Handing Your Heart Away

Everyone has a heart. The heart is a clump of muscle imbedded inside your chest, hidden behind your lungs and ribcage. Upon first glance, upon first experience, you plunge your hand into your chest and enclose your fist around your heart.

You’ll keep your hand enclosed around that heart. Maybe you will release your heart, sew up your chest, then wash the blood off your hands.

Or maybe something will happen, and you begin to pull your heart out of your chest. Strangely enough, it doesn’t hurt. Just don’t pull too hard or too fast, you could bleed yourself to death. No, pull slow, allow time to clot, then keep pulling.

Who knows how long it takes until you can hold your heart at arm’s length? Maybe it takes two years. Two years sounds like a good amount of time.

Your heart is enclosed in your hand, pumping, pumping, slightly connected to your chest and the rest of your body. You look up. There it is. There is the thing, the person, the place, the reason you pulled your heart out in the first place. Blood soaks your footsteps so you’ll always know the way you came.

You have two options.

The first option is to cut your heart away from you body. Hand it to that person, place it on the ground, do anything that shows that your heart is no longer your own.

They could crush it. Stomp on it, squeeze it slice and dice it up. They could do anything at all and you could do nothing about it. It is no longer your heart.

You have another option.

Turn away. Put your heart back into your chest. Stack your ribs on top and peel your lungs back into place. Sew yourself up. The heart is yours. It will stay yours. Do not ever let it go again.

Admissions

As far as our college applications go, I’m pretty sure that everyone is now stressed out and curious about how the college counselors would review our apps. It reminds me of a great movie I watched this summer – “Admission.”

Admission” is a comedy directed by Academy Award nominee Paul Weitz, starring  Tina Fey and Paul Rudd.
Every spring, high school seniors anxiously await offers from college admissions. At Princeton University, admissions officer Portia Nathan is one of the counselors who evaluate thousands of applicants.

On her visit to New Quest, an alternative high school, she then meets with her former college classmate, idealistic teacher John Pressman – who has recently surmised that Jeremiah, a gifted yet very unconventional New Quest student, might well be the son that Portia secretly gave up for adoption years ago while at school. More importantly, Jeremiah is about to apply to Princeton.

Now Portia must re-evaluate her personal and professional existences, as she finds herself bending the admissions rules for Jeremiah. She recommends Jeremiah to all the officers who refuse to admit him. And the result does not change – he gets rejected. In the end, in order to get her son into Princeton, Portia steals Jeremiah’s folder and changes the decision into a “Yes.” Portia quits her job and starts a new life.

Even though the movie is mainly about love and family, I personal find it is also a fairly helpful movie for high school students to get more knowledge about the process of applying to college and more closely, about how the officers review our materials and make the final decisions.

If you haven’r watched it yet, I strongly recommend you to do so!
And also, good luck to all the seniors!

“There is no formula to get in. Just be yourself.”   – Portia

Death by Bucking Horse

There was this one horse. His name was Houdini, and he was solid, pure black. I had always wanted to ride Houdini but I was always told that my skill levels weren’t high enough, or that he was too “green.” When I got to riding Layla and a pony called Dixie my mind wandered away from Houdini.

When sophomore year came around, I had first seen Houdini during my freshman year, I saw much less of Houdini, but occasionally I would still see him around. I wasn’t sure where he went at all, but I slightly remember someone telling me that he was either out in pasture or being trained by someone else.

This year, my junior year, he’s back, and I continued to ask to ride him. For two months I got continuous no’s but with promises of “wait until we ride him for a week,” or, “once you’re able to keep your back straight.” I kinda gave up hope by the second month, really.

Winter sports started, and the current horse I was riding was needed by another rider. I remember walking into the barn and then being jumped upon by an instructor. “I have exciting news for you!” she said. For some reason I had literally no idea what she would have said. “We’re gonna put you on Houdini!”

Internally I was jumping up and down like a little girl who had finally gotten a pony for her birthday, but on the outside I just took a couple breaths and said “wwwwwoooooooowwww oh thank gods yes finally…”

Houdini was still extremely green and didn’t seem to understand how large he was. He would swing his head around and try to cuddle (I think) me but would end up knocking me into a wall or the gate. I learned how to move quickly and duck away within the first few days.

We believe that Houdini is part Friesian – Royal Friesian Horse, that is. They look like cousins of Gypsy Horses, and they’re a stunning breed. The way they walk, trot, and gallop is extremely upright and almost stiff, like every step they take is deliberate. In my mind I called them the “soldier horse” because they were so methodical with their steps.

