If summer means free time and free time means reading, summer therefore means reading…and catching up on shows.
Summer fever has hit hard. With new books on the way and old ones staring me down, my fingers physically itch. My brain angrily pounds at the inside of my skull.
All I want to be doing is reading the Devils of Loudun or Sherlock Holmes or A Court of Wings and Ruin.
Photo Credit: Huffington Post
This year especially, I have had difficultly finding moments to read. I never realized how integral it was to my life and happiness.
Not that I’m not happy, but this year has weighed heavier. I miss reading all the time. I feel less like me, just a little more unhappy, busy, insecure.
I miss the years where I could a read a book – and I mean a substantial book – every two or three days.
I want it to be summer so I can get back to taking time for myself, soaking in different worlds, recharging from a full year of nearly constant work.
Last week I had a cold that lasted forever. I had a runny nose and coughed a lot. It felt like the typical cold I’ve had in the past, so I assumed I was going to heal soon, and was not worried about it too much.
One morning I woke up and there was this noise in my ears. It sounded like the buzzing noise in airplanes. At first I wasn’t bothered by it, but it got louder as hours passed. After three hours I couldn’t stand hearing the buzzing noise, and didn’t know what was going on. I started to wonder if I was hearing it in my head or in my ears. Then, I started worrying if it was going to break my eardrums, since it was so loud. One thought led to another, and I started to think that I was going to lose my hearing permanently.
It turned out that the noise was just caused by my cold, and was not harmful at all, but it made me realize the beauty of hearing. This sounds cheesy but I realized how beautiful sound is. Music, fireworks, friend’s laughter, babies crying, someone yelling your name from far away – all of these sounds are beautiful and I can’t imagine a life without hearing them. I am grateful I can hear and hope never to forget to appreciate that.
About two weeks ago I sat down on my bed and opened Netflix. I kept scrolling and scrolling until, wait. I scrolled back up. In the Netflix Originals section there was a poster for 13 Reasons Why. I remember hearing so much hype for this show and seeing so many pictures from it. Not to mention, Selena Gomez, a producer for the show, raved about it on her Instagram a month ago. Almost impulsively I clicked play and listened to those first words, ringing through my ears.
“Hi, I’m Hannah Baker, live and in stereo.”
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I was instantly hooked and stayed that way until the last episode. However, by the time I was done, I was shaking and crying. No, it didn’t move me or inspire me to donate to suicide prevention lines. It gave me a panic attack. That’s the hook. The show slowly, mysteriously arises, making you want more. The end comes in flashes and ends with a bang.
Up until this point, I’ve loved most shows I’ve watched on Netflix. Stranger Things brought a retro spin on an eerie missing child’s case, and Netflix also revived some of my favorite shows from my childhood, like Degrassi and Bill Nye. However, 13 Reasons Why seems rushed and overly dramatic. They took Jay Asher’s book and made it a sloppy real-life version.
Obviously the show can’t be exactly like the book, explaining the various character changes, such as Sheri and Courtney, and depicting some timeline and technology differences. Of course, they had to spread out Clay listening to the tapes to supplement an entire season of episodes. It makes sense that they’d show different perspectives to create more depth and keep interest at bay. In 2007, when the book was originally published, social media wasn’t as popular as nowadays, which makes the technology advancement sensical.
That doesn’t explain why they changed Hannah’s suicide. When I saw her death scene, my stomach twisted into a pretzel, with a cold, hollow feeling. I started crying and hyperventilating. Yes, there was a warning at the beginning of the episode, but nothing could’ve prepared me for seeing her slit her wrists and bleed out in a bathtub. My full-body aching became worse when I found out that they changed it from Jay Asher’s original story. In the book, Clay simply mentions that “Hannah swallowed some pills.”
Some have said that this scene only makes the show more powerful. However, seeing something as graphic as that does more harm than good. In fact, Hannah’s suicide could be a risk factor for those on the edge. The American Foundation for Suicide Prevention states, “Exposure to another person’s suicide, or too graphic or sensationalized accounts of suicide” could be an environment stressor that could trigger a suicide attempt. While it is given that there will be mentions of suicide, it isn’t publicized that a graphic suicide attempt is present in the show.
Many mental health professionals have spoken out about the negative affects of this show. Along with Hannah’s suicide attempt, the story itself glorifies suicide. The entire show is buzzing all around social media for its amazing cast and storyline, so it’s hard to detach it from all the talk, to talk about what it’s actually worth.
