Another List

Usually when I don’t know what to write about, I make some sort of list of things that make me happy, things that calm me down, things that remind me of home. But it seems like I’ve run out of ideas for positive lists like that, so here’s a list of things I hate:

  1. trash in nature
  2. when people are rude to the cashier
  3. math
  4. losing
  5. watching cocky people win
  6. watching pretty much anyone other than my team win
  7. public speaking
  8. not having any socks left
  9. being left on read
  10. artichokes
  11. being disliked
  12. feeling like you have to sneeze but not being able to sneeze
  13. racists
  14. ignorant people
  15. my bad communication skills
  16. Photo Credit:


  17. blisters
  18. nightmares
  19. bad actors
  20. feeling left out
  21. walking on the street alone at night
  22. clowns
  23. loneliness
  24. self doubt
  25. jet lag
  26. assigned seating
  27. OVS wifi
  28. jacob sartorius
  29. fun killers
  30. heights
  31. not being respected
  32. swarms of insects
  33. overcooked pasta
  34. people in mascot costumes
  35. dress code
  36. overpriced clothes
  37. snoring
  38. loud chewing
  39. plastic straws
  40. running out of time

The f-word

This one word scares me more than any other word in the English language, but also makes me more excited than any other word.  It makes me excited about what can happen, but also leaves me scared and like I am in a dark abyss.

The future is such a simple word, but it means so much more than anyone could ever explain.

Everything in my life right now is setting up my future.  I have applied to college and committed to the best school for me, yet I still feel like I have no clue what my future actually holds.  I know where I am going to be living and what I am going to be studying, but that’s all.

I do not know what friends I am going to have out there, where I am going to work, and the hardest one for me is that I do not know what I am going to do with my boyfriend.  I don’t want to hold him back,  but I also don’t want to let him go.  We both want to live in the same state once we graduate college so I don’t know if I say bye if it will actually be bye and not see you later.

I am so excited to meet everyone and make new friends.  I can’t wait to see how everyone will help me grow into the woman I am going to become.  I can’t wait to find myself and learn how to be an adult.  I am so excited to settle down, have my own family, live in my own house, and be in the only one in charge of my family.

Photo Credit:

I have the big things planned for my future, but the little things are still unknown and those are the things I really want to know.  My future is such a blur and I am so scared to see what happens, but I am also so excited to watch it all unfold in front of my eyes.


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.

missing DC girls
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“(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.

It’s All Coming Together

It’s that time of year again, college acceptance, and denial, letters are coming our way. After months of working on applications, seniors are finally beginning to hear back from schools.

It feels as though I have been waiting a lifetime to get these letters. My dream school is the University of Southern California, and I want that school more than any other.

I have been accepted into all of my backup schools, two of my three targets, and neither of my two reaches, yet.

Chapman University recently sent me an acceptance letter, and when I got the e-mail I felt this enormous sense of relief, knowing I had been accepted into my third choice school.

The only reason it is my third choice is because I have applied to two more academically rigorous schools; Occidental College, and USC. But those schools are both reaches for me, meaning I have a smaller chance of being accepted.

I am completely happy attending Chapman, but I would be ecstatic to go to Occidental or USC.

Because I will be a pre-law student, meaning I will be going to law school after graduating from whichever undergraduate school I attend.

Because of this, I want to go to the most prestigious school I can in order to give me an edge in the Law School application process.

I am thankful I have options on where I go to college, but I am conflicted as to which school is the perfect fit for me.

Although transferring is always an option, I don’t want to build a life somewhere, make connections with other students, and learn the lay of the land at a school where I am not completely happy.

My best friend just got into Chapman as well, giving the school an enormous edge in my book. However, I have to make sure I make the right decision for me, not anyone else.

At this point, Chapman is it. But if I get an acceptance from Occidental or USC, that may change.

How do I choose the right school?
Photo credit to:

Crow Craziness

Currently, the human species is the smartest on the planet.

I repeat, currently.

I walked into the living room and my mom was watching a TED Talk on her iPad. About what you may ask?

How freakishly intelligent crows are.

Crows have the intelligence and communication skills of a six-year-old child.

Scared? I’m just getting started.

Crows have the ability to plan, recognize faces, hold grudges, conspire with one another, and have incredible problem solving abilities. 

A university in Seattle conducted an experiment where students wore face masks and tagged each of the crows with different colored anklets to identify them, which they didn’t enjoy.

Each time the students would put on the face masks, the crows who were tagged would find the student wearing the face mask that tagged them and proceed to swoop down and harass them

Talk about holding a grudge.

Remember that next time you shoo away a crow.

You’ll know who pooped on your car.

Photo Credit:


The Watchful Poster

Three o’clock, sharp. That’s when the metro train always comes along. And yes, there it is, you can just see the bright headlights of the train. I glance at the ground, taking heed of the chipped yellow “CAUTION” paint. I put my feet squarely on the line and lean forwards slightly.

The oily, grungy, and smokey smell of the tunnels rush up onto my face as the train speeds by, missing my face by inches. I always feel a slight sense of ecstasy whenever I did this. “It’s the adrenaline rush,” I’ve been told, “you’ve probably turned yourself into and adrenaline junkie.”

Adrenaline junkie or not, this is what I did every day, and this is honestly what the highlight of my day is. Sad, isn’t it? That my life is so lifelessly boring that the only joy I feel is having a metro train decapitate me.

After sitting in the train for around four minutes, eight minutes tops, I would squeeze the horde of people and make my way up to my workplace. Well, not before pausing to look at a poster.

