Month: April 2016

Finals

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Photo Credit: theodysseyonline.com

English. Math. Language. History. Science.

These are just the core subjects on which students are preparing to be tested on for the last time this year. But for some students, the list goes past these 5. Or they might be taking the AP classes of them, and are preparing for the AP tests kicking off on Monday. Our teachers, parents, elders, siblings, etc. reiterate the same “comforting” words of wisdom: don’t worry.

How are we not supposed to worry when some of these tests affect up to 50% of our grade? How are we not supposed to worry if we  end up getting poor grades and are punished for it. Or the fact that colleges and universities will be looking at these grades and our GPA’s, two things that are heavily affected by these finals.

They tell us not to worry, not to stress, get plenty of sleep, and relax during finals week but when it comes down to it most of the people telling students these things will be disappointed when we don’t reach their expectations.

And the stress keeps piling up as we move up the ranks in high school. During finals, 10th graders wish to have it as easy as 9th graders, 11th graders feel this way about 10th graders, and I’m guessing 12th graders just want to leave high school.

 

The Hunter

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the hounds have a strong scent.

 

my father sent me on this hunt.

it is not my first

it is not my last

i can’t let him down.

i must prevail.

the family name is at stake

and all though i don’t share it i dream of it.

 

i am his only son.

i am looked upon with shame.

but i do what he does and i do it well.

i take pride in my hunting,

it fills me with joy.

 

i am a stain,

not alone.

 

i want it,

i want it more than any snow.

i want to be among the butchers and hunters who carried his name

i want to be his real son.

 

the dogs,

faster than man, caught my prey.

they tear him apart.

the man begs for mercy

begs for death

but it isn’t up to me.

 

i take him to father,

to the house.

 

i take him to my lord,

to the dreadfort.

 

i hope father is pleased.

i serve him better than his advisors!

i serve him better than his soldiers!

i am his son.

 

the prisoner will be flayed!

he will be tortured!

he will be broken and skinned!

this is our houses way.

 

i hope when i arrive father will let me do the honors.

i hope he lets me torture this scoundrel.

i hope he lets me serve him.

i have never failed him and never will.

 

i arrive at the gates trophy in hand

but nothing has changed i am still ramsay snow.

i remain among the many snows,

one of millions unwanted and unclaimed children of the north.

i pray not for long.

 

someday,

i hope to be beside my father and wear his name.

someday carry our banner, not his.

someday i wish to share the name,

Bolton.

Dirt

whynotstayinLeave a comment

It was kinda cold.

It was kinda dark.

It was kinda wet.

In fact I was miserable. I had mud streaking down the plains of my neck down the curve of my back.

I had been punched down and didn’t know how to get back up.I felt a little like Matt Murdock, Daredevil knocked out of me trying to pull myself up again.

But I wasn’t Daredevil. I wasn’t even Matt Murdock.

I wasn’t looking killer, I wasn’t spitting blood like a hardcore vigilante, I couldn’t pull my self up.

In all frankness, I wasn’t even bleeding, I wasn’t facing the evils of the world.

I was laying in the mud where they left me.

Cold, alone, and wallowing in self pity.

What was I supposed to do, some how dig myself out? Yes that was exactly what I was supposed to do, and yet here I lay.

Knocked down by my demons laying under a sky that had cracked open and dropped its gross slimy egg on me. The jagged fissures of the shell reflected in the lightning forking its way toward me.

Photo Credit: fineartamerica.com

I knew I should get up. I knew I would eventually.

But right now, right now I was just me.

Women vs Society

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The way that women look is everything to society

Walking down the street, you see women all different shapes, sizes, ethnicities

We are all different

So why does the mainstream media want us all to look the same?

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We grew up flipping through magazines with photoshopped women and saying to ourselves, “Why can’t I look like that?”

Women have become mannequins and society has become the shop owner

Deciding what is in fashion and dressing us accordingly

Deciding what size is right and what body shape is right and then attempting to change us

And we give in

I am tired of running in circles trying to figure out what society wants me to look like and frantically trying to look that way before suddenly society decides that that “look” is no longer wanted

I don’t fit perfectly into the mold

I don’t want to anymore

53% of American girls hate their body

I refuse to remain a part of that statistic.

I just want to be happy

I just want to be me

 

 

The Eighth Year

mariethearistocatLeave a comment

The day after my eighth birthday, my mother went on a date. She vowed that it would be her last date before she gave up.

Two days after my eighth birthday, my mother got her first phone call after an online date. That was the last first call.

Three days after my eighth birthday, my mother left work early. That was the last time she left work early for a date.

A week after my eighth birthday, my mother had her first official boyfriend since I was born. That was the last boyfriend she ever had.

Two weeks after my eighth birthday, my mother introduced me to her new boyfriend. That was the last time she showed me her new loves.

A month after my eighth birthday, she had her first fight. That was the last time she called me into her room crying.

Three months after my eighth birthday, my mother kicked my sister out of the house after her boyfriend encouraged her. That was the last time she lived with her oldest daughter.

Six months after my eighth birthday, her boyfriend and I took a trip to Universal. That was the last time she laughed around me.

A year and a day after my eighth birthday, it was their one-year anniversary. It was also their last.

A year and a two months after my eighth birthday, we all went to the Grand Canyon. That was the last time their relationship was okay.

A year and four months after my eighth birthday, we sat down for a dinner in complete silence. That was the last time he hit her.

A year and five months after my eighth birthday, she said she loved him, tears in her eyes. That was her last-ditch effort.