The entire premise is that a girl kills herself and blames it on other people, which is usually the opposite of what actually happens when someone takes their life. There is usually a feeling of helplessness and worthlessness, but suicide is (and always will be) the choice of a single individual. Viewers also miss the internal struggle that most people on the edge experience – the constant back and forth decision-making of whether or not they’ll commit.
Other less prominent issues are in play. Clay’s childhood friend, Skye Miller, tells him that suicide is for the weak and cutting is for those who are strong. Despite being grotesquely wrong, this glorifies self-harm, as a “strong” thing to do. Self harm is never a healthy, safe choice and can cause numerous health problems, besides leaving scars. The school’s health counselor’s, Kevin Porter, lack of training is appalling. He doesn’t recognize obvious signs of Hannah’s suicidal thoughts and doesn’t report that she was sexually assaulted after he pressures her into giving out the name of her assailant, which she refuses to do out of fear. This scene will discourage many students to seek help in times of need, which could cause many lives to be lost.
Finally, Alex’s suspected suicide attempt is unnecessary and a cheap way to obtain a second season. He obviously exhibited signs of suicidal ideation, but this was uncalled for. The story has no mention of Alex killing himself and for a show that wants to honor the original story, this makes zero sense. My hope is that if they make a second season, they will be more aware of how to handle his suicide in a more appropriate (and less triggering) fashion.
For what its worth, this show does open up a dialogue about suicide awareness. While the information in this show isn’t all factual, it at least depicts suicide as a very real, very horrible thing. If you or someone you know is considering self-harm, please get help. Call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255.
Looking back five years, I still remember when I first stepped on campus at Ojai Valley School as an 8th grader. Fear of the uncertain filled my heart; I didn’t know what to expect and what challenges I would have to overcome at my new school. I gave my parents one last hug right before my dorm parent called me back into the dorms, and in that moment I knew I wouldn’t see my parents for at least three months, the longest I had been away from my parents at that time.
As scary as being a boarding student was, I have overcome it and made it to the very end, which is being a senior at Ojai Valley School. I still can hardly believe that it has been four years since I graduated middle school, and five years since I decided to leave home in Shanghai to come to school in the United States. There were a lot of things that I wanted to do during my high school years, and I have done many of them and feel accomplished because of it. Checking each thing off in my mind is a relief. I’m that much closer to my goal.
Looking forward, graduation is almost here. I have been through four proms, at least eight camping trips, played on a lacrosse team, was a stagehand for three plays, survived English 11, and lived with six different roommates. There are countless other memories, including having seen a lot of my former classmates/teammates graduate high school. I’m wondering what it will feel like to finally check off the last thing on my “To Do” list in high school — to sit on the stage listening to Mr. Cooper address us for the last time, and for his last time, because as we graduate he is retiring. It’s the end of an era for both of us, and the beginning of something new.
As California transitions into spring, the “April Showers” have been few and far between. However, there has been a recent shower of finals and exams. Because APs are soon to be upon us, teachers have been giving us our typical end of the year finals now, rather than later, to prepare us for the AP.
That’s all well and good, but after finals we still learn things, and some classes have a second final during finals week, along with the AP in May. And, I’m pretty certain almost every student at this point is 97% done, I know I am. This is the point of the year when projects, essays, research papers, tests, and reviews are piled on, with the thought in the back of your mind that finals are in a month and a half, and (in my case) you literally have no idea what’s going on in half of your classes.
I have spent most of my years wondering what Hogwarts house I would belong in. And when I say that, I mean I’ve spent way too many hours obsessively tapping my fingers in introspection.
For about half of those many years I have been told time and time again that I am unquestionably, undoubtably a Ravenclaw. So when Pottermore launched, part of me was just itching to go and check, but something stopped me. I did not go to Pottermore, in fact I waited approximately seven years before I visited.
I now know that I was terrified, as dorky and riddikulus as it sounds, yes I was terrified. What if I ended up in a house I didn’t feel like I was part of? Part of me had always held onto this idea that I, like the trio, was part of Gryffindor, but I knew that I was probably Ravenclaw.
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I have spent years avoiding my inevitable sorting, but I finally caved. I’m not sure how I feel now that I have. I took every other quiz I could before this one, including an Ilvermorny house quiz, which I was surprised to find I am not a Horned Serpent, I am a Wampus, known to be the body of a wizard and the warrior. So maybe that should’ve been my first warning flag.
