her face hit the granite countertop just like that
with the force of 14 porcelain bowls hitting the ground
and thus ended the argument
there is no arguing at that point
what is there to say?
I’m sorry but…
ruins an argument regardless how well formed
in spinning systems a world was bent backwards into something far more intangible than emotion–no room to move as socks stick to floors that won’t let loose–and it gets to be so close, the walls, the center, the drapery–and it will not let loose–and it refuses to leave–with no where to go
Despite their names, neither of these freshman are Italian, or even remotely European. Nonetheless they are interesting chaps, bringing their own quirks squirrely tendencies to the table. I have no doubt that they will fill the shoes left behind by those who are leaving this summer.
Emanuel, E-Man, Emilio, Eugene- The lad dons all of those names, many being used for specific situations. On the soccer field he is E-Man, as it is the quickest way to yell at him from across the field to look out for the 6’2″ midfielder charging at him from behind. Emilio is his casual name, as he is a Casanova between classes, his olive skin and dark Mediterranean features attracting all of the female eyes as he walks by. For some reason I call him Eugene when I need him for crossword help. Don’t ask why. I have no clue. But he is great at crosswords, and that is a common bond that forged our Rocky-Mickey Goldmill-like relationship.
Roman, on the other hand, is the Dolph Lundgren to my Rocky. It takes extreme self control for me not smash his kneecaps whenever I see him. But fret not, it would be an act of love. He was great to work with during the musical and I have a sneaking suspicion that he will pick up some of the leads in the coming years. In cross country, I was personally motivated by his actions, as he had a determination like no other. Even as I move on to college, I will laugh every time I see a weed-whacker because it reminds me of Roman.
As much as the stereotype of annoying freshman is true, there are always a few exceptions, and these two are those exceptions. I have faith that they will there to carry the school forward as the years progress.
My two favorites. Despite being different in many ways, their camaraderie is unparalleled, and it spreads to those around them as well. I am baffled by how they never run out of things to talk about.
I cannot think about present day Siyu without his smaller sixth grade self. That first year of middle school, he unknowingly started a cult based around him. I of course was one of his most loyal devotees. You know that accent that you hear sometimes when Tyler or myself or Adam are talking? That’s because of Siyu. I will admit that Siyu is a strange boy. But that is in the best way possible. His love for volcanoes and mumble rap are endearing, and he always has a moist handshake for those who extend their hand, even if it isn’t to him.
Carter is a bit newer, but it feels like he has been at OVS for much longer. Carter is one of the kindest people I have ever met. He always has something positive to say, and I rarely see him without a grin. One thing that I will miss in college is the arguments that we have in the hallway of who is more handsome; I of course religiously assert that HE is the handsomest of all, yet he insists that it is me. (Carter if you are reading this, you are the most handsome and you have it here in writing).
I will miss this duo quite a bit, but I am nonetheless excited for them as they move on in life. Their brains and personality will get them far, and I know that they will do great things for this planet.
There is something beautiful about the congregation of adolescent males. Sure, most of the time something gets broken, the noise level goes through the roof and no one, not even the participants, understand what’s going on. But the camaraderie and jocular affection displayed among teenage boys is an experience worth having.
As I end my time here at OVS, I want to pay tribute to some of The Boys. The next blog posts will each describe one or two individuals who have been important in my time during high school. Some have been great mates in the musical, others on the field, and some by helping me with crosswords. But each lad in one way or another has made the last four years of my life better, so this is my way of saying thank you.
“It started a year ago. I lost all awareness of time and the space around me. All I could see was his trembling body aching for help. It was my brother’s fifth seizure, a battle that he was in the midst of conquering for years. The control I took at that moment was beyond my personal relationship with him and the pain coursing through my heart, the control was my ache to heal. Since that day, I have had the ambition to heal, heal the broken, and heal people in dire need. ”
I wrote this a month ago for a scholarship essay. Even though it has become “normal” for my family, it’s not easy for me to talk about.
Three days ago was mothers day. Three days ago was also an anniversary.
May 10th was easily one of the harder days that I faced in my short lifetime despite the loss that I have experienced.
Death was introduced to me at a young age and has been one of the more consistent concepts in my life: my grandmothers, my grandfather, my aunt, a friend.
But this was worse. Grieving loss is one thing but the anxiety that is paired with the potential and fear of death is a much larger burden to bear.
Over the past 6 years, I have internalized many emotions and fears that I have for his life: Once I speak of my fears do they come true? Is his safety my responsibility? When does care cross into obsessive anxiety?
Eventually, I found acceptance. But it wasn’t easy.
Three days ago, we celebrated mother’s day with … peace and gratitude. I held my tongue as we sat under the sycamore trees while the birds sang above us and simply enjoyed what God had given us.
