Section 1:
I do not feel that society allows me to completely integrate myself with certain people. I have a combination of hobbies that are not usually seen together. Because of this, I spend time with different groups of friends; sometimes, one group is almost a polar opposite of another. As a result of this, I often feel embarassed or shy about some aspect of my personality when with a certain group of friends.
Section 2:
There is no complete place in the world. Is there a place that can satisfy a multi-faceted set of hobbies? There is the tennis court, the classroom, the video game console. Each of these places is too pure, and it is tough to make them mix. One of them is physical, one is cerebral, and one is not even of this world. Dimensions don't mix. As much as one might wish to, one cannot "blend" time with space, nor a square with a cube. The constraints of life, of reality and society, will not let these things occur.
Section 3:
I was born on June 29, 1990, the first of two children (for my mother) and the second of three children (for my father). My parents are big on love and small on discipline. They are loose on rules, but with such trust comes a different strictness. My parents trust me and my sister to "behave", so when we don't, that feeling of dissapointment is harder than any punishment they could give.
A sheltered child is more prone to abusing certain things and getting into trouble. That was the rule. By being loose and letting us experience things on our own, a certain trust and standard of expectations were set on us. Feeling comfort in talking to your parents is an important thing in life.
If we did well in school, we were showered with pride and verbal praise. Every relative would know the scores of our math tests within three or four days. But if I ever failed a test, or missed some sort of important appointment, there'd be hell to pay.
Section 4:
As a kid, there was always a crowd of kindergarteners, running across the street to Dana Park after school. We usually played kickball, because it didn't require any equipment, save a ball. The games were great fun, usually breaking down into arguments over someone being safe or out. We'd all go home bitter from the game, vowing mentally to never play on "so-and-so's" team again. Of course, being six years old, nobody remembered what they were mad about by the time the next afternoon rolled around. After a while, all the games and all the outcomes blended together, and no one could remember any specific game.
Section 5:
In my life, my cousin always played a big part. His success in his career allowed him to serve as a role model to me in that respect. He is one of the smartest people I've ever met. He also is an extremely athletic person, playing basketball, soccer, and rock climbing as his main outdoor hobbies. He comes from a big family, the second oldest of four siblings. He lived with my family, in our house, for about a year at one point, and I believe this really helped me get close to him. I still see him fairly often.
Monday, March 5, 2007
Shayna
Section 1
I hate when all the attention is on me. I really hate POLs and presentations, especially when they are by myself. It adds more pressure when its for school and being graded. I really hate when I am asked a question in the middle of class. Even if I know the answer, I cannot say it because I blank and get nervous and stuff.
Then, after that happens, it seems to ruin my day because I am so sensitive. I seem to cry or want to cry over everything that remotely hurts me or my family. I tend to hold on to things for way too long. I still remember instances in fourth, seventh, ninth, every grade actually, where I was incredibly emabarrased over ridiculous things. Then, because I care what people think, I think to myself that they still remember and laugh at me, even though I am pretty sure they do not remember it.
When I get embarassed, my face turns bright red. Then, when I feel my face get hot, I get even more embarassed. I tend to blow things out of proportion. Things that I think are incredibly embarassing usually are not to others. But, I can't get my mind to cope with that so it just gets worse and I can't help it.
Also, I sometimes secretely want to get called on to share my writing or opinions but it would be like I was volunteering. I don't know if this makes sense but being called on for my personal writing instead of volunteering makes me feel like people won't think I think I am better than them. Because it was like I never wanted to share in the first place.
Section 2
San Diego is the perfect city. Its not New York with all the smog and the hustle and bustle, and its not amish Pennsylvania with nothing but horse drawn wagons. There is always a place to go no matter what mood you are in. There is always an empty beach or park if you want aloneness and there is always a concert or sporting event if you want noise and people.
Home is my sanctuary. A place to regroup. A favorite. No judgement, no critics, no one to impress. Family will love you no matter what.
Section 3
I was born on October 20, 1989, the first of two children.
If one were to observe my family, they would instantly see the love we all have for each other. Although we do not have all the possessions in the world, we have each other. We are each other's best friends.
Everything that has happened in my life has made me stronger, even if it hurt at the time. I was always taught to look on the bright side and be thankful for what we do have. My mother always tells me she is so proud of me and she wonders where I beame so mature and courteous. What she doesn't realize is that all the lesson learned came from her and my dad. One thing that was always taught was to do things for yourself. We are always being told that there are cruel people in the world and there is nothing we can do about it. So we deal with them, move on and go home to our family.
There have been many times when we have goals and want things to happen. However, if we want something, we have to make it happen whetherthat be school, work, family or standing up to the cruel. We have to be able to do it alone. We will always have family to help if we need it but the most important thing is to be able to take care of ourselves. Things are not going to just come to us by themselves. If our parents gave us everything we wanted, what are we going to be grateful for and what will we learn from it?
Section 4
In my neighborhood where we used to live, kids played games. Thats what they did. It was a gated community so our parents knew we were safe. So, we went out and played. You walk outside and see your neighbors who were also your best friends, playing games. Flashlight tags during Fourth of July campout, Simon Says and Red light Green Light or Duck Duck Goose on Saturday. No matter where we were, we always played games. We played with Light Brite, Operation and Barbie Dolls. Anything.
My favorite activity in my memory though is Marco Polo. Actually, it was really just being at that pool. There are so many memories there; Learning to swim with my swim teacher Nelson. Watching my mom do her laps or me and my friennds laying out on that warm sunny concrete. That pool was one of my favorite things about that neighborhood even though us kids could never get it. "Crouch down and I'll crawl on top of you." "Okay. You can reach over and get the latch."
That's how we got in. We always had to jump the fence or have our friends lift us or something. It was alwas worth getting hurt to get into that pool though.
Swimming has always been a part of my life, the many times we moved, we needed a pool.
Section 5
My mother always tells me stories about her father that are hard for me to believe.
When I was little, I remember it taking me minutes to inch close enough to give him a kiss on the cheek. He was big and scary and had a deep voice that gave me goosebumps.
He always told us about the war. He has a whole room dedicated to it. He's kinds of like a redneck with modern technology, like much my family.
My grandfather, whom I call Pop because he used to make a popping noise with his finger and his mouth, had a room full of guns and deerheads. That room was cold and scary, just like I thought he was. He is a hardcore Republican, a spoiled man, thought children "should be seen and not heard", but I love him.
