After the previous stories that I have written regarding my various injuries, they become quite interesting as I left elementary and began middle school. This next injury was one that I could have completely avoided but because I was a stupid middle schooler and I had no common sense. To begin this injury took place in my school’s locker room and was yet again another head injury. Let me set the stage for you, it was close to the end of the year so my school had begun doing swimming for PE, this lead to the need to use the locker room to change in and out of swim trunks. Because we were swimming we used towels and anyone whos anyone knows what an adolescent boy is given a towel and put in a locker room with a bunch of other boys, (if you didn’t get this already I mean towel whips). Continuing with the story, we had finished swimming and were in the locker room changing and I decided that it was a good idea to spin my towel up and whip a kid right in the butt. Thinking back on this decision, it was the worst thing that I could do at the time. After I whipped this kid he turned around and pushed me really hard right in the chest knocking me over onto the ground. At the time I didn’t realize I was hurt other than my head hurting a bit. But about 20 minutes later I rubbed my head and when I looked down at my hand I saw a crap ton of blood, I then rushed to the bathroom to try and see the cut on my head. I couldn’t get a good look at the back of my head for obvious reasons, but luckily one of my friends at the time walked into the bathroom and I had him look at my head to see what was going on under my hair. It turned out that I had cut my head when I fell and didn’t notice until about 25 minutes later. The cut lead to me needing ten stitches and adding another injury to my list.
The events in this story happened after my last story’s events so I suggest you read that one first. After I had healed from jumping into the hot tub. It was a rainy day in my home town, so my PE class was being held in the school gym instead of on the field where it usually was held. We got there and were instructed to take our shoes off so that we didn’t get the floor of the gym wet and slippery, this was a big mistake in my opinion because I kept my socks on. We were doing fun things like dodgeball and just passing the balls, but the problem arose when we started to throw some things in the air and catching them. As I was doing this I somehow made it over to the pile of shoes. I threw the little sheet thing in the air up and ran forward tripping over the shoes and falling forward onto my face. I just so happened to fall right on my freshly healed chin splitting it open again. I remember feeling the sting that happens when I had gashed my chin before. I grabbed it like I had before to keep the blood in but I looked and saw the puddle of blood on the ground and I knew that it was bad. I rushed to the nurses where they called my mom and told me I needed stitches. There is still blood stains on the floor from that event almost eleven years ago.
Journalism can be strange. It is a new way of facilitating my love for writing, yet with emphasis on the most important element – storytelling. Instead of researching my topics online, I now must go into the world and obtain information from people.
The reactions differ – some are more than happy to tell their story. Others, however, remain reserved as you push your way into their schedule. I enjoy the social element of journalism. I have an intriguing conversation with at least one person per week.
Journalism has taught me how to reach out to people, even if you don’t know them. I understand the format of an interview request email, and how to conduct a conversation where I get the other person to say all the right things. In journalism, I am but the message man, bringing other people’s stories into the limelight. I have enjoyed this experience as it has shifted me away from academic writing, improved my social skills, and made me a better storyteller.
The Kenai National Forest tucked away on the twisting coast of Alaska is home to a tall Quaking Aspen tree. The mustard yellow bark plotted with dark-colored knots protrude out of the tree to form slender but sturdy branches. The blackened forest seemed to sleep, but 25 feet up the great aspen tree, curved claws wrap tightly around the bark. Built with a slim body rounded with slick feathers and two ears that spike out of its head like horns, the western screech owl sits still. Every root stopped growing, every leave stopped falling, and every gust of wind ceased to blow as the owls piercing yellow eyes stalked down upon the scavenging rodent below. Following its prey between the plots of rotting yellow leaves and moist forest soil the owl begins to pick up its clawed feet, one after another. Preparing itself. Finally, the creature tilts forward, letting itself be taken by gravity, and with a sharp and intentional swoop, the hunt was over.