A year and a half after my eighth birthday, my mother was diagnosed with depression. That was the last time her doctors made a mistake.

A year and seven months after my eighth birthday, I moved into my aunt and uncle’s house. That was the last time I lived with my mom.

A year and eight months after my eighth birthday, I went to visit her in the hospital. That was last time I thought of her until…

A year, eleven months, and seven days after my eighth birthday, my mother died of brain cancer. That was the last time my mother breathed. That was the last time she lived.

Springtime Magic

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Spring is full of magic.

Sure it brings the obvious, like flowers and butterflies; and then there’s the cliché that “romance is in the air.” But on closer inspection, spring is more than what meets the eye.

Springtime means new flowers, but more than the flowers themselves are the leaves finally bursting through the soil after a long winter hiding from the soil. Spring is the flower buds slowly opening in the heat of the sun, and closing again in the cool evening air.

Photo Credit: cdn2.uk.mentalfloss.com

More than the buzzing bees are the baby ladybugs taking their first steps across the ground, and the butterflies finally breaking free from their cocoons. It is the baby birds hatching from their shells, tottering around their nest and flying for the first time.

Spring is more than what immediately catches the eye. Spring is more than just the flowers, it is the flower buds, the newborn creatures, and the earth itself.

Photo Credit: c2.staticflickr.com

Don’t Keep Calm: Beyoncé Released Her Album

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Photo Credit: newsweek.com

After a three year wait since her last self-titled album, Beyoncé has blessed the world, yet again, with another visual album, Lemonade. HBO was the first to release the exclusive content to the world, and then it hit Tidal, a music streaming site Bey co-owns. For the first 24 hours of the pandemonium that came with Lemonade, only HBO and Tidal had rights to the album. But at 9 pm (in California) Lemonade iTunes. Beyoncé’s last visual album, Beyoncé, was dropped by surprised, sending the beyhive, and, well most of the pop culture world into a confused flurry trying to digest the news. Lemonade was different. Earlier in 2016, Beyoncé first dropped the single Formation, the song that brought the lyrics, “I got hot sauce in my bag, swag” into the world (P.S.: Lemonade reveals that hot sauce is actually the name of Beyoncé’s baseball bat, it is in fact, not, a spicy condiment for one’s food). This song left the world wondering is a new album was soon to follow. Then Beyoncé shared on Instagram that the special Lemonade would be shown on HBO Saturday, April 23rd. And now we are here, listening to Lemonade, watching Lemonade, and obsessing over Lemonade. Thank you Beyoncé.

Graduation

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It’s here in five weeks, the day we have all been waiting for; graduation.

June third is the end of a beautiful chapter in our lives. I have grown so much in these past four years that I would say I am now, at 18, a completely different person than I was at 14 when I was a freshman.

I was so sure at 14 that I wanted to go to Stanford University and become a lawyer, and nobody could convince me otherwise.

Now at 18, I am going to Chapman University and majoring in either political science or business (still not sure), which I cannot believe because four years ago if you were to ask me to live in Los Angeles I would say absolutely not.

This year, I only wanted to go to schools in LA and did not even consider Stanford.

Regardless, I am beyond excited to be going off to study at Chapman in five months. I cannot explain my gratitude for everyone who has helped me throughout the past four years.

I am ecstatic.

 

Mildly Intresting

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Do you ever feel like you want to read about interesting things but you aren’t sure if you can handle the standard amount of interesting? If so, the subreddit “Mildly Interesting” is for you! This subreddit is is the perfect place for people who want something a little more than the subreddit “Not Interesting” and a little less than the subreddit “Interesting“. You can expect things like potatoes in the middle of the woods, a carrot pile found by a dog and his owner in the middle of the woods, a pile of (alive) dogs found by a carrot and its owner, and coupons that don’t expire for 90 years! My all-time favorite is a submission is pictures of George Orwell’s 1984 book cover, which becomes less censored with wear revealing the title. When I first saw that I thought, WOW, how mildly interesting. If you thought this post was mildly interesting, you’re in for a treat when you go to this subreddit.

Playing an Instrument

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I’ve never really been one of those people who has an emotional connection to music. I’ve played so many instruments that I could be a one woman band, but never did I actually feel a strong connection to playing.

I started out with the piano, “the base of all music” said my parents. I played and performed in recitals for years, hating every single moment of it. I remember the lessons seemed to drag on forever and ever, making a one hour lesson seem like a decade. My piano teacher,  an older lady with no sense of humor or compassion for children, was also conveniently my next door neighbor; making it impossible to miss a lessons. Finally after a few years of sitting through endless lessons and playing out of key notes, I was allowed to stop play.

That freedom only lasted for a little bit. The next year I was forced to pick another instrument. This time not forced by my parents, but by my school.Every fifth grader in the public school system had to pick and instrument and either join the orchestra or the band. Of course I chose one of the largest/most awkward/ hardest to transport instruments. I chose the cello.

I played the cello for four years. I took private lessons, played in the school orchestra and played in 2 other out side orchestras. You could say I was a band nerd. I am one of the many that can actually say, ” that one summer at band camp…”.

Its been four years since I’ve played, and for some odd and unexplainable reason, I kind of miss it. I’m not really sure why because  used to fight my mom every single day about practicing and I used to dread going to rehearsals or lessons.

I think I miss it because it resembles my childhood. A time where things were so much simpler, a time where the only thing I had to worry about was making sure that my Halloween costume was cool enough, a time where I wasn’t being forced to make decisions that were going to impact my future.