As a student who moved from Texas to Connecticut and to California, it is always refreshing to live in different states. Each state has different vibes for sure. The winter of Texas felt super short, and in contrast Connecticut’s winter felt super long. I realized that the climate of each state affects people subtly yet is still discernible, and those subtle changes accumulate and then makes each state’s unique vibe. The weather in California is indeed beautiful yet whimsical, and people in California seem to have another unique vibe compared to other states. This is my first year in California, and it is indeed mesmerizing to observe the beautiful state of California. And I can’t wait to watch the other side of California that I have not observed. I am really fascinated to stay in this state for a while, and I hope the good impression from the beginning will still stay in my head till the end.
This one will be a lot shorter than the last one I promise.
Nearly two years ago, I was camping with OVS, 15 of us out in the sandstone canyons of Utah, unspeakably peaceful. In fact, I enjoyed the tranquility of that small, isolated river valley so much, I decided to spend the night in my hammock so that I could swing as the whirling breeze carried me to sleep. However, that night was a wild one for me and you’ll soon understand why.
Around 10 o’clock I get into my hammock, laying down as I watch the moon rise over the other side of the valley, a few stranglers dragging themselves into their tents, and I decided to retire as well. Maybe three hours later if I remember it correctly, I awaken to the sound of voices coming from the kitchen area, they all seem to be laughing, having a great time, then I look at my watch and it reads one o’clock. INSTANTLY I freeze- this isn’t right, I say to myself as I peak towards the opening in my sleeping bag, the absence of light confirming my suspicions.
I try to play it off as a dream, my dream continued even after I awoke, I tell myself unconvincingly, the voices are incredibly vivid, I can hear their laughter bouncing against my eardrums, it has to be real. A few minutes pass and they begin to call my name, like the sirens that taunted Odysseus on his travels, I too was being deceived, their welcoming calls making me all the wearier. I am fully awake now.
The minutes crawl by as these voices continue, situations changing constantly, from their beckons for me to get breakfast, to claims of me missing out on a glance at a nearby fox, they become eerier. These voices, maintaining their soothing tones, vary in their distances from me, somethings being five feet away, sometimes their voices traveling for seeming leagues before reaching me. But don’t doubt my account yet, because it only gets worse. After maybe 20 minutes of the voices, I begin to feel something brushing up against my swaying hammock intermittently. This feeling of helplessness consumes me as I can only fumble for the pocket knife buried somewhere in my sleeping bag (I sleep with one while camping now after that first encounter).
My senses take over and my imagination runs wild, the voices grow stronger, and with only the light of my watch reading 2:15 to convince me of my awakened state, I can’t help but feel as if a man is standing over me, watching my hammock sway, letting it brush against him in the periodic gusts. I can’t believe what is happening to me, the winds continue, but they don’t blend with the voices, they still call me to reveal myself, to emerge from my safe place, my empty tent four feet away, but impossibly out of reach. I feel a large round object protruding from the darkness against the left side of my back, maybe a foot away from where the man must be standing, the object stabilizes me, I cannot move now.
Maybe the winds pushed me into a branch, jutting from the sickly tree holding up the feet side of my hammock, further inspection the next morning revealed that there were none near me. I am trapped in my own sleeping bag, unable to find my knife, unable to escape the voices, the man, the fear that’s overtaken me. I lay still in this sweaty hell until 3 am as I remember it, then I must drift off at some point, exhausted by the sheer terror I felt that night.
The next morning I approach my classmates, bemused as to what transcribed the previous night, upon recounting my tale, I am met with blank stares, concerned faculty, and one bright face. One teacher, my advisor, recounts a story of a man and his donkey, this man traveled into this river valley in Utah some 80 years before and was never seen from again. He suggests that this man tried to beckon me out of my hammock for a companion to wander the endless nights of these canyonlands, the voices were his attempts, the brushing was the man standing beside me, and the object jutting into my back was the donkey, standing loyal at the man’s side.
I don’t know what I believe, I don’t believe that I could ever believe that story my advisor told me, but if you ever find yourself in the desert, and you hear the voices of your compatriots, calling you into the night, take heed of my warning, but make your own choice, for if I were to return and hear them again, I may just see what the endless nights have to offer.
Also, I slept in a tent the next night, wasn’t about to lose another nights sleep to a ghost donkey.
I promise to love my mother, my father, my sister, my brother
for eternity.
I promise I will represent my filipino nonnie and my black grandfather
as I walk down the street with my hair as
big and curly as ever.
I swear to be as spiritual as my grandmother,
And to not let the stress overcome me.