i hate peonies
peonies represent something I wish I could be
they push through the harsh conditions of their life
sometimes its just easier to give up
i hate giving up
it makes me feel less of a person
less of someone who deserves what they have
when someone says im too scared for something
or when I feel scared of something
I try to go farther than I have to
and do more than what was asked
I hate being scared
I hate giving up
I hate turning down a challenge
while some might call it
I thinks its different from that
Its not that I dont like being scared because Im a man
its because if Im scared
then i cant move forward.
they arent scared
they survive the harshest of enviorments they are given
they are true warriors
thats why i hate them
i hate how a flower is stronger than me
photo credit: sunset.com
Last week, I went to a basketball game at another school.
Before the game, my Chinese friend was sneezing five times in a row due to her allergies.
The referee saw her and made a really stupid joke.
“You got that virus too?”
No one laughed, except him.
I saw the news today.
In the subway station in NYC, an Asian lady was attacked for wearing a mask, and called a ‘Diseased B*tch’.
I was totally shocked, I just couldn’t understand it.
I thought mask means protection, for the people who are wearing it.
But in that news, mask brought her something completely different from protection.
This is a story that my friend told me.
She is a student abroad in Sydney, and when she called a taxi from the airport to school.
The first sentence driver said to her: “Are you from China?”
She said: “Yes.”
The driver said: “Don’t open your mouth in the car.”
She was so confused and astounded, feeling endlessly helpless.
Ebola is not an African virus, H1N1 is not a Mexican virus, and the coronavirus is not a Chinese virus.
Viruses have NO nationality.
Racism is the MOST dangerous virus.
Let’s go against viruses together, NOT Chinese.
How am I supposed to tell you who I am in 650 words? Are 650 words really going to tell you who I am and why you should choose me for your school?
I am more than 650 words. I am 650 pages that are still be written. There are too many stories for you to know who I truly am from only 650 words. Only one small story will be able to fit in these 650 words, so don’t think this is truly me. Please don’t believe that this is all I am and all I can be. I am so much more than this small part of my life. The story has impacted me a great deal, but it is not the only thing that has.
When you read this please remember that I am a novel and 650 words will not do me justice. So college admissions counselor, read these 650 words and remember they are just a taste of what I could be and not all of me.
I ate a piece of kale the other day.
It was growing in a garden box at school, so I pulled a leaf off of the plant and ate it.
It was a nice, sturdy piece of kale. It tasted pretty good. I continued munching on it as I walked over to the baseball field.
Kale can be a nice snack, if you’re into dark leafy greens. But, as many experienced plant-eaters know, raw kale is quite tough to chew.
My jaws were getting a little bit tired, so I switched over to eating a different leaf that I had also picked from the garden box. I’m not sure what plant this was, but it was softer and sweeter than the kale.
As I was chewing, I twirled the piece between my thumb and my pointer finger.
I started to study the leaves. The kale was dark and rough. It was much more aggressively textured than the other leaf.
It was at that moment when I stopped chewing, for I noticed dozens of very tiny, white bugs all along the sides of the leaves.
I swallowed my bite, then tossed the remnants of my half-eaten leaves aside. I decided not to dwell on it too much, because I didn’t want the thought of the bugs to take away from the otherwise positive experience I had eating them.
(I would like to apologize to the innocent lives I took that day. I didn’t thoroughly inspect the leaves before eating them, and that was selfish of me. To the bugs that once inhabited the kale: I am sorry.)
On a completely unrelated note, this morning my parents and I went out to our tangerine trees. It was time to prune them. After about an hour of picking fruit and chopping branches, my dad said to me: “This is a chore that very few other people your age have to do, but you have to remember that it just makes you more cosmopolitan.”
Though I didn’t really enjoy being outside when it was 40 degrees, I did find comfort in the fact that our work would provide more fruit for us next season.
I never realized it before, but I am so thankful that I know how to take care of citrus trees.
I live in a place where I am fortunate enough to grow my own food. I take that for granted.
I hope that I will always have this luxury, bugs and all.