Title to Be Announced by Mina Drezner

Title To Be Announced TTBA

Pre AP English. Grade 9 2

To Mr. Jesse Tangen Mills, for his perseverance and to the class of 2013 for their impeccable hard work

TTBA Never Published Colegio Nueva Granada

TTBA Table of Contents Water Crying Mamiko Nagasaka

Who Will Soothe My Grief? Andrea Diaz

Zigzag of The Shadows Gerardo Villela

Trapped in a Web Maria Alicia Franco

Rain Amber Clower

Air Forty-two: A Total Rant of My Uncertainties Daniela Berenguer

My Brain Jae Gyoung Oh

Revengeful Verdasco Andres Vega

Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s All About Speed Gerardo Villela

Fifteen Oh Fifteen Stephanie Botero

News? Seriously? Agustina Deambrosi

Suicidal Virgins Like Air Gabriela Geter

Airplane Nightmare

Ana Lucia Echavarria

How to Disappear Completely Ana Carolina McCausland

Fire Grades Jae Gyoung Oh

My Reflection Isabella Gonzalez

Hot Neighbor Expectation = Hot Neighbor + Dog Reality Ivana Daccarett

My ‘Birthday’ Daniela Berenguer

Hot Mormon Missionary Guys Maria Alicia Franco

Schizophrenia Scare Sophia Noel

Luz Marina Sophia Noel

Evolution vs Creationism Francisco Diaz

Hey Love, You Forgot Me! Elvira Moreno

Adrenaline Rush: The Best Therapy Laura Hernandez de Alba

A Letter to My Haters Mina Drezner

We’re Back Melanie Falero

It’s Not About Winning Or Losing, It’s All About Winning Stephanie Botero

Sparkling is Sexy Isabella Garces

Earth Apparently, Miley Can’t Be Tamed Juliana Castro

Wise Packing Maria Luisa Escobar

The Legend of Alfa Romeo Maria Laura Echavarria

Rice Krispies Melisa Tobon

Trying to Think Out Loud – Genesis X – XVI Michelle Katz

To Make or Become Different Andrea Velasquez

I Came Out of the Cougar Closet Isabella Garces

Collaborators

Crying Mamiko Nagasaka

“You know, I thought the time when you want to cry the most is the time when you need to work the hardest. So, I decided to cry daily, to let it drop; the tears that I will shed when I most want to. So that my tears would be dry when I need to work the hardest.” (Baccano Episode 13) I found this line quite impressive, but please don't misinterpret it. I don’t love crying or anything. It is just really impressive that he is capable of controlling his tears or emotions, just like a faucet. It is probably a way of self-control, which I have never heard of, because I always thought of it as hiding your emotions. As I was reading the part of holding back the tears and letting them go another time, I was reminded of a story that I vaguely remember. The only thing I can recall is a girl talking about a boy who is mature and calm. One day she asked him, “Why are you so quiet?” And the boy answered, “Because I am saving my energy for later on in my life.” So the girl thought, “But you can’t do that. The energy you have, let’s say, when you are 8 years old, is only useful when you are 8 years old. It’s not something that you can preserve. It’s like food. Eating a lot at breakfast doesn’t keep you well fed and active for the rest of the day, unless you eat lunch or dinner." I agree with the girl from this random story. So, as you can see, I don’t believe what the quote says about saving tears for later, but I like the idea of controlling emotions. I’ve heard that one important skill to live successfully is the ability of letting your negative feelings and frustrations out. Just like a balloon; never blow it too hard or it will explode. I guess this thing about the tears can be a way to release air from your own balloon.

Who Will Soothe My Grief? Andrea Diaz

Two years ago, I started to notice an incredibly unusual thing. Wherever I looked, the number forty-four always appeared. On the plaques, on scores, when watching the time. It always, unconditionally, included the number '44'. Not that I believe in signs from above or anything, but the situation became annoying. I decided to decipher it. I reached a conclusion: something was to happen on April the 16th, for April is the fourth month of the year, and sixteen is the product of four times four. Furthermore, this was the year 2008 (four plus four is eight). I commented it to my mother, and she told me that was the day of her plane trip to Peru. I commanded her to stay or change the date, because I really had a bad feeling about it. She obeyed me, unconvinced. It's the second anniversary of my grandfather's death on Saturday, April the 17th. I have heard of how the same situation affects other kids, nevertheless, for some reason my grief is absurd. My grandfather and I had a surreal bond. It was not only a family relationship, it was more than that. He was my friend. A friend whom I trusted with all of my secrets and expectations in life. A friend whom I admired and cherished. A friend who was suddenly, and abruptly, taken away from me. Sunday, April 13th, 2008: It was my grandmother's 68th birthday lunch celebration. My grandfather and I had spent hours talking and laughing. Just the two of us, on a corner of the apartment. Then, the topic of death came up: "I think I will die in the next five years. I have a minimum of one year left of life. But whatever, life has been wonderful to me, and I desire to pass on that joy to you, along with the rest of the family. Mourn not my death for that will make me grief in Heaven." He spoke with such calm conviction, I failed to oppose his declared fate and halt the painful sentences. "No, you will live more. More than five years, more than ten. You cannot do this to me." My grandfather had phone-called his doctor several days ago due to an uncertain, sickening feeling. He was diagnosed with flu, and had some useless medicines prescribed. The doctor did not even make the effort to give him an appointment for proving the theory of it being a cold, nor note his vital signs, nor do anything at all. Everyone close to my grandfather was aware of his heart condition; however, he had always easily recovered from surgeries and strokes. Then, during lunch, he suddenly started to feel worse. My grandfather left to the hospital,unfazed about the situation. He just wanted the doctor to check him out and alter the medicine prescription. I hugged him and, for the very first time, said, "I love you Grandpa." He chuckled and replied, "I'm alright! It's just a flu, we will get to see each other by

Friday." I failed to convince myself of his well-being. There was a rare feeling of uncertainty within me. Two days after that, my grandpa was admitted on intensive care. The doctors could not resolve the mystery of his disease, nor provide a successful solution to his pain. Clearly, this was no flu at all. Wednesday, April 16th, 2008: My grandfather suffered a brain stroke. At this point, he could barely speak. The doctors said there was nothing to be done, except wait. Wait? How could we so calmly wait at a now tangible death? At four p.m most of his brain stopped working after undergoing a hemorrhage. He was being kept "alive" by machines. Did the forty-fours I kept seeing mean something then? No one will ever know, but after that day, the particular number stopped appearing. Thursday, April 17th, 2008: After spending a mournful night, praying for my grandfather to be cured, I found myself on a volleyball game. I was stressed. I played terribly. The game ended, and I ran to my cell phone. "Dad, how's my grandpa?" Though he did not tell me through a phone call, the tone of his voice made the news I prayed were avoided implicit. When I got home, my presumptions were clarified. He had left me. Tears rolled uncontrollably down my face. I felt as if my heart was going to leave my body. As if my soul were to leave me too, in order to catch up beside my grandfather's. I could not breathe, I could not stand, I could not be. What now? I felt an explosion of rage, I told him not to leave me! He promised to see me by Friday. Why did I go to that useless volleyball game instead of sitting by his side on the hospital, listening to his voice? Telling him countless times that I loved him? I felt furious at God at the same time. So many prayers! So many illusions destroyed! How could he have taken my grandfather away from me? I cried myself to sleep that night, and most of the following nights up to now. I dreamed of my grandfather. We were sitting on a beautiful, magnificent garden. After what seemed like hours of joy, he told me it was time to leave. Leave where, exactly? I sobbed in my dream, begging him to stay. Just a couple more minutes. He chuckled and cleaned my tears. For the very first time, looking at me straight in the eye, he replied, "I love you too." I woke up in a hysterical cry, realizing how dreams, too, could be as terrible as reality. The next day, my grandmother found a picture on her camera from the day of her birthday. It was the last picture someone had taken of my grandfather. The picture portrayed us sitting as satisfied loners on a forgotten sofa, building and journeying through our own, mutual wonderland. I immediately demanded it, using it as an everlasting recompilation of those ultimate hours spent together. I keep it beside my bed, wishing that day came by once again.

