Hello and welcome back to Emanuel’s blogs. One hundred and fifty words of free thought so that he doesn’t get zeros on them. He being me, I am he, there is only me. Anyway, I love garage sales, it’s like modern-day exploring. Today I got a carabiner watch and a point-and-shoot camera. The camera is a Canon Powershot SD600 I like the way it looks and feels in my hand. It has a tiny viewfinder which I think is cool. I don’t have a charger for it but Ben does so I’ll go over to his house after work and pick that up probably.
I’m so done with school, I know this is a fairly universal feeling for seniors in their last month of Highschool but holy moly it’s getting to be a lot. Something about listening to the junior talk about college as if it’s the most important thing ever really bothers me. Like why are they so keen to change who they are to fit into a school, every single one of them is incredibly smart and industrious and interesting but for some reason they have this competitive, verging on toxic, view of the college process. Like if they would just be themselves they would probably do better than when they all freak out about how to curate the application to a school.
I picked up a new PS4 2 weeks ago, Throughout the last week and a half I’ve been spending too much time and money on this device. It’s been over two years since I had my last one, so I’ve been catching up on everything that I missed. Fifa has got to be one of my favorite games at the moment, I play it almost every day. Before almost every soccer match, I play a game of Fifa and envision myself doing the same thing I do in the game. I’ve also been playing a game called Overwatch, which I played for most of my childhood. This game was recently revised and now it is Overwatch 2 which has gotten some criticism because people loved the Original version. At first, I was opposed to the new game as I missed the nostalgic feeling that I got from the original Overwatch, however, as I play the game more I begin to appreciate the game more.
I love old technology. The analog feel of buttons and dials under my finger, the lights of a stereo amp, the crackle of vinyl, and the warped sound of an overplayed cassette tape––all create beauty we so often lose in the digital world. The beauty of chaos, the unorganized, and the functionless. These devices hold value in their aesthetics but also through the stories that define them.
Such objects fill my room with stories from my own life and the countless others they’ve encountered. Next to my bed sits a CRT TV I found abandoned on the road. It works surprisingly well for a piece of technology made before Facebook, though, like the person who left it behind, not many would think much of it. It’s been replaced by two decades of 4K ultra-HD developments, which produce bigger, brighter images. Why would anyone watch a special effects masterpiece on something with the quality of a cave painting and a screen smaller than a shoebox?
I see its beauty though, the way it needs to warm up before turning on, the way it cracks and clicks when you try to push its archaic buttons, and the decaying colors of the few remaining VHS tapes, long-forgotten.
I imagine this TV didn’t change hands many times. It was probably bought new at Radio Shack in Ventura, six years before I was born. It probably sat in someone’s living room playing movies for their kids on family game night, and then their grandkids, and then it probably sat in the garage taking up space until they finally decided the black hunk of metal, glass, and plastic was an eyesore whose good days were as long gone as its remote. Now it sits as an exhibit in my room, a reflection of others’ memories and a piece of art for me to admire.
Like this old TV, I, too, can easily be overshadowed by things bigger and brighter. I surf with more passion than I’ve ever felt before, but by most standards, I’d be considered unremarkable.
Surfing’s the scariest thing I’ve ever encountered: walls of water like moving mountains, foam like a powerful avalanche, a board that goes from being your greatest ally to greatest enemy the moment it’s freed from your grip. Is the feeling of a wave worth the pain of falling? Often, it is. Small waves, no biggie, a couple seconds of being under frigid water, and then you paddle back out and try again. But when the waves become giants and the board a brute-force weapon, that fall begins to exceed your limits.
I remember going out on a day with waves far beyond my skill set—Goliath and Polyphemus in watery form. Before I even paddled for a wave, a set came in. The first wave blocked the sun as it groaned past me, the second feathered as I crested its peak, the third, I wasn’t so lucky. The avalanche hit me, immediately tearing the board from my hands. The wave was now groaning on top of me, thrashing my body like a ragdoll in a washing machine. Then, it was over. The wave passed, and I was okay. So what pushes me to surf in these conditions? I think it’s because putting myself in places beyond my skill set and comfort, where I’m deeply flawed, has shaped me. I find love and beauty in the places where I know I’ll fall, for it’s there that I find who I am.
I climb, hike, surf, and run, but most athletic is an unlikely yearbook superlative.
Like the TV, I, too, crack and click when I’m pushed too hard. If all that made me was performance, I, too, would be left on the street without a second thought, but I am my story not my statistics. I too, have beauty, which lies not in my achievements but in my imperfections.
My creativity is expressed in everything I do––from the blog posts I write for journalism, to the way I dress, and even how I move along a wave when I’m surfing––but ceramics is the place where my creativity is communicated best. It wasn’t always this way, though…
From the time I started in fourth grade, all the way until junior year, I believed that the ceramic pieces I created needed a function. I thought throwing a cup, bowl, or vase made more sense than making a sculptural piece. It wasn’t that I didn’t see the value of a sculpture or a piece of art, rather, I did not believe myself to be an artist, and so, my job was to make utilitarian items. I didn’t know it then, but how I treated my ceramics tied deeply to how I thought about the world. I believed that utility was more important than beauty.
