I’m a sophomore, far enough away from college, but ever since I was in the seventh grade, all anyone’s been asking me during family reunions or Christmas is college questions.
When you’re younger you feel like you have no weight on your shoulders and have your whole life to figure these things out, but now as I’m sitting in the Journalism room, staring at the college counseling books stacked on the brown shelf in front of me, varying in different sizes, holding the futures of so many students, I realize that I have no idea what I want to do. I then turn to my left and see the wheel of felt college banners shaped in a circle which are where many students go and will continue to go.
My family has all these big life plans for me, which sound great and all, but I’m not sure that’s what I want.
And everything matters now, these are the final years before adulthood, where every mistake you make, every bad test grade you receive, every thing you say and write matters; your whole life is being documented.
Photo Credit: arabamericannews.com
This begins to make me think.
As I’m sitting in my living room staring at the French doors which open to my courtyard, filling out applications for college summer programs all over the country, I’m trying to write about myself as a student and about my life, but it’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.
This makes me realize how much I haven’t done in life; I’m finally transferring out of my childhood, out of my adolescence, leaving my past behind as I take on the next chapter in my life.
I watch all the movies where life seems to fall into place for so many people, and their whole life is figured out. They go on a date with their dream boy, and lie beneath the stars staring up into the heavens picturing what their life could be together, but I haven’t had that, and who knows if I ever will.
You never realize how much is passing you by, and how many opportunities you’re missing.
The day before yesterday, we arrived at school after the weekend and were all drearily ready to start the day. The kind of smiles were flashed to each other saying “Hey, I don’t really know you but I don’t want to come off as rude,” as everyone walked to their first period.
I sat down in Spanish class on the cold plastic seats and wished I had worn jeans that day. I pulled out my binder and homework, and began to listen to the Spanish words that came out of Mr. Risser’s mouth, talking about how our weekends were, and giving us the “Refran of the week.”
The day continued as normal and finally, it came to an end, ending in a hardy soccer practice in the cold, and as night snuck up on us over the mountaintops, engulfing the players in the immense darkness.
I rode the bus home as normal and we were laughing and talking more than normal, but finally, sleep caught up to us and the bus went silent.
I returned home and started on my Chemistry homework. I started getting calls from some of the dormers, as well as, day students. I first declined them all thinking they just were asking homework questions, but this was not the case.
I finally figured out about the fire when my friend, messaged me saying “THERE IS A FIRE.” I immediately responded, and my heart dropped as the words, “It’s at school” appeared on my screen.
The whole night phone calls were made and I could not stop constantly checking up on the status of the fire.
The power went out around nine that night and even though it suddenly became dead quiet I heard voices dancing around in my head reminding me of the worst, which turned this deafening silence into the loudest noise I have ever heard.
I was driving myself mad, and I couldn’t handle it anymore so I shut my phone off and tried to sleep, but the noises continued and I laid awake for a long period of time thinking about the future of the school.
The next day, the fire had reached Ventura, my hometown, and the air became heavy and filled with dense black smoke. The water became contaminated, and the entire town seemed as if a zombie apocalypse had started.
Masks were being worn everywhere, and no sounds were being made. Inhaling the air was the same level of toxicity as smoking cigarettes, so every crack where the air could have crept into my home was plugged up with towels and plastic.
I went to my friend’s house to seek refuge, while my home was full of the co-workers of both of my parents and my brother’s friends. We called many of the dormers and alerted everyone still on campus at the Lower School that our houses were open to them.
Photo Credit: twitter.com
Ojai was on fire; the hills were blazing and lit up like a Christmas tree. The sky was filled one way with giant puffs of blindingly red smoke, and the other with jet-black smoke, converging in the middle and creating a great divide. More than half of Ojai fled to relative’s houses and the small town felt emptier than ever.
My heart wouldn’t stop beating out of my chest because no words of the fire affecting the school had been said until around one in the afternoon when a heartbreaking, mouth quaking, tear-bringing picture was released.
It showed the science and technology building burned to the ground with flames rising up over the remains. When this picture was sent to me and my friend, we sat in silence not sure what to say or do because now we knew that the fire was right on top of our school, our home.
The next day, I went to the barn to get out of the smoke. Looking in the direction of Ventura all you could see was a thick cloud of black smoke covering the town like a baby with a blanket.
The air was so static and dry, and the wind blew fiercely through the canyon, knocking the jumps down and blowing huge ashes through the air and landing on the ground making a sort of white snow upon the ground.
