet has been rescheduled. I agreed with him that this is the perfect time for you since your mother won’t be picking you up until later. He’ll be waiting for you in the confession booth around 4:30.” I can’t seem to find enough strength in my vocal chords than to mutter a cloudy response and head back to my desk. I’m praying, begging to God for a way to have my mom magically appear before my eyes and take me back home.

He can’t hear me.

Family--Isaac

 

I didn’t kill them, it wasn't me who did it. People call me a mentally ill patient, but I know the truth—I'm not one of them. I'm not like the others who shuffle along these sterile corridors, their minds trapped in a haze of medication and delusion. No, I am different. I see things they cannot, hear whispers they dare not acknowledge. And now, as I sit in this cold, dimly lit room, in which I do not deserve to be in.

It began when I first arrived at a type of hospital, a crumbling institution nestled on the outskirts of town. The moment I stepped through its doors, I felt a chill run down my spine—a sensation that told me I had stumbled into something far darker than I could have ever done to be in this place.

The nurses tried to soothe my nerves, their voices laced with false promises of safety and healing. But I saw through their facade, sensed the fear that lurked behind their forced smiles. They knew the truth of this place, knew the horrors that lay hidden within its walls, and they thought or knew it was me who killed him and his family.

As the days turned into weeks, I found myself drawn to the other patients—the lost souls who wandered the halls like ghosts, their eyes vacant and their minds fractured. Among them, I discovered whispers—whispers of a presence that stalked the corridors at night, its malevolent presence sending shivers down the spines of even the most hardened patients.

I tried to dismiss their stories of the hospital as the ravings of troubled minds, but the whispers grew louder, more insistent, until I could no longer ignore them. Was this the punishment for my sins? To make me go insane? They spoke of a shadowy figure that prowled the halls, its eyes gleaming with madness and its laughter echoing through the empty corridors.

Driven by a morbid curiosity, I began to investigate, sneaking out of my room under the cover of darkness to search for the source of the whispers. And what I found I thought I had gone insane.

In the bowels of the hospital, hidden away from prying eyes, I made out the depiction of who it exactly was. It was my brother, but it wasn’t him, it only had a figure of him... I was here in a forgotten wing where the most deranged patients were housed, their screams muffled by thick walls and heavy doors. It was there that I encountered the shadowy figure—a twisted soul consumed by madness and driven to torment those who committed these crimes and had a chosen fate. I could not understand why he was here with me, here to punish me for what I supposedly did...

I tried to flee, to escape the horrors of the mentally ill place, but the shadowy figure of my own blood pursued me relentlessly, I could hear his laughter as if he was taunting me, as if he was trying to get revenge. I begged him to let me go, this was not of my deserving, I didn’t kill anybody... As I thought I reached an exit something would keep pulling onto me, my brother would not let me leave this place. Was this the feeling of guilt? Should I have hid the bodies better? If only I did I wouldn’t be getting tortured by a figment of my imagination of a brother I once loved. These regrets would mean nothing as it is something I could not change. I thought I planned everything better, a way to escape from this horrid family. Even after taking the lives of my family, I still could not be satisfied with this outcome of guilt and regret.

For even now, as I sit in this cold, dimly lit room, I can hear the whispers—the whispers of the shadowy figure of guilt that lurks just beyond the walls, waiting to claim me as its own. And as I stare into the darkness, I know that my fate is sealed—that I am destined to wander the halls of this place for all eternity, trapped in a nightmare from which there is no escape. Maybe I did deserve this.

Lolo's Message--Kristian

 

Absquatulating is a word that feels distant like a whisper from another lifetime, yet its definition resonates deeply with the passing of my grandfather (Lolo). During my reminiscent childhood with the nostalgic laughs and giggles and unbreakable bonds of family, Lolo stood as the storyteller. He gathered the family with his narratives, painting clear images of his experiences in the Vietnam War. Absquatulating, much like my Lolo’s passing, personifies the sudden departure which he slipped away from the family, leaving behind emotions of joy and sorrow. His stories of his courageous actions despite the chaos, which highlights his resilience of his spirit amongst his peers and subordinates. On the contrary, while I was contemplating what to write my blog about I began to search for words that resonate deeply with me and my experiences. Until I stumbled onto this word on a random search when I wasn’t even trying to find it, the word absquatulating made me think of my late grandfather. These memories and stories he told were not just recollections but breathes of courage, sacrifice, and his resilience. Which sentence he taught lessons of courage and perseverance onto our souls and his persevering spirit became an inspiration for whoever listened. Yet, among the warmth of the full family together and the passion of storytelling, there lingered the bittersweet trust and inevitability of his pass, like a shadow that passes in the night, leaving behind laughter and tears. His actions not only on the battlefield but off the battlefield, shows his unwavering resolve for all that knew him. In the spur of the moment, Lolo’s presence still lingers, his stories of wisdom which are woven into the fabric of my life. Though he has absquatulated from this world, his spirit will forever live on in the hearts of all who knew and loved him. And as I enclose these words, I find comfort in the knowledge that his legacy has left behind, like a beacon of light that has been guiding me through life’s ups and downs. As I soon will navigate onto an important chapter of college life, balancing my studies, going out with friends, and maintaining strong bonds with my family. I will carry the wisdom he has bestowed upon me, reminding me to stay strong no matter how hard the challenge is and to never give up on my dreams. In the end, absquatulating is not just a word that has a definition, it has a strong reminder of the momentary nature of life, a reminder to cherish all the memories and seize every moment. To hold fast to the memories that bind people together and though my Lolo may have departed from this world, his soul and spirit remains forever entwined with mine and my families, a source of comfort and inspiration as I navigate through my journey ahead especially after college going onto my journey as a true adult. Finally paying taxes and starting to get the job I want. Eventually these teaching that my Lolo has given to me will continue with me and will be passed down for generations to come.

Works Cited 

Benjamin, R. (2016, September 20). The art of absquatulating: Is it OK to leave a party without saying goodbye?. Better After 50. https://betterafter50.com/the-art-of-absquatulating-is-it-ok-to-leave-a-party-without-sayin g-goodbye/#:~:text=3-,The%20Art%20Of%20Absquatulating%3A%20Is%20It%20Ok% 20To,A%20Party%20Without%20Saying%20Goodbye%3F&text=Absquatulate.,to%20le ave%20like%20a%20ghost).