Houdini could hardly walk in a straight line. Seriously, I’d try to keep him on the rail and he’d end up either running into it or turning away from it. He actually ran me into a jump pole once, but he’s learning, I think.

A skill that all riders must know is how to lunge a horse. The gist of it is basically to chase a horse around a little round pen while giving them instructions such as “trot” or “canter.” Houdini would trot and canter for a few circles, buck in my direction a few times, then stop completely and simply stare at me.

What I didn’t understand was what he didn’t understand. He followed my instructions perfectly, to walk, to trot, to canter, yet he would always stop a few minutes in and stand square in front of me, unmoving. Even when I tapped him with our bright, neon-orange whip he would stare at me like “what are you doing I did not sign up for this.”

Oh, and he bucks. Like, a lot. If I keep the reins a little too long at the trot he lowers his head and starts bucking. Or that’s the official term, what Houdini does is more like pronking. Usually done by antelopes, pronking is when they leap up into the air with an arched back and stiff legs.

Yeah, that’s what Houdini does. In an hour he pronks about 4 times and I have yet to fall off. There was one pronk, this one was more like a rodeo buck, where I crash-landed on the saddle and hit my knee on something hard. That was two days ago and I still have a massive yellow bruise.


(Mien gott look at that mane)

I call Houdini my Butternut Squash.

Squash because he likes to squash me against the walls of the stall.

Butter because his coat gleams like melted butter.

And nut because he’s the nuttiest horse I may ever ride.

My Princess

The first horse I rode in OVS was Urbino. He was an old horse, mainly brown, and very tall. I constantly struggled to put his bit on, as he would always lift his head up above the reach of my arms. I’m 5’2 now. I was probably 5’1 or 5’0 two years ago, so I asked to switch horses that would either work with me better or was a tad shorter.

I switched horses maybe one or two more times before settling for Layla. I believe she was at least part Gypsy, tall, sturdy, and one of the most beautiful creatures I had ever seen. Her coat and mane was black and white while her tail was pure black. She was a massive horse, and had not been ridden a lot, so she was quite stubborn and didn’t quite like having the bit put in.

To my great dismay she would also lift her head up above arms reach, and for a while I got my taller friends to help me bit her. Being that short and weak was unbelievably frustrating.

Layla was a complete Princess, for she knew how tall and beautiful she was. The way she walked, the way she swayed when she lifted her feet up, made it seem like she was dancing down a catwalk.

Slowly she began to respect me, and after a while she seemed to understand that I was short and that I needed a little help when brushing her mane and putting her bit on. On the days where she felt good she would lower her head for me and on the days she seemed more stubborn she’d ignore me and let me struggle on my tiptoes.

She was pretty darn lazy, plodding along with her feet picked up high. A whip helped, but I had to teach her that she had to walk at a relatively quick pace and not hang her head. She learned quickly and was probably my smoothest ride ever.

I rode Layla for about a year and then moved on to different horses, but I visit her every day to brush out her mane and maybe give her a mint or a handful of grains. When I leave the barn I always look back, and she’ll always watch me leave with an inquisitive look on her face.

I always wonder what horses do all day, but maybe horses wonder what humans do all day too.

Trash & Fashion.

Recently I did a story on our school’s first Trash Fashion Show and I gained some new knowledge about creating beauty.

What is the definition of beauty? In my opinion, beauty does not mean a gorgeous appearance, but it’s more about the internal significance. Just like Trash Fashion, which most people would refer to the costumes that are just simply made of trash.

However, trash fashion is much more than that.

It takes time and endeavor. Since I have the same art class with my friend Sophia, I was lucky enough to actually watch the complete process of her making the plastic wedding dress. She started from collecting and reorganizing the materials – plenty of white  plastic bags. First of all, she created the long train by sewing knots. It turned out to be a “web” eventually. Then she made the body dress, in which she built several layers to make the dress fluffy.

It took her about two months to complete the whole bridal gown. According to Sophia, the most difficult part was to glue the bags together and the materials were so soft that she had to be really careful not to tear them off.

Finally the big day came. I did not expect to be her model, but because of the absence of Ellen, who was supposed to the model, I had to wear the dress instead. I was totally astonished when I put on the huge dress.

We walked on the deck of the pool. It drove everyone’s attention and I felt extremely proud of my designer. It seemed like a real fashion show to me and people were taking pictures, asking questions. For a moment I thought i was dreaming.