The day went by quickly, the only thing that was slowing it down was the consistent check-ups from my mother and my friends about the school and the towns.
The fire had blown through Ventura bringing down hundreds of structures including houses of very close family friends and was still burning up top the “Two Trees Hill” and making its way to the beautiful town of Santa Barbara.
Photo Credit: CNN.com
That night I laid in bed, thinking about what happened and how quickly things can change. Experiences like this make one think about how much you take for granted, and how little you think about natural disasters like this affecting your home and your life.
I have always seen natural disasters and tradgedies happening around the world from watching the news, but never did I think that I would be stuck in the middle of one of them.
2017 has been a year of disasters, deaths, and controversy all over the world, this fire was just another thing on the list that if someone outside of the lstate saw on the news would probably pay attention to but wouldn’t really care about, or go on thinking about, or wouldn’t have it racing through the back of their mind for the rest of the year and probably the next year as well.
It would have little to zero effect on them because it doesn’t affect them personally, but that would also be me if I had seen an incident such as this on the news happening in a far-off state such as Oklahoma or Texas.
But one thing, and probably the most important thing I have learned from the fire, which was just contained two days ago, after spreading over more than 440 square miles, is to not take anything for granted anymore; because at least once in your life something will be happening to you and it won’t be just be something you saw in the news, it will be something you saw with your own eyes and something that you felt with your own heart.
It will leave you thinking about it for the rest of your years on this planet. That is what life is, a bunch of things that you would never expect to happen, and things you never thought could happen to you because you feel safe as though you are in a glass box, safe from everything, but one day that will not be the case. And that is the day that everything changes and, hopefully, for the better.
On the paper/computer application in front of you is me, or at least all you get to see of me before you deem me good enough or not.
It takes you 650-1000+ words for you to supposedly understand who I am, who I know myself to be and who I want to be. Yes, I wrote the words, I told you the stories, I’ve built from what I have in me, who I think I’m supposed to be. I’ve compressed seventeen years of life into eight or nine paragraphs expressly for your viewing pleasure.
But, reader, this one is different, this one will tell a different story because what you don’t see in the typical “What have you done to better your community” and “What is your passion” supplements (which have a strong undercurrent of “be impressive, we’re watching you”), are the long nights, the tears and disgusting tissues, the pacing, the self-judgment, the pain of feeling so insanely inadequate that every achievement feels like a trivial pursuit or worse- a lie.
Painting Credit: Antoine Stevens
I’m here to tell you that I am more than just 1000 words. I am an incomplete but also fully whole person, and that I have not a f*$%^&g clue who I am, who I’m going to be.
I feel as if for the past six months I have been folding, bending, and working against every instinct I have to somehow force myself into a two dimensional version of myself.
I don’t blame you reader because you will remember that I am a person — a breathing person who worries and is bad at things, who is vain, loves shopping and small trivial things, is selfish and is trying all the time to be good enough for my friends, family, and the opportunities I’ve been granted — behind that application. I hope.
I have hidden behind pseudo-confidence and humor the fact that I am terrified of not being as good as I think I am, that my secret fear, that everyone lies to me when they say I’m good at something to spare my feelings, will be true.
I am terrified to have my future rest in the hands of someone else, because it rests in your hands. I’m scared that what you see on those applications is not the best me because I couldn’t get the right words out.
If I’m completely honest with you, reader, applying to college has made me feel like crap. Everyone else seems to have things figured out, they’re writing easy but I can’t remember how it was to breath without feeling like an anvil is sitting on my chest, without typing triple letters because my hands are shaking so badly.
I don’t know what I want and I don’t know what you and the college you represent want, but I just pray that I am what you want.
I hope that my sleepless nights, my years of homework, my work, my words, my bending and near breaking, my near misses, my wins, my losses, all my books, my stories, my short mostly un-lived life is enough for you, even if you don’t get to see all that in my edited, word pinched application.
I never realized how easy it is to take the things you have for granted, until they disappear into the wind like ashes from a fire. I remember playing those awkward ice breakers with people you’ll never really know, and one question that always seems to show up is: “If you could only take three things from your house in a fire, what would they be?”
I never had a definite answer. Obviously there were the essentials: passport, laptop, cellphone, and valuables, but I never imagined that one day I’d actually have to make that decision. That one day, in a panicked hurry, I’d have to scurry across my dorm room worrying about what I should bring, and being filled with regret over the things I left behind.