Today there is nothing holding me back from giving him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. I got taller, he got shorter and less scary. I cook for him and he loves it. He has a warm heart now and looks so cute with his dad's old leather visor in his big comfy chair. He is the only grandfather I have and I now cherish him and love spending time with him. I can see how he was once a spoile man, but now I just consider him well taken care of. He has people who love him and he has done so much for us, he deserves to be spoiled.
I hate when all the attention is on me. I really hate POLs and presentations, especially when they are by myself. It adds more pressure when its for school and being graded. I really hate when I am asked a question in the middle of class. Even if I know the answer, I cannot say it because I blank and get nervous and stuff.
Then, after that happens, it seems to ruin my day because I am so sensitive. I seem to cry or want to cry over everything that remotely hurts me or my family. I tend to hold on to things for way too long. I still remember instances in fourth, seventh, ninth, every grade actually, where I was incredibly emabarrased over ridiculous things. Then, because I care what people think, I think to myself that they still remember and laugh at me, even though I am pretty sure they do not remember it.
When I get embarassed, my face turns bright red. Then, when I feel my face get hot, I get even more embarassed. I tend to blow things out of proportion. Things that I think are incredibly embarassing usually are not to others. But, I can't get my mind to cope with that so it just gets worse and I can't help it.
Also, I sometimes secretely want to get called on to share my writing or opinions but it would be like I was volunteering. I don't know if this makes sense but being called on for my personal writing instead of volunteering makes me feel like people won't think I think I am better than them. Because it was like I never wanted to share in the first place.
Section 2
San Diego is the perfect city. Its not New York with all the smog and the hustle and bustle, and its not amish Pennsylvania with nothing but horse drawn wagons. There is always a place to go no matter what mood you are in. There is always an empty beach or park if you want aloneness and there is always a concert or sporting event if you want noise and people.
Home is my sanctuary. A place to regroup. A favorite. No judgement, no critics, no one to impress. Family will love you no matter what.
Section 3
I was born on October 20, 1989, the first of two children.
If one were to observe my family, they would instantly see the love we all have for each other. Although we do not have all the possessions in the world, we have each other. We are each other's best friends.
Everything that has happened in my life has made me stronger, even if it hurt at the time. I was always taught to look on the bright side and be thankful for what we do have. My mother always tells me she is so proud of me and she wonders where I beame so mature and courteous. What she doesn't realize is that all the lesson learned came from her and my dad. One thing that was always taught was to do things for yourself. We are always being told that there are cruel people in the world and there is nothing we can do about it. So we deal with them, move on and go home to our family.
There have been many times when we have goals and want things to happen. However, if we want something, we have to make it happen whetherthat be school, work, family or standing up to the cruel. We have to be able to do it alone. We will always have family to help if we need it but the most important thing is to be able to take care of ourselves. Things are not going to just come to us by themselves. If our parents gave us everything we wanted, what are we going to be grateful for and what will we learn from it?
Section 4
In my neighborhood where we used to live, kids played games. Thats what they did. It was a gated community so our parents knew we were safe. So, we went out and played. You walk outside and see your neighbors who were also your best friends, playing games. Flashlight tags during Fourth of July campout, Simon Says and Red light Green Light or Duck Duck Goose on Saturday. No matter where we were, we always played games. We played with Light Brite, Operation and Barbie Dolls. Anything.
My favorite activity in my memory though is Marco Polo. Actually, it was really just being at that pool. There are so many memories there; Learning to swim with my swim teacher Nelson. Watching my mom do her laps or me and my friennds laying out on that warm sunny concrete. That pool was one of my favorite things about that neighborhood even though us kids could never get it. "Crouch down and I'll crawl on top of you." "Okay. You can reach over and get the latch."
That's how we got in. We always had to jump the fence or have our friends lift us or something. It was alwas worth getting hurt to get into that pool though.
Swimming has always been a part of my life, the many times we moved, we needed a pool.
Section 5
My mother always tells me stories about her father that are hard for me to believe.
When I was little, I remember it taking me minutes to inch close enough to give him a kiss on the cheek. He was big and scary and had a deep voice that gave me goosebumps.
He always told us about the war. He has a whole room dedicated to it. He's kinds of like a redneck with modern technology, like much my family.
My grandfather, whom I call Pop because he used to make a popping noise with his finger and his mouth, had a room full of guns and deerheads. That room was cold and scary, just like I thought he was. He is a hardcore Republican, a spoiled man, thought children "should be seen and not heard", but I love him.
Today there is nothing holding me back from giving him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. I got taller, he got shorter and less scary. I cook for him and he loves it. He has a warm heart now and looks so cute with his dad's old leather visor in his big comfy chair. He is the only grandfather I have and I now cherish him and love spending time with him. I can see how he was once a spoile man, but now I just consider him well taken care of. He has people who love him and he has done so much for us, he deserves to be spoiled.
Adriana Baddour
Section 1:
I hate to show my emotions. I feel like I cannot show that I am sad or upset because of how I portray myself at school. However, I always choose not to show these feelings because then I feel weak and vulnerable. I want to prove to people that I am strong and not emotional. I hate to cry, which is also part of my hate towards emotion. Because I'm Adriana, the typical extremely loud and happy person, I don't want to be viewed as anything else. If anything, I am happy to be able to hide these emotions.
Section 2:
The only place I show my emotions are at cemetaries, mainly because the thought of dying makes me cry. Knowing that one day, Id be leaving people that I love behind is very depressing. Looking at other people crying during a funeral also makes me depressed. It makes me think that one day, later in my life, an important person to me will die such as my mother or father, which is horrible to think of. I only feel comfortable showing my emotions at these cemetaries because of the environment I am surrounded in.
Section 3:
I was born September 17th, 1990, the first born out of three children. In my family, the first born is viewed as the best. First borns do everything right, even when it comes to extra cirricular activities such as sports or music. We are extremely overprotected, at least thats how my arab side of the family is.
My ethnicity makes it harder for me as a first born. There are many values both sides of my family do not share whatsoever. One side, the arab side, are extremely competitive. Sports are everything. If you are not good, then do not even bother playing. However, as for my Nicaraguan side, everything depends on school and grades.
