The Worst Math Problem Yet

Never in my life would I have thought that a teacher could affect me so deeply. I’m not supposed to care that much, I’m supposed to feel more or less indifferent about my teachers, after all, they’re teachers, not my friends.

But today’s news stabbed me in the chest. I know I only have little less than a semester left at this school anyway, but I really hoped he would be here for that.

See, I hate math. And when I say hate, I mean I absolutely despise it. Ever since I was in fifth grade, I’ve been told that I’m bad at it. That’s not necessarily true; I’m not terrible, I just need some more time than others. None of my teachers ever gave me a chance to figure that out. Until last year, when I realized that I can do math, even if I’m not good at it. It sounds like such a small thing, but it made my days at school so much easier.

Photo Credit: i.ytimg.com

Last week, we had a test in math and our teacher told us to write something nice about him for extra credit. I said that, if it wasn’t for him, I would have never even considered taking an AP math class, never in a million years. But here I am, passing the first semester with an A-. I said that I actually feel sort of confident about doing well on the AP test. But now I don’t know, I’m honestly scared.

Even if our new teacher will be great, amazing, perfect, anyone has ever wanted in a math teacher, it won’t be the same. I won’t be excited going into class anymore. I really shouldn’t be going into this with such expectations and I shouldn’t be so dramatic about this. But I am, that’s how I feel, and it makes me so sad.

It’s weird, this really shouldn’t be so important to me. But it is, I care a lot, maybe too much, but I care a lot.

I am happy, not sad

(follow up to I am not sad)

I didn’t need to assume.

I knew it was a date.

I am happy it was;

I am content.

 

I thought about my outfit for days.

I planned everything out, down to the perfume I was going to wear.

I am happy I put so much thought into it;

I am content.

 

Photo Credit: Pinterest.com

We went and got dinner, then went to the movies.

You picked me up too early, so we had so much extra time.

I am happy we had so much time to talk;

I am content.

 

We talked the whole way to Ventura.

There was never an awkward silence.

I am happy I was so comfortable.

I am content.

 

You were going to drop me off.

You asked me to be your girlfriend.

I am happy that question was finally asked.

I am content

 

I am happy that there is something between us.

I am happy she is gone.

I am content I called dibs.

Respect My Existence, Expect My Resistance.

It’s so sad that we live in time where we have to march for facts.

 Our democracy, planet, and justice are being eroded away.

Why are women’s bodies more regulated than guns?

Women’s rights are human rights.

Why are we destroying the one and only place we have to live?

There is no planet B.

How come people are persecuted and judged by their beliefs, place of origin, and skin color?

We are all immigrants. 

Why do people who are black have to constantly fear being arrested even if they are innocent?

Black lives matter.

Why can’t people love who they want?

How come six in ten LGBT+ students report feeling unsafe at school because of their sexual orientation?

People can love who they want.

How come one out of six women are sexually assaulted in their lifetime? How come women are paid less than men?

Pay me more, touch me less.

It’s time to ditch Putin’s bitch and stand up for what’s right.

Our democracy, planet, and justice are being eroded away, and we must stop this. 

Photo credit: Zazzle.com

 

 

 

Reflection

It’s a bad feeling. No, it’s an awful feeling. Yet I find myself facing it time and again. I’m currently sitting in the car feeling almost as shitty as how I performed today in practice. I could have gone harder… I should have gone harder. How can I strive to be the best if I’m not even giving my all?

The breakdown: the set was hard, I knew it would be a challenge, so I gave up. Looking back, the emotional pain now is far worse than the physical pain I would have experienced if I just kept trying. For me, muscle fatigue, not being able to breathe, the lactic acid burning in my throat, and the pain of pushing yourself to the limit is nothing compared to the pain I go through knowing I could have done better, knowing that I’m the one holding me back.  Because I didn’t want to suffer through eighty laps on a challenging interval, I am currently suffering through the disappointment and regret of knowing I am hindering my growth.

Photo Credit: pinterest.com

You know that feeling when the teacher pulls out a test on the reading you were assigned last night but you didn’t do it, just because you didn’t want to. Not a great feeling. This got me wondering, if we know the effect of our actions, how come we still proceed in doing the easiest thing in the moment. Why not put in the ten minuets to read a chapter and feel confident when the teacher pulls out the test? Why not give your all in a work out, suffer through the pain and embrace it, to experience the rush of endorphins after and the confidence knowing you did your best?

After reflecting on my errors and embracing the sucky emotions I am feeling right now, I have a goal. Every time I feel like skipping a fifty, reading spark notes instead of the book, going easy instead of all out, not doing what I should just because I don’t want to, I am going to think. Think of how I will feel in the future, and ask: Is the emotional conflict that will take place in the future worth just doing whats right?

One Day Older

At 11:59 p.m., Friday, January 18th in Santa Barbara, I was still seventeen years old.