When I finally took the sorting quiz, I came out Slytherin. I understand to a degree, but I wanted a second opinion. So I did something taboo, I cheated the system, which, thinking about it now, may make me more Slytherin than I thought. But still, I made another account. It never hurts to get a second opinion.
This time Ilvermorny was not a Horned Serpent, instead a Thunderbird, known for spirit and adventure. Both for Ilvermorny and Hogwarts I tried to answer very similarly to the first sorting and as true to myself as I felt I could be.
For Hogwarts, this time I came out Gryffindor. I should be ecstatic, the secret hope has been partially confirmed. But something still doesn’t sit right.
I feel the most closely linked to Ravenclaw and the Horned Serpent, the houses of the wise, studious, and intellectuals. How could my results say traits, that yes, I do have and pride myself on, outweigh what I believe to actually be my strongest characteristics?
I have spent so many years of my life wondering about this… to the point where I am just straight up confused now.
Understandably, the houses together form one complete concept – everybody has a bit of every house. The point of the sorting is to identify the strongest of those traits, so why do I feel that the traits identified by a J.K. Rowling-approved computer algorithm as my strongest are wrong?
Photo Credit: The Odyssey Online
Maybe because that’s just it. Despite my unerring geekiness and absolute worshipping of J.K. Rowling, I am not going to trust a computer to tell me what house I’m supposed to be for Ilvermorny or Hogwarts. The decision is for the Sorting Hat and the Carvings alone to make, and it is widely recognized that the Sorting Hat takes your belief into consideration and it is a personal belief that the carvings of Ilvermorny do too.
I, to give Pottermore some credit, as I stated before have an unerring belief in almost anything J.K. Rowling approves. That being said, I believe that this was partially correct both times and partially wrong both times.
The readers are what bring the story to life, and believe me, I am a reader and Harry Potter is definitely very much real life to me. So shouldn’t what I believe to be true mean something?
I feel that I have the ambition, resourcefulness, and many other characteristics of a Slytherin, but I also feel that I have the boldness, daring, and countless other traits of a Gryffindor, and equal to both of the previous I feel that I have the curiosity, drive for wisdom, and basically everything else that Ravenclaw treasures. My feelings on the Ilvermorny houses mirror my feelings on the Hogwarts houses – I value adventure, strength, and wisdom.
Simply put, I will continue to stand by my allegiance to all: Ravenclaw, Slytherin, Gryffindor, Wampus, Thunderbird, and Horned Serpent.
But those of the steadfast Pottermore belief will have to forgive me for my terrible sin: I am going to take Pottermore as suggestion.
I will continue to believe that I am a Ravenclaw/Horned Serpent who has very strong tendencies toward the many other houses, like the well-rounded person, with an inclination toward intellect, I believe myself to be.
While scrolling through Instagram, I came across a startling post. In the past 24 hours, 14 young black girls have been kidnapped in Washington DC. Even more astonishingly, it has taken an outcry on social media, not pure human concern, for media outlets to even report on this horrific incident.
When new Metropolitan Police Chief, Chanel Dickerson, was appointed two months ago, he pledged to find all the missing girls in DC. This statement comes at a dire time in our nation’s capital. Since Wednesday, 22 kids have gone missing, adding on to the hefty 501 case so far this year. Needless to say, these missing reports are nothing new.
What is almost more concerning than the sheer number of cases is the public’s lack of knowledge. When I asked my friends if they had heard about these cases, none of them knew. Whether it be lack of speaking out by major news outlets or seeing a headline and forgetting it, they had no idea that 14 girls our age have been taken from their families, friends, and homes. Even though media involvement can be dangerous in some cases, news about these girls needs to come out so that the public can keep a watchful eye and even protect these girls.
Members of the Congressional Black Caucus are appealing to Attorney General Jeff Sessions and FBI Director James Comey to open a federal investigation. They call for help because of the fear of a deeper, scarier underlying agenda and the obvious racial stigmas present.
Photo Credit: bbc.com
“(W)hen children of color go missing, authorities often assume they are runaways rather than victims of abduction,” the lawmakers said. This statement has been backed up with looming facts and other reliable sources coming out to make statements as well.
DC City Councilmen Trayon White believes that there is an underlying theme of racial prejudice involved. “We had a 10-year-old girl missing the other day, but there was no amber alert,” White said. “We just feel like, you know, if this was a white person or from another neighborhood, there would be more alarm about it.”
Especially in cases involving minors, it’s critical to reach out to the public for help, as most child abduction victims are killed in the first 24 hours. White’s concern holds a lot of standing, because although some of the 14 new cases are adults, these people have been put in a terribly unsafe position.
