Class Anthology
Course 5 Voices of Ms. Keener’s English 9/10
ENGLISH 9/10 Injury stories and other tales from Ms. Keener’s English Class
Table of Content
James Allen Emily Barone Everett Bueti Ben Cannon Clay Dealy Jacob Ferreira Andreas Gukeisen Nathan Jbara Katie Katz Maxwell Keiles Amanda Klepper Antonia Larizza Aiden Leitch Ellie Leites Scott Levine Jacob O’Donovan Erin Pirro Sejal Saxena Lucy Schwartzreich Noah Shar Katie Shaw Lukas Shriver Philip Sisser Editor’s Note:
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James Allen Blaming is a pointless exercise. Why blame a different human being for your actions, when actions are defined by the person who performs them? Romeo is responsible for his actions, as is Juliet, and any other human being. There is no point in blaming anyone. Instead, one should take responsibility for one's actions, and move on. There are many different options that one can take when faced with an issue or bad decision. These are to blame other people, to blame oneself, or to move on. This last option is the best choice, because it allows change, and it doesn't allow blame to consume the people involved. Blaming is a pointless exercise that will not get anyone anywhere, except entangled in the past, when the future is open and free.
accepted the fact of their ruined economy and tried to fix it, like figures such as President Franklin D. Roosevelt, then the mass killings in Germany may not have ever occurred. A human being should always be held accountable for what they said, or did, which is connected to blame. However, in ancient China, the philosopher Confucius did not necessarily think the same. In an ancient story, Confucius demonstrated how an older sibling should be punished for a younger sibling's wrongdoings, because it is their job to teach them. This is not right or just, because people will never learn unless they take their own actions as their own and accept the punishment.
When people take the path to blame themselves, it makes it a whole other Many people Many people live in an enclosed box of circumstance. The live in an enclosed box reason for this is not blame. of blame. These completely clear, but individuals spend so people often blame much time looking for themselves for reassurance. To know that it is people to point a finger at that they never move your fault for your issues, allows yourself to fall on in life. People need to get in trouble, and own into a pit of blame. This is often where these up to it, and not immediately go to a parent or people feel the safest. To know that they can friend. Once a person accepts their own actions as change it, or not change it, makes them feel their own, then they can be their own person. So comfortable. This is how blame falls into my life. many people, like Lucy Grealy, are looking for I often blame myself for my issues, and problems reasons for the misfortunes that come their way, in life. When I get hung up on this blame, and can and they are so desperate to find this reason that only focus on this, that is when it can have a they begin to blame. Then, if this blame negative effect. Despite this, blaming yourself can continues to be untreated, and it has time to grow be a good thing, if it motivates you to change. and develop, it may transform into anger, and This falls into place when I play sports. As an consume a person from the inside out. average person, I make mistakes when I play. Wars all over the world have been caused Now if I miss an open shot, or turnover the ball, I by blaming others. If there was no longer this have those options. I can blame another need to point someone out, people would be able teammate for making a bad pass, blame myself to move on, and take matters into their own and get angry at myself, or move on and do better hands. Adolf Hitler blamed the Jews, gypsies, the next time. homosexuals, and other groups of people for The only other option besides blaming Germany’s economic crisis. Some members of the oneself or other people is to not blame at all. To Nazi party became so desperate to kill or remove accept the fact that things happen, and move on. these people from their country that their morals This is the best option. To change oneself based as people became clouded. Germany then went off of what happens, and make a different into another World War, which hurt the decision the next time. The act of blaming keeps economy even further. If only Adolf Hitler had
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people caught up in the past, and it can transform a person into an irate and closed-minded individual. People should learn how to move on, as should I; to change their ways, and make the next opportunity.
Emily Barone The worst pain I have ever felt was the throbbing in my right leg. It made me feel as if when I stood up straight, the pain would make me jump. The ringing in my ears in the middle of the night worsened by the second. I was told not to pay attention to it, that it will go away, but how do I ignore a siren blowing in my ear nearly causing me to go deaf. The nights were the worst. I remember lying in bed; the pain slowly walking up and down my leg, starting at my knee. I was diagnosed with Lyme disease when I was seven years old. At the time I didn’t really know what that meant. All I was aware of was that my knee would hurt sometimes, or most of the time, and that I would have to get my blood drawn once a month. I grew to enjoy this. Getting my blood drawn without a fight meant that I could get anything I wanted at the toy store. I never questioned why I had to get it drawn, I just knew it connected to the Lyme disease. My mom, on the other hand, did not take this lightly. She was constantly researching doctors that specialized in Lyme disease, and no matter how far they were, or close, she was willing to take me to them. It became her job. I remember the first night the pain was unbearable. In the middle of the night, the pain jolted me awake. Not being able to go get my mom, I lied in my bed unsure of what to do. Calling out to her would be hopeless, due to the proximity of our two rooms. After the longest couple of minutes, I eventually got myself to crawl out of bed and limp to her bedroom due to my desperateness. The pain constantly discomforted me. However, after a while it became easier to ignore, and I pretended that’s how my leg was supposed to feel. Every second my foot touched the ground, a chill ran up my leg. It felt like my bone was as weak as a toothpick, and if I stood on it too long, it would snap.
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The next day we immediately rushed to my doctor; I was feeling like her face had grown too familiar. It turned out, on top of the Lyme disease I currently had, another tick had bit me with Lyme disease, targeting my right knee as well. When the doctor had announced the news to us, my mom’s mouth dropped. Her reaction was filled with complete confusion. She was at a loss for words. I felt sorry I was putting her through this, even though I knew it wasn’t my fault, and I knew she would never even think to blame me. She acted as if she felt the pain with me. Lyme disease has 3 levels. Before the second time I had Lyme disease, we had it under control—it was around a 1.5. However, the second tick bite caused the Lyme to go up to level 3, the most severe level. At this point I was around 10 years old and understood the severity. This was no longer something that amused me because I got toys out of it once in a while. Lyme disease began to affect me on a daily basis. I quit soccer, my favorite sport at the time, because I couldn’t run up and down the field without my knee feeling like it was going to drop to my ankles. I began feeling envious towards the other players on the team. I hated the feeling of uselessness; I couldn’t go one game without having to sit out.
Quitting soccer was what I hated the most about Lyme disease, but it wasn’t quitting soccer specifically, it was the fact that I couldn’t do what I wanted to. Quitting soccer was what I hated the most about Lyme disease, but it wasn’t quitting soccer specifically, it was the fact that I couldn’t do what I wanted to. Unless I wanted to be in severe pain, there was nothing I could do about it, which irritated me the most. I felt hopeless. On top of this, the vile medicine I was forced to take daily, that was supposed to prevent the pain, did nothing but made me gag from the smell and taste. I would refuse to take it unless it was soaked in anything sugar. My situation was
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pushed to the absolute limit, causing me to feel pain more than just physical. Something that started out as insignificant as a tick bite made such a big imprint on my life.