Both sides of my family are brutally honest, even if the truth hurts, they wont mind saying how they feel. This helps me take criticizm very well. There are no such things as whimps in my family. You better be good at something if you want to succeed.
Section 4:
My childhood years were the same as any ten year old living in San Diego. Although never valued playing childhood games, I still enjoyed playing "states" or four square with my school friends. At my small Catholic school, we had a painting of the United States on the asfault, which is where we got the name "states". "States" was my favorite game, although it consisted of running a lot and I hated to run. The game would start by shouting, "Run over to Maine!" As my friend yelled, everyone only thought only about strategy; willing to run around the entire school so you couldn't be tagged. My friends and I waited until someone made the courageous move of running across the map. As she ran, everyone sprinted towards Maine, making sure they weren't the next victim up to stand.
Section 5:
The man or woman that I remembered the most in my childhood was my father. My father is one of the most important people in my life. He has been the only one that supports me in soccer. He tries to come to every one of my games, even with his chaotic work schedule. At times, when I needed it the most, he is willing to pay for a private trainer so I can be the best. Even since I was involved in tap dancing, he still was there supporting me. Although it is something I love to do, I play for my father as well. I was the son my father never had.
I hate to show my emotions. I feel like I cannot show that I am sad or upset because of how I portray myself at school. However, I always choose not to show these feelings because then I feel weak and vulnerable. I want to prove to people that I am strong and not emotional. I hate to cry, which is also part of my hate towards emotion. Because I'm Adriana, the typical extremely loud and happy person, I don't want to be viewed as anything else. If anything, I am happy to be able to hide these emotions.
Section 2:
The only place I show my emotions are at cemetaries, mainly because the thought of dying makes me cry. Knowing that one day, Id be leaving people that I love behind is very depressing. Looking at other people crying during a funeral also makes me depressed. It makes me think that one day, later in my life, an important person to me will die such as my mother or father, which is horrible to think of. I only feel comfortable showing my emotions at these cemetaries because of the environment I am surrounded in.
Section 3:
I was born September 17th, 1990, the first born out of three children. In my family, the first born is viewed as the best. First borns do everything right, even when it comes to extra cirricular activities such as sports or music. We are extremely overprotected, at least thats how my arab side of the family is.
My ethnicity makes it harder for me as a first born. There are many values both sides of my family do not share whatsoever. One side, the arab side, are extremely competitive. Sports are everything. If you are not good, then do not even bother playing. However, as for my Nicaraguan side, everything depends on school and grades.
Both sides of my family are brutally honest, even if the truth hurts, they wont mind saying how they feel. This helps me take criticizm very well. There are no such things as whimps in my family. You better be good at something if you want to succeed.
Section 4:
My childhood years were the same as any ten year old living in San Diego. Although never valued playing childhood games, I still enjoyed playing "states" or four square with my school friends. At my small Catholic school, we had a painting of the United States on the asfault, which is where we got the name "states". "States" was my favorite game, although it consisted of running a lot and I hated to run. The game would start by shouting, "Run over to Maine!" As my friend yelled, everyone only thought only about strategy; willing to run around the entire school so you couldn't be tagged. My friends and I waited until someone made the courageous move of running across the map. As she ran, everyone sprinted towards Maine, making sure they weren't the next victim up to stand.
Section 5:
The man or woman that I remembered the most in my childhood was my father. My father is one of the most important people in my life. He has been the only one that supports me in soccer. He tries to come to every one of my games, even with his chaotic work schedule. At times, when I needed it the most, he is willing to pay for a private trainer so I can be the best. Even since I was involved in tap dancing, he still was there supporting me. Although it is something I love to do, I play for my father as well. I was the son my father never had.
Jason Carrier
Part 1
I enjoy to lie. Seeing people be completely bamboozled by something so completely easy to do just makes me feel superior. I guess the real issue is that I have an inferiority complex. So, lying feeds my ego. I like to do a lot of things that aren’t necessarily moral that make me feel better about myself. Doesn’t everyone do that in one way or another?
Part 2
I guess that I’ve always seen lying as an okay thing to do, probably because I’ve always lived in the city. You see people lie every day. I cities, morals aren't so important, but more so, being successful. That's all I've ever cared about.
Part 3
I was born July 24, 1989, an only child. My family is very small, my mom, me, and no one else. I’ve never really had any trouble with life, or at least no trouble that everyone else hasn’t had. In fact, I’ve probably had life a lot easier than most kids my age, I’m an only child. That’s not to say that all only-child’s get it easy, I mean, its not a stereotype that you can hold everyone to.
Part 4
When I was younger, I never really had very many friends. I never really had friends until late high school. So, when I was little I always ended up doing things with computers. You don’t need friends to use computers and electronics. So, I became a nerd, which probably fueled me not having friends. Eventually, being a nerd became boring, so, I started spending time around this mechanic I knew.
Part 5
This mechanic was a drunk, and probably wasn’t the best influence on me, but at the time, it was good because it got me away from being a nerd. It also got me into cars, although I don’t ever talk about my love of cars. I spent so much time with this mechanic, that I knew every part of a car, or at least every part of most old cars. I probably don’t anymore though, I haven’t talked to him, or any other mechanic in years.
I enjoy to lie. Seeing people be completely bamboozled by something so completely easy to do just makes me feel superior. I guess the real issue is that I have an inferiority complex. So, lying feeds my ego. I like to do a lot of things that aren’t necessarily moral that make me feel better about myself. Doesn’t everyone do that in one way or another?
Part 2
I guess that I’ve always seen lying as an okay thing to do, probably because I’ve always lived in the city. You see people lie every day. I cities, morals aren't so important, but more so, being successful. That's all I've ever cared about.
Part 3
I was born July 24, 1989, an only child. My family is very small, my mom, me, and no one else. I’ve never really had any trouble with life, or at least no trouble that everyone else hasn’t had. In fact, I’ve probably had life a lot easier than most kids my age, I’m an only child. That’s not to say that all only-child’s get it easy, I mean, its not a stereotype that you can hold everyone to.
Part 4
When I was younger, I never really had very many friends. I never really had friends until late high school. So, when I was little I always ended up doing things with computers. You don’t need friends to use computers and electronics. So, I became a nerd, which probably fueled me not having friends. Eventually, being a nerd became boring, so, I started spending time around this mechanic I knew.