After that, I have only dreamed of him once. It was the day of my fifteenth birthday. The dream was a chronological recompilation of all that had happened that day, though with my grandfather being present in it. It seemed so real. I woke up again and cried some more at the deception of reality. As tears roll down my face, I am forced to keep them back or clean them quickly. I am determined to be my mother's source of support, for she forces a smile upon her face in order to cheer up my grandmother. But who can my mother cry to? Let that be me, for I will wipe her tears and soothe her endless pain. But who will soothe mine, if he who did is now responsible for it?

Zigzag of the Shadows Gerardo Villela A few months ago, half way through January we took a trip to the Amazons. However, everything wasn't as happy-go-lucky as it may seem, for the Amazonian Virus was spreading quickly. My friend, Alex, was one of the first to fall, starting a domino effect we did not see coming. From one it went to two, four, ten, and before you knew it, half the group was infected. This is a story that many know, but I'll tell you a part only a few do. The fourth day of the trip, the first ones started getting better but the girls were quickly falling to the virus. It was getting late and I was going to the cabin when another friend, Nicolas, started talking to me. We were talking about the virus when I said, "At times I wish it were I who got sick and not them." I then went off to bed walking over the zigzag path, which was only lit by a handful of candles. At the end of it was the hut, where we all began sleeping. When I woke up I could hear a drip drip drip and as time went by it grew into a loud thumping. My senses slowly came back to as I saw darkness. I looked out behind me and saw rain pouring down. Trying to ignore it, I went back to bed, but I could not sleep. I closed my eyes and nothing happened. I was puzzled for a moment until I felt it: the spike of pain on my gut. I tried to breathe deeply and lie down as straight as I could, but all this was null. The pain in the gut grew to the breaking point and I dashed right into the bathroom. But, to my luck, it had no roof. In that bathroom, I did things you don't want to know about as raindrops smashed into my head. I, being careful, did not wake anyone up, trying to let them keep their peaceful slumber as I went to look for the nurse by myself. There was a problem in this, though. The rain had quenched the candles and my flashlight was long dead and lost, so I had to maneuver through the zigzag path in total darkness. I took a deep breath and took off. Inch by inch, step by step, I went through the zigzagged path. Right foot falls on the grass, turn to the left. Left foot fall on the grass, turn to the right. I ended up in a strange path I had not noticed before. The path was straight and not elevated leading to a far of cabin. I got there clueless looking for the nurse but, to my dismay, the people there were not even part of the trip. I woke up and scared a tourist couple to death at two in the morning who didn't even speak English or Spanish that well. They spoke to each other in their language and I left, continuously saying sorry and not seeing them ever again. Now, I had to go back. I passed the straight path and reached the zigzag again. I did it again inch by inch, step by step. The raindrops had become needles stabbing into my head as my breath became louder. On the path I was thinking, "Why didn't I pay attention that day when they pointed out the nurseâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s cabin?" I reached the point where the path splits in four. I recognized the path back to my cabin and the one going to the girl's cabin, leaving only two. I took the left and you should know what happened. It was the teacher's cabin. I shouldn't have

trusted my instincts. As I sneaked in, my Spanish teacher woke up and asked me what was wrong. I told her I was looking for the nurse and she pointed to the cabin on the path I hadn't taken. I took off yet again into the darkness and rain. The rain had gone from needles to hammers hitting my skull. By now I had lost any pace I had while walking, for it was long steps, short steps, long steps, short steps, and my body moved forwards during any short steps and pulled back up during the long ones. I saw the cabin and felt a little warm inside, but to top off the ice cream with a cherry: I didn't have the strength to make the door budge. That warmness got its butt kicked by the chills that spread in a heartbeat as I went on my way back to the cabin feeling defeated and sicker than before. My breath had grown louder than ever and I was surprised that nobody woke up. My head was throbbing and my legs were failing me. Half way through the path, I stopped. I couldn't go any longer. I stood still; face looking into the sky, with my eyes closed trying to catch the breath I no longer had. I thought that was the end. I felt like I was about to pass out on the wooden path and be found the next morning. During all this, my words echoed through my head, "At times I wish it was I who got sick and not them." But then I realized I couldn't give up here, where I was a few steps from the cabin, so I gathered courage and went on. I made it to the cabin, probably waking somebody up with my panting, but realized that I couldn't sleep with this sickness. I decided to ask a friend for help; however, it was completely dark and you couldn't recognize who was who under the mosquito nets. I tried to remember with all my might where each of my friends had gone to sleep and decided to wake up one of my most trustworthy friends, Nack. I took the risk and woke up who I thought was Nack and I was surprised of how spot on I was. He asked me what was wrong and I told him how I was sick. Then, I almost collapsed on the floor before being helped by Nack. Along with him, two other friends woke up: Alex and Jae, the last of the three Koreans. Nack told me to rest on the hammock while he went to get the nurse, Alex lent me his flashlight for them to know in which hammock I was in, and Jae simply went with them. However, to my demise, they came back empty handed. They found my hammock and Nack told me to just lay down as straight as I could and to relax. For some strange reason I was able to go to sleep after this. I think it might have been the comfort of knowing someone tried their best to help and the sense of safeness I got from not being completely alone. Alas I went to sleep, woke up early in the morning, and just stayed in the hammock staring into oblivion waiting for the hours to pass. Strangely enough, when I got up I was completely cured and healthy. I don't know how or why this happened, but I am still thankful for it and for Nack, who got a tad bit of a cold because of walking in the rain. You couldn't believe how glad I felt as I walked again through the zigzag path in broad daylight.

Trapped in the Web Maria Alicia Franco

I would like to give you somewhat of a challenge. I challenge you to find something that can’t be found on a web search engine such as Yahoo or Google. I’m giving you this challenge because nowadays everything can be found on the web, and I mean everything! Have a date and need to learn how to dance? Google it! Want to learn how to cook just about anything? It’s there! Want to learn how to wear makeup, read hieroglyphics, or learn French? It’s all in there. But you have to learn to be careful. Let me finish that thought with a simple example of one of my favorite, and in my opinion one of the best characters of all times: Sheldon Cooper from the Big Bang Theory: Leonard Hofstadter: Remember when you tried to learn how to swim from the Internet? Sheldon Cooper: I did learn how to swim. Leonard Hofstadter: Yeah, on the floor. Sheldon Cooper: The skills are transferable. I just have no desire to get in the water. Leonard Hofstadter: Then why learn how to swim? Sheldon Cooper: The ice caps are melting, Leonard. In the future, swimming won't be optional. You can’t always learn magically how to do things like swimming on the Internet, so take heed of my warning. If you are scared for your lives because the ice caps are melting, learn how to swim. And in an actual pool, please. But anyway, back to all the information we can find on the Internet. It’s surprising, or maybe not so surprising, to know that someone, somewhere in the world took the time to write about a certain topic you’re interested in. Sometimes there are videos, like in a famous website I know and most of the world does as well. I’m talking about the one, the only, YouTube. From personal experience I can tell you that almost like on the web you can find a lot of helpful or entertaining videos. My friends have learned how to unfreeze their iPod, how to use their eyeliner correctly, and even basic chemistry through videos on YouTube. Today’s youth spends hours on their computer chatting and watching videos. Nowadays the world seems to be trapped in the giant web Internet has become.

So, to finalize my argument on Internet addiction, I wish you all a happy web surfing. We all know there is nothing better to stop boredom than to spend several hours in front of a square-shaped, light-giving machine.