In fact, many DC residents believe these kidnappings to be part of a human trafficking scheme. One would believe that this fact alone is enough to spark national outcry, but we still find ourselves missing 14 girls, with limited headlines and a lack of information on how to help them, before we hear their names in eulogies.
I walk across the beach, the warm sand sifting beneath my feet. The soles of my feet burn as each sun-tinted grain touches my skin. I curl up my feet, feeling the sand between each of my toes. I take a deep breath of the salty air and look up toward the sun, closing my eyes, letting the sun’s rays wash over my skin.
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I walk toward the water, the sand growing cooler and spongier under my feet. I stop, letting my feet sink into the wet sand. I relax and let my weight fall, seeing how far down I can go.
I take another step forward and dip my big toe in the water. The salt is tingly on my skin, and I ease my foot in. The water is cold, but refreshing. I take another step. I ease in to my ankles, then my knees, then my waist. I stand in the water, feeling the current course throughout my body.
I take another step. The water is up to my neck. The waves crash over me, pushing me down. I am completely submerged. I try to swim to the surface, but I can’t tell which way is up. The water is colder now, too cold, and the salt is stinging my skin. I am tossed around as the violent, churning water surrounds me. My eyes burn as I search for light.
I am caught in a vortex of water, spinning around and around, unable to break free. The waves are choppy and the water is cold – the warm, soft sand only a memory from the past. Seconds feel like minutes as I continue to struggle against the water that holds me prisoner. The once clear, gentle, welcoming water has turned dark and cold. It pulls me toward its depths, holding me tight in its grasp.
(Photo Credit: brigadewakesurfing.com)
I am starting to run out of air. Lights flicker behind my eyelids as my lungs flutter from deprivation. I can’t breathe – I am being suffocated. I toss and turn as the water pulls me down, down, deeper, deeper.
I can just make out the bottom in the distance – a faint line of dark, jagged rocks. I am afraid of striking them, and I struggle even harder. I can see a light now, but I don’t know where it’s from. It could be the surface, or the light dancing behind my eyes. The light flickers, taunting me. Still bound by the waves, I struggle to move toward it. I’m afraid to get too close. I don’t know what the light means. I don’t know if it’s coming from the surface, or if it’s something far worse – I don’t want to go the wrong way.
I am beginning to lose consciousness. My vision is going blurry, the edges are starting to go dark. The waves are enveloping me, suffocating me, before I have time to choose. I have no strength left, and no more power to fight.
I force my eyes open and struggle to remove myself from the water’s grasp. I can’t move. The waves control me, pulling me down, down, down. I hit the rocks and the light is gone. I couldn’t decide.
Over break, I embarked on the tedious task of touring colleges. As a junior in my second semester, the process of college applications and tours are like the big bad wolf coming to get me. But before I can actually apply to colleges, I have to find colleges I actually want to go to, and that’s proving to be quite the mission.
So far, I have visited four colleges, and after numerous kids telling me to “save my money and don’t come to this hell hole” on one campus, and seeing 10,000 kids crammed into another tiny campus 20 minutes outside of the city I actually want to be in, I am now down to only two prospective colleges. The reason being is I have a very extensive checklist for my future colleges, which, considering my GPA and lack of extracurricular activities, is probably not the best idea.
Also, every college tour is the same: they all pick the same peppy tour guide, drone on about their majors and team sports, and their “diverse” (cough, cough) student population. These tours also remind me that I have another four years of school to endure after high school, so all in all, college tours really are my big bad wolf.
I came to Ojai Valley School in the middle of my sophomore year and now I am 88 days away from graduating. Two and a half years at this school went by fast, but when I look back at the past it feels like a long time ago.
Life is so weird to me – the fun times go quickly and the sad, painful times go so slowly. Sometimes I want the time to fly and sometimes I want one second to last forever. As I’m thinking about all this, time won’t stop and life just keeps going.
I found this inspirational video by Robin Williams. He says “please don’t worry so much…because at the end none of us have very long on this Earth”. He also says that “life is fleeting.” I love the way he thinks about life, and that he puts this message out to the world.
Whenever I am stressed out about the future I always remind myself that “life is fleeting.” Sometimes I get so busy that I forget life is fleeting and precious. I need to focus more on enjoying life rather than rushing through it.
I recommend everyone watch this video, and I hope everyone gets the message.
OVS Journalism Blog 
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