Part 5
This mechanic was a drunk, and probably wasn’t the best influence on me, but at the time, it was good because it got me away from being a nerd. It also got me into cars, although I don’t ever talk about my love of cars. I spent so much time with this mechanic, that I knew every part of a car, or at least every part of most old cars. I probably don’t anymore though, I haven’t talked to him, or any other mechanic in years.
Estefanie Paje
Section 1:
Religious practices are meant to be done out of a love for God. They are not meant to be practiced for any other reason – tradition, habit, and especially not for self-gain or for praise from men. This does not mean that these motives are non-existent for some people. People practice their religion for reasons far from a love for God (or a god). They then begin to live in a world of lies. At many points in my life, that was the world I lived in.
Growing up in a Christian home and in a Christian school, the Catholic tradition of lent was foreign to me. My family-friends practiced it every year from preschool up… although I never realized it until the seventh grade. A morning radio show had introduced me to the concept of lent – giving up something for 40 days in remembrance of what Christ gave up on the cross as well as His 40 days in the desert. One of the Catholic co-hosts challenged his listeners to give up some sort of junk food for 40 days “It’ll be a challenge. Just test it out and see if you can make it. If you do, you won’t be disappointed with the results.”
I attempted to practice lent and take on the challenge. It was not as fun as anticipated. The challenge, however, was surely there. Being the only one practicing lent in the school, many teased and tempted me with junk food. I cracked and gave up within the first two weeks.
It was not until the 8th grade that I began using lent as a diet plan. I was perfectly fine with my body until I took someone’s fat joke to heart. It was then I decided my body wasn’t good enough. I began to see fat and bulges, although everyone claimed they weren’t there.
My whole family would disapprove of giving up sweets if I told them, and they would force me to eat. That was the last thing I wanted. When I told my God-loving Catholic aunts about my decision to participate in lent, they were overjoyed. My parents were a different story. It took a lot of talk for my aunts to convince my parents that the lent was okay and that it wasn’t a form of dieting but of praising God.
At this point, I was convinced that in my dieting I was glorifying God because I was doing it during lent. This is what I told everyone, even my closest friend. I told them it was only temporary, but even after lent was over, the diet wasn’t. Meals were skipped. Calories were counted. Gum and water replaced any stomach craving I ever had. I knew dieting was bad, but as long as I convinced myself, and others, that I was doing it out of a love for God - it became "okay."
Section 2:
If you drive on the I-5 North from the Southside of San Diego to the central area, you’ll see a change of scenery within five minutes. The Southside area, National City, is currently undergoing a “beautify the ghetto” sort of project, and the city is generously offering their time and money to make National City more eye-pleasing.
That seems to be all anything is about – how good it looks. The closer things are to perfect, the more beautiful and pleasing it is. People are constantly striving for perfection, especially in areas people can see.
Front yards in richer neighborhoods are by far the cleanest and most kempt part of the home. Any dead piece of a plant is up and out of the way before anyone notices. The grass is cut evenly and then ruffled so no one can tell where the lawn mower’s wheels have been. Flowers in flower beds are evenly spaced apart and are in a palette of colors which, not only go well with the plants around it, but also with the shade of the house.
No sign of inconsistency is ever found. And now, here I am, looking in the mirror seeing inconsistencies in my face and in my body. My cheeks are too fat. My eyes are too big, and one is higher than the other. My waist is too small and my hips are too big. My rowdy childhood play has left its fair share of marks on me as well. I am not without blemish. I cannot even compare to the perfection obtained by a front yard. Does this mean I’m not beautiful?
Section 3:
I was born on March 7, 1990. The third of four children and my parents' only daughter.
My relationship with my parents is a mix of what the average American would expect. It goes to neither extreme. We aren't open and close. We aren't distant and secretive. This parent-to-child relationship is the same with all four children. Some people feel bad for us because we don't talk openly with our parents. I, for one, see nothing wrong with it. You will never really learn anything unless you make your own mistakes. Regardless of how much (or how little) we talk, my parents look after and support their children with an endless supply of "TLC" (tender love and care). My relationship with my brothers is slightly different. We go to each other when we need help, whether it be in life or in homework. We hang out when we feel we must. That's about it.
Love is the center of our family. Fighting is frowned upon. To my knowledge, my parents fought only once in my life. When they fought, they didn't even yell. They gave each other the silent treatment. It was the only time I was truly scared out of my mind. My brothers and I have become so accustomed to a peaceful home that we'd rather walk away and let the situation get cold than sit there and argue about who should get the remote. If we're feeling smart, we'll heed each other's warnings and back off. After all, why waste time fighting when you can get up and move on with life? Our unspoken rule is as follows: "Get up. Get over it. Move on... if you do happen to fight, don't waste time saying sorry. It reopens the argument. Simply act as if it never happened."
Section 4:
There weren't too many children in my neighborhood to play with. If my brothers and I did happen to find some, our parents weren't likely to allow us to play with them for one reason or another. "They're bad." "It's too cold outside." "It's too hot outside." "It's too dark." Yadi yadi yadda...
The only children we were allowed to play with were our friends at school (but we could play ONLY at school) and our family friends (whom we were allowed to play with at any and every get together). The get togethers are my favorite and most cherished childhood memories. Upon arrival, all the children would run into the guest room and turn off all the lights. We'd close the blinds and fill any gap that allows light into the room. We loved playing in the dark. Something about it fascinated us. At the time we didn't know what it was. Looking back, I think I have an idea.
It may have been that we enjoyed not knowing where we were going. We were scared to death that the candy man or someone with a chainsaw would pop out up out of nowhere and take us away. We'd hold on tightly to each other, unless of course, one of the rules of the game was that we couldn't travel in packs. The goal of the game was usually to find something. It could be a game of hide and go seek or find the spoon or flashlight. Whatever it was, there we achieved a sense of accomplishment when we found what we were looking for. We wandered around the unknown not knowing where we were going, just that there was something for us to find.
Section 5:
My grandmother is the most beautiful woman on earth, both inside and out. Most would ask why I didn't give my own mother this title. The reason is, my mother is a carbon-copy of my grandmother. It was from my grandmother that my mom learned to be the woman she is today.
My grandmother, or Lola Earling as we all call her, has been taking care of families since her mom passed away. She first began taking care of her siblings and her father. When she got older and started her own family, she managed to raise four children in her household in her husband's absense, which was most of the time due to his work. Even after her children had grown up and started their own families, she still served them by taking care of their children. All in all, she took care of three generations of our family.