Rain Amber Clower

There's something about rain I love. Something about it that makes me smile, dream, and wish. Others might find rain dreary and cold, but not me. I may go out sometimes and just sit there in the rain, or sometimes even begin to spin beneath it, smiling. It gives me a refreshed feeling, like everything I ever did that wasn't the greatest and everything I regretted was cleansed away from my soul. Like I could start over new. I see rain as a chance to be able to create wonderful things, or to write a great story by the window. Every once in a while I can lean my head back against it and just listen to the sounds of the rain hitting the windowsill and ground, drop after drop. Then there's the dreaming. The rain makes me dream of such wonderful things and I never stop imagining until itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s gone and it takes my dreams with it. Only, there is a sadness that comes with the price of moments of peace and happiness the rain gives me. That is after the rain is carried away. Everything is back to normal. Traffic can be heard along with its honking and tire-sliding, babies can be heard crying, once again the smell of pollution can be smelt, and people may once more carry out their crimes. And although everything else does not sound so swell after the rain has gone, the rain has left something for us all. Hope. Hope that the sound of rain and feeling of it on your arms will come once more. Hope for people with only tragedy in their lives. Hope for the something good when all bad things are washed away. Hope for everything to one day, be changed for the better. The rain is my comfort.

Forty-Two: A Total Rant of My Uncertainties Daniela Berenguer

The assignment for today was to 'write one reflective blog entry'. We had various doubts as to what we should reflect on, and how reflective we should be, but since we got no answers, I have decided to reflect on my life. I have everything one could ask for to live happy forever: a good house, daily meals, a loving family (even if we don't realize it all the time), caring friends, a good education, and IQ points. This eloquent introduction gives way to my thoroughly (at least to me) complicated life.

Even though I have all these things that should make me content, I am not entirely happy. I might be joyous at times, but I still feel this kind of emptiness, a feeling that isn't part of me. For my mental sanity and the hope that everything will not always be like this, is caused by the atmosphere I am in now. Our school, the situation with my family, having to go through three different teenage phases at the same time, and the fact that I have lost more than half of my closest friends in the past two years, that atmosphere. I have already found the problem or a replacement for it until I really find what it is, but I cannot seem to find the solution. Every time I feel overwhelmed or just plain blue, I think that I would like to pack everything and go to Australia for a year. Australia being my latest ideal escape (yes, this does have to do with the hot boys who have the even hotter accents. I may be sad, but I'm still me inside!). I think that if I could go to another place that had nothing to do with here for some time, then I would find what I'm looking for. This may have to do with the fact that last year I was living in France in an exchange school for the whole year. I know I felt like this there too, mostly in the beginning of the year. I think I have blocked all the bad memories out, another strategy to keep on waking up every day to face my life. I mostly started seeing what a good time I had there. When I came back, I started feeling that I was stuck inside the boundaries of my life here, I could see that it didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t matter that I had changed. I tried to come back with an open mind, but clearly, that didn't work either.

I feel completely alone. I know I'm not, but I cannot escape the idea that everything is fleeing. That if I suddenly left nobody would notice. I am overwhelmed by the concept that life always goes onâ&#x20AC;Ś even without you! I feel like I'm trapped in between the walls that I've built out of my bottled up and misunderstood feelings. They are separating me from the rest of the world and even though I pound and pound on the walls no one can hear me, no one comes

to help me. I need help in knocking these four walls down, to let the world in, but there is no one here.

Walking away from everything, escaping, isn't the answer to this problem, but the idea of it is what keeps me going forward, towards a promise that something better will come along. Speaking of promises, the other day a girl read my fortune - out of a chocolate sticker kind of thing. Even though I don't believe in that stuff (from fortune tellers to ghosts) she told me something that was scarily accurate. She said that in this moment I was feeling lost, wondering where I was going, and that I wish I could change roads. This is exactly how I am feeling, like I need an exit to get on a different lane. It's a good thing that someone knows without me having to tell them, because, frankly, I wouldn't be able to explain it. She also said that someone would come along and would make me snap out of it, telling me that I am on the right track, I am going somewhere with my life. She told me I was just going through a tough time, I like to explain it as a kind of one-eighth-of-my-life crisis, but that a new person would come into my life and end it all. One thing I cannot remember is if she said that all of this would happen soon. How I wish she had said soon. This probably wasn't at all what my teacher had in mind with this assignment. It probably just makes me sound like a suicidal Dr. Phil case, but that's what he gets for not being clear. Here's a piece of the real Daniela Berenguer for whoever wants it (though I really doubt he does). By the way, the title of this is forty-two because in the movie A Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy forty-two is the answer to everything. It is the answer to The Ultimate Question - which is itself unknown. Right now, forty-two is all that I need.

My Brain Jae Gyoung Oh

Here's a simple brain diagram of my brain.

Diagram? Yes, I'm weird. As you can see, most of my brain is useless. Instead of things involving calculations and thinking, I'm rather always concentrated on the next thing I'm going to eat. Speaking of eating, I like cookies, bacon, sushi (that's right, I'm Asian.), cupcakes, etc. There’s not much to say actually. You see, the picture explains everything. A picture is worth a thousand words, isn’t it? Tired of writing essays all the time? Just insert a picture and you are done! I mean, it's enough words, isn't it? Anyways, that's my brain diagram under normal circumstances. What do I mean by that? You see, I’m sort of semi-bipolar. My brain looks different when I'm sad or angry. How different? Very different.

Revengeful Verdasco Andres Vega

I've heard all sorts of critics about Fernando Verdasco, and yet I must acknowledge he is not a bad player once you see him on the court. He won Barcelona after a three setter against Robin Soldering. After having taken such an ugly defeat in Monte Carlo against Nadal, this other left-handed Spaniard got a well deserved victory. Verdasco is not one of the tallest players on tour but he certainly makes up for it. He has a controlled physical durability, and the fact that heâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s left-handed makes him a tough man to get around. Most players are used to playing on the right and when the lefties come around, they have no idea what to do. I know this from personal experience. When it comes to weaknesses, there might be a huge list of things we could point out. Then again, he has the left-handed advantage. The backhand is fairly weak, but he knows where to put it. The defense is not very good on the hard court, but this is a clay tournament. His forehand isn't that hard to respond, either but it is good enough to get in the long rallies. So he does have all these weaknesses, but he sure makes up for them at one point in the match. The simple fact that this match was played in a clay court makes all the difference in the world. Clay courts are made up of a thick layer of clay usually covered by brick dust. First of all, 99% of tennis players on the ATP Tour say that clay is the hardest surface to play on. This is due to the fact that clay is an unpredictable surface. On hot, sunny days, it bounces like crazy, while on cloudy days, the best way to win is to the point of drop shots. Sliding isn't a very easy task either. On cloudy days, it's like playing in mud which creates more chances of injuring your ankle. On sunny days, you have to watch out for your running speed. If you run too fast, you'll find yourself sliding right off the courts or perhaps into a wall. Probably, the hardest part of playing in a clay court is the fact that you can't win by trying to make winners. The way to win is by being more constant in rallies than your opponent. However, there will always be someone in the tennis world that is more consistent than you. My point to all of this is that I have noticed that Fernando Verdasco is not exactly the best shot maker on tour, but he is very consistent, indeed. Thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s what has saved him here in Barcelona. That is what has replaced his height and all the weaknesses he has had to deal with.

Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s All About Speed Gerardo Villela

Hello, my name is Gerardo and I'm addicted to speed, the legal one that is. What kind of weird druggie do you take me for? I love any sensation of speed whether it is from running, boats, or cars. I tell you, there is nothing better than going full speed on a boat seeing the beautiful scenery of the Amazons flashing by. But that's a story for another day, and by another day I mean possibly never. Now that I have completely annihilated your hopes, I can get started on why I am writing to you in this moment. Has it ever happened to you that while in a car you decide to take a quick gaze out the window and suddenly find yourself lost in a train of thought? Well it has happened to me more than once. However, I think my thoughts might vary from yours because mine is running through that scenery at full speed. Call me crazy. I don't care. That's just my way of thinking. Well, I've decided to expand on this idea and have, what I call, an imagination trip. This isn't an acid trip, I swear. An imagination trip is where my mind completely gazes off and I basically escape from reality. Now witness my overly dramatic version of running. So, there I stood, on the sidewalk, with the street stretching out in front of me as the sun shone up top. There is no time to look back. I have to move forward. My legs slowly start swinging up and down, forward and back as the earth below me starts to move. Every time faster and faster for I can't stay behind. I feel like they are about to have a burst of energy. Still too slow. I double my speed and the wind starts to press against my face. This is the way to go. I go faster, faster. The air does not like this and starts to shove my head back. I lean a little bit forward to have the air go right past me. I just move my legs and the earth rotates under me. However, my arms grow bored and jealous of my legs and start pumping along with them. My legs see this and try to out speed them. This rivalry does not stop as their speed goes up, up, up. I keep on going straight when I realize, it's the end of the road. I must turn right. But I can't turn abruptly. I don't have much time to think as the turn comes closer. I quickly look around and see a lamp post, my salvation. I take a quick hop as I reach out with my right hand for the pole. I clutch it firmly and start to tug on it. My momentum and tug help me swing to the right, thank you physics. My right shoulder now hurts like hell, but it doesn't matter as I rush straight forward. Still, my troubles are far from over. I realize I'm running in the middle of the street when I see a couple of cars. I side-step and run past the first few, it's easy. Then I look forward. The street is rolling towards me along with a traffic jam. I was too close. I didn't have enough time to make my way back on the sidewalk and I couldn't stop for the traffic, not now. The sound of car horns and motors got into my ears. This is going to be a hell of a run. I squeeze in the gaps between cars and side step from one to the other, Left, left, right, left, right, left. The sidewalk was so close yet felt so far away. Then suddenly, there is a truck in front of me. I can't

dodge that! There was no other way than down. I bent my knees and leaned back, my right leg stretching out in front of me, my left leg on it's way there, and my back pressed against the floor. I looked up and saw all the metal barely missing my face. The truck seemed endless. I started losing momentum and thought I was done. The light suddenly shone in my eyes and I felt relief rush through my body. I quickly stood back up and was able to catch a glimpse of a really surprised truck driver. Then, I kept running, but the jam was not over. I kept dodging cars. The sidewalk was just a couple cars away, but I couldn't continue this nonsense. I jumped up on a red car in front of me, let out a quick "Sorry," and vaulted over to the sidewalk. I was now home free. There was nothing to stop me as the darkness conquered the light and I couldn't help but speed up. All became darker as lights flashed on from both cars and buildings. I had become like the cars next to me. My legs were nothing but a pair of wheels and my arms were nothing but a pair of pistons. Now there was no turning back. The lights became beams flashing right pass me and the sound of car horns and motors quickly died out to the sound of wind hitting my ears. My legs were no longer part of me as I gracefully glided over the floor. Suddenly, I heard a deafening sound and I passed through a ring. I was unstoppable.

Fifteen Oh Fifteen Stephanie Botero

So yeah, I'm fifteen and it's fun! They say that it's one of those ages that passes by so quickly you'll be surprised to see it end. There are so many things that go through a girl’s mind when she's fifteen. Some would say it's more interesting than Miley Cyrus's life (hard to believe, huh?). So yeah, there's boy trouble, annoying brothers, confidence issues, and boy trouble (oops did I say it again?). So yeah, there’s boy trouble. After all the problems we encounter at this age they make it even worse. Like we needed that. Thank you boys, oh so very much. Why can't it be as easy as you like someone, he likes you back and oh, he's your new boyfriend? But no. They play with you. Conquest steps: 1. They start looking at you in school. 2. They talk to you on Facebook Chat, MSN, or by text messages. 3. They ask you out. 4. You're so damn happy. 5. The day comes, and you had a good time. No, you actually had a great time. 6. The next day, there's no sign of him. 7. Nor the next. 8. Nor the next... 9. Yes, you finally see him! With another girl. 10. End of Story. Like it much? Yeah, neither do I, but I seriously don't understand how they can play with someone’s feelings and have no guilt at all. What if the tables were turned? "That (censored)", they'd be saying. But if it was them who played you, yeah, they're pimps! Why can't you be with the one you love and be happy? My daily question. Now brothers. My big brother can be the best friend you could ever have, or, he could be the most annoying one. Yeah, he's nice, when he needs a favor. And yeah, he talks to me when I have brownies or in my case, french fries. And, they never really miss that day when you don't really need one of his smart comments. But there he goes, he throws it right at you.

So, I was dying to be volleyball captain, seriously. I wasn't chosen. It completely changed my view of things for it was something I had been wanting for so long. It made my self esteem go way down and I'm just kind of putting it aside. Apparently it was going to be impossible. I was eating breakfast with my dear brother and I said, â&#x20AC;&#x153;Hey, I'm playing in this important game tomorrow because the team needs me and I love that sport.â&#x20AC;? Wanna know what he said? "Why would you want to play, so you'll be captain again?" Excuse him? Rude. But whatever, he's my brother. I'll have to live with it.

News? Seriously? Agustina Deambrosi

News: something that drives me crazy. With this I don’t mean actual, real-life news, I mean our own news, things that constantly happen in our lives. There isn’t one day that goes by without having at least two or three new events happening. News are everywhere! It’s ridiculous how you always run into them, even when you’re trying to avoid them. Every time I go to my next class or go somewhere else in school, there is at least one person that comes to me and says, "Hey, did you hear what happened?” I, of course, think to myself, "Here it goes again", but anyways manage to say, “Oh my God, no, what is it?” Half of the time, I already know what they’re going to say. I’d probably heard it before, most likely that same day. You may wonder why I am writing about this subject. Well, it turns out that today I heard the same news about ten times. One of my friends broke up with her boyfriend. She told me what happened, but begged me not to tell anyone. I mean, after being dumped and everything, poor her. I gave her all the advice I could and helped her overcome the crisis that, by then, everyone was aware of. So ten minutes after talking to her, people started asking me: "Hey did you find out what happened to ---?" Yes, of course I know, you freaks. She’s one of my best friends, and what do you care? It’s none of their business; they can’t just go through life assuming they know exactly what had happened to her. Seriously, what’s up with that? That’s what pisses me off, not the fact that people spread what happened, but inventing things that have nothing to do with the story. The worst part about these so-called “news” is that they aren’t news. They’re gossip, which is something I just don’t get. Why would people suddenly bump into things they have no clue about, and spread rumors? I think they know, subconsciously, what they’re gaining. They are gaining the power and knowledge of information. If someone asks them about the latest, they’ll know and they will give them answers. False answers, eventually. So there starts the chaos problem, when you hear a single story in multiple versions. We´re all human beings, I know, and even though it is hard for us to control this side, we have to work on it. Imagine how our world would be like if everyone simply invented and gossiped around. Would it be a nice place? Personally, I don’t believe it. I don’t see the point in inventing. Why can’t people just stick to their own problems and stop gossip around? That’s kind of what happened to my friend. Everyone started gossiping about what happened between her and her boyfriend. This is an example of how quickly news

can travel. You see, my friend doesn’t live here with me, not even close. Still somehow, people managed to send that information to me, in a totally different country. Then again I ask myself, why? Can’t they just stick to their own lives? What’s so great with knowing all that information? What do they even gain with it? But that’s life. It moves on. Oh, but with the latest news every time. Whenever something happens, guess what? That's news.

