Dancing Queens

Once the music starts, our bodies are not ours anymore. They follow the music beats as they were born to dance.
Everyday we practice in the Chem Lab, everyday we sweat, we laugh – we are the dancing team.

I was so lucky to have a chance joining our first dancing team at school before I graduate. I have always hoped to have dance team as a choice of sports.

Since the season started, twelve girls joined the team led by Mrs.Beverly. We came for different reasons. Some of us just love dancing, some of us came for losing weight. No matter what reasons they had, I was still glad to dance with a large group like this.

As a team we have been working on their own choreographies for both interest and a preparation for the upcoming musical. With our passions towards dancing, we learned and practiced movements involving various cultures as well.

Most of the girls have never danced before, and this became their first time working within a group which has marked as a great experience for them. Even though we are in different skill levels, we still contributed our best to the team.

As for us, the most important part for us was that we were able to use the sports time to get a head start on the dancing scenes for the musical, which we do not normally have time for. We choreographed “Dancing Queen,” “Medieval Dance,” “Men in Tights” together. And we also did a short performance during the basketball halftime game.

I personally love dancing.
I always believe that dancing is a way to express my feelings instead of speaking them. It gives me courage, power and helps me forget all the sadness and depression.
I love dancing. It is more than just the body movement. It embraces every piece of you and you will easily get lost in the music.

I will miss dancing with my friends.
My every dancing team has become one of the most unforgettable memories for me through my high school years.
Thank you all for dancing with me.

“When we dance, everybody listens.”

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Travel.


I broke through the choppy air
punctured the woebegone clouds
all of a sudden
something glaring right above warmed my entire body
That was the first time I felt you

As hours elapse touching my wings
I recall
our once ephemeral kiss
all the time
tender but fiery

I touched all the piece of sky
but could not get a glimpse of you
I erase the distance between cities, countries, and even massive continents
but still could not reach the edge of your luminosity

With the possibility of burning myself
I choose to fall into you fearlessly
the hottest center of universe

I will break through the clouds again
just to embrace you with my rigid body
Then it will melt
with each other we blend
towards the eternity

I fly.

You are the Poem.

You are the Poem

A blank page hiding inside the book
I shall open
What an unknown region
I shall fall in

In what particular consequences to expect
I know not
But in the scope of mine
you have occupied throughout

A few lines of love
I intend to write
From each piece of you
I collect
but still fail to settle a word
out of my mind

For there is no poem
I vow
You are the poem
for all

What exists?

dwf

Up and down, why,why,why?

Why move forward to touch the sky?

Can good be good, if bad isn’t bad?

What leads one to become mad?

Down the rabbit hole and through the suck.

Must one always travel through the muck.

Red,blue,black and white.

When the sun goes down why is it night?

Pain and pleasure always mixed.

Is the dying junking not entitled to his fix?

Left for dead, his loved ones gone.

He thinks where he went wrong.

Whom is to say if he failed?

Life is such a tough sale.

Coursing through the hate and love.

He prays for a better life above.

Airplane.


“Good evening passengers, we are about to take off. Please fasten your seat belts. Thank you.”

I take a deep breath.
Wherever the plane takes me, I will be excited because it marks the time for something new again.

I’ve taken numerous flights, and airplanes have become an essential part of my life. Not many people enjoy their time flying, but for me, taking a flight is when I feel the most content. The hours become more valuable as I watch them elapse in the air.

Time ceases when I am flying.
Peace and comfort devour my body, drive my mind flowing ethereally as the plane carefully moves. The window vaguely reflects my face.
Then I start to think about nothing and everything.

“Take care my honey. We’ll miss you.”
I think about my family, the people who cultivated me. I see their encouraging smiles with concealed tears. But don’t cry my dears, I have set off to find my own sky, full of challenges but I am growing stronger.

“What time is it in your city? How are you doing there?”
I think about my friends, the people who have accompanied me from felicity to frustration, from failure to success. But don’t worry my friends, remember you are never alone. We fight for different goals, but we share the same sky.

“Who am I? What am I doing?”
In the end I think about myself. I see a little girl running back and forth curiously, turning into a mature figure with determination and aspiration. I am just an ordinary star from the endless galaxy, but I strive to be the most brilliant one.

I think about my dreams.
My dream of becoming a journalist ignited on the plane many years ago, when I read a newspaper for the very first time. I was amazed by the amount and variety of information that a piece of paper could convey. The dream has never vanished since then.
Just like a plane, which erases the distance and serves as a bond between different cities, countries, and even continents, journalism embraces the idea of connecting the whole world.

The destination of a flight is determined from the tickets. You know you will get there eventually, but the process is exciting and full of glamour.

Mostly, the flight is mundane enough for people to fall asleep; therefore, most of the time, people would miss the grace of sunset, the alienation of midnight, and the excitement of breaking dawn.

But a flight is not always soothing, turbulence is inevitable.
The valiant plane, however, breaks through the choppy air and punctures the woebegone clouds.
All of a sudden, you feel the warmth from the glaring sun that shines right above, and I guess this is what I enjoy about flying.

I take a deep breath.
Once you are flying at 37000 feet, you have a lot of time to think. That’s beautiful.

Looking outside the window, I see my vague reflection, and another crystal world which at this moment, only belongs to me.
Life is a journey, so I keep flying.

International Lunch

As I mentioned in my previous post, Baklava, our school put on an international lunch on Sunday. Students from different countries and backgrounds cooked a native dish, and everyone else got to eat it. A guy from Italy made real Italian pasta (and let me tell you, it’s all it’s hyped up to be). A pair of twins from Japan made sukiyaki, someone else made guacamole, salsa, and tacos, and I made baklava.

There was a ton of food, and it was really really good. It was really cool to be able to taste the different foods from different countries, as made by people who actually lived there (even though I never have lived in Greece). The food wasn’t from a restaurant. It was made by someone who lived there, ate it regularly, and knew how to cook it.

It was delicious.

Especially the homemade by a real Italian pasta.

Although the turnout wasn’t as much as was expected, those of us who were there had a lot of fun and really enjoyed the food. In my mind, it was a success, and hopefully we do it again soon.

Baklava

As some of you may know, I previously wrote a post proclaiming the wonder that is Greek Food. One of the foods I wrote about was baklava, a delicious Greek dessert made of phyllo dough, walnuts, cinnamon, sugar and honey. It is so good.

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Well tomorrow, my school is taking advantage of all the different nationalities of their students, and putting on an international lunch, where people will cook their native food. Now, I’ve never actually lived in Greece, although I am Greek. I was asked to make baklava, and although a little apprehensive of my ability to do so, I decided to give it a shot.

It wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be, surprisingly. The most difficult part was handling the phyllo dough, which is just as hard as everyone says it is. Despite the time it took to put together, it wasn’t a nightmare to make.

I didn’t use a family recipe or anything, just a combination of two I found on the internet. Hopefully it tastes as good as it looks, but for my first time, I don’t think I did half bad.