My Lola and my Lolo were both petitioned to come to the US in the year 2001. By this time, my brothers and I were old enough to take care of ourselves and our household. We no longer allowed her to clean our bathrooms, our rooms, or comb our hair. We could do that ourselves, but she still had a servant's heart. It didn't take her long to begin searching for a job in which she could serve others. Eventually, she settled on being a live-in caretaker for the mentally ill. Right now, she's over 70 years old and still willing to take care of people. I don't think there was any time in her life that she has allowed anyone to really take care of her. She doesn't find joy in being taken care of. She finds joy in taking care of others. She probably always will.
Religious practices are meant to be done out of a love for God. They are not meant to be practiced for any other reason – tradition, habit, and especially not for self-gain or for praise from men. This does not mean that these motives are non-existent for some people. People practice their religion for reasons far from a love for God (or a god). They then begin to live in a world of lies. At many points in my life, that was the world I lived in.
Growing up in a Christian home and in a Christian school, the Catholic tradition of lent was foreign to me. My family-friends practiced it every year from preschool up… although I never realized it until the seventh grade. A morning radio show had introduced me to the concept of lent – giving up something for 40 days in remembrance of what Christ gave up on the cross as well as His 40 days in the desert. One of the Catholic co-hosts challenged his listeners to give up some sort of junk food for 40 days “It’ll be a challenge. Just test it out and see if you can make it. If you do, you won’t be disappointed with the results.”
I attempted to practice lent and take on the challenge. It was not as fun as anticipated. The challenge, however, was surely there. Being the only one practicing lent in the school, many teased and tempted me with junk food. I cracked and gave up within the first two weeks.
It was not until the 8th grade that I began using lent as a diet plan. I was perfectly fine with my body until I took someone’s fat joke to heart. It was then I decided my body wasn’t good enough. I began to see fat and bulges, although everyone claimed they weren’t there.
My whole family would disapprove of giving up sweets if I told them, and they would force me to eat. That was the last thing I wanted. When I told my God-loving Catholic aunts about my decision to participate in lent, they were overjoyed. My parents were a different story. It took a lot of talk for my aunts to convince my parents that the lent was okay and that it wasn’t a form of dieting but of praising God.
At this point, I was convinced that in my dieting I was glorifying God because I was doing it during lent. This is what I told everyone, even my closest friend. I told them it was only temporary, but even after lent was over, the diet wasn’t. Meals were skipped. Calories were counted. Gum and water replaced any stomach craving I ever had. I knew dieting was bad, but as long as I convinced myself, and others, that I was doing it out of a love for God - it became "okay."
Section 2:
If you drive on the I-5 North from the Southside of San Diego to the central area, you’ll see a change of scenery within five minutes. The Southside area, National City, is currently undergoing a “beautify the ghetto” sort of project, and the city is generously offering their time and money to make National City more eye-pleasing.
That seems to be all anything is about – how good it looks. The closer things are to perfect, the more beautiful and pleasing it is. People are constantly striving for perfection, especially in areas people can see.
Front yards in richer neighborhoods are by far the cleanest and most kempt part of the home. Any dead piece of a plant is up and out of the way before anyone notices. The grass is cut evenly and then ruffled so no one can tell where the lawn mower’s wheels have been. Flowers in flower beds are evenly spaced apart and are in a palette of colors which, not only go well with the plants around it, but also with the shade of the house.
No sign of inconsistency is ever found. And now, here I am, looking in the mirror seeing inconsistencies in my face and in my body. My cheeks are too fat. My eyes are too big, and one is higher than the other. My waist is too small and my hips are too big. My rowdy childhood play has left its fair share of marks on me as well. I am not without blemish. I cannot even compare to the perfection obtained by a front yard. Does this mean I’m not beautiful?
Section 3:
I was born on March 7, 1990. The third of four children and my parents' only daughter.
My relationship with my parents is a mix of what the average American would expect. It goes to neither extreme. We aren't open and close. We aren't distant and secretive. This parent-to-child relationship is the same with all four children. Some people feel bad for us because we don't talk openly with our parents. I, for one, see nothing wrong with it. You will never really learn anything unless you make your own mistakes. Regardless of how much (or how little) we talk, my parents look after and support their children with an endless supply of "TLC" (tender love and care). My relationship with my brothers is slightly different. We go to each other when we need help, whether it be in life or in homework. We hang out when we feel we must. That's about it.
Love is the center of our family. Fighting is frowned upon. To my knowledge, my parents fought only once in my life. When they fought, they didn't even yell. They gave each other the silent treatment. It was the only time I was truly scared out of my mind. My brothers and I have become so accustomed to a peaceful home that we'd rather walk away and let the situation get cold than sit there and argue about who should get the remote. If we're feeling smart, we'll heed each other's warnings and back off. After all, why waste time fighting when you can get up and move on with life? Our unspoken rule is as follows: "Get up. Get over it. Move on... if you do happen to fight, don't waste time saying sorry. It reopens the argument. Simply act as if it never happened."
Section 4:
There weren't too many children in my neighborhood to play with. If my brothers and I did happen to find some, our parents weren't likely to allow us to play with them for one reason or another. "They're bad." "It's too cold outside." "It's too hot outside." "It's too dark." Yadi yadi yadda...
The only children we were allowed to play with were our friends at school (but we could play ONLY at school) and our family friends (whom we were allowed to play with at any and every get together). The get togethers are my favorite and most cherished childhood memories. Upon arrival, all the children would run into the guest room and turn off all the lights. We'd close the blinds and fill any gap that allows light into the room. We loved playing in the dark. Something about it fascinated us. At the time we didn't know what it was. Looking back, I think I have an idea.
It may have been that we enjoyed not knowing where we were going. We were scared to death that the candy man or someone with a chainsaw would pop out up out of nowhere and take us away. We'd hold on tightly to each other, unless of course, one of the rules of the game was that we couldn't travel in packs. The goal of the game was usually to find something. It could be a game of hide and go seek or find the spoon or flashlight. Whatever it was, there we achieved a sense of accomplishment when we found what we were looking for. We wandered around the unknown not knowing where we were going, just that there was something for us to find.