On December 4th, 2017, a wildfire ignited its flames outside the place I’ve called my home for the past three years, and on December 5th, it had reached the beloved campus and destroyed multiple classrooms, the dorms, and everything in its wake. On December 4th, we were told to evacuate, and we were asked to grab a backpack for one night. We were told to pack anything we absolutely couldn’t live without, but we were also told not to worry about our other stuff, the fire would pass, and everything would be okay. So, I packed what I held closest to me. I packed my polaroid pictures recalling the memories from my sophomore year. I packed a single stuffed animal: a panda I was given in second grade. I packed my All Time Low pillow, my signed posters, a UCLA shirt, my favorite leggings, and two t-shirts.
Photo Credit: Foster Huntington
But still, there were so many belongings surrendered to the flames. I lost years of memories put up on a small cork board above my wall. There held all my concert tickets, plane tickets, medals, and setlists from concerts I had caught in the crowd. I had lost all my riding ribbons I had won in the last couple of years. I’ve lost tour t shirts, my guitar, articles of clothing which held little bits of my personality in each thread, and class notes I’ve worked on hours into the night just so I could have a good grade the next day. They weren’t the most expensive items in my life, but they were the ones that were tokens of moments in my life that I cherished, or the moments that defined me. They were the things lost in the fire that I regret leaving behind the most. I guess if I could go back in time and grab a few more things, I’d make sure they reached my bag first.
While mourning this fire, my family constantly tried reassuring me that everything was replaceable, but then they’d ask me what I missed most, and what I missed most wasn’t what was replaceable. However, despite the hard process, I come to realize that those small items I’ve lost are still there, but in the form of memories that will stay in my head forever, for the rest of my life. Someday, after all the debris descends into the ground, and the years pass, I will have new tokens from new memories to hang up above my bed, and the tragedies from this fire will soon become a distant memory, only serving reminders through the objects I saved from it.
Here’s a list of the things I lost to the Thomas Fire:
My guitar, my ukulele, my first drum sticks. My symbols of creativity, my many memories of favorite songs and being so frustrated about my definite lack of talent!
The tapestry I bought last summer at my first music festival, that for some reason smelled like lavender and blown out candles.
My stuffed animals that I’ve had for years, that (call me a child if you want) are so much more than just “things.”
All my drawings. Those hours of concentration and enthusiasm I’ve spent throughout the past years. They probably burned the fastest.
credit: @MattHjourno on twitter
The girl’s dorm lounge, where I remember making my first friendship at this school, where I’ve spent so many hours watching Riverdale, or eating Oreos during the weekends, or working on my horrible piano skills, or watching Finding Nemo for the very first time. Now it looks like none of that has ever happened and for some reason it tears me apart.
I lost my poetry books.
My first love letter.
My band posters and shirts and bracelets and guitar picks and stickers and
my favorite dress.
My window. With my perfect view.
My door key, which now I won’t need cause my door is gone too.
My friends’ rooms with their baby pictures and yearbooks and paintings and Christmas presents and their favorite pair of sandals.
It is hard to believe that this place, the home of so many people I love so dearly, is gone without warning and without mercy.
Here’s a list of what I took with me that day:
The clothes I was wearing, and my favorite necklace. A baby picture of my siblings and me (just in case). My laptop and my backpack.
But I had no idea that everything that was left back would go up in flames within a couple hours. I thought I would come back the next day to my room with my guitar and my tapestry and my window and my posters and that everything would be fine and that our biggest problem would be the final exams we were going to have to take the next week. I wish I would’ve taken more, I wish I could’ve taken the entire dorm.
credit: ovs.org
But here’s another thing that all of OVS brought.
We brought our strength and our community and care and love amongst us. We didn’t forget our incredible OVS spirit, and to be honest I don’t think we would ever be able to forget that.
The competition was fierce with girls finishing at 15:49 (Claudia Lane). I am so overwhelmed by how amazing every single runner there was and I only hope that our small but mighty team will continue to qualify for this competition for the rest of my years in high school.
The course was a flat, dusty dirt course, with hundreds of spectators cheering you on on the side and helping you push yourself that extra mile in order to achieve your goal.
A gun was shot into the air symbolizing the start of the race, and everyone on the starting line sprung into action and begun sprinting their way to the front of the pack, including myself. We resembled salmon in a hatchery, all swimming against the current, piled against each other, pushing ourselves to the limit.