Everett Bueti Her glance was furtive. The other bitches yelled at me to look at them. I stared at my future when I looked at her through the glass. I tried to force myself to walk away but her look keeps my legs from moving, my eyes from looking away. Her eyes said “take me out of this place,” but I knew that the man upstairs won't let me have her. But I didn't care. I took her in my arms. As I walked home with her, I knew this was a mistake. I knew he would make me put her back in the pound. “I'm going to keep you forever!” I said, followed with baby talk. She looked at me as if I was crazy. I felt as if she was trying to cajole me into keeping her in my apartment hidden away. “I'll call you… Lucy, Lulu for short.” Before work, I filled up Lulu’s bowl, gave her a pat on the head, and she waited by the door with an innocuous look on her face, looking at me until the door closed behind me. Getting into the elevator to go down to the lobby to go to work I realized that I forgot to lock the garbage so that Lucy would not make a mess. Looking for the right key to my apartment, I dropped my keys, making a little bit of a ruckus, and I heard Lucy bark and then growl with the sound of something in her mouth. I rushed in the room to see garbage strewn across the kitchen floor. “LUCY!” I yelled at her. There was a rancid smell. I walked into the living room and the smell got stronger. once I stepped on to the rug, I felt something warm and had the consistency of mud. I had to cover my mouth to keep myself from vomiting out of disgust. “Oh my gah…” I gagged and hold my mouth again. I put the rug out of the building and cleaned up the mess in the kitchen. I stormed out of the apartment and went to work. After work, I came back to the apartment and the smell was back. “LUCY!” I yelled, but she was nowhere to be found. I looked for the smell. It was coming from my bookshelf in the back of
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the apartment. I confirmed that the smell was coming from the top shelf, so I reached up to grab what was making the smell and it was wet and smooth. I pulled my hand away and there was blood covering my hand. The object slipped off the shelf and it was horrifying, a severed mangled human head with teeth marks in the side of it. “AAAHHHH!” I yelled. I heard the jingle of Lulu’s collar and there she was, behind me holding piece of paper in her bloodstained mouth. It read “RUN.”
Ben Cannon It’s Monday. My alarm clock goes off directly in my ear, stuffing its loud beep into my head. I roll over onto my side, and slowly open my eyelids to the semi-dark sky of the early morning. My mind is spinning, and I thoroughly believe today is Sunday. Then, after nine or ten glorious seconds, it hits me. It’s Monday. The idea of a long, hard day just doesn’t seem so appealing to me at this moment, so I roll back over, close my eyes, and return to a peaceful sleep. Now, this temporary sleep is amazing, the best sleep I’ve had in a very long time, up until my brother comes in yelling. I use all of my effort to pick up my head and look at the clock. It reads a horrible 7:00. “Get out of bed right now! We’re leaving in fifteen minutes,” bellows my brother, furious at my lazy action. This time, I quickly hop out of bed and dash over to my drawer, to get my clothes. I set them aside on my bed, as I sprint into the bathroom. Instantaneously, I undress and turn the shower knob, wait for 15 seconds, and then hop in. The water feels like a fire is toasting on my back, as it is excruciatingly hot. I cringe, but quickly turn it down to continue my speedshower. After furiously shampooing my hair, and applying soap, I jump out of the shower into a relieving towel. I quickly change and run downstairs, devouring through the fringe, finally taking out a waffle hastily and chucking it carelessly into the toaster. I speed walk down to my mudroom to retrieve my shoes, and quickly slip them on my feet. Time is heavily against me, as I need to eat, brush my teeth, and pack my backpack all in five minutes to POSSIBLY make
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the bus, as I am also still half asleep. It isn’t an impossible task, but it’ll be quite the challenge. I hear the spring of my waffle in the toaster, and rapidly head over there to take it out. I quickly throw it out of my hand, as it is extremely hot. I wash my hand under cold water, and put the waffle into a paper towel. I peer over at the clock, despising it for the 7:18 that it reads. I have two minutes to still brush my teeth and get all of my school supplies together. I open the “everything” cabinet almost throwing it out of the counter. I shuffle through many junk items until I finally find my toothbrush and toothpaste. At this time, the day is starting to take over the night, with the sun peeking through the tall pine trees as I glance out the door. I rapidly brush my teeth, as my brother yells to me that he’s starting to the bus. I throw the toothbrush away, and run to the dining room to collect my binders and papers. “Ben, the bus is at the corner,” my mom yells. “One sec,” I respond, throwing everything I could find into my backpack. I hoist it over my shoulder, and hurry to the front door, only to notice the bus is already at my stop. I’m in a race with time. I run down my wet hill, extremely susceptible to slipping. I turn the corner, and sprint down to the bottom, only to be caught in the bus’s exhaust, as it pulls away and goes down the hill. I kick the dust as all of my hard work was for legitimately nothing. I take my phone out and dial my mom, telling her my situation. She responds by saying she’ll be ready to drive me in ten minutes, meaning, with traffic, I’ll be about ten minutes late to class. Then the real bad stuff hits me. I have a monstrous math test first period of the day, and I am missing it. I then take out my backpack and do some last minute studying with the mist coming down on me, sitting at the corner of the road. Some days just don’t go your way, especially when it’s Monday.
Clay Dealy “I kept telling them it would happen, but none of them would listen. And now they are all gone,” Dr. Maxis said to a furious Walther Johanns. “They didn’t listen to me. I kept telling Hartmut Baldes that he couldn't go outside
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without a exosuit on, or else he would risk the possibility of getting an infection; we just didn’t have enough information to be sure he would be safe. But he and everyone else insisted that it would be fine.” Maxis was looking more and more bleak. “He left and stepped foot onto the vast desolate desert of Genoa to quickly bring in the supply package that your men had dropped off target before the electron storm demolished it. He appeared to be fine. Hartmut Balders, running in his mesh neurosuit and his respirator, picked up the supply crate with relative ease, then immediately ran inside before the first strings of the electron wave even touched him. We of course followed the procedure we conduct when anyone leaves the resource base to explore or collect data regarding planet Genoa. He checked out. There were no signs of sickness. A week passed; everything was fine. Scientist Rieckhoff and I finished our test on the planet's underground water lakes. Then Hartmut started to act differently from the normal. He wouldn’t eat, barely slept, and was always up talking to himself. Being the doctor for this base, I began an examination of his conditions. I couldn’t find a correct diagnosis for what he was experiencing, so I put him in an isolation cell for further testing. My initial thought was that it had to be some sort of genetic disease that slipped through his gene splicing as a fetus. Which of course is especially rare. I finished my report and went to bed in my own personal cell block. I woke up to the sounds of yelling and screaming of several people on the base floor. I immediately grabbed my contacts and put on a mesh neurosuit. Opening the door into the main chamber, I found Hartmut eating scientist Rieckhoff on the floor while Nikodemus Knoop was attempting to grab Kirsa Pintschowius. Blood was splattered throughout the white room. I looked around in shock as the consternation ensued around me. Murano Koto opened his door, too, which was located directly across from mine. He had the same panicked look on his face. I silently signaled him by pointing at the door towards the canteen. He saw what I was doing and we both ran towards the doors. Hartmut turned his face around, which
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appeared to be fine, apart from the fact that he had no pupils—just a whiteness. Hartmut began running for Murano. We both reached the door when Hartmut bulldozed into Murano. I quickly punched Hartmut down to the ground, allowing Murano and I to open and close the door in time before he got back up. We locked the door and began our search to look around for anyone else who might still be alive.