Suicidal Virgins Like Air Gabriela Geter Has anybody seen The Virgin Suicides? It’s a really great movie, because it shows that parents can be so controlling they can drive their children to kill themselves. It’s one of those movies that you might need to see twice, because the first time made you think too much and just ended up confusing you, like The Butterfly Effect (which involves time travelling and a guy with a mental problem). As you can see, I enjoy these kind of movies. While watching The Virgin Suicides, I kept hearing two songs, they were instrumental, but they still spoke to me. The songs are called Empty House and High School Lover by Air. I had never heard of Air before, but by the end credits of the movie I was head over heels in love. Their song Playground Love is what sold me to them. High School Lover sounds almost exactly like Playground Love, but without lyrics. Empty House has this eerie haunting feel to it. I love them! Air is a French band from Versailles, and is actually made up of only two members: Nicolas Godin, and Jean-Benoit Dunckel. I also love the band's name itself, because it is an acronym for Amour, Imagination, and Reve, which when translated means love, imagination, and dream. I love to imagine and dream about Air. I love the three songs from The Virgin Suicides because each one makes me feel good in a different way. Empty House makes me feel scared, but if I were alone in my house on a dark and stormy night, I would definitely listen to it. Think I’m sick in the head? Well maybe I am, but there is something about the haunting sound of this song that makes me feel alone, as if 2012 had jut hit and I’m the only survivor. This is probably my ticket into the nearest insane asylum, but that solitary feeling, feels good.

I don't know why it feels good, but when I listen to Empty House, I feel like it’s just me alone with my thoughts and creepy music in the background. Never mind, that last sentence sounded a lot better in my head.

I think that what drew me to High School Lover was the title. High School lovers are adorable, and although I've never met any, my parents are college lovers, which is practically the same thing. As mentioned before, this song sounds almost exactly like Playground Love without words. Only this song has a sweeter sound; Playground Love has a jazzier sound to it…and lyrics. Usually, when a scene in a movie is in slow motion for a long time, it really bothers me, but Playground Love makes me want to walk in slow motion for the rest of my life. It makes me feel like floating, it is the song that takes me to the clouds. It has a soft romantic flow to it. That’s the word; there’s no sound to this song, it just flows through your ears with a lovely harmony. It just makes you want to close your eyes and lose yourself in the middle of Air.

Airplane Nightmare Ana Lucia Echavarria

There is nothing more fun than going on trips. Getting out of the country and being able to ride on a plane.

Airplane rides couldn't possibly be more fun, but thirteen hours! It's just too much! I always loved getting on the plane. It is cold and magical inside, with lots of seats, and the First Class passage. Instead, this time we get to go to the end of the plane, in the Economy Class (or Chicken Class, as I call it).

It is always me, beside my twin sister, in very uncomfortable seats right next to the bathroom. I wonder why my parents never get us good seats when we travel alone. After dinner, you meet everyone who wants to go attend a call of nature; maybe even make friends while they are waiting. I always get the worst seat; it is me who always gets hit by the food kart each time it passes. As time passes by, I usually try to finish a book, or watch a movie. Sometimes there are really good ones that are worth watching, or we also have the chance of thirteen hours only with movies like Dragon-Ball Evolution or the Cat Ate My Homework. They are just as pathetic as they sound. Anyways, my experiences in plane traveling with my sister aren't that bad. My “great” experiences in planes are with other people. Our trip from Paris to Japan marked my life forever.

We got on the plane after a half hour connection and a ten hour flight from Bogota to Charles de Gaulle. We got in our Chicken Class seats, but the surprise was, there were three seats. Obviously, my sister got the window, and well, I had the center. I still wished I could have the aisle. So, I prayed and prayed not have the guy next to me be French (not to be stereotypical, but I've had personal experiences with French guys). Please, let him be anything but French. I could imagine the whole flight with the horrible armpit smell with the recycled air. We waited, until our seat companion came. He threw the passport to the seat.

“Italiano ", my sister whispered, "at least he’s not French". I was kind of relieved; maybe we could start talking about Italian cars, until he sat down.

I swear I would have fainted or something. No, wait, how could I faint? The smell had me all shocked up! It was terrible! It was a combination of smelly armpit solution mixed with bad breath. And I had him just beside me, killing me with his smell of Italian. I kept saying, "Don't worry, in time, you will get used to it". Five hours

and I kept repeating it over and over. Meanwhile, my sister, who doesn't have any sense of smell, was okay on the window taking notes on the view. She kept nudging me on how amazing the Russian ice caps were, but I was too busy to even care about ice caps at the moment, with the big smelly guy on my shoulder.

He yawned, and I was about to puke, so I got my pillow and tried to breath through it. I wished the plane ladies would spray something on the plane for the foul smell, maybe dump a whole bottle of spray on the guy. I didn't have any interest in talking; I could never stand his breath in my direction. I wouldn't be able to get through a thirteen hour flight with that guy, but what could I do? I was underage without parents travelling alone with three more underage sisters in a plane alone.

All I could do was resist, at least, the urge to vomit. They served dinner, and to my pleasure, wine. There were more and more weird smells. I couldn't stand it. At night, I tried to get as far away as I could, but the guy was so huge he almost got over my seat. Why, did I have to be in the center?

I never felt happier when we got off. Fresh air! I continued saying, beautiful, fresh and clean air! And I still can't take the horrible smell off my mind.

After this experience, the adventures continued. As we went home back from Japan, to my surprise, I had the center again, and a French guy next to me, and my sister, in the window. At least he didn't smell, buthe sure took a lot of space. I was squished for the whole trip.

Another of my great flights was back from Abu-Dhabi to New York. I had a cold, and I was in the aisle. As I was almost about to die, and thinking of the dense air in the plane, and the rest of the people who would be breathing in my germs, I just wished we'd get there already! We had taken a five hour land trip form Jaipur to New Delhi, then a plane from New Delhi to Abu- Dhabi, and from Abu-Dhabi to New York. It was not over, and then we would have to take another airplane form New York to Bogota. We would arrive in the morning, and my father had this crazy idea that we should still go to school that day.

Anyways, we had the honor of riding Etihad, the best airline in the world, and I had to have a damn baby at my side. The airplane was empty, but that damn baby. He would cry, cry and cry, and I, suffered and suffered. I wanted to kill that little boy, or at least just shut him up. Obviously, I wouldn't kill the baby, but who would stop me if I wanted to?

As the airplane waiter came with a bag of food, I got jelly beans, when suddenly, the baby! He was up walking next to me, with his round eyes, and his giant cheeks, walking towards my jelly beans like the little demonic creature he was. I kept trying to hide them, but his goal was to get them. I was scared, since he could start crying for the candy, and I couldn't tell how his angry Arab mother would react. For once, it didn't go wrong, and the little baby was taken back to his seat, right next to me.

How to Disappear Completely Ana Carolina McCausland A girl, about five years old, is sitting on a swing, aimlessly moving back and forth. She is staring at the sand below her feet, hoping the time when she’ll be able to reach it with her toes and sweep it into the air, will come soon. The little grains of sand would make the air kind of dusty, would fly against the same winds that also made the palm trees stir, and disappear into the seemingly empty space. But one of these little specks that remained in the air would finally land on one of her bright pupils, creating an uncomfortable itch. If this girl were already nine years old, no longer forced to wear infantile sundresses and allowed to ride her bike to the park alone, she probably would not have done what she did, if such thing had happened. She would have screamed as loudly as she could, the echo of her voice resounding against the trees and going back into her mouth where her uvula could be seen quivering slightly at the force of her cry. It was like a plea to be heard, how much she needed to be needed. All this time she’d been quiet and how she longed to speak. But she couldn’t reach the sand with her toes yet, so the sand did not flick into the air and into the trees and back into her eye. So she was still on her swing imagining what it would feel like to yell that loudly. She could even feel the actual speck of dust in her eye, eventually producing a single teardrop rolling down her cheek and into the sand. An adult way past his time of youthfulness would get scared and worried at the sight of a child not acting like a child should. That time goes by so fast and innocence gets lost so quickly. A child should play and laugh and do cartwheels on play mats and sing in choirs and be happy. A child that would much rather sit at the grown-ups table discussing the importance of literacy in third world countries and watching the news every night instead of playing in the pool with the rest of the kids at age nine, is not normal. But this particular child did not care, she’d long ago ditched her sundress and last week she had taken her first bike ride alone to the park. Not that she went to the park to play, of course that would be absolutely preposterous. She simply brought along her journal where she would jot down her observations on the landscape and every tiny little thing she saw. Mostly doodles and words she’d seen before but didn’t exactly understand. It fascinated her to the point of no return. How could she ever have time to play when there were so many things to watch? She could watch birds soaring across the skies, the sun shining upon freshly mowed grass, leaves falling unexpectedly to the ground in autumn, the wind’s gust blowing towards her, her hair flying, her eyes closed, her eyes open, and the glare on her mother’s angry face. The rest of the kids are over there. Her perfectly manicured nail was pointing at the other side of the park. I don’t care for the rest of the kids. Not that she was a bitter child harboring spite against her mother and the rest of the kids. She was perfectly content. She would have time to be a child later. When she finished watching and listening to every single thing Earth had, she would play. She only had to wait awhile, until her curiosity was fulfilled. When that happened, her mother would be so very happy and she’d also be so very happy.