After everyone settled down, paces were found and the true part of the race began. Normally being in the top ten in the races, it was strange for Ojai Valley School to settle into the middle of the pack with fifty, sixty, or seventy people in front and behind you. It was nerve-racking for everyone, but comforting knowing every runner felt the same pain in your lungs as you.
Adrenaline kicked into the runners as we made our way onto the third mile of the race. Strides lengthened, breathing became harder, and you began to pass people you never thought you would pass. Suddenly, you saw the finish line, the symbol of relief. The last quarter mile- a straight-away to the finish line- flew by as the runner zoomed down the dirt path, and the tracker-chips woven into their shoes crossed the finish line.
Tears were shed, and hugs were given knowing that we gave it our all. The overwhelming excitement hit us all at once knowing that we had completed our first CIF Championship meet. And even though we did not qualify, all the underclassmen are determined to return to the course next year and try, try, try again.
I can not begin to thank the coaches enough for an amazing season and helping me push myself to times I believed were unachievable. Having never run before and to come out of the gates increasing my PR (personal record) by over three minutes was groundbreaking for me, and I could not have done it without Mr. Alvarez and Ms. Stevens.
Like so many students at this school, I don’t live at home. I don’t even live in my home country, not even on the same continent. So many people at this school took the risk of moving across the globe, to learn english and live a life on this beautiful hill with rosy sunsets and a breathtaking night sky. And I wouldn’t want it any other way.
Photo Credit: kazheadrest.com
When I first came here I was 13, and to be honest, my English was pretty miserable. I still recall the moment I got on the plane to LAX, and a flight attendant tried talking to me in English. I remember how I barely understood her and froze, and thought to myself, “Holy hell, I can’t do this!”.
As the days passed, I became more and more anxious about going to school where everything is in a language I hardly know. But the second the first OVS student talked to me, it was all gone. Well, most of it. I realized that I, by far, was not the only international student, and that everyone here was willing to help me feel as much at home as possible.
I remember always looking over to my brother, seeing him talk to other students already. And then there was me, sitting in the corner with my beloved social anxiety. I imagined the next year to be like one of these movies, where the awkward new kid doesn’t find any friends. Oh, how wrong I was!
I can’t express how thankful I am for everyone here. For my roommate, who helped me with literally anything, no matter if it was about a word I didn’t understand, or where to find my classrooms, and who supplied me with snacks and BuzzFeed quizzes and “Mean Girls.” For all my friends and classmates who would never let me feel left out. And for all the teachers and faculty who do their best every single day to make this community work.
OVS, as cliché as this might sound, has helped me grow so much over the past years. I learned that change can be good, I learned how to socialize in an environment where I barely know anyone, I learned how to express myself without feeling judged by every human being around me. One of the things I learned, however, that I consider one of the most important ones, is that I learned how to write. I’m not a very good writer, don’t get me wrong. But before I came here the thought of me writing in a somewhat nice manner has never even occurred to me, let alone in a different language.
OVS has taught me so much. I know it is just a school, and it surely isn’t perfect. But it was this intimidating change that was needed for me, and so many other people here, to make high school a better memory than what it would have been without this place.
With sports comes a tedious amount of dedication, which does not always correspond with school; because, despite the amount of dedication sports require, school requires a thousand times that amount.
Many kids who wish to pursue their sports throughout high school, college, and even the rest of their lives have to make a choice; they either have to give up part of school or part of their sport. Most parents would never let kids give up school, because normally parents’ motto is “school comes first.” But to some kids, their parents let them follow their dreams and chose sports over school. Some of my very close friends, who I developed through horseback riding, have parents that permit them to chose their sport first by allowing them to home-school and dedicate their life to the show circuit.
Even though I still continue on the show circuit with my friends, it sets me back in school with the amount of days I have to miss to attend some of the shows. For example, coming up in November, I have nationals in Las Vegas and if I am to attend, it will make me miss a week of school at least, meaning mounds and mounds of homework, tests, and in class assignments to make up. After missing just three days of school last week, it still was a major setback.
As the years continue the amount of homework I will have to make up after missing just three days of school will only increase. Thinking about this only makes me more stressed out and worried about my future with my sport. I would like to think I would never allow myself to quit because I have devoted over ten years of my life to this sport; but many kids, have to give up their sports in high school in order to maintain their grades and prep for college. I hope I don’t have to become one of those kids, but sometimes I just wonder if it would make it all easier.