Jacob Ferreira This time of year, “The Holidays” and the “New Year”, is supposed to be a time of relaxation and good times, but for me it is one of the most stressful times. Instead of relaxing with my family and friends and eating a lot and doing nothing, my life is action packed and filled to the brim with school work and wrestling and it can be really stressful. It starts on November 9th and ends February 28th and every single day in between is a grind. There are no days off in the wrestling season. From the minute my season ended in 2015, it is all that has been on my mind. I get asked, “Are you excited for lacrosse season?” and told “I can't wait till football,” but even throughout those long seasons, the sport that won't leave my head is wrestling. When the season begins, I am excited for the season ahead and there is a full month before our first competition. There is the offseason training that is involved. As soon as I finish the season in February, I start training for the next season 6 months later. All you can think about is how you got knocked out and can't wait to start your redemption. When your first match of the season is on November 27th and you can't eat on Thanksgiving you think to yourself, “Why would I put myself through this awful sport?” Then, going into Christmas break, you get an extra two pounds for weigh-ins. But, when dropping a weight class for sectionals, the plus two really doesn't feel like anything at all. And unlike any other sport in the school, we have practice every day of break except New Year's Day and Christmas Eve and Day. On the 27th of December we head up to Oswego, NY, a six-hour
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bus ride to one of the ugliest towns in America. It’s one of our toughest tournaments of the year and one of the best. Sitting in the smelly, disgusting, hot, gym for over 12 hours and wrestling a total of 24 minutes can be frustrating, but winning is also fun to do. Then, once break is over, the second half of the season officially kicks off and it is the best part. It's the grind. Cutting weight for dual meets but then having to bump right back up. “Why do you do it?” It's the question I'm asked by lots of people. Why do I do it? Wrestling isn't a pretty sport to watch like basketball and it doesn't receive any attention from anybody besides other wrestlers. You also can't rely on pure talent to get you through it. If you don't work hard and feel like you want to die after every practice and when you get home you can't eat. I don’t rely on pure talent for wrestling. People don't realize how much time of my life I have put into this sport and how it's handed that work back to me and said, “Do more.” This sport can be extremely frustrating and sometimes you want to quit and say, “F**K YOU” to your coach, but wrestling has taught me lessons that will guide me through life. Lessons like never quitting because that other person who is either across the mat from you, or competing for a job with you, won't win because I wrestled. And I can proudly say that I am more mentally and physically tough than you and if I wanted to in a real life situation I could take your life because of wrestling. This year I want to come out on top and reach my dream and goal of becoming a section champ.
Andreas Gukeisen The worst pain I've ever felt was in the stomach. The pain’s gruesome ways caused torture in my stomach. I thought it would never go away. My stomach was taking a beating over and over again like, two boxers going against each other in the ring. The pain seemed to be even more unbearable after each hit. I knew this was my fault, the regrets started to come into my head. “Why did I do this? If I knew it would be this bad I would have never caused this torture!” I don't understand why I ignore my instincts but I do.
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It's like the saying always go with your gut, which means that you should make a decision with your knowledge. The problem is that I never listen to it. The issue is the craving, which is somewhat sensational and irresistibly uncontrollable. The item is easily overdosed, since its servings are very low, and people who devour this always wish they didn't. But still those receipts keep on growing in that drawer next to your bed every night, and still you ignore it. The people you get it from start to know you and what you are getting and the words, “That will be $45” start sticking in your head. Afterward, I would walk away with my addiction which was invisible to everyone else because of the brown paper bag that hid it from sight. The after effects from this would occur later in the night. Not in a bar or at a party, but instead in my bathroom, both on and off my toilet. I had overdosed myself on P.F. Chang's General Tso's chicken. I know I need to moderate, but I cannot resist the juicy looking chicken. I’m tantalized by its tastiness and beauty. My mouth starts watering fast. I can’t hold my urge, so I annihilate it as fast as I can before I can change my mind. It always seems new and refreshing when you eat it again, as if it's your first time eating it, making it always amazing. This cycle never stops even if you want it to stop. Some people may say it tastes bad. They may even say that it's the worst thing they've ever tasted. But really, they're lying, even if they don't know it. Because the next time you are walking in the mall, you will see them, sitting in the P.F. Chang's, eating the chicken. They will try to hide it once they see you, but you will know regardless what they try to say. You will know.
Nathan Jbara I can hurt myself doing about anything, ranging from stubbing my toe in my bedroom to face planting on a slippery basketball court. As I grow and mature each and every day, I realize an injuryfree life is just about impossible. I’ve also settled with the fact that because of my knowledge of possible instances, I change how I perform some activities that could be classified as dangerous. This has turned into a weakness in many aspects of my life. Like when I step up to the plate at one of my baseball games, I suddenly think of the
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possibility of the dampness in the air forcing the pitcher to clock me on the left side of my dome. Or I envision a teammate before me break his leg after sliding home as I’m standing on second base waiting to come home. Another simple example of this is when there is a loose ball on the floor during a basketball game and I have second thoughts on whether or not I should lay out or play it safe. All this worrying just to avoid a Kevin Ware moment. These types of events have also occurred in my life, such as a snapped ankle in a baseball game one year ago. This was blessing to not have happen to me, but the witnessing of it was just as damaging. When it comes down to, it I could be classified as being terrified of my own abilities, and truly it is a miracle I haven’t died yet. This isn’t even a sarcastic comment or joke, I have somehow dodged the chances of having traumatic events like car crashes, extreme disease, sickness, and many more. Truly, my life has been a hand-wrapped gift from god. I admit, I have faltered and faltered, but the fact of the matter is, the world has surrounded and protected me with love and safety. Those who have taught me have also implemented the perfect amount of precautions into my brain to save me from those times I could’ve been destroyed or harmed by one of my childish behaviors. I heard about a Michigan basketball player named Austin Hatch who after two plane crashes and losing 5 family members, admitted that he has only had 2 “bad” days. John Beilein, the head coach of the Wolverines, found Austin to be a true passionate player and one of the best role models at such an astonishing young age. John then noticed how “sobering” this view of the world and Hatch’s horrible experiences are. The accidents also led him to having relearn performing basic motor skills such as speaking, walking, and any possible muscle development. This worldwide known story is not only inspiring but shows how real pain comes upon a person whether dealt with properly or not. The story also puts some events into perspective. A B- on a history exam or a friend’s insult might not be that bad when comparing yourself to those with problems that change their lives forever. We take the smallest possible insult details and magnify
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them making the reality of it much bigger and on a larger scale. Now, this life lesson, with regard to the majority of Chappaqua’s residents, doesn’t necessarily apply, as those living here clearly have well-developed lives with love surrounding them. My life personally has also been well rounded with a few irrelevant bumps in the road. But as time passes, we learn that most injuries do not occur because of a broken limb, but a broken mind, like in the case of Austin Hatch. So when I grow, I’ll get stronger not only physically but mentally, in preparation for the worst and the most unexpected. As I said in the beginning, I can get hurt doing almost anything, but this isn’t only for me, but a general rule to show that life is full of the unpredictable, so take your chances and make your time worthwhile.
Katie Katz Underneath the busy push along our hallways lurks a sense of fear. Fear of missing out, fear of failing, fear of being wrong. We all have our fears, no matter how intense, rational, or realistic they may seem. Some fears seem very real to one and completely preposterous to another. In the hallways, hundreds of people pass me every day. How many of them have irrational fears? How much fear does someone I pass in the hallway have that I don’t know? How much fear lurks underneath the hallways I walk through every day? Believe it or not, phobias and fears are different. A phobia is a very intense fear of one specific thing that is not even that much harm to you. I have decided to do some research on phobias and found myself laughing at some of the phobias. Triskaidekaphobia (tris-kai-dek-a-phobia), is a real thing—the fear of the number of 13. However, a phobia is also a situation that you could be afraid of, and therefore the number 13 is virtually impossible to avoid. Closely linked is paraskavedekatriaphobia (para-sk-av-dek-a-triapho-bia), fear of the day Friday the 13th. Many people with this phobia must have had a hard time this November. What did those people do then? Stay at home all day and refuse to talk to anyone? Hide under their covers until it became Saturday the 14th? And why is Friday the 13th unlucky? Why not Tuesday the 7th or Thursday
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the 18th? All very good questions that will probably never be answered. Heading back to phobias, there is nosophobia— the fear of having a disease. I have a similar phobia to this one: emetophobia—the fear of throwing up. I am terrified of vomiting. Two years ago I had the stomach bug and was throwing up like crazy. Since then, I’ve had an intense phobia of throwing up. The stomach bug resurrected in my stomach two weeks ago and each time I had to do the unmentionable I was shaking and crying. Whenever I speak about my phobia, people find it absurd, just as I did when I read about some of these other fears. Fear of germs, hospitals, cooking, needles, and even doctors. I know a few people who share an irrational fear of flushing toilets at night. Of course there's always the old fear that you're home alone at night and you sneeze. Then the phone rings and you go pick it up. A deep voice says bless you. This may be new to you but this fear definitely exists and I’m sure I’m not the only one who has this fear. You wouldn't be able to tell what phobia they have just by looking at them. It’s not something you brand across your chest like a store logo. Some phobias are hidden deep down where no one would know. Or you pray no one will ever find out, going deep lengths to mask these phobias, making up excuses why you can't go in the water because you're scared of sharks or going to the bathroom the minute a spider appears. No matter how you try to hide that fear or phobia it’s still going to be there unless you face it. Then one's fear could go away. I am not saying for people with arachnophobia to go bury themselves in a room of spiders, but instead next time you see a spider calmly move away and don’t freak out. Some like the freak out for attention. Everyone crowding around them and asking if they are okay. They live for the attention and will get in it any way possible. Others have a fear of attention and stage fright. Public speaking is a huge fear to pretty much everyone. There’s no way of avoiding public speaking in school, no way of avoiding the number 13, or even avoiding hospitals.