Grades Jae Gyoung Oh

It's time for the grades! *applause* The moment that comes into your life at least once: Your grades. So you get your grades in the little pretty manila envelope. In your first years of school, it's more of an "Oh my god! I'm so nervous! Did I get good grades? *opens* Eek! I did good! How did you do? Ha! I did better!" kind of thing. Fun. Now, people just open it, see it, and that's pretty much it. The childhood that we leave behind, where does it go? Anyway, expecting good grades, I open the manila envelope. Inside are those beautiful grades of mine, exerting their brilliant light towards me, its whiteness probing its way into the depth of my eyes and into my soul. Then I see my grades. What. The. Heck. Oh, please, I'm Asian. I'm supposed to be getting good grades and all that, you know? I guess I sort of did get good grades, but they were not good enough for me nor my parents. Come on! I was so looking forward to that dog soup my mom was going to make for me if I got good grades! Boo hoo. I'm just kidding. There goes another stereotypical/racist thing to say to myself. No, I don't eat dogs. Who would ever dare to eat a cute fluffball that goes bow-wow? Not me. I only eat cats.

Anyway, back to my grades. They weren't all that bad. The thing is, in my school, they have a 4 point grading system. Not 5, not 10, not 100, FOUR. Although 3.5 is a high grade, it looks like it's rather low to those who are not used to it. Meh. That sucks. Speaking of low, my English teacher gave me a poor grade. *groan* I would have appreciated a much higher grade. For those too dumb to understand jokes: I don't eat cats. Cats are cute fluffballs that go meow.

My Reflection Isabella Gonzalez

I entered the room reluctantly, almost as if the stained glass door was the entrance to my death bed. I really didn’t know what I was afraid of, but my heart kept pounding hard against my chest, yelling at me, telling me to run away while I still could. Still I stood there, standing hypnotized, just standing there in front of a door that seemed impenetrable, at least to me. Slowly my hand came to touch it, almost as if controlled by some other power, and my feet stepped one in front of the other as I entered. I saw to my right the endless and void classroom where I would soon be doing what everyone else did, and to my left, the locker room where all the girls kept giggling as if doing that was the best moment they had ever experienced. Their sweet laughter filled my ears with hatred. What made it so funny anyway? What was it that kept them smiling? I went to change, the laughter still pounding from one side of my head to the other. I could not stop it and it was making me mad. Secretly, I've always wanted to laugh like that. I always wanted to feel that inner joy. Reality is, I don’t know how. Probably never will, so I just went to get my black bag and put it on the pink stool in the cubicle. Why did everything have to be so pink anyway? I hated that color. It is almost as if the laughter had returned only by seeing it. It looked so bright and joyful, almost as if all the girls were standing in front of me once again. I opened the old, worn out bag slowly, and my clothes came popping out of it as if breathing for a bit of sweet air. I undressed with great difficulty. The cubicle was far too small, as if designed for the thinnest person on Earth. I took my shirt off and looked at myself in the mirror. I was not that person. My body looked as if there were a squished balloon stuck in my rib cage. It wasn’t even close to what the poster in the other wall of the confined space showed. That slim, perfect figure seemed to mock me almost as if telling me that I would never be able to look like that. She was probably right. My legs look like giant sausages smacked together with glue stick, and my waist was a hula hoop. I detested the girl in the poster. She seemed so unreal, and still I know she wasn’t. Everybody out there looked like her. How come I couldn’t? I gave up a long time ago. Why ask myself so many questions if I knew they were not going to provide an answer. I decided to look at myself in a way where neither the mirror nor the girl could see me anymore and started changing out of my clothes. I got the pink tights and with disgrace put them on. Trying to fit my giant legs into them seemed impossible. Every time I pulled them they seemed to stop themselves and get stuck as if trying to get away from me. I hit myself against the four surrounding walls trying to make them fit, but my legs wouldn’t allow them. I saw a small tear drop rolling down my chin and immediately brushed it away. I was afraid that anyone else had seen it, but there was nobody there. Only the girl in the poster. I finally

managed to put them on as if my anger had done it for me. I got my black leotard. I was able to put it on without falling or hitting myself, but it felt as if the holes at the end of it were squishing my thighs so hard blood would stop circulating. I got my pink skirt on, hoping it would cover me as much as possible. It didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t work. I looked down at the pink slippers I hated so much and again at the mirror. It was simply grotesque. How could I find a reflection of myself so wrong? Right, no more questions. I got out of there overcome with claustrophobia, running from my greatest fear. The only one to look back at me was the perfect figure in the poster.

Hot Neighbor Expectation=Hot Neighbor +Dog Reality Ivanna Daccareett

Expectations: Hot make out session with my super cute neighbor in the elevator. Reality: His big, irritating dog ends up sexually harassing me. I adore dogs; at least, that’s what I used to think. Now that I have experienced complete embarrassment, my neighbor’s dog is number two in my black list, after the unbearable creature that is my 'cousin’. To start off, I absolutely dislike big, perverted dogs that jump on people because they don't have the reproductive ability of hitting on females of their own species. If I must comment on it, pets should be trained; after all, if they allow them in buildings, we expect them to at least behave a bit civilized. But for me, that’s not the case. I have managed to get myself into one of the most FML situations. In fact, I should even post it right now on that web site (www.fmylife.com). You know how they always say dogs are supposed to be man’s best friend? Well I say this is a load of dog poo. Do you want to know why I prefer little dogs? They are not capable of reaching that high up. So now, this leads to my total hitting-on-cute-neighbor failure. I had just arrived from one of my worst days ever. Trying to forget about all of my school drama, I decided to go to the gym. My eyes suddenly lit up as I saw my super cute neighbor walk in the elevator, along with his dog. ‘‘Hi, how are you?’’ I said in a lame attempt to start off a conversation. After a while I felt something touching me somewhere inappropriate. God, I don’t even want to talk about it. It was the dog, not even the guy! My sex appeal towards animals? 100%. My sex appeal towards humans? 0% ‘‘No, Picasso, No! That is inappropriate. Stop!’’, my neighbor said, as I tried to remove his dog’s face from down there, with gentle hands, I must say. After all, when you’re trying to seduce a dog-loving man, you have to be nice to his dog, right? Plus, such an exquisite name as Picasso belonged to one of history’s

greatest painters. The only thing that dog can paint should not even be mentioned. Now thank God that I live on the third floor! I was finally free from that improper... experience? Then I arrived home not only wanting to sue that phony dog, but I smelled like his freaking breath. Now, if you haven’t understood the point of my story up until this moment, well, it’s easy. Is it too much to ask for a hot, not dog-owning neighbor? Apparently it is. Finally, I got home and tried to forget this misfortunate event. Not really, I just decided to be on a strike until that 'dog' is caged and paying the debt he owes me for the ‘amazing’ time we had.