I spent the last sixty seconds of my childhood in a Lyft with all my best friends going back to my aunt’s house after just watching Escape Room and I was truly happy.

But, as the clock struck 12, I was no longer a minor. I was eighteen years old and officially an adult.

During every single birthday, my family always asks me if I feel older at all. Usually, I don’t, because there usually aren’t any changes that happen that make me feel older. I know that as a sixteen year old I was legally allowed to get a driver’s license, but I didn’t get one and I still don’t have one because I haven’t found any reason for it. At seventeen, I was able to go to a rated R movie, but I always went to those anyways.

Photo Credit: Unsplash.com

However, when I turned 18, I truly, finally felt older right away than ever before.

I know I’m a year older, but it happened only in a day. From 11:59 to 12:00, it suddenly hit me that I was a legal adult.

On my 18th birthday, I went and got a cartilage piercing and I didn’t need my parents to sign my release form. I was old enough to do it by myself. Then, I went and bought a scratcher ticket, and when they asked for my ID, I was able to satisfyingly show it to them and buy it. I didn’t win any money and I don’t plan on buying one again, but it was the experience that made me so happy because I finally can buy one if I wanted to. For the first time on my birthday, I finally felt older.

My birthday itself was amazing too. I remembered last year I was on a train up to Santa Barbara, breaking down because the mudslides kept me from having a birthday celebration with my friends. This year, I spent the whole weekend with my best friends in Santa Barbara and Santa Monica. My two worlds came together and my friends from OVS and my friend from my old school finally met for the first time. We were out until midnight laughing crazily on all the rides at Santa Monica Pier without a care in the world. My birthday weekend was also full of delicious meals, amazing desserts, and all my family and friends. My cousin was even able to come to the brunch celebration on the Sunday afterwards, she usually is never to come to those events because she’s so busy, but it was amazing.

I know my eighteenth birthday will always be one I remember and though I’m horrified about the fact that I’m no longer a minor and that I actually feel older, I’m happy about it.

that’ll be it

I’m graduating in less than 18 weeks. 18 weeks seem like a long time, but, when I think about all the things I will be doing from now until may 31st, it suddenly isn’t that far away anymore.

I haven’t gotten a single college acceptance yet. I haven’t gotten rejected, either, but that only means that I’m just as far away from knowing where I want to go next year as I was two months ago.

Photo Credit: ocregister.com

In a few weeks, I’ll be performing in my last ever musical here. I’ll be going on my last ever ski trip with this school. I’ll be going to my last ever prom, probably without a date. I’ll be playing at my last ever talent show (with no talent, still), and I’ll be going to my last ever OVS graduation, but this time it’s mine.

I’ll be walking down the stairs, sit lined up with my classmates on stage, get my diploma, and then that’s it. That’ll be the end of my past four years that were such an important chapter in my life and that contributed to so much of my personality. That’ll be it.

But, before that happens, there are so many more weekends to spend watching movies in the lounge, many more camp trips to go on and freeze my a** off, many more mental breakdowns over tests and AP’s to endure, horse shows to go on, story deadlines to miss, town trips to spend at Bliss getting frozen yogurt, sunsets to watch from the soccer field, and memories to make.

I won’t lie and say that this school and my life here is perfect. There are many things that I would like to change, but I don’t want to get into that now. Because there are so many more things that I am thankful for. Again, my time here hasn’t been perfect, but it’s been amazing. And in 18 weeks, it’ll be over, that’ll be it. And then, it’s time for another chapter.

 

longterm

there are so many things I want to do, too many things I want to do, I don’t know if a lifetime is enough time.

study/work with these things:

-race and resistance studies

-gender/feminist studies

– peace studies

-social justice

-journalism… concentration in photo journalism

-cinema/film-making

-gender & sexuality studies

-sociology

-human rights law

do these things:

-move to a big city… more specifically, san francisco, new york, los angeles, or portland.

-develop a stronger sense of self

-see a lot of live music

-spend time in another country

-buy my own house/apartment and decorate it how i want

-fall in love

-fight for a better world, no matter what that means

-make some kind of mark

after everything before this point is done, I will proceed to:

-make a life with someone else

-get married? (this one is still up in the air)

-adopt a kid

these are the things i want to do. hopefully a lifetime is enough time.

 

photo credit: pinterest.com

 

Not if, but When

Loralee was born on April 28, 1970. Loralee died on June 3rd 1970.

My mom never met her sister; I never met my aunt. She spent her thirty-six days in a hospital. Loralee wasn’t born lucky.

Due to her cleft pallet, she was unable to swallow. The hospital put a tube down her throat to feed her. Instead of going into her esophagus, the tube was misplaced and put into her lungs. After a month and three days, her lungs were filled from the tube’s givings and she died from suffocation.

Loralee Myra French never came home. My mom never got to see her sister. My mother was less than two years old. I wonder what my grandmother told her. How could you explain that to an innocent child?