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A fear or phobia is kind of like a mental injury. Seeing or thinking about the fear or phobia can cause pain, therefore inflicting a mental injury on your brain. This mental injury can haunt you again and again and it may never stop. I get little fears every now or then. I can’t help it and neither can any human being, because if we were fearless then we wouldn't be human. Some reality shows test people's fears, making them eat disgusting foods, live out in the middle of nowhere, or go skydiving. And yet we watch these shows because we are too scared to do these tasks. So we decide to live vicariously through these contestants, grossing ourselves out by watching, but still wanting to watch. Why does fear exist? Without fear would humans still be the same? Without anything to hold humans back would this make humans act like wild animals? Maybe it would. Maybe without fear our society would be reckless and uncontrollable. Fear prevents us from doing what we never thought we would do.
Maxwell Keiles Sticks and stones may break your bones but words can hurt even more. Bones and tissue will always eventually heal, but mental damage can scar for life. A man who has broken his leg will do all that he can to get it fixed. While a man who is berated by people telling him he runs like he has a broken leg will do everything in his power to not have to run again. A man who saves someone from being attacked will be praised by those around him. However, it is almost impossible to see when someone is being psychologically tormented, especially when it is done in subtle ways, or when the victim denies it, as they often do. This would also put a target on his back and he will most likely be tormented himself. People usually don’t pay mind to psychological bullying. These situations are hard to get a grasp of because they are usually well hidden, not just by the bullies, but the victims to0. Maybe they think that it's not really that bad, or maybe he thinks he would look weak in front of an adult telling them that they had been berated at school, but not physically harmed. Maybe the bully threatened to physically
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hurt them if they told anyone. There is no such thing as an extreme case of bullying. Even when the bullying is revealed, sometimes very little or nothing at all happens. Some adults can’t do anything, some adults won't do anything. Physical pain mostly affects people in the same way, a broken nose for me feels roughly the same for you. Mental anguish, on the other hand, is different for everyone. It also can only be healed when the victim wants to heal. The tragic thing is, some people accept that this is the way they are, like a man who runs like he has a broken leg and will never amount to anything more than that. Again, they can only stop feeling this way with time, help, and most importantly, passion. Physical injuries heal without the person suffering having to put in that much work besides resting and maybe remembering to take medicine, while emotionally traumatized people have to basically fight themselves while simultaneously trying to unlearn the heinous things people have said to them. Even when that is accomplished, well, picture this. You're talking with your friends about the time you fought back against a major disease or survived a major accident. Then, you say how you were able to stop being bullied and stopped letting the bullies get to you. Instead of congratulations or even some bouts of sympathy, you’ll probably get nothing but funny looks. In today's world, most people see mental diseases such as anxiety, OCD, or depression not as true diseases because they are purely mental and someone could theoretically “get over it” at any time. And, I’m sorry to say, I used to belong to that group of thinkers. That is, until I had my fair share of battles against anxiety and depression myself. I now firmly believe that this is something to be taken seriously. After all, sticks and stones can break bones on their own, but most emotional pain must not only be caused by someone or something, but it must also be accepted by the victim. While this does make it rarer and gives people an argument of why this shouldn’t be taken too seriously. it does mean, however, that when it does arise, you won’t get out of it unscathed. It will change you for the rest of your life, usually not for the better. So please,
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don’t cause such misery to others and don’t stand idly by while someone else suffers.
Amanda Klepper It had been an hour and a half. I lied in my bed, bored out of my mind by yet another sleepless night. Every five minutes or so, I would feel myself beginning to fall asleep, just to be abruptly awaken by my own alertness. So, for the final time, I curled up on one of my oversized pillows, and began to fall asleep. However, according to my still awake body, this was the last straw. Just like it had happened five minutes earlier, my eyes quickly opened. The difference was, this time the rest of my body didn’t follow. As I tried to shift to a more comfortable position, my body laid limply still. I tried to call for help, but my lips didn’t move a muscle. I started to see streaks of white flashing light, almost forming some sort of demonic female ghost. She whispered, “It’s very dark in here… there’s a fire…” followed by a series of echoing laughter and whispers from her and the company she brought into my room. I’m not really sure what they looked like, but it was clear they had no intention of relieving me of my paralysis. Pins and needles shot out from my blankets, and the oversized pillow which I decided to lie down on compressed all of my muscles, pushing those pins and needles farther and farther into my bones. My whole brain began to tie in knots. Every time I tried to move, or even breathe, I could feel the electricity surging in my head. Finally, one surge was so intense that it completely knocked me out. My eyes relaxed. I could still feel residual tension in my muscles, or maybe it was the feeling of immense fear and panic that had just overcome me. Immediately, I pushed away from that devilish pillow, and escaped from my destructive blankets. I sat, curled up in the corner of my bed, questioning my sanity.
Antonia Larizza Before the holiday break I had never broken a bone. Of my fifteen years the worst injury I’ve ever had was a dislocated elbow when I was around four years old at Hershey Park, which I
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can now barely remember. It was never a broken bone, maybe a few pulled muscles here and there, but not even a sprained or twisted ankle or wrist. Before the holiday break I thought at that point I would probably never break a bone considering how much of a cautious person I am. What I have now realized is that I could hurt myself doing almost anything just because of the ignorant reason I broke my toe during break. My brother and I were home alone in the morning on the first Monday of break. It was just a normal day until the incident. I was on my hoverboard (sometimes called a self-balancing motorized scooter because they don’t actually hover and are on two wheels) and I may not had been not paying much attention because I may or may not have been on my phone at the time. As I took a sharp turn I ended up slamming myself into the hard wooden wall unit, jamming my toe back and with no shoes on to protect myself, I felt the pain. The same pain when I normally stub my toe, but times a hundred. I began to jump up and down on my other foot, which is what I usually do whenever I stub my toe, except this time it wasn’t working and only made my toe hurt more. Once I sat down to examine the injury, I noticed I had cuts on the top and bottom on the toe right next to the big one as it began to turn purple. The impact also caused the nail to jam back causing it to turn black and blue, just adding to the pain. I immediately began to blame myself for being so irresponsible since I wasn’t even supposed to be on my hoverboard without my parents home. At that point, I knew the pain probably wasn’t going to go away anytime soon, so I put some bacitracin on the cuts, wrapped up my toe with medical tape, iced it, and elevated it, hoping it would help the pain go away within a few hours and I would be fine by night. Later in the day, I had to make Christmas cookies with my great aunt and felt bad cancelling, so I just sucked up the pain and tried to act like it was fine even though it felt like I had dropped a cinderblock on my toe. Halfway through making cookies, I was still in excruciating pain and I had to take a break from just standing up and making cookies after ignoring the pain for over an hour. I
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then realized that it may not had been the best idea to ignore it and I probably should have kept it iced and elevated. By night, I couldn’t even walk upstairs to my room to go to bed, and that’s when it crossed my mind that I most definitely broke my toe and that I didn’t just bruise it. The next day, I went for x-rays and confirmed it was definitely broken, ending my 15 years of no broken bones streak, which was great because it wasn’t like I wanted to spend my two weeks off doing anything fun anyways. Before, when people complained about a broken toe and how much it hurts, from my perspective of never having a bone before and being the kind of person that just brushes pain to the side and ignores it, I thought “how could it be that bad?” It's just a small bone in your toe it can’t possibly hurt that much. Well, now I understand, it feels like someone dropped a large fiery brick on your toe. Disclaimer: Yes, I do know that my actions were immature and irresponsible, but as you can see from my writing that this was the first time I have ever broken a bone and I'm usually a very cautious person, sometimes too cautious. I know you’ve all have made bad decisions before, don't judge.
