650 Words

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?

photo credit: pinterest.com

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.


The story of kale, tangerines, and the realizations I made.

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.

Photo Credit: Pinterest.com

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.

Scapa’s Journey

There are many things I love in life, and one of those happens to be animals, more specifically horses. I’ve grown up around horses since I was young. Horses are amazing, and if anyone knows me, I talk about horses all the time. My aunt had five of her own horses, and her retired off-the-track thoroughbred named Maggie was one of the first horses I ever learned how to ride on.

Horses have always been a very important part of my life. In sixth grade, my uncle told me that he signed me up for horse camp, and at first I thought “Ha. Very funny, not happening.” But I never would’ve thought that that camp would’ve been an open door that led me to one of my true passions. I never thought I’d be owning my own horse.
It was in April of my freshman year. My aunt came up to me and asked me if I wanted to go to an auction to see baby horses. I knew, logically, I should’ve said no, because I knew we were going to fall in love with one of them and then we’d want to buy a new horse. We already had five horses, but you can never have too many horses… right? Well, neither my aunt nor I believed that because when we left the auction, we already had our hearts belonging to one horse.

His name is Scapa. Right now he’s two and a half years old, but he was just a yearling when I got him. It was less than a month before I was getting my back surgery, and I was not sure if I’d have the chance to ride for another year, but I knew I still wanted to work with horses. My aunt got him for $1500, and over the summer before my sophomore year it was my job to help train him for his first halter class, where he won third place.

Though I’ve only had Scapa for a year and a half, I’ve realized several times that Scapa will most likely live into my forties. While I’m in college, going to law school, and even afterwards, my horse will still be there. Horses will always be there for me, and the fact that as I grow up Scapa will be also, it’s something really special that I’m incredibly thankful for.

People who’ve never been around horses are never really able to understand how much of a treasure it is to form a bond with a horse. Horses have always been my best friends in animal form. Any time I’ve had a bad day, I would go down to the barn and my horse would immediately make my mood happier. From horse shows to camping trips to Ireland, the highlights in my life have always involved horses, and it’ll probably be that way for years to come.

Photo Credit: manetail.com

The Great Adventures of Tim Part 1

photo credit to http://www.readretro.com

Tim is a student at a small school. He is known by all his teachers and classmates and he is a very responsible student. His life was very normal and things always seem to work out just fine. Until, one day, during his math class he asked to use the restroom. When he went to the restroom he got sucked down the toilet and popped out in a 2D world.

Immediately after entering this 2D world, a giant Ape took a princess. The princess said “Save me time. You’re my only hope.” The ape ran off. Tim was confused and didn’t know what to do, so he went forward. It was his only choice ,considering the world was 2D.

He jumped from brick platform to brick platform until he reached a wall with a door. He entered the door and a new setting appeared. Now there was not only brick platforms but there were coins and angry muffins walking around. The angry muffins chased him, so he instinctively ran, collecting as many coins as he could. He ran through about 5 doors before he reached a merchant. The merchant had what appeared to be an apple hat. Tim was unsure if it was a hat or an actual part of him, so he just didn’t ask. The Merchant sold apples, but these were not just any apples. They had the ability to make whoever eats it large or shoot fireballs.

Tim Bought one of each apple and when he went to pay he pulled out coins and a star he found. The merchant instantly said “HIDE THAT STAR!” Tim asked why and the merchant continued: “The star has the ability to make you invincible. Its your only hope to defeat the ape.” Tim put it away, then asked how the merchant knew about his mission. The merchant was unsure, he just did.

Tim moved on to the next door. Through this door was a bunch of slanted platforms. At the top of these platforms was the ape. He was holding a bunch of barrels, and then he heard the princess scream for help. Tim rushed up the platforms as fast as he could as the ape began to throw barrels. Tim jumped and jumped over the barrels until he reached the top. The ape said in a very confident voice “Do you think you can beat me?” Tim reached in his back pack and ate all the apples and the star. Tim became an invisible fire shooting giant and attacked the ape, winning the fight in seconds. He saved the princess and was talking to her when he suddenly appeared back in the restroom. Only three minutes had passed since he left the math room. He went back and sat down at his desk still confused about what happened.