My 'Birthday' Daniela Berenguer Okay so, you know the day when you get one year closer to your death? That day is commonly called your birthday. It's the day when you are supposed to be pampered, look pretty, and get presents. Let's narrow it down: the day when you should be able to sleep more than four hours. If you can't understand what I'm getting at, let me tell you. We were in a Leadership retreat to Villeta, a small town three hours away from where I live. My birthday just happened to fall on that Saturday. That's a good thing if you compare it to having to spend that special day at somebody else's party... or maybe not. On my wonderful birthday (a quincea単era thing, it's a big deal here in Colombia), I was woken up at six in the morning by a not-so-soft punch, by my friend, who said, "It's your birthday!" and told me to go outside (I still love her). I stepped outside and saw my sister with a brownie, trying to light a candle on it unsuccessfully, since she was standing right under a big fan. Oh, my wonderfully smart but dim, sister! Well anyway, she gave me a beautiful charm bracelet, surprisingly made by my P.E. teacher, which was actually really pretty. Then we got ready and went down to have breakfast, where my friend was announcing that it was my birthday and because of that I got extra grapes (grapes that she would later on steal from me). Then we went to a kind of good-morning/get-ready-for-a-torturous-day meeting, where what really went on was a surprise party and everyone had gotten presents for me. I wish. This never really happened. Instead, I went in and a bunch of people, who I didn't actually know, knew it was my birthday and congratulated me. It was very cool actually. I went through the rest of the day as usual, gossiping and getting birthday calls when I was in the middle of climbing a water fall (cell phone signal actually is everywhere). We did a very adventurous activity which was climbing the Cascadas Del Mico, which are seven waterfalls one after the other. In one of them there was a cliff we could jump off and I considered it my own birthday present when I jumped off. I am terrified of heights, but I told myself that if I could do this then I could do anything. When I first got up there, I closed my eyes and told my legs, 'Jump!'. They did not obey. They literally just stood there shaking and wouldn't move! I had to sit back down to calm myself, and after one person jumped, I stood up again. I said, 'Go, jump! You don't want to stand up there while everyone is looking at you, there are people waiting behind you, and you look like a total spaz!' Well, I guess my legs got the wrong message, because that's just what they did. I had to sit down and let someone pass, again! The third time that I stood up I looked at the water beneath me (which wasn't all that far down) and, like Nike endorses, I just did it. It was the scariest thing I've done until now, and my legs were still shaking fifteen minutes later, but I did it! *Hip hip hurrahs for me*.

Then we went for a walk that seemed to last a thousand years, and got to a place where you make panela, a very Colombian candy. I wasn't a very big fan of it before, but now I never want to see it again. We had to make products from this with our own two, very clean hands. Needless to say, it was a total disaster. There were bees all over and a lot of them were stuck to the candy (which we ate). There were three drunken workers 'helping' sixty kids. One of the workers, who was extremely drunk, was giving us some of his poison also known as liquor(I didn't have any, really!). Because the panela was acid it could not be worked with. We finally went out of there after what felt like thousands of years. We were all tired, dirty, and I had a giant brown spot of sticky panela in the crotch of my white shorts. We were all looking forward to getting back to the hotel and going to sleep (something I should have done two hours ago), but our guides had the wonderful idea to take us out to dinner that night. It was lots of fun because we were hyper, in the way that you act so stupid, that you end up acting drunk, but you're actually not. In the bus ride back, everyone was trying to sleep. Every two minutes, we would be shushed because we were not being boring and talking with the guides, an effect of the 'hyperactivity'. When we finally got back, the effect had worn out and all I wanted was to lay down. But that was when the surprise party took place. My wonderfully smart, but doubled dim sister, had organized a party for me and a boy who had his birthday the day before. I love her, I really do, but I wanted to hit her at that moment, even if it was one of the sweetest things ever. The best part was finally being able to go to sleep at 11 at night while I was one year closer to my death! All in all, it was a great day. However, not a very normal way to spend your birthday. But who wants normal when you can be... ME?

Hot Mormon Missionary Guys Maria Alicia Franco

Why is it that we can never have what we want? Honestly, there are thousands of cases. People wanting to be other people; people wanting things different to what they already have. It’s completely stupid because half of the time we have something just as great right in front of us and we just don’t notice it because the things we don’t have seem better. Definitely, for us (humans that is) the grass is greener on the other side. Yet, even if you get the greener grass, you will soon find an even greener one and want that one too, forgetting completely of the one you already have. I know guys who are always saying how much they want a girl to notice them, and how they are dying to meet her. When the girl finally does pay attention to them, they stop liking her for some strange reason. Or when we want an iPod so badly, and we get it! Finally, the iPod nano I’ve wanted for almost a year now! But oh, wait, new TV commercial, the iPod touch is out. Throw away the nano and the touch-screen frenzy begins. Why, oh why, are we so strange? Why can’t we be happy with what we already have? Why must we want what we can’t have? Maybe it’s like a human curse, always wanting more or something different to what you already have. Could it be what Adam and Eve supposedly did, that something they couldn’t have was the only thing they wanted? It’s the famous forbidden fruit. That is what we all want. (This is probably why guys think that girls like it when they play hard to get). Now, if anyone is wondering about the strange title, I will shortly explain after a few pieces of background information. I have a Mormon friend, and by having a Mormon friend I know quite a bit about their way of living. They are quite strict but extremely nice people. Her brother and parents are very helpful and kind to everyone. Being one of the Mormon families in my city, they invite lots of Mormon missionaries to their house. So, here is where the issue comes in. Mormon missionaries are supposed to spread their help throughout many places around the world for about two years. In this period of time, they can’t watch movies, be involved in a relationship or listen to music on the radio. So, thinking about it, what are the chances that every single missionary who goes to visit your house is extremely hot? I have no idea, since I practically fell asleep the class where we learned probability in math, but apparently it is a 99.99% chance. I am dead serious. Other than drop dead gorgeous looks, they are about the sweetest people you will ever meet. When I was at her house some of them even offered to help us with cooking. What guy does that?

Needless to say, these hot guys are the perfect example of how we are attracted to what we canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t have. Every possible prohibition on a partner to-be only seems to make them a lot more interesting and attractive. This is what made me think about how ungrateful and greedy we are towards life. How can we be punished this way? How can the best guys out there be hot Mormon missionaries? That is like, the definition of forbidden fruit. Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m not religious or anything, but way to go Adam and Eve, you really screwed things up for your children!

Schizophrenia Scare Sophia noel

My housekeepers were Aymara (Bolivia's main indigenous group) and believed all inanimate objects had life. This, to me, was the perfect information. It was another opportunity to cause trouble. I planned for a while exactly how I was going to complete my mission. I wasn’t a normal kid who would sit around and eat playdough and color in books. My idea of fun was melting crayons in the sun room and sticking play dough in the drain. I hated my dolls, they scared me. While everyone would play with them nicely, I would throw them off my balcony. Really, who gives a bedroom with a balcony to a five year old with distorted ideas of fun? But not even my idea of fun would come close to my master plan. My plan took a few weeks to complete, but it was flawless. "Perfect", I thought, "I'll use my dolls." Jump ropes tied to their necks, my doll collection hung from the fourth floor stair case. “Ahhhhh” screamed Brigida and Sofia in unison. “Señora! Señora! Ave Maria Purisima, su hija, su hija!” just like I had planned. Dopamine rush. Mom wasn’t thrilled. My mother at this time didn’t know if it was her parenting or if I was just a devil´s child. One day after picking me up from school I began pointing at the trees. “Mom,” I said, “the trees are talking to me.” “What are they saying Sophia?”, she said trying to stay on the road while acting as a shrink. “They are telling me to hurt lots and lots of people Mommy,” I said. The “oh shit!” expression was already across her pale face. All I could do was smile. Before I could scare her even more I had pieces of what seemed like play-dough with wires stuck to my head; I was being tested for schizophrenia and many other things. As it turns out, after months of shrinks and specialists, I have a common case of severe ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder). This means I have a shortage of the hormone dopamine, and will do anything to get my brain to produce it.