Aiden Leitch “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.” You can bet your bottom dollar that every preschooler hears that on a daily basis. From a young age, it is expressed to us that our minds must be strong, impenetrable by that of spoken word. Is this really the statement that we should be embedding in young children's minds? For example, you can guarantee that every one of those kids, within a few short years, will for the first time experience bullying, and the simplicity of elementary school social life will shatter. Just like glass, this shattering spreads with cracks. It does not matter how tough you were or think you were, the first time being harassed, teased, terrorized, or bullied hurts.
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To return to those words from the beginning, we tell young, malleable minds that words should never hurt them, even though words ultimately will. Imagine being told that a massive, hugely important test was easy, then discovering that it was more difficult than you could possibly imagine. You would think, “Am I stupid?” or “Did I get a really hard version?” The same thing applies to psychological damage. Those who are bullied often think, “Am I weak? Or do I just get bullied more than others?” These people will never know the answer to those questions, and here’s why. Both of the previously mentioned questions make the asker seem like an outsider. If someone is bullied more than others, then they are “different.” These alienating questions make the asker see that words can and will hurt them. Unfortunately, there’s nothing that can be done about it. The damage is done. The person sees themselves as an outsider, so they don’t communicate their struggles, they don’t reach out for help. Then, when the bullying continues, the wound grows bigger. They begin to question themselves more and more. “Why am I weaker than everyone else?” “What makes me different?” “Why me?” As a result of this internal conflict, what protection they have against what is said to them is broken down, just like how cold weather lowers the human body's immune system, making it susceptible to attacks. What would have happened if we told kids that words will hurt them, and that it is okay? The truth about this entire enigma is that it is not a select group that experiences these woeful feelings. Everyone experiences them, it is simply the way of perception explained above that leads us to believe that we are singled out. Whether you know it or not, these dark feelings flow through you, alongside your blood. To answer the question, maybe we would have more control over ourselves and our lives, if this idea of humans being unsusceptible to damage by word was not embedded in our society. We would not be scarred by every mean phrase, by every sly comment made over one’s shoulder. We would not be caught in this endless cycle of false notion. Or maybe, just possibly, it could stop whatever
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malevolent force is causing the words themselves to be hurtful, and ending the cycle. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me. The body is finite. The mind is infinite. Sticks and stones may cause me finite pain, but words cause me infinitely more.
Ellie Leites DISCLAIMER: The following letter is completely fictional, and by reading it you understand that the characters and subject matter is not based on factual evidence. To the boy that sits in front of me in math class, I’m pretty sure you know my name by now—our math teacher calls on me when I’m distracted, which thanks to you is quite often. I thought you were new to our school this year, which I guess is technically true, but you went to my elementary school, moved out of state somewhere and came back this year. That kind of sucks though, because that means you’ve already got friends, friends that I don’t talk to or know very well. Sometimes I wish we had assigned seats next to each other so that I would have a reason to talk to you. The back of your head is very nice, in case you were wondering. I would say it’s almost as nice as the front. I would know—it’s all I look at. I doubt you know what color my eyes are. Yours are kind of hazel, but you knew that already. If you’ve ever looked at me, even for just a moment, and realized how red my cheeks were, it’s probably because I thought you were looking my way. I wonder if you’ve ever thought about me sitting behind you in math, or whether or not I was looking at you, or if you’ve ever noticed that I’m in your Spanish class, too. If you ever catch me rapidly bouncing my leg, or violently tapping my pen against my pitifully empty notebook, it’s probably because I’m examining the side of your face. Or maybe I’m trying in vain to read the white print on your rubber bracelets. Your eyelashes are very long, longer than mine I’m sure. Sometimes you bite your lip and raise your eyebrows when you
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concentrate, and you get a little crease between them. I like the way you play with the strings on your sweatshirt when you’re thinking particularly hard, and I find myself wondering what exactly you’re thinking about. Another thing I noticed: you wear the same sweatshirt every day, which in theory is kind of gross, but it’s okay because I wear the same pair of black leggings at least three times a week. In the improbable case you do find yourself staring over your shoulder at me, or you want to ask me what’s written on my bracelets, I hope you can find the courage to ask. I haven’t found that courage quite yet. For the time being, I’ll continue to watch you chew on the end of the pencil in math class, and play with the long hairs that cover your eyes when you look down. I like to think we won’t be strangers forever. That one day you won’t just be the boy that sits in front of me in math class. Sincerely, Ellie
Scott Levine One of the great parts about being injured is the sympathy you get from other people that are not injured. Although it might sound a little like you are taking advantage of them, it's great that they are there to help because it shows that they care about you, even if you aren’t the closest of friends it shows that they still care enough about your wellbeing to help you with a simple task that is just not so simple if you are injured. For some, that could be the worst thing about being injured, because they are so used to being so capable. Someone might think you can’t do something and they ask to help and it turns out you can still do it. Some people like to do things on their own even if they are injured, and don’t want everyone else doing it for them and always feeling bad for them. If you are hurt and someone comes up to you and asks if you are okay, obviously that’s fine, and it’s great when people check on you because it shows that they care. But after a while it gets
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annoying because you are okay and you just want people to stop asking because you get sick of it. I distinctly remember when I broke my arm in the second grade. Unfortunately, that's not all that happened in the second grade. I also had pneumonia and was in the hospital for a week straight. Those were some horrible pains I have felt in my life. When I broke my arm, I was at a birthday party at the Boys & Girls Club in Mt. Kisco. It was Jake Berkowitz’s birthday party and we were playing dodgeball, and as always the people running the party would blow the whistle and all the kids would run to the door to line up to go and eat. Well, as the person blew the whistle, I started sprinting towards the door and I was going to be the first one there. Accidentally, my friend Jordan Klein tripped over something and pushed me from behind straight into a metal door. As I tried to stop myself by putting my hands out, I just hit the door and fell. At first, I stood up and didn’t feel a thing, but then someone pointed out that my arm looked like it hurt and as I tried to move it, I couldn’t. My arm was stuck in a Z shape. When I tried to move it, it hurt so bad, and I screamed out, “I think it’s broken.” Luckily, the hospital was right across the street. After some amnesia and a huge blue cast running down my whole arm, I felt fine. But that’s not what other people thought. Every 5 seconds someone would come up to me and ask me if I was okay. Although it did get annoying at some point, the amount of sympathy people showed was amazing. People were so nice, and were always asking if I needed help. That is why the best part about being injured is the sympathy and the love that you get; it reminds you how much people actually care about you.