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.

No Name Woman.

This summer I read a story about the old traditional Chinese family back to the 1920s. It was called “No Name Woman,” extracted from the book “Woman Warrior“written by Maxine Hong Kingston. I was really shocked by the situation that Kingston portrays about her family.

The story is mainly about an American-Chinese family story in which Kingston’s aunt died in the family well after her child’s birth. Several years after her father and uncles sailed for America, “the Gold Mountain.” In 1924, her mother noticed that her husband’s sister was pregnant. Nobody said anything about the unacceptable activity, but the villagers had been counting and planning to raid their house. The villagers were violent and crazy. They were crying and tearing rice. “They also threw mud and rocks at the house,” the mother told the child. Even the animals were attacked and screamed their deaths. The villagers encircled them with horrific faces. They broke the doors and their knives dripped with the blood of the animals.

As a family, they stood together in the middle of their house. When the men came back, the family would build more wings to enclose the courtyard. However, the villagers pushed through both wings to get the aunt. They ripped up her clothes and shoes and broke her combs. After all they ruined the house and left with sugar and oranges to bless themselves. The aunt gave birth in the pigsty that night and the next morning she was found the baby “plugging up the family well.” The father denied his sister and the mother told the child not to humiliate the family by doing the same thing as his/her aunt.

As the story goes on, Kingston begins to have her own thoughts and finally thinks that her aunt’s story actually represents lots of old Chinese immigrants. She imagines all the past her aunt has been suffering until her death which she thinks might be what the old Chinese world is like back to the 1920s. She describes the world of her aunt which “at peace, they could act like gods, not ghosts.”(Kingston, “No Name Woman”) She regards the old Chinese world as her “no-name” aunt, who could not be defined and identified.

The end of the story is Kingston’s reflection about her aunt’s story. She said, “people who can comfort the dead can also chase after them to hurt them further – a reverse ancestor worship.”(Kingston, “No Name Woman”) I can feel Kingston’s confusion and struggle about what a real Chinese world was like in the old times and she spent her life trying to discover the truth of the society.

And after reading this story, I became more curious about the history of old Chinese immigrants. And I just want to know more about my family history, probably there is also a “no-name woman or man” in my family.
Who knows?


“All systems go.” Said the leader of our group.

This seemed familiar for some reason.

We were colliding particles at mind boggling speeds, something interesting was bound to happen.

I am just a lab technician with an eye for detail. Nothing special.

a simple error message

“error code OXO223.”
“Hey Johnston!” I yelled to the team leader, “What is the deal with this error that keeps popping up?”

“It’s all part of the plan,” Johnston replied. “Continue with the procedure.”

I kept with my job

I set the generators to full power and started the countdown.

“Launching in T-Minus 5…4…3…2…1… Launch”


“All systems go.” Said the leader of our group.

Deja Vu started kicking in. I thought nothing of it.

“error code OXO224.”

I knew that code, something was familiar about it. Maybe I saw it in training.
“Hey Johnston!” I yelled to the team leader, “What is the deal with this error that keeps popping up?”

“It’s all part of the plan,” Johnston replied. “Continue with the procedure.”

I hesitated. Something seemed wrong.

“Are you sure the error is nothing?” I said.

“Yes, very, now get back to your job Rook,” Said Johnston.

I set the generators to full power and started the countdown.

“Launching in T-Minus 5…4…3…2…1… Launch”


“All systems go.” Said the leader of our group.

I was hit with a huge bit of Deja Vu. Something was definitely wrong.


I showed Johnston.

“It’s all part of the plan,” Johnston replied. “Continue with the procedure.”

“John, this can’t be right,” I said. “We have to shut it down.”

“You will do as you are told, now get back to your station,” Said Johnston.

I walked back to the station. I couldn’t do it. Something was wrong.

I started imputing the abort code. Before I could get through the five number code I felt a gun against the back of my head.

“Continue with the procedure,” He said.

I hit the switch.
“Launching in T-Minus 5…4…3…2…1… Launch”

Black. The whole of it. The darkest black I had ever seen. I felt suffocated in my own body. I was left here for eternity.

Just my thoughts.