Section 5:
My grandmother is the most beautiful woman on earth, both inside and out. Most would ask why I didn't give my own mother this title. The reason is, my mother is a carbon-copy of my grandmother. It was from my grandmother that my mom learned to be the woman she is today.
My grandmother, or Lola Earling as we all call her, has been taking care of families since her mom passed away. She first began taking care of her siblings and her father. When she got older and started her own family, she managed to raise four children in her household in her husband's absense, which was most of the time due to his work. Even after her children had grown up and started their own families, she still served them by taking care of their children. All in all, she took care of three generations of our family.
My Lola and my Lolo were both petitioned to come to the US in the year 2001. By this time, my brothers and I were old enough to take care of ourselves and our household. We no longer allowed her to clean our bathrooms, our rooms, or comb our hair. We could do that ourselves, but she still had a servant's heart. It didn't take her long to begin searching for a job in which she could serve others. Eventually, she settled on being a live-in caretaker for the mentally ill. Right now, she's over 70 years old and still willing to take care of people. I don't think there was any time in her life that she has allowed anyone to really take care of her. She doesn't find joy in being taken care of. She finds joy in taking care of others. She probably always will.
Gaston Field
1) Honestly I prefer to be alone and not speak and I also do not like it when people feel compelled to try and cheer me up or talk to me because they think I am sad. This particular aspect of my life is one that I have reflected on and have given a great amount of thought, mostly because it affects me and haunts my thoughts every single day. My behavior even prompts my parents to say how unhealthy my silence is, that I will not be successful when I grow up because I will let too many opportunities go by me. This will all happen because I am not a talkative person; in fact it will happen because I am not the norm. Perhaps the problem is just that there are not enough people like me. A majority of people are what are called extroverts and I am the opposite or an introvert. Maybe I am just angry at those people who do not understand me. Maybe that is why when people come and talk to me to cheer me up or because they feel sorry for me I get angry. They just do not understand me and the way I am. It could even go further in that I do not like to have people talk about the real me or my feelings. In fact I do not even like to talk about myself, it is really hard for me to do so. Honestly I wish people would just leave me alone about the fact that I do not talk all that much, they should just accept that I am not a sociable person.
2) To find quiet peace in
3)I was born March 10, 1990, the first of two children.
Of my family it can be said that they are very hardworking. So hard working are my parents that my brother and I only see my Mother in the morning and at night and my Father only every weekend. Family has always been important to my family especially my Father, because of this most of my weekends are spent doing things with my parents. This of course impacts my social life outside of school which is non existent. My parents have never been exactly been accepting of the fact that I am not a social person. Perhaps they have indirectly encouraged my quiet unsociable ways.
In fact my parents have forced me to do many things that I have not wanted to do. This is true for many children the world over but, in my case they have forced me to do things that they think will make me a more social person. One instance would be Model United Nations. Perhaps I should never have expressed any interest in MUN but, once my parents caught wind of the MUN program here at High Tech High I knew that one way or another they would force me into doing it. At first it was alright but, as of late my interest in it has waned. Even if quitting ever crossed my mind I would not tell them. This is because they would give me hell before they ever let me quit.
4) When it has come to any sort of game I have been consistently underestimated. Whether the game is dodgeball or tetherball did not matter, my peers have always considered me to be of lesser physical fitness. One such instance would be the game of football. Personally I think football should be the new American pass time but, that is beside the point. The game of football requires several things: speed, physical fitness and a bit of aggression. It is for these reasons that I was always discounted and yet also why my ability would always surprise my peers. The game of football is a simple one. The center hikes the ball to the quarterback who then throws it to one of his receivers. I have always filled the role of a receiver because no matter how well I can throw that ball it never seems to translate well during a game. Most games the guy covering me never does it very well. In fact there have been times where I was not covered on my teams’ first possession. All that can be said is that on the next possession the other team does not make the same mistake.
5) When most people look back on the way they knew their Father when they were a kid they more often then not remember thinking of him as some big strong fearless guy. Their Father always had the answers and was always working. In a way I still think of my Father in this way. It was not till recently that I noticed that he is like me in many ways. For instance my Father for as long as I remember has not been at home for a whole week. He has always been home on the weekends and never during the week. He certainly never talks about or goes out with friends. As far as I can tell he normally spends his time alone like me. This new realization certainly sheds a new light on light my Father that I never really thought about before.
madeleine
Part 1
There was this one time when I first began working at the Natural History Museum that I remember quite vividly. My boss had given me an apron to wear and told me to decorate it with buttons and the like. So I put some cute brooches on it and I always got compliments on how pretty they were.
About six months after that, I was walking with my boss to the store and she tells me, quite frankly, that my brooches, though cute, are not professional and that I should take them off immediately. Not wanting to argue with her, I take them off, but not after she tells me that I could still wear them, except only on my jacket.
I understand there are some things in the world that I am not supposed to fully grasp, but when things like that happen, I become too analytical of the situation. First, I wonder why they even told me to do these things in the beginning, then I question why that person said it to me. Many things have happened in my life where I question other people’s motives, so I shall write about mine.
Part 2
If you’ve ever been to my city you noticed the sense of cultural diversity. In the people walking in the street, the items sold in the shop windows, and even in the architecture of the buildings, there is a multitude of people and places that come from all over the world. Such a beautiful example of this is Balboa Park. The buildings are so old and have so much history hidden behind them that it has to be taken in like deep breaths of clean air that surrounds this city. It is here that my sense of wonder begins.
Part 3
I was born March 11, 1990, the youngest of two children.
There is much to be said of the love and religion that consumes my family’s house. There was never anything that wasn’t provided for – a completely private education (at a Catholic school, no less), weekly visits to the grandparents so that we could live in a family that doesn’t seem so dysfunctional, and even braces for the sets of teeth that would surely grow crooked like the parents’ if it were not for the countless trips to the Orthodontist. Surely we could say that we had everything, if not for the lack of a puppy, but we did not need it considering it was hard enough to get attention in my household. There is no doubt my parents love my brother and I – anything that needed to be done was done immediately and usually with the entire family’s support. So there we were, surrounded by the love of our family that held us together.
Growing up within this family, there were no individual dreams of accomplishmet, but rather a collective dream that was held by the entire family. One did not choose to go to college, one went, because they family knew that someday you would thank them for it. Arguments in my family were rare; namely because my brother, a debater, would say his points so many ties it nowas not worth the time to argue. Even if it was, the words of the opposition fell on deaf ears. Instead we learned to work hard for the things we wanted, and that everything would work out because, well, we would find a way to make it work.