Just like Sophia said, “Trash Fashion does not mean everything will look trashy, it’s more about fashion. Within such simple materials, we can still make beautiful pieces.”

Yes, I think she’s right. Trash Fashion combines two “opposite” concepts together and builds something beyond the normal beauty.

On the other hand, trash fashion also helps to increase people’s environmental awareness. Fashion may be fabulous, but the way our clothes are made is incredibly wasteful. The small things we waste from daily uses can be saved instead of being thrown away.

It was my first time seeing and wearing such gorgeous fashionable clothes made out of “trash,” and It was also the time that I realized trash fashion can be beautiful as well.

Rainbow.

If there was a rainbow
connected the worlds between you and me

Even though nothing was happening
I could not help myself from smiling
because I was thinking about you

You were not that kind of magnificent beauty
you were just a quiet rainbow that emerges peacefully after a rain
but beautiful enough to reflect endlessly in my heart

If there was a rainbow
stretched the distance between you and me

I would run towards the end
to embrace the shadow of your light
and meet you who was running towards me at the same time

What Hill?

“Ready, set, GO!”

I’ve never even thought about running 3 miles before. And I am not kidding.
But once I reached that goal, I fell in love with running. And I am not kidding either.

I was not born to be a runner, so I did not treat running seriously in the beginning.

Last year I joined the cross-country team, because we did not have tennis.
“It’s just running, not a big deal,” I told myself. But I was totally wrong.

Everyday we ran different things. At the beginning, I could not even finish one whole mile without walking and the worst part of my day was always  sports time.
The sun never rested during the practice. We did harder workouts at least once a week. I could not walk the day after tough practice. I was hurting everywhere on my body.

But I was getting better.

Then I had to face the very first cross-country meet in my life – at Thatcher.
I was extremely nervous. I could feel my legs shaking and my heart was beating like a drum.
I did not expect to run the whole three miles, that seemed impossible to me. But I decided to try anyways.

Everyone was exhausted and I just kept running in slow pace. I thought about the days we ran together; I thought about how Mr. Alvarez encouraged us and pushed our backs; I thought about home and wondered if my parents were having fun this holiday; I thought… I thought about everything, i thought about nothing.
I just ran and ran.

Everyone was encouraging me as well. “Let’s go, Shelly!”

“Almost there!”

“Way to run girl!”
And yes, I finished it without stopping or walking. I guess that would be the time I felt the most proud of myself.

After the very first race, I changed my opinion of running. I did not hate it or fear it anymore. I started to accept it because I knew I was capable of defeating it.
Three month’s of training, the season ended strongly with all the incredible improvements i gained everyday.

This year, I was glad to see our cross-country team grow much bigger, with more than 20 people.
The weather was fervent as well, of course. We ran pretty much the same courses but it did not feel as painful as it did before.

As for me, running is not only the thing I do to fulfill my sports time. It changes me, slowly but thoroughly. I became faster and stronger.

Our team got new shirts this year, and they says “What Hill?” on the back. They are the best shirts ever, I think, because no one else but we runners know the special meanings of those two words.

Finally it comes – my last cross-country meet at Thatcher, the place where everything begins.

It is probably my last time running a whole 3-miles course with my friends, wearing the green uniforms which we would never stop complaining about.

We don’t run for the certain miles or the destination, we don’t run for fame or glory.
But we do run to conquer all kinds of hills, we do run to challenge and prove ourselves.

We line up as usual. Everyone is encouraging each other and smiling.

Suddenly my heart is filled with joy.
Suddenly I realize that running does not only bring me power and strength to defeat all the distance and hills; running brings me courage, friendships, love, and valuable memories.

Yes, we are Cross-Country Team.
And WE RUN.

For Sake of the Snake (part 2)

After that snake incident, I soon began watching Austin Steven’s Adventures on Animal Planet. He specialized in reptiles, which was the main reason I watched his shows. My interest in snakes was growing, and I began to ask my parents for my own pet. I wasn’t allowed a snake at first, so I got a bearded dragon instead, whom I named Tanny. A few weeks later I went back and was allowed to get a black and white banded Californian Kingsnake, and I very creatively named her Shadow Mist. Shadow for short.

I was kinda nervous about Shadow at first. I didn’t want to get bit and I always used gloves when handling her. After a month or so I just thought “screw this” and I gave up on being cautious. She only struck at me a few times and I had never gotten bit by her. She was a beautiful little snake, and had a little white star on her forehead.