Jacob O’Donovan In this election year, we have seen a vast number of candidates. But one man has stood out from the crowd of politicians: Donald J. Trump. What has made this man, who has no political experience, the top of the polls for President of the United State, even though in 2000 he tried to run as well, and with devastating results? His political stances may seem crazy and stupid, but I
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believe each thing he says or does plays an important role in his campaign. When he says something crazy like “All Mexicans are rapists” and “All Muslims should be banned from immigrating to America,” it gets projected on every news station for the whole nation to see. Since Trump keeps saying these types of outlandish comments, he’s always in the headlines, and that's all people see and hear, Trump did this, Trump said that, Trump, Trump, Trump. Being the smart voters we are, Americans responds positively to seeing someone in the spotlight so much, and takes their vote to them. Take other candidates from different parties. Bernie Sanders, who is running in the Democratic party, has taken the vote from his people in Vermont and New Hampshire, and a majority of young voters, but not the rest of the nation, because Bernie is not saying attention getting slogans, no newspaper or station wants to report on him, and the same goes for Hillary Clinton. The attention-grabbing way to attract votes has also landed in Donald Trump's court, and he has hit it out of the park with his slogan “Make America great again.” It is a perfect slogan to attract voters. Most feel the last couple of years in our government have been filled with gridlock, and not much happening to help American people and the world. Trump’s slogan tells the voter, let's make the government run efficiently, and most important, let's make your life (the voter’s) great again. Trump has a great way of making sure all of what he wants to say is said, and he’s not afraid to get a little angry and shut out whoever else is talking. When Trump did an exclusive CNN interview, whenever the interviewer would cut him off he would yell “Let me finish, don't try to assume some of my ideas.” This initiative to make sure he is heard is a great thing to hear if you are a citizen and a voter. If he is elected, he could use that “not afraid to speak” attitude to help ease gridlock. Lastly, one of Trump's most important strategies to help him get off the ground in his campaign was by spacing his “crazy” comments. One week he might say something rude about a group of people, but the next week he might say something about how all Americans should have health care. This helped launch Trump's campaign off the ground because people first
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responded very negatively to his crazy comments, but then would agree with his mellower comments. As time went on those people agreed with what he had to say. That's when he could start saying more things he felt should happen in the government. Now most think it's crazy that Donald Trump will become president, but just look at the poll numbers. Since the beginning he has been #1 in the race. So look out America, here he comes.
Erin Pirro Anyone who knows me well, or at all really, will roll their eyes upon reading this. When I was asked to write an “intentional draft” or piece of writing I would put a great deal of my time into I came up with several ideas. Some were not great, one was terrible, and none of them hailed any progress. So I resolved today when writing to the prompt “the most influential person in my life has been…” that for my intentional draft I would write about the four (arguably five) people who I feel have influenced my life the most. All four (arguably five) members of my favorite band Coldplay have been a highly influential part of my life for six years now. I’m sorry if you don’t like Coldplay, because they are a subject I can spend probably the rest of my life talking about, so with that very long, slightly apologetic, introduction, I would like to dive straight into my very favorite subject. My first encounter with my favorite band was in 5th grade when I got my very first iPod (which I still have and use to this day). My sister put a bunch of music from her iPod onto mine. It was an odd mix that consisted of artists ranging from Katy Perry to Nirvana. In the eclectic music that had just been spilled onto my, at the time, only Beatles-filled iPod, I found Coldplay. I only had two songs by them at the time: “Don’t Panic” and my favorite song, “Yellow.” I found myself listening to the two songs over and over again. To put it simply, I loved them. So I ventured to the library and checked out, gradually, all the Coldplay CDs they had, loving each CD even more than the one I had listened to last. Loving the music, I began to watch Coldplay interviews. I wanted to know the people that played and sung
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behind the music I was listening to. I found that the members of the band had thoughts and ideals I thought were worth listening to, or were similar to my own. I also found that they told a great deal of dirty jokes which I absolutely loved. Looking back, I suppose that the similarity in the band’s ideas and mine expressed by their music was what drew me to Coldplay in the first place. I was only in 6th grade at this point though, and didn’t think of this. I was only happy to find people who I could look up to. While everyone else was going through the crises of who they wanted to be in middle school (and many people still are going through it), I knew who I wanted to be, or at least who I wanted to be like. They had open minds, and were always polite and, much like the nature of my first paragraph: apologetic. I remember being glad to see that I wasn’t the only human being who used the words “I’m sorry” more than any others in their vocabulary. Above all that though, they at least seemed to be very genuine people. They weren’t (and still aren’t) considered the coolest people in the world or to be frank, in any circle of people. In half the interviews I watch with Chris Martin (the lead singer of Coldplay, who was born in the town of Exeter in Devonshire England in 1977 and is is six foot two and has the most wonderful voice you’ve ever heard and most wonderful smile you’ve ever seen) claims that he doesn’t care about being cool. In the other half of the interviews, he says he wishes he were cool then shrugs his shoulders and smiles (and it's wonderful.) What I always got from that was that being who you are is more important than being cool. In other words, if you aren’t “cool” the way you are then being considered as such isn’t worth changing yourself for. Changing yourself to meet the ideals of others will only lead to you being in a constant state of acting like someone you aren’t. I’m going to be honest, acting constantly sounds exhausting, and I’m a pretty lazy person. So if I’m not considered cool, well, then I don’t feel like putting in the effort to make myself that way. Speaking of lazy, another thing I learned from Coldplay is that if you want something you need to work for it, and that having an optimistic view about what you’re doing can go a long way. It's true, I am lazy about things I don’t want to do, but when I DO want to do
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something, I pour a lot of time and effort into it. Never BS anything you love, it's like BSing yourself and then you end up feeling like a load of BS. I remember being in 6th or 7th grade and telling my mom that I wanted to be like the guys in Coldplay when I got older. I was shocked when she told me that I already was. Of course when I told my older sister that I wanted to be like the guys in Coldplay when I got older her response was “you want to be a British man?” Yes, Carly, I want to be a British man. Oddly enough, I still get similar responses from people when I tell them that when I get older I want to be the singer in a band, hopefully on par with Coldplay. I want to be like the guys in Coldplay, I do not want to be the guys in Coldplay. I want to be as kindhearted and musically talented as they are, I want to write music that may not be cool (some people might even say that it's cheesy, but the best things in life are. You could say Star Wars and Doctor Who are cheesy, but that doesn’t mean that they aren’t the most recognized movie franchise and longest running TV show in history) and sure, I like the aesthetic they’ve got going as well. My point is I love Coldplay, they have changed my life, and I hold them to the highest regard. I suppose you’re getting sick of reading the word Coldplay by now so I’ll just end it here.