According to the Oxford English Dictionary, the first definition of the word education is “The process of receiving or giving systematic instruction, especially at a school or university.” If you asked high school students what the point of going to school is, I have a hunch that the majority of answers would be “to get good grades.” Why is our immediate response that school is not about learning, but about grades?
The purpose of children and young adults going to school is to receive an education that betters our knowledge and helps us become well-rounded individuals. As time has passed and classes have become more rigorous and competitive, the value behind school/education has been lost. The purpose of attending class is no longer to learn new information, but to memorize facts and then spit them back out on a test.
Education has become a competition. With advanced placement and honors courses, students are so focused on earning good grades and getting into universities that they often feel like the purpose of it all is not to learn about world history, calculus, chemistry, etc, but to pass world history, calculus, chemistry, etc.
The grading system was put in place as a way to force students to learn and understand material. I realize the significance of this, but I feel like there is a better way to convey information that will still make a lasting impression and will create a less stressful, more beneficial environment for learning – one that makes students want to learn instead of feeling like they are being forced to learn.
Although the first definition of education mentions “systematic instruction,” the second definition, in my opinion, is far better. Simply put, education is “an enlightening experience.” Now, this might just be my teenage angst speaking, but usually when I come home from school I hardly feel enlightened.
Image via IllustrationSource.com
Personally, I feel like there comes a time when we learn as much as is necessary and beneficial in terms of academics (unless someone’s passion involves a subject that they would then go on to pursue, like a career in science or something of the sort) and the only intelligence that can be further gained is through life experience.
I believe that there is great value in traveling the world and seeing other cultures. I hope to travel all over the world within my life, but not just to the most most desirable places. I want to go to Mumbai, India, where millions of people live in an extremely compact area, or to rural Africa or South America where people live without electricity or running water. Seeing how people live all around the planet, experiencing their cultures and understanding how different peoples’ lives compare to one another: these are the things that help shape a person’s intelligence, skills, morals, and opinions.
I am extremely thankful and privileged to receive the education that I have and I would never want to compromise that. I’m not saying that I’m extremely intelligent (I’m not) and I’ve already learned everything I need to know (I haven’t), but I’ve come to a point where I feel like the best way for me to grow as an individual is to experience all that the world has to offer. But seeing as I am only just beginning my second year of high school, I guess I’ll have to keep up with the classes and grades for a little while longer.
At Ojai Valley School, the whole school is like one big family, similar to having around 120 brothers and sisters. One thing that makes the OVS community like this is the annual fall camping trip. This trip is used to introduce the new students to the OVS lifestyle, and involve them in our big family. The trip I went on was to the Eastern Sierras, by Rock Creek Lodge. This trip was anything but a walk in the park with numerous ongoing lightning and thunder storms, the flooding of our tents, and hours of sitting in cars and waiting out the storms.
The first day we got to the campsite our tent was a bit of a wreck, with broken poles and stuck zippers. The whole process of trying to set up the tent took around an hour, trying to hurry with the constant pressure of the storm sneaking up on us. That night, the lightning was less than a mile awhile away and when it would strike, the entire world to us would go white and then back to utter darkness.
On the third day, as we drove into the canyon back to our campsite, it was like a scene straight out of a horror movie; leaving the clear blue skies behind and entering the gray fog covered world ahead. As soon and we drove beneath the ominous sky, the waters came down.
When we arrived back at the campsite, Mr. Risser jumped out of the car and ran to a safe spot from the lightning to meet with the teachers. We were told to stay in the car, safe from the storm. We stayed in the crammed back of the truck for around an hour or two singing songs and eating quesadillas brought to us by the selected brave souls who were fearless enough to go out during the eye of the storm. We finally left the truck when darkness hit and sprang to our tents, straight into our sleeping bags.
Two days before we headed back to school, a select few of us hiked to the most stunning valley we had ever seen. Luscious, green grass spread as far as the eye could see, while crystal clear, blue waters intersected them at the white shores. Picturesque mountains surrounded the valley sheltering us from the world outside. We hiked along a waterfall at the end of our journey, and jumped into the mind-numbingly water. Even though we couldn’t feel our legs from the chilling water, it had no effect on us because we couldn’t bare to look away from our exquisite surroundings.
Although we endured many set backs during our trip, we were all heartbroken to leave, but excited to unfreeze our fingers and toes and take a shower.
OVS Journalism Blog 
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