I bought a train ticket to her town. In days I will see her again, after 4 months of involuntary separation because of school and life, I finally get to see her face. It almost feels like I’ve been in space for an awfully long time, and now, I’m given a chance to breath.
In space, there is literally nothing. No sound, no touch, no smell, except for the glowing stars in your sight. You see the colors of the stars, but fail to touch any. A long distance relationship isn’t easy, it’s just as hard as breathing in space.
It’s an odd feeling. Does it create more bond? There had to a better way than this bitter approach. I don’t think anyone chose to be long distance lovers, and I think all of them are chance-takers. Whenever they see a chance, they jump for it without second thought.
I feel like something will break in me when I see her again. I doubt anything will change in me dramatically, but like standing in the ocean, you could sense the current about to rush onto your body. You know it’s the fruit of the bittersweet that yield only rarely.
The hands that choke me are about to be released from my throat. Will I cry when I see her again?
If you are under the guidance and surveillance of parents, then I’m telling you: they are really inexperienced.
All parents are parents for the first time in their lives. What do they know? From reading a book about parenting? Let’s say if they did read a book about parenting and knows how to handle you when you were born, but what if you came out to be a troublemaker that caused all kinds of bizarre situations for your poor guardians… well, now they just have to improvise a way to get you to 18.
Why are parents looking into their kids’ diaries and phones? Is taking a peek into their children’s lives that satisfying? Yes, you may not believe it, but if they love you and support you without dropping you by the orphanage, they are deadly worried about you whenever they get a chance.
I asked my mother, who raised me up all by herself for my father’s absence about the reasons for the odd actions of parents, and she told me nothing I could put on this blog. She can’t explain it either. But I know the reasons.
If life were a tortuous road to Rome, if you were destined to walk for 1000 miles to finally reach the destination, your parents would want you to walk 900 less so you could reach that goal in an easier, safer and faster manner. They want you to surpass them, want you to be better than them. (That is, if you’re not an orphan)
So walk slower, because you only walk to Rome once, and who knows how much longer you’ll have a GPS in life?
I usually end up doing them in the evening much later than I should. I tell myself I’m being strategical and avoiding the heat, but if that was true I would run in the morning (that RARELY happens). In reality, my procrastination and dread for long runs are the reason why my long runs happen in the evening.
Yesterday though, my run was pleasant. I never thought I’d say these words, but it was almost enjoyable.
Around 7:55 I told myself, “Bella, get up, you’re running.” I grabbed my headphones, running watch, a headlamp, and started to run.
It was cool weather.
My music was good.
It was dark to the point where I could see my shoes and three feet ahead of me, but nothing else.
I had no light to see my watch screen, so I just ran. I didn’t constantly check to see my mileage or pace, or how much time I had left: I simply just ran.
And then there were the shadows.
What I’m going to say next will sound like some philosophical bs but while I was running it totally made sense, if you’re a runner, you know that the mind starts to lose sanity after about five miles.
The newly set sun and distant street lights served as an invitation for three shadows to join me. One ran about four feet behind me, one right by my side, and one ran far in front of me.
I stared at the three shadows for a good twenty minuets because, like I said, running is a tedious thing that causes a bit of insanity, and I started to think.
I thought about my progress with running, the struggles I’ve faced with it, where I am, and where I want to be.
The shadow behind me represented where I started: my first time running without someone forcing me to do it, the first time I competed in a race, and all of the first steps I took in my running journey.
The middle shadow right next to me represented where I am now: I am not in as great of shape as I was at my peak, but I’m in better shape that when I started. I am working to improve my skills.
The shadow in front of me represents where I want to be: my goals, the times I want to achieve, races I want to compete in, and mental toughness that I want to acquire with my running.
On my evening long run, in my philosophical state, I stared ahead and placed one foot in front of the other, in a rhythmical pattern, as I chased down my running goals and the shadow that ran ahead of me.
The words we say define us, moralize us. If a person is a blank piece of paper, then his/her words will color him/her.
In a society where people believe in hearsay, it’s dangerous to let out misinformation about ourselves. It’s easier to be described as “unappreciative” than to be thought as “considerate.” The negative views of a person could devour him/her, it’s like having a dark marker blackening all the good qualities of him/her, then all people can see in that person is darkness.
I dislike one of the social norms these days—exposing a celebrity of committing an immoral act, therefore destroying their lives completely. We’re poisoned by the fact that we praise and suck up to those normal people with commentary nonsense then cursing them to go to hell after learning about a bit of their real life like headless chickens. Even myself who just wrote the last sentence is influenced by this norm as I hold prejudice against people I’ve never met on the ground of some evidence I’ve never seen.
Is this where we’ve fallen to? Are we just dark markers marking everywhere heedlessly?