Sejal Saxena Nothing was moving at first. Everything was wrapped in a suffocating glaze of exhaustion and frozen in time. Everything was very much dead, but I had never felt more alive. Gusts of bonechilling wind refused to budge and stood as invisible barriers along the shore. As my clunky boots cut through the petrified seaweed, deep footprints were fixed into the icy sand dunes. With my grandpa trailing a few feet behind, I fought the urge to jump with all my might into the surging saltwater. I watched intently as heavy swells of water clashed against boulders and sent thick salty sprays in my direction. The monotonous hum of passing cars broke me from the ocean’s tranquility. Curious looks came from passing cars as drivers slumped deeper into their winter coats and blasted the heat. I glanced
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upwards at the sky in awe. Shafts of fiery radiance pierced through the calm azure sky. “True balance is only shown to a person by nature.” I turned to face my grandpa. What does balance have to do with nature? Although most of our adventures were quiet, my grandpa only broke this sacred silence with words of immense knowledge. My grandpa smiled modestly and squatted to reach my height. “If the sky is ignited with a passionate red, the water must extinguish the fire with a peaceful blue.” His words reflected the eyes of an artist. “With time you will be to see the balance with your own eyes.” Perplexed, I scratched my head, as his puzzling words spun in circles around me. I observed his actions nosily as he carefully unpacked his painting supplies. Lines of age and drooping eyes vanished as passion filled his face with radiance. With great admiration, I hunched over his shoulders, craning for the perfect view. His wrists danced across the blank canvas deftly. With expert strokes he brought a balance I thought that only nature could create. Over the course of weeks, I witnessed my granddad create his own sunrise. It stood unchallenged and surpassed the beauty of the sunrise we had watched together. The completion of his painting marked the dreaded end of winter break and anticipation for his art gallery’s opening during my spring break. In no time, I found myself standing outside his gallery and shaking with excitement. While my sister and parents took a painfully long time in gathering their belongings, I proudly strutted into the building. My eyes searched madly for my grandpa. Hundreds of strangers stared into his paintings inquisitively and expressed feelings of praise and admiration. Art curators’ grins and flashes of cameras filled the room. Spectators stood enchanted by my grandpa’s work and all sense of time vanished as they stared into the complexity of his paintings. I breathed a sigh of relief as I spotted my grandpa amongst a swarm of obnoxious reporters. My face lit up as I ran towards him and hugged him tightly.
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“Grandpa, where’s the sunrise painting?” Excitement bubbled out of me as I waited for him to point me to a direction. Instead, he smiled softly and explained, “I put it to better use.” A flurry of questions bombarded me at once. What better use could our memory be put to? Where was it? Who took it? I couldn’t stop myself from blurting out, “But Grandpa, that was my favorite painting!” My grandpa didn’t seem as heart-broken as I was. While I experienced the worst pain I had ever felt in my life, my grandpa didn’t seem the least bit distraught. In an effort to keep my spirits high, he suggested that I look at the other paintings on display. I became just as enchanted by his paintings as the mass of spectators that filled his gallery. His paintings brought me intense joy, but I still felt an unexplainable void where my favorite memory should have been. Just as I had finished viewing his art, I caught sight of my mom and grandpa speaking in hushed voiced. Furtively, I inched towards them. “So what was the better use?” my mom sounded deeply confused. My grandpa paused and began calmly. “I could sense the hardships that would come in putting two children through college,” he explained thoughtfully. My mom quietly gasped and I watched as her eyes filled with tears of gratitude. I coiled back in shock as I struggled to process what had happened. How could he put a price tag on my favorite memory? After obsessing over this question, I came to a rational conclusion: that my grandpa is indeed a wise man. Although the painting was gone, the memory of that day on a freezing beach by his side would never leave me. I would be forever grateful.
Lucy Schwartzreich People are always expecting me to be selfless in my life. To help others is such a rewarding action; however, one cannot expect a fourteen-year-old girl to care solely about others day and night. To be empathetic and kind does not take much at all,
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yet it’s challenging to be scolded for having the urge to want something for yourself. Allowing an elderly man or woman to take my place in a seat, or acting as the bigger person in an argument, are simple acts of kindness that are taught to you throughout your lifetime. Nonetheless, it is only human nature for not wanting to give something up or back down. One who claims that they are constantly living up to their goal of being charitable and selfless is purely misleading. Everybody, at least once, has done something to be considered narcissistic and rude. “Spoiled brat.” This is a phrase that seems to bubble up to the surface a lot in my household. By definition, the two words represent one who feels that they deserve the luxuries they receive in life, almost as if they are superior to others. However, this small adjective can be morphed into many different meanings. To a struggling family, one who is spoiled may be the child to admit that they are hungry, or cold. But to an exceedingly wealthy family, a spoiled brat is the one to argue that they are more commendable for riches. However, in most cases, the act of being spoiled is unintentional. Thoughts are a helpless action. Egotistical and maybe even appalling things have crossed the minds of even the most innocent people. It’s a sensation that cannot be controlled; something one knows they are too virtuous for, but they can’t help themselves from thinking anyway. The bitter truth is, nobody is pure. Each and every person has to think of themselves from one point or another—whether it is deliberate or not.
Noah Shar The best part about being injured is definitely how everyone treats you with so much respect and everyone makes sure to be nice and help you out with whatever you need. Milking an injury is like turning on the TV for me. It is simply one of the easiest things to do in the world. Last year when I broke my wrist and I was in a cast, I had my mom, my friends, my sisters, my dad and even some of my teachers doing what needed to be
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done to get through the injury. It wasn’t only a broken wrist that was in my injury, it was also a cracked head which was more painful than a broken wrist. The first week after the injury I could leave school early because of a headache or step out of class or even not do any homework because I could have possibly had a concussion which is something not to joke around about. When I walked into English class the first time after I got my cast on, all I can remember was everyone asking me what happened and if I was okay. I must have repeated the same story over and over again about 150 times. During the time span of no right arm or wrist, I had to take at least five tests. I had a scribe write for me, which was so beneficial, because I got to say everything out loud and process everything. I got a 100 on 4 out of 5, and the one I did not was a 98. My mom would write all my homework for me and I would just not be able to function. Simple things you would easily be able to achieve in a normal day of life were extremely challenging. Showering was so much harder, and I even needed to wear a bathing suit while using the hand held shower with some help from my mom. Eating breakfast, lunch, and dinner because I couldn’t hold a knife to cut my food or for the fact I was only eating with my non-dominant hand just hurt Tying my shoe was very hard. So was brushing my teeth and something so simple as opening and closing doors was so hard. My biggest fear involving the incident was having to possibly get surgery to pop the bone back in place. A couple of months after the injury every once in a while I would feel pain in my wrist and I was afraid to be as aggressive as I was in the way I got hurt. It was a scary and painful moment. Luckily that did not happen as I am scared of surgery in every way. Surgery is just a fear I have always had. I am terrified of blood and surgery is a scary event I hope never has to happen. When I got my cast off I was so upset. It did many great things to me that I am still proud of to this day. When I got it off I was truly depressed. I felt like I completely started a new
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life. A different life with no help, no easy way out of something, and I was let out into the jungle on a journey for more success. The injury lifestyle is now in the past and I have to focus on thriving to the best of my ability while being healthy. Do whatever is necessary for you to succeed.