Although my family was and continues to be incredibly supportive, sometimes they put each other to the test to see if they could do things on their own. Many times I have had instances where there was concern toward my education, but my parent’s replies were usually, “well, you need to be more active in your own education, perhaps you should do this” where nothing ever came out of it. Regardless to say, we still loved each other, no matter how hard it was to show it.
Part 4
There were never very many children in my neighborhood – most of our neighbors were of the elderly sort, who quietly lived out their retirement and waited for the coming of death. We quickly found friends with the children across the street, “who showed great promise” according to their parents, both Harvard graduates. We would find hidden hours in the day to play with them, such games that verged on pranks but were too harmless to harm anyone.
I remember hiding between pillow cushions while eagerly anticipating being found.
“Ha! I found you – now you go count to one hundred.”
And while one begins the tedious task of counting the game suddenly gets boring, and the children go on to play something else while not telling you. But still, you stand there, getting closer and closer to finding the children who left five minutes prior.
Part 5
The woman who raised me never struck me as unhappy. Always the one to comfort me I thought she was invincible. No matter how much work she had to do, no matter how bad her day was, she would always find a way to brighten the home we live in. She would be the first to suggest taking a family walk around the neighborhood, or playing the family favorite, Monopoly. My brother always won, but it didn’t matter because my mother would always find a way to make things funny. It was from her that I learned about work ethic and how to carry myself in different situations. As a mother, she taught me about caring, and empathy, and we had such a strong bond between us that I thought every mother and daughter shared this.
There was this one time when I first began working at the Natural History Museum that I remember quite vividly. My boss had given me an apron to wear and told me to decorate it with buttons and the like. So I put some cute brooches on it and I always got compliments on how pretty they were.
About six months after that, I was walking with my boss to the store and she tells me, quite frankly, that my brooches, though cute, are not professional and that I should take them off immediately. Not wanting to argue with her, I take them off, but not after she tells me that I could still wear them, except only on my jacket.
I understand there are some things in the world that I am not supposed to fully grasp, but when things like that happen, I become too analytical of the situation. First, I wonder why they even told me to do these things in the beginning, then I question why that person said it to me. Many things have happened in my life where I question other people’s motives, so I shall write about mine.
Part 2
If you’ve ever been to my city you noticed the sense of cultural diversity. In the people walking in the street, the items sold in the shop windows, and even in the architecture of the buildings, there is a multitude of people and places that come from all over the world. Such a beautiful example of this is Balboa Park. The buildings are so old and have so much history hidden behind them that it has to be taken in like deep breaths of clean air that surrounds this city. It is here that my sense of wonder begins.
Part 3
I was born March 11, 1990, the youngest of two children.
There is much to be said of the love and religion that consumes my family’s house. There was never anything that wasn’t provided for – a completely private education (at a Catholic school, no less), weekly visits to the grandparents so that we could live in a family that doesn’t seem so dysfunctional, and even braces for the sets of teeth that would surely grow crooked like the parents’ if it were not for the countless trips to the Orthodontist. Surely we could say that we had everything, if not for the lack of a puppy, but we did not need it considering it was hard enough to get attention in my household. There is no doubt my parents love my brother and I – anything that needed to be done was done immediately and usually with the entire family’s support. So there we were, surrounded by the love of our family that held us together.
Growing up within this family, there were no individual dreams of accomplishmet, but rather a collective dream that was held by the entire family. One did not choose to go to college, one went, because they family knew that someday you would thank them for it. Arguments in my family were rare; namely because my brother, a debater, would say his points so many ties it nowas not worth the time to argue. Even if it was, the words of the opposition fell on deaf ears. Instead we learned to work hard for the things we wanted, and that everything would work out because, well, we would find a way to make it work.
Although my family was and continues to be incredibly supportive, sometimes they put each other to the test to see if they could do things on their own. Many times I have had instances where there was concern toward my education, but my parent’s replies were usually, “well, you need to be more active in your own education, perhaps you should do this” where nothing ever came out of it. Regardless to say, we still loved each other, no matter how hard it was to show it.
Part 4
There were never very many children in my neighborhood – most of our neighbors were of the elderly sort, who quietly lived out their retirement and waited for the coming of death. We quickly found friends with the children across the street, “who showed great promise” according to their parents, both Harvard graduates. We would find hidden hours in the day to play with them, such games that verged on pranks but were too harmless to harm anyone.
I remember hiding between pillow cushions while eagerly anticipating being found.
“Ha! I found you – now you go count to one hundred.”
And while one begins the tedious task of counting the game suddenly gets boring, and the children go on to play something else while not telling you. But still, you stand there, getting closer and closer to finding the children who left five minutes prior.
Part 5
The woman who raised me never struck me as unhappy. Always the one to comfort me I thought she was invincible. No matter how much work she had to do, no matter how bad her day was, she would always find a way to brighten the home we live in. She would be the first to suggest taking a family walk around the neighborhood, or playing the family favorite, Monopoly. My brother always won, but it didn’t matter because my mother would always find a way to make things funny. It was from her that I learned about work ethic and how to carry myself in different situations. As a mother, she taught me about caring, and empathy, and we had such a strong bond between us that I thought every mother and daughter shared this.
Dan Brownlee
1.) There are parts of me that I despise. Personally, I hate how things come easily to me. Especially knowledge. Not needing to work for it devalues it. I can learn quickly and this learning requires little thought. I do not have to work as hard as others so my accomplishes feel hollow. I suppose the true problem is apathy though. I have no need to pursue, so I become apathetic.
2.) You should see my city. It looks to be thriving, vibrant, and living, but thats only on the surface. Look in the dark places, look where the sun, proverbial or true, doesn't shine. You won't find life, but you won't find death either. You will find a hollow center, a place without purpose.
We act as though we live but we really just watch as the things we love are devalued through our inefficiency and apathy.
3.) I was born the eldest of two on April 3, 1990.
My brother was born two years later, and from that moment on, we've fought. We were never really physical, but oh, how we yelled. My parents, of course, hated our fighting; they were loving parents that tried their best to instill their values in their children. We were to ask before doing, don't ask for anything stupid, and above all, don't do anything stupid.