After school I would head straight for her enclosure and drape her around my neck before writing in my journal. She would just lay there motionless as I wrote, absorbing the little heat I could put out and watching the movements of my pencil.

Tanny died a few months later, but I still had Shadow.

About a year and a half later I had to leave for OVS, and leaving her behind was upsetting for me. Did my parents know how to take care of her? What if my cat got her? What if she got lost? She got lost often due to a faulty enclosure but I would always find her in odd spots. Once I didn’t even realize she was lost until I spotted her on my doorknob. Scared me to death, that little stunt did.

Anyways, during my first Christmas break I finally went back to China to visit. Our cat and dog were ecstatic to see me, but somehow, it was like Shadow knew I had come back to visit. Her body was pressed up against the glass of the enclosure, and she lifted her body up vertically and did the weird dance that many cobras do while flaring their hoods. I took her out immediately and she never struck.

About a year later I asked about her and my mom said that she had escaped and they couldn’t find her. “When?” I asked. “Oh, six months ago.”

I MEAN WHAT. If a little girl’s pet gets lost or died, maybe you could say something like “he ran away,” or “doggy went up to heaven,” but I was freaking 15! You can’t just… Not tell me when something that important to me disappears!

I haven’t gone back to China since Freshman Christmas. Now I’m a Junior, and this Christmas my brother and I are going back to China for a little bit. I like to think that Shadow’s still in the house somewhere, watching the family from the cracks in the ceiling and eating any stray mice that come along. Maybe sometime in college I’ll get another snake.

My dream job is what Austin Steven’s doing. If I get bit? I’ll suffer, but I’ll have to trust modern medicine, I guess.

Now thinking about it, I feel like my favorite animal is the snake after all.

For Sake of the Snake (part 1)

It was 9:30 at night, maybe 10:00. I was reading intensely, as I usually do, but was quickly brought out of my concentration by the muffled noises coming from our first floor. I quietly snuck out of my room and sat on the top of the staircase, peering between the hollow metal bars of the railing and wondering why my mom and nanny were fretting in front of our window.

I continued to sneak down, careful to avoid creaky steps, and crawled atop the dog-haired couch to see what was behind the window. The window was the size of the wall, allowing us to see much of what goes on outside, but for the moment, all our interest was focused on a shadowy figure at the rightmost corner of the window.

It was around wintertime, sometime between November and February (wide range, I know), so the heaters of our house were on and the windows were like sheets of ice. There, huddled sadly in the corner, was a large, black snake.

I think that was the first real snake I ever saw in my life.

In my hours within Animal Planet I had watched many shows on snakes, as well as picture books and book mentions. I had always been fascinated by them, so that night, my 10-year-old self was in a shock from seeing that creature.

My nanny grew up on a farm, where snakes are her bane. My mom didn’t like that snake sitting there and “endangering” our family and dogs, so they were wondering the best way to shoo it away. My nanny took a boot and whacked the window with it, which caused the snake to hiss and strike on the window.

I woke up the next morning wondering if it was a dream. To this day I’m still wondering, but either way it doesn’t matter. And now, with my incredible knowledge of snakes, I conclude that the window snake was a black rat snake.

Shark Bait, Hoo Ha Ha

Sharks are terrible creatures. They’re merciless hunters that can rip apart a human within seconds, and then will happily dine on their insides. When they sight a human and smell even a slight trace of their blood, nothing can stop them from killing.

At least, that’s how most people say sharks are.

Many times when people are attacked by sharks it’s because the person provokes the shark in some way, such as when divers grab at their fins or when fishermen untangle them from their fishing nets.

Honestly, sharks are like giant, rough-skinned, thousand-toothed dogs. That swim in the ocean. If you grab a dog’s tail, chances are they will bite at you. It’s no different with sharks, the only difference is that sharks and shark attacks are more exaggerated.

A diver dressed in a black wetsuit looks remarkably like a sleek seal, so the shark might take a hunk out of a diver, thinking he’s a seal. The result is a missing limb and a story of being attacked by “a vicious shark.”

Shark attack victims don’t usually die of shark attacks though, they die of blood loss. Sharks often do hit-and-run attacks, where they bite the victim, realize their mistakes, then quickly leave the human to bleed to death.

Vending machines have killed more people than sharks have. I’m sure many people have heard of this fact, but vending machines have killed more people than sharks each year.

Well I mean, it could be because humans are dumb and try to shake the machines that have eaten their change, which could often result in the machine falling on them.

Ok, moral of the story here is, shark good, people bad.

I mean.

Shark, not bad, people… Meeeh.