My mom learned the full story when she was older.

I learned the full story a week ago.

Recently, my great aunt died. I wasn’t close to her. She was an awful person. She put her son through absolute shit, abused my grandmother, and put my mom’s side of the family through living hell.

Even though she was a cruel human being, it hit me hard when she died. As bad as it sounds, it wasn’t hard for me because I cared about her a lot, it was harder for another reason.

As I’m getting older, death is so much more real. I understand it and am effected by it more and it takes place more in my life.  There are so many people who are going to die in my lifetime: my parents, my grandparents, my kindergarten teacher, the owners of my favorite place in the world… There are so many people who have died in my lifetime: my grandfather, my aunt, my favorite artist, my dad’s best friend.

I’m still young, but I’m old enough to understand how abruptly life can end.

I was doing driver’s ed a couple days ago. I read a story about a man who got in a car crash and killed his best friend.

One mistake, one wrong turn, one bad decision, and your life could be done.

We all know we will die one day. It’s not “if;” it’s a “when?”

When am I going to die? When are you going to die? It’s inevitable, unescapable, and, in my opinion, scary. So scary.

On the news, I read about a girl who traveled in Costa Rica, met a man at an Airbnb, and went missing. Later, she was found dead.

One misgiving of trust, one ignorant move, one second of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and you could be found lifeless too.

And, then, there’s so many undeserving people who die cruel, miserable deaths. Cancer, suffering, abuse, rape. So many innocent people whose lives get taken away. Just like the young rape victim who was found dead in a suitcase behind a dumpster, just like orphan who starved to death, just like the 13,000 people who died in shootings this year, just like the young baby who only got to spend thirty six days on this earth; my aunt Loralee Mya French.

Inspired

I always go to the movies purely for entertainment. I’ve never gone to a movie where I’ve left inspired about my future.

But after watching On the Basis of Sex on Saturday, I couldn’t wait to be a lawyer.

The movie was based off the life of Ruth Bader Ginsberg. She was the top of her class at both Harvard’s and Columbia’s law schools, but she wasn’t allowed to practice law in New York City solely on the basis that she was a woman during this time.

The story followed her through her first case following a male who wanted a care giver tax deduction, but the law stated that only women or widowed men could be care givers.

This case was the spark that started a series of changes in laws contributing to giving women their rights, many cases won by RBG herself.

Photo Credit: Rottentomatoes.com

Ginsberg went from a lawyer fighting sex-based discrimination against people who wouldn’t listen to being a Supreme Court justice with a 96-3 vote from Congress.

If that’s not inspirational for a young female and aspiring lawyer, then I don’t know what is.

Ever since I was a kid, I knew I wanted to be a lawyer. I would make up cases and make my family act as the other lawyers and defendants. I went to a mock trial program at UCLA over the summer and most of my daydreams lately have been about excelling in law school.

I’m pretty sure I’m more excited for law school than I am for college.

Watching that movie made me excited for my future, excited to live in NYC, and excited practice law and work on influential cases.

So, thank you RBG. I hope to follow in your footsteps on the path you’ve helped create.

Welcome to My Mind

Welcome, close the door behind you if you would.

Sit down or look around, do as you please, but don’t break anything. Welcome to my mind. I haven’t let many people in here, in fact, only about three, but I don’t want to get into that for now.

This is a quiet place with music you can hear. It’s colorful, mainly with primary colors, aside from the green swooshes that you see flying through at times. That’s my creativity and it usually comes and goes.

Photo Credit: ink361.com

Over here is my bookshelf. You know, I don’t really like to read, I much rather make up stories of my own. God, look how many I’ve written so far! They’re all in here, of course, never on paper. It would probably be a waste of paper, if I’m being real.

Over here is my picture wall. As you can see, it is almost entirely filled up with dogs (they just make for the best pictures). And my friends, of course, all of them or most of them. The good ones, that are still in my life today. The other ones, I threw out. But the good ones, I’ll keep forever.

Oh, don’t look behind that door; that’s where I keep the things I don’t wanna be reminded of. Most of them are just plain embarrassing, but some of them are sad. Well, I have a couple of sad pictures on the wall still, but I think I’ll take them down soon.

And there, in this cabinet, is my motivation. Not much in there, I know, but the stuff that’s in there is good. You’ll see.

Down here, underneath this trap door, of course, are my fears. Please, don’t open it. I’m not in the mood to get them back in there again. Sometimes one of them pop out to say hi and make me worry about stuff, but usually they’re fine down there.

And here, this I’m especially proud of. This is my love. It looks like a pot of flowers, but it’s a lot better because I don’t think it could ever die. If it can, I don’t want to be alive to see it.

You can stay if you want; you can always come back, too. I hope I gave you a good tour and I’m glad you stopped by. Goodbye for now! Hope I’ll get to visit yours too sometime.