I vow to teach my sister everything I had to learn alone.
I promise to heal those around me with love and joy.
I pledge to never bleach my hair.
I vow to not express through harshness but through
my passion.
And,
I will never forget my heritage
I will remember where I came from and be
humble
I will come home,
wherever home may be
I will always listen to soul and jazz music that comes from
the heart of New York,
or the deep south.
This is set of rules, guidelines, and obligations that will set a path for me in my near and far future. I may break or might not keep these promises but I will try. These promises and statements will shape me and prepare me for the unknown.
Every breath I take sitting and watching the teardrop water fall to the ground.
I am calm, grounded, grey.
I can’t describe the smell of rain in scents, only in feelings;
calm: an encompassing blanket wrapped around my shoulders and a companion sitting by my side. We are together, we are in love, we are safe, or at least we think we are in the moment.
brave: walking alone on an empty road. Only thoughts to accompany me. I am strong, I am powerful, I am one with the nature that surrounds me. Fuck the world, society, my responsibilities; I will walk until my legs give out. And when I collapse, my time has come. Like a wild rabbit in the jaws of a wolf.
sad: the sky is crying, so am I. But the sky’s tears feed the earth, maybe mine will too.
solitude: lonely, but lonely is not always bad. Today it’s peaceful, but yesterday it was harrowing . But today it’s peaceful
The smell of rain
One second it drizzles, the next it pours.
Ever changing.
Thunder follows lighting.
A bolt hits a tree, a fire starts
It is only natural.
Some days the rain makes me feel gloomy, somedays it makes me feel safe.
Today I feel thankful.
Thankful for the sun, thankful for the rain, thankful for the world, thankful to feel something.
Thankful for the memories.
The scent of Soaftsoap Milk and Golden Honey reminds me of kindergarten. The scent of petrichor reminds me of a time when things were different.
I can’t go back to kindergarten, but I’m starting to believe that I can go back to being happy.
Here I sit, watching the rain, breathing in the scent;
I feel gloomy like the sky, but I am grounded like the earth. my emotions are ever-changing just like the rain.
when I go to the beach or sit in my backyard, i like to have moments to myself where i am able to reflect on my decisions (past and future ones) while i look at the sun setting.
the sun has always drawn me (even though i hate the heat). i’m not sure why either. maybe it’s because i was born in arizona and raised in california but that has always been a question in the back of my head.
there is a point in the day where the sun becomes vulnerable. as the heat begins to die down and the night chill takes over, the sun is at its weakest and i am infatuated with that moment. when this key element for human survival is powerless, i am able to become emotionally naked. Together, the sun and I are parallels as we expose ourselves.
while i sit on the sand or on the grass and look up at the painted sky, i ask myself these simply put but complex questions: am i happy? and if so, why or why not?
Lately, i have been happy for a plethora of reasons. And today, the sun has made me think of the people who raised me. the sun has made me reflect on my mother who has taught me graciousness and the fundamentals of being a strong woman as well as my father, who installed creativity and imagination into my thought process at a young age.
so tonight, as i look into the golden sky, i thank the sun for keeping me humble and letting me pour my heart out when it and me are completely bare.
Sometimes I can’t tell if the fact that we as a human species are minuscule is terrifying, or comforting.
Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever figure out what I want out of this world or what this world wants out of me.
Sometimes I wonder if people think about me when I’m no longer in their lives or when I’m away.
Sometimes I think that when the floors creak, along with my head too I’m rotting.
Sometimes I feel responsible for the happiness of others.
Sometimes I get moody for absolutely no reason other that the mere reason that, I can.
Sometimes I paint people yellow, orange, pink, or purple, who are beige or even grey. (I do this especially often)
Sometimes I say things that don’t match up with what I think, because I act on impulse.
Sometimes I don’t know what I want and often times at that.
Most times I get exceptionally overwhelmed when I haven’t updated my playlists, or I’ve been listening to the same music for too long (approximately two weeks).
Most times I get bored of movies, people, places, classes, colors, clothes, crayons, writings, news, pens, and everything in between.
Most times I go home and go straight to my room instead of stopping in the living room, the kitchen, or any other room.
Most times I crack my neck the way the chiropractor tells me not to.
Most times I push people away simply because I can.
But all the time, I figure it out.
All the time I get myself through even if it feels like the whole entire world is against me.
Not for a minute do I believe that I can’t do it.
Not for a minute do I not work to be better than the expectations put on me, then the standards, then the history.
All the time I believe and stand with me and to all my sisters, I believe and stand with you too.
OVS Journalism Blog 
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