That poster had been there since I was just a little girl. After my parents died in that train accident, it seemed like that poster was the only family I had left.
She was a beautiful woman, with long raven hair and a shapely face with soft features. She was posing similar to the world-famous Mona Lisa, the only difference was that she lacked a smile. Her dress, though I could only see the top part, was a stunning emerald-green, still shining through decades of dust on the glass covering of the poster.

Her eyes were coloured out. I know now how or why, but I remember one day looking up into her eyes, the original colour I remember not, and seeing that her eyes had been scribbled out. It looked as if an infant had taken a chalky black crayon and coloured her eyes. The only issue with that theory was that the glass case was framed to the wall with solid steel bars.

Her eyes were so startling black against her milky white skin.

I loved that poster. Like I said, she was almost like family, as I had never missed a day where I would not look up to her beautiful face and give her a swift not, a curt wave, or even a rare smile. Every day was the same; boring, rut-like, and lacking of everything any human could ever want.

Her eyes would always follow me. Every once in a while I would lean in closer to the passing train, allowing it to clip my bangs or chip my nails. Every time I do that I can feel her unseen eyes burning onto my body, either as a warning or an encouragement, I do not know.

So I leaned closer every time. I began to get bruises on my forehead, my hands, even my shoulder once. I was called in for suicide attempts but was released, for there was nobody for them to call to confirm my personality or histories.

Her eyes had never felt so hot in my entire life.

One day I may have leaned in too far. Too soon. I may have fallen in. I saw the familiar headlights, the rushing of the oil-stench wind, but this time I felt the ecstasy before even the train reached me. My, how wonderful that felt.

Really, it only hurt a little.

Mirror Reflection

It’s dark.

No. It’s a soft dark. It’s dark where everything looks painted in black, but not dark where forms would be invisible.

My watch says 3:00. Why must I wake up at 3 in the morning? My roomate is sleeping soundly, turned away from me.

Sleep. The thought forms in my mind. Sleep. Sleep. My body instinctively curls into the fetal position as I begin to drift.

It’s dark.

No, it’s brighter now, and my watch says 4:00. Something really doesn’t want me to sleep, I think, uncurling from my sleep position. The moonlight still shone slightly, but the moon was sinking to make way for the sun.

The blankets fall off me as I slide off the bed, treading on cold, bare feet towards the shared bathroom outside our room.

The lights are quiet. The room is yellowed, giving the white stalls an old and stained look.

I resist the urge to look up as I wash my hands. Don’t look at the mirror. Don’t look at the mirror.

The urge to glance up is far too great. My reflection’s staring right at me. I don’t blink and I back away carefully, reaching behind me to open the door. My reflection blinks. I rush out.

Back in the darkness of my room. Now it’s really dark. I stand by the door to wait for my eyes to adjust and for my heart to slow.


The flower-petal light in my closet turns on and I collapse to the floor, avoiding my own reflective gaze in the mirror. Don’t look at the mirror. Don’t look at the mirror.

I can’t help it, I really can’t. I want to know why she watches me. I need to know what’s behind.

There she is, standing there perfectly like a picture frame. She’s me, but I’m not her.

Behind me is another closet, with another light, and another mirror. Click. The light turns on.

My reflection looks scared, she knows there’s something behind her. I try to look but she moves with me, blocking my view. Always blocking my view.

Move, I think, move.

No, I hear, no.

I begin to back away, and she does too. Slowly, one step at a time, back to the darkness of my room.

My breath halted in agitation as I whip around to look at the other mirror. My reflection isn’t there, only the reflection of the mirror in my closet. The reflection goes on and on, like an infinitely long hallway that will never end. A hallway that reflects eternity.

I look back into my closet. She’s standing in the hallway, her quiet features stretches in terror of what hides behind her.

One more step back. One more step back. I step into the other closet, and my reflection starts screaming. Not screaming out loud. But she’s screaming very loud. She’s very small now. The figure hiding behind her is getting larger, overpowering her. It’s swooping in front of her, cutting her off from me.

I keep stepping back. I touch the other mirror. My reflection is gone, swallowed by the black figure crowding the mirror in my closet. I look behind me into the mirror in the other closet.

There’s nothing there?

I look towards the mirror in my closet.

Is it getting farther away? Get out, get out. Her screams are bloodcurdling, I feel her fear rising with every breath I take. GET OUT.

I run, run towards the scratched mirror in my closet. GET OUT.

I’m still running. I can see her, I can see my reflection. She’s getting closer, she’s running with me. Don’t look back, don’t look back. Her movements are swift, like she had been running all her life.

Behind me is the mirror abyss, the hallway that leads to nothing. The dark figure rises up behind me.

I hit something hard. It’s a wall, but I can’t see it. I can feel it. It’s a wall.

I can see my reflection. She’s screaming, pounding at the wall, pounding at it but it won’t break. Her body is bloody, scratched by a million shards of glass. Her figure is torn, is that bone and marrow I spot?

The darkness is rising behind her.

It’s not darkness. It’s a creature. A beast. A beast with no form, a beast that was once human. Trapped in an eternity of mirror reflections, the human turned to beast and beast turned to darkness.

The glass breaks, I fall to the ground. The room is dark, I can’t see my reflection. The lights are off. The moonlight is bright.

Bright enough for me to see my reflection. The lights are on, giving the white stalls an old and yellowed look.

I see her, I see my reflection washing her hands. She doesn’t look up. Look up, look up.

She looks up. Why do you look scared of me? Where are you going? She’s backing up into the bathroom door. She doesn’t dare tear her eyes away from mine.

The room’s dark again. I don’t want the darkness. The darkness is where the beast lies. I turn on the flower-petal light in my closet.

There she is. She’s scared. Don’t be scared. You’re not the one with the best lurking behind.