Katie Shaw It is funny how one event, moment or decision can change a whole lifetime. For me, most of these events or decisions happened when I was very young, or even before I was born. Maybe when my parents decided to move to Chappaqua, or when I started horseback riding when I was 5 —those events were probably some of the more important moments in my life. If those decisions had never been made, my whole life could have been different. However, I don’t really like to count those kinds of things, I like to count the decisions I have made for myself. I’ve never been very good at making decisions, so it is hard for me to think of one in particular that I am glad I made. My whole life feels like it was planned out for me, not that there is anything wrong with that. It just makes it that much harder to make a moment for myself that could change my life forever; I already know where I live, what I love to do. One thing in my life that I’d like to think I have control over is who I spend time with, who I choose to open up to. When I was younger, I was horrible at recognizing that this was something that no one had control over but me. In middle school I was definitely “awkward.” It was the first thing that felt very disorganized and new. I felt very out of place and intimidated. I didn’t realize that 5th grade was the first time that I could take the reins and choose what I wanted my experience to be like. I feel like having something that I needed to fix helped me come up with the decision to change my life. I would say the beginning of last year was when my big moment of significance took place. I know inviting a group of girls over for a sleepover doesn’t seem like a huge decision, like the kind of decision that could change someone’s life. However, for me it is something that I am definitely happy I did. Before that night, Sally,
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Ronnie, and Diana were just people that I knew. I saw them in the hallway, we smiled, talked sometimes, went to the same events. I never could’ve guessed that we would have a friendship that would make my life 100 percent better. I was excited when we all agreed to hang out, but no amount of excitement could’ve been enough to prepare me for the times to come. The funny thing is I don’t even remember exactly what we did, all I remember is laughing A LOT, and I remember wanting to hang out with them every day after that. I had close friends before then, but somehow it was never the same as that. For the first time I felt like I could tell them anything, laugh at anything, do anything. The most miraculous thing was that the feeling seemed to be mutual. After that night the four of us were inseparable, we did everything together, and made it our personal goals to hang out every weekend. It was only about a week into our friendship that we had made a three page long bucket list of all the things we wanted to do together. Another great thing about having my three best friends was that even though we were close, we could still be flexible and meet new people to be friends with as well. In fact, I think being best friends just helped us make even more friends. By the end of eighth grade, I was the happiest I think I’ve ever been, I had lots of friends, and most importantly I had my best friends. The thing I was most afraid of in high school was definitely losing them. I can’t even say how many times I heard that my friend dynamics would completely change. Of course, I met a lot of new people, but I didn’t lose them. We seem to have just gotten closer, and instead of having to go into yet another stressful blur alone, I went into it with the people I trust the most. For most, the decisions that change their lives are things like, the sport they play, or the school they go to, but for me my most proud decision was just an idea for plans on a Saturday night.
Lukas Shriver There is an unexpected beauty in ravioli making. Raviolis are so beautiful in that there’s so much potential, so much room for variation. What I mean by this is that there is such variety in the
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the ingredients that may be put inside a ravioli, whether it be cheese, meat, vegetables, or all of the above. Just saying the word “ravioli” is extremely satisfying. Ravioli. Various lords of entertainment have picked up on this. Examples include Nickelodeon with this quote from Spongebob Squarepants, “Ravioli, ravioli, give me the formuoli,” and this quote from FilthyFrankTV, “Ravioli, ravioli, what’s in the pocketoli.” All of this popularity of the ravioli could mean one of two things; either the entertainment business enjoys a good ravioli, or there’s something else, something else in the code that we haven’t yet deciphered. The Guinness World Record for longest ravioli ever recorded is 96 feet by one inch. What if the ravioli isn’t just a delicious type of pasta? What if the ravioli represents something more? A higher level of being, knowledge, enlightenment? All of these conclusions are possibilities, the stepping stones to finding the truth. What I want to know is why we haven’t figured it out yet. What is so important about the ravioli, why does it need to be hidden? Maybe us as humans aren’t yet worthy, not worthy enough to know the secret. Maybe we can’t handle the truth, if we knew; it could do the opposite of benefit us. Many people have gone insane after they had anticipated a deep, dark secret and finally heard it. It’s possible that we’re just being protected. Ignorance is bliss. Even with this idea of a twisted sort of protection, we as humans will always have our instinctive, macabre curiosity. Our primitive desire, our yearning for knowledge. The secret can’t be kept forever. Humans will find out eventually, whether the truth be a benefit to society or a catalyst, speeding up the process of corruption until our eventual demise doesn’t matter. All that matters is we will find out someday. Did you know that March 20th is National Ravioli Day? “Ravioli” has seven letters. You know what other word has seven letters? If you said, “buzzard,” you
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are correct. Buzzards are birds. Another type of bird is the bluebird. The bluebird is the state bird of New York. The last four letters in “New York” are “Y-O-R-K”. The first four letters of Yorktown are “Y-O-R-K”. Yorktown is a place in New York. The last four letters of “Yorktown” are “T-O-W-N”. A town is a place where people live. People are humans. Humans are mammals. Mammals are animals. Reptiles are another type of animal. Tortoises are reptiles. Turtles are similar to tortoises. Turtles can swim. Swimming takes place in water. “Water” starts with a “W”. “Weight” starts with “W”. Weight is affected by gravity. The gravity is weaker on the moon. The moon orbits the Earth. The Earth is a planet. Planets have mass. Squirrels have mass. Squirrels climb trees. Trees have trunks. The first three letters of “trunk” are “T-R-U”. The first three letters of Donald Trump’s last name are “T-R-U”. Donald Trump is a politician. Politics are a touchy subject. Cancer is a touchy subject. Cancer is bad for you. Soda is bad for you. The first three letters of “soda” are “S-O-D”. Sod is grass. Grass grows. Humans grow. Filthy Frank is a human. Coincidence? I think not. Filthy Frank has the secrets to the ravioli, confirmed.
Philip Sisser We pushed through the crowds slipping into any gap we could find, until we finally reached the black gates. I peered through the bars and saw the guards stand at attention. They stood frozen in the cold wearing red uniforms with black bear hats and carried white and brown muskets. Their faces were expressionless as they marched in perfect rows down the aisle. A red and golden carriage pulled through the soldiers as the ceremony came to the end. I turned my eyes to Buckingham Palace which stood behind the changing of the guard. The palace was built from grey stone and decorated in gold. So began our trip to London, England. I went to London for about 5 days last spring break. My parents and I saw London by boat, by bus, by taxi, and by foot. It was one of the best trips I have ever taken. Personally, I think London is a fascinating city. There is so much history and culture in London, from the Tower of
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London to Piccadilly Circus. There is Churchill’s War Room, Parliament, Tower Bridge, Westminster Abbey, Trafalgar Square, the British Museum, the National Gallery, and so many other interesting places that add to the city’s unique composition. It is modern yet historic, and technological yet primitive. Not only are these tourist attractions amusing, but I think the entire city provides an important lesson in history. London has so much to offer. It is arguably the world headquarters for business, it has such an interesting history, and it is amazing how they preserve it to this day. The Tower of London displays the crown jewels, along with many aspects of the city’s history. The Tower of London is a castle to which we had to walk across a moat to enter. The Tower was once a place of misery for royal prisoners as it contained the tormenting medieval torture devices. It also contained a zoo, the royal menagerie, where animals were put up for auction. But the highlight of the tower was undoubtedly the crown jewels. There were two royal guards at the entrance as you entered the building. It had stories on the wall about the kings and queens of the past, and how they used the Tower. At the last part of the tour, there lies the crown decorated in furs, diamonds, and rubies, along with the golden scepter. These diamonds were absolutely massive and they were all different types of colors. As I left, I could not help to stop and get a fake crown at the gift shop. Another memorable site was Westminster Abbey. This place was built on a massive scale and had such intricate gothic architecture. The ceiling was about 10 stories high with towing arches. The floor was composed of black and white tiles, and engravings of kings on the walls with colorful stained glass. I came up to the chapel where the royal wedding took place. I could imagine all the monarchs of Europe sitting in the audience with the Prince and Princess getting married. The more interesting part was how so many important English people were buried there: Charles Darwin, Queen Elizabeth, Sir Isaac Newton, John Milton, James Watt, and many other royal monarchs. Their coffins had been place in the walls, surrounding many corridors of the abbey.
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As we walked to the outskirts of the building, we saw monasteries with roman columns from a thousand years ago, older than the whole structure itself.
Editor’s Note: In the making of this collection, Mikayla Diedrich, Alek Kevorkian, Eric Rosman, and Dylan Snow (all talented writers) exercised their right to not be included in our public anthology. We hope to publish their work soon.
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