The shift occurred after a new ceramics teacher came to my school––she pushed me to use ceramics to express myself. I began to infuse my pieces with creativity, and, just like that, my life became full of creativity too. I created pieces whose sole purpose was to be viewed: teapots that would never hold tea and bowls that I’d never eat cereal from. I put concepts into my work, and my pieces or collections meant something—they didn’t just fulfill a purpose, they stood as a physical representation of an idea. This allowed me to better understand what a piece will mean rather than what a piece will do. The saturation of creativity in my ceramics changed how I thought about the world. I now understand that there is value in something that is simply beautiful.
We all are artists inside––all we have to do is add a little creativity to the many mundane tasks we complete. Now, even when I write a regular essay, or get ready for the day, I push myself to instill elements of creativity into my presentation.
I try to clean once a week; today was the day I did that cumbersome ritual. I wiped my coffee table and picked up the clothes and paper that propagate atop the carpeted flooring. I grabbed all the trash on my bedside table and desk. I even made my bed (a task not typically high on my to-do list). Yet, there is dust all over my room, no matter how much a clean or wipe it off it never seems to go away. Every week I fight it and every week it returns, I mean how do you even get rid of it; when you wipe it away half of those pesky particles fly into the air, only to land back where you just cleaned just after you finish. Maybe the dust is why I keep getting sick, full Interstellar mode. The reason I’m thinking about dust though is that today during my incumbent chore the dust was floating through the air really beautifully, it was sparkling in the sunbeams coming through my window and just caught my attention. I wish it wasn’t so dirty, otherwise, I might add more dust to my room.
We’re supposed to start writing our essays for college applications, but I’m a little stuck. The issue is, I have an essay that I really like, that is probably the best thing I’ve ever written, but there’s a limit to how many words our essay is. The limit is 650 words. Want to guess how many my essay is? 1371 words. One thousand three hundred and seventy-one. That is over double the maximum amount of words allowed for an essay. This means I either have to start from scratch or somehow trim down the essay until it’s only 650 words, both of which would be very difficult. And of course, these essays are going to be really important to my applications because, for the UCs at least, colleges won’t look at my SAT score which was actually pretty good and which I will probably improve upon. They only look at GPA, extracurriculars, and essays, so my essays have to be good. Anyway wish me luck, I’m gonna need it.
I have two other brothers, and they always did everything better than me; which I always feel so much pressure doing something with them. I always doubt my ability to do anything, like anything. I began the thought of I just can’t do it right. This year, I become a senior, ready for college. You have no idea how much pressure I have on myself. I don’t want to give up and go to random college, meantime, I still keep believing that there is a 1 percent possibility I can make something beautiful. A couple of weeks ago, Penn State needs a requirement of 120 scores for the English Language Proficiency. I spent my own money and took it almost twenty times, my highest score is 115 still couldn’t reach 120. Penn State can be an easy school that most everyone can get into. However, I’m still stuck in that dumb English test and couldn’t think of any way to improve it. Recently, most of the decisions came out, I got rejected by UIUC and LMU. I am not surprised at all because I know those types of good schools won’t accept me. Until this Tuesday, I got an email from Syracuse University. I just want to say, I think I’m dreaming right now. I got accepted! At that time, I told myself that I’m not that bad, not bad. Meanwhile, I’m so thankful that my brother and friends are there always supporting me. I just can’t believe it, really can’t. I can say I am really proud of myself, and I should love myself more.
I’ve been really tired recently. With the stress of applying to colleges and school, I really need a break. There are a lot of tests and I did pretty bad at them while I needed to finish my college application. There is just too much stuff I need to do, and I really don’t have time for myself to review for all the tests. One of the most annoying things recently is that I need to retake the test for English Language Proficiency. I’ve taken this test more than ten times, and I just couldn’t get to the minimum score. I’m really tired of this. At the same time, every senior already gets into some good college except me. I haven’t got any acceptance and I’m so worried about whether I am able to get accepted by any college. Every day started to feel the same and I’m tired of it. Wake up, breakfast, school, and sleep. It’s just so boring that I couldn’t do anything more than that. I just don’t know how people wake up and get so excited for their day or have so much fun in school. I just don’t know-how. I only eat less, even skip lunch or dinner, and get tired every other day. How can people look so normal, and be happy every day?
Starting from my 9th grade, I can feel the time passing so fast. Every year passed with a blink. I kept complaining about school and life until recently I noticed that I only have a couple of years left being a student. I started to like being a student actually, the only struggle is homework every night. Otherwise, I can just have fun and do anything I want with my family and friends. With my work experience before, I imagine in the future, I will need to wake up so early and do my work until 9 pm. When I get home it’s probably 10 pm, plus, doing some stuff and taking a shower will be at 11 pm; Afterwards, I need to sleep at least before 12 am so I won’t be tired from tomorrow’s work. I also imagine that every day will feel the same. Nothing surprising will happen to me. It all just feels so complicated.
In this case, I want to give myself a goal. Although I might be busy working in the future, I still want to do something that I always wanted to do, which is to become a Youtuber. I’m not sure about when I am going to start, maybe from college or maybe after college. I love taking videos and editing them. Some of the successful jobs started from interest, and my interest is editing videos, so I give myself a goal to start the action and share those videos I made with everyone. I’m thinking the content of the video I will be posting is about a vlog or some prank video with my friends. To be honest, I haven’t started yet so I don’t know what the content will be. However, I wish I could do or even try anything I want to do before I get old and couldn’t move my body anymore.
OVS Journalism Blog 
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