But most of our values came from the church. We went to church every Sunday, and when I could, every Wednesday for youth group. We were a religious family, and I had no problem with that.
But there was always the expectation to do well. In school, with church, and life in general, I was supposed to do well. It came from always doing well; my parents just assumed that that always also meant always will. Sometimes, there just wasn't any relaxation, you just had to keep going. "Chew faster", don't chew less, and thats part of my blessing and curse.
Do it all, do it well, and enjoy it. That was life.
4.) I was not a particularly active or social child in my youth. There were a few really good friends but not exactly a lot of them. I remember one friend named Andrew Tuttle (we called him Turtle) and we spent hours "mining". We would go to the hard packed earth wall on the playground and very carefully scrape away at the dirt, forming small piles of extremely fine sand. That was the whole goal, just to make little piles of fine sand from dirt. Oh, the hours we spent, chipping away at the rock, just for the pointless entertainment of a fourth grader.
5.) My father was a man who could laugh and be serious, somehow at the same time. He was really my inspiration to be an engineer. Thats where it all started. The man could design anything (at least, thats what I saw). I loved to see the drawings, and when I was young, I colored them.
As I got older I began asking my father for help in my engineering projects and for help with math. It was then that he showed me a brilliant way of learning. He shut up. He let me figure it out by rambling and basically talking to myself. He would contribute at times, but mostly he would let me figure it out.
I realized that my dad was either extremely stupid (and didn't know anything I was learning) or brilliant and just wanted me to figure it out. And considering that he has a very stable job at an engineering firm, I would consider the latter as more likely. And that is a pretty cool thought.
2.) You should see my city. It looks to be thriving, vibrant, and living, but thats only on the surface. Look in the dark places, look where the sun, proverbial or true, doesn't shine. You won't find life, but you won't find death either. You will find a hollow center, a place without purpose.
We act as though we live but we really just watch as the things we love are devalued through our inefficiency and apathy.
3.) I was born the eldest of two on April 3, 1990.
My brother was born two years later, and from that moment on, we've fought. We were never really physical, but oh, how we yelled. My parents, of course, hated our fighting; they were loving parents that tried their best to instill their values in their children. We were to ask before doing, don't ask for anything stupid, and above all, don't do anything stupid.
But most of our values came from the church. We went to church every Sunday, and when I could, every Wednesday for youth group. We were a religious family, and I had no problem with that.
But there was always the expectation to do well. In school, with church, and life in general, I was supposed to do well. It came from always doing well; my parents just assumed that that always also meant always will. Sometimes, there just wasn't any relaxation, you just had to keep going. "Chew faster", don't chew less, and thats part of my blessing and curse.
Do it all, do it well, and enjoy it. That was life.
4.) I was not a particularly active or social child in my youth. There were a few really good friends but not exactly a lot of them. I remember one friend named Andrew Tuttle (we called him Turtle) and we spent hours "mining". We would go to the hard packed earth wall on the playground and very carefully scrape away at the dirt, forming small piles of extremely fine sand. That was the whole goal, just to make little piles of fine sand from dirt. Oh, the hours we spent, chipping away at the rock, just for the pointless entertainment of a fourth grader.
5.) My father was a man who could laugh and be serious, somehow at the same time. He was really my inspiration to be an engineer. Thats where it all started. The man could design anything (at least, thats what I saw). I loved to see the drawings, and when I was young, I colored them.
As I got older I began asking my father for help in my engineering projects and for help with math. It was then that he showed me a brilliant way of learning. He shut up. He let me figure it out by rambling and basically talking to myself. He would contribute at times, but mostly he would let me figure it out.
I realized that my dad was either extremely stupid (and didn't know anything I was learning) or brilliant and just wanted me to figure it out. And considering that he has a very stable job at an engineering firm, I would consider the latter as more likely. And that is a pretty cool thought.
Eddy
Section 1, Part 1, #1
Masks
Above all things, beyond the image others see that I have laid upon myself, i am utterly insecure. It is very difficult to see exactly where my image derives from. I'm not entirely sure it stems directly from insecurity but perhaps that is insecurity talking. A lot of the things I do, mannerisms and details are acquired from my past. Nearly all parts of me are adopted from others. I am little more than a mental mosh-posh of people from my past and present. I believe this adoption comes from an insecurity that I have in who I am that seeks to replace the insecure parts of me with things I like about others. I find myself, at this point, completely lost in a meaningless void of an image. Can I find myself again and reintegrate back into myself? do I want to? Am I better off?
Section 1, Part 1, #2
This is a city of masks, impersonal charades and malcontent. It is my city. It is me.
Section 1, Part 1, #3
I was born May 3, 1990, the only child of my mother, second of my father.
Though not a true blooded sibling, my brother harbored no spite. Matthew was far too mature for that, having been in his early twenties when i was born. He in fact took right to me. There hung a picture in our living room of him holding me as a baby, quite clearly happy. For as long as can be remembered, Mathew was one of my favorites.
He took me to baseball and football games all the time. One of my favorite things to do with him was going to
Section 1, Part 1, #4
My father was a very quiet and stern man, a recluse out in the open. I learned from him a respect for silence. Conversations were never plentiful, yet in all his silence and stone, there was a heart. He cherished me as a young child, much as a child does a kitten. Ever prone to the mistake of spoiling me, he raised a greedy, materialistic son. Luckily for him, my mother was there, on the other end of the rope of my life, to teach e self awareness.
My mother was my teddy bear, so to speak. The comfort blanket of my soul. She never failed to make me feel better or to teach me what would forever make me a better person. Of my family, she is held on the highest pedestal. Much of me, or rather the best of me is owed to her.
Section 1, Part 1, #5
A game of terrible fun, of horrible joy, of maddening excitement. A game i will never in my life play again. A game known as Pirate Crew. Ironic that the most hellish of games would be played at a Christian daycare.
The point of the game was to be the last one standing, to prove who was the fastest, the most agile, and the most ruthless. At a single calling of a deck name, an entire group of 30 children run from one section of the room to another. A stampede called into play at the "captain's" will.
It is here that knees are scraped, heads knocked, friends pushed and shoved, arms broken. I was such a child. Tumbled over by a mountain of a girl, the snap of my arm was clear in the air. Quickly rushed off to the office to await my mother, then nothing, only darkness, then only a cast on my right arm.
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