Luz Marina Sophia Noel

My current housekeeper Luz Marina is insane! No, I am not exaggerating. She's nuts! It all started about 8 years ago, according to Carmen, my other housekeeper. Apparently, she and my driver had a “thing”, which is scary to imagine. Luz Marina grew madly insane when they broke up. So the other day I found her crying sweeping my rug with all her might while “pound dusting” my night table. “Luz Marina…”, I said, trying to calm her down. “Edilberto never gave me kids!”, she said half screaming, half crying. Oh God, please help me was my only thought. I believe she was going through menopause and this is some kind of creepy reaction. After many of these incidents and encounters, I felt obligated to save my rug, so I decided to talk to Carmen. This is when I found out more details and the history of all the drama. Apparently, Luz Marina has a letter written by her shrink stating that if she kills herself it is Edilberto’s fault. Even my dad says she reminds him of the chef with the creepy smile from Three’s Company. She reminds me a little more of Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction. I could write a whole book just on her day to day insanity. One time I woke up with her face in my face, on Saturday morning when she found it extremely necessary to clean my room at 7am. “A sumerce que se me le ofrece?” (Do you need anything?). In my head I was thinking, I need you to not disturb my beauty sleep, but instead I decided to just give my best angry disturbed look and not speak a word. I think she got the message. Now she only disturbs me when I’m half asleep or perfectly PMSing. I do love her though, if not who would give me all these stories to tell? (Other than my whole life on time out).

Evolution vs Creationism Francisco Diaz

One of the many questions humans have asked themselves throughout their existence is: how did we get here? In the present the most accepted idea is the theory of Evolution, which was created by Charles Darwin. This theory basically states that humans came from many species, evolving to be capable of survival as they were threatened. Until the process reached us, humans. Another theory, which in the present is much less popular and was accepted before Evolution, has been the theory of Creationism. Creationism is the belief that humans were created by God to rule the world he made. During the Scopes Trial, in the 1920’s, a teacher was accused for teaching Darwin’s theory of Evolution to his students. At the time this was against the law. The law clearly stated that it was Illegal to teach anything other than the Bible’s interpretation of creation. One of the important argument’s that comes up during the trial (interpreted in the movie "Inherit the Wind") is the freedom to think. While the Bible never disproves evolution in the Book of Genesis, it never mentions it. It is also debated that scientists found a fossil aging at least 10 million years back. This fact can't be supported without the theory of Evolution. To prove that this could have been possible, according to the Bible, God created man on the Sixth day; but on the first day there was no light,no darkness, and no way to tell time. So in theory, the first day of Earth could have lasted any amount of time, making it possible for a creature to have lived ten million year’s before Christ. It is also disputed in various ways how the Bible could be a myth, because of all the inconsistencies and impossibilities in it. The first example used is how Job once stopped the sun in the sky. This according to science would mean the earth would stop revolving around the sun and would fly out of the solar system. This would either destroy all life if not the Earth its self. The next example, although not used in the Trial, is from the book of Genesis. The flood that lasted 40 days and 40 nights. It covered the whole world and Noah built an ark of such large dimensions that it would have simply been crushed under its own pressure. He was able to get a pair of each animal on the planet to board the ark. The task itself would have taken thousand’s of years and with only one man, even longer. The most compelling argument is when the defense questions the mysterious appearance of Cain’s wife. At the time there were only 4 people on earth: Adam, the first man; Eve, the first woman; and their children, Cain and Abel. Suddenly a fifth person appeared with absolutely no explanation. After Cain kills his brother Abel and God banishes him, this happens:

{4:16} And Cain went out from the presence of the LORD, and dwelt in the land of Nod, on the east of Eden. {4:17} And Cain knew his wife; and she conceived, and bare Enoch: and he builded a city, and called the name of the city, after the name of his son, Enoch. With so many plausible arguments, I strongly support the defense and the theory of Evolution over Creationism.

Hey Love, You Forgot Me! Elvira Moreno

Love is a complicated idea, a beautiful thing, a feeling of appreciation, dependency, more than anything imaginable. Its priceless and its said to transform lives, to arouse the most extraordinary feelings, or at least that is what I think. I wish knew of it from personal experience, however, I haven't had the opportunity. My eyes are swollen from all that Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve cried. The movie I just watched was extremely touching. It's about a couple that overcomes many obstacles and finally lets love take over their lives. It seems like the only taste love I get is from movies and otherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s stories. Sometimes I imagine how it would feel, even if the happy ending that movies portray doesn't come with the real feeling. And when I say imagine, take it literally. Sometimes I enjoy zoning out of reality and just pretending I'm taking a golf lesson from the hot guy at my club. Or I'm simply talking to that guy I like from school. I guess love is worth it or at least, that's what people say. I would give so much to experience the feelings of despair, happiness, completeness, anger, jealousy, consternation, confidence, anxiety, weakness, and all the feelings love brings. I have seen that love requires sacrifice and suffering from those who feel it, still they endure it, so I guess true love is really rare. On the other hand, I always get the certainty of that when I see this old-aged couple at my club in Anapoima. They go everywhere together, take care of each other, and hug and dance with joy at their own pace. You can sense love just by looking at them. If love is like it's described by those who have felt it, I will take the risk and say it has extraordinary power; if two people really love each other only death can destroy it. And so, I really hope that someday I will find that special someone. A person I care for, who doesn't judge me, and doesn't compare us to my previous so-called relationships. Is it so hard for someone to notice me the way the men in movies do with that girl, regardless of who she is. Love is everywhere, I believe, not that I am the person to say it. Music, television, friends, everybody talks to me of love,how it is, and what it causes. I wonder, will I some day get to talk of it myself? Is it not my thing? Is it that hard for something like that to happen to me?

Adrenaline Rush: The Best Therapy Laura Hernandez de Alba

This weekend I took a road trip with the perfect combination: friends, guys, and motorcycles! All I have to say is it was made of high speed, adrenaline, no sleep, and long talks. After carefully planning an agenda, we finally left at 8 am on Saturday, a little early in the morning for me, for a two-wheeled adventure. We headed towards Villa de Leyva, located approximately 3 hours away from BogotĂĄ. I had been there before, and it is a somewhat large and magical town. A clear colonial and mysterious mood fills the environment. You can almost feel frozen in time, as if nothing had ever changed for century or so. The architectural treasures it holds canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t be compared to any other. So what can be better than to enjoy a delicious meal with friends while contemplating the majestic view? These characteristics make it the amazing place it is, attracting more and more tourists every year. Thus, we didn't have a hard time when it came to choosing a location. A group of friends have an extraordinary hobby: motocross. I must say I'd love to do it myself, if it were somehow possible. But since I can't, I have them to do it with me! On every opportunity I have, I join them on one of their adventures, where an adrenaline rush is part of the take-list. How could I reject such an invitation? I didn't hesitate to come, for doing this is the best way to spend your time. As soon as I jump onto the motorcycle, I feel the vibrations of its engine, and as I hold on to my partner, I forget about everything in my mind. Any previous issues that had been messing around my head are nowhere to be seen. The bike rises and the whole world stops. When I land back on the ground I miss the feeling of suspension; the world comes back to reality. Yoga, relaxing massages, what are you talking about? This is my very own form of therapy.

A Letter to My Haters Mina Drezner

Yes, I’m mad. Just a while ago, I found out that all you stand for can be suddenly trashed. Distinction is supposed to make something beautiful and unique: bull. People look for similarities to feel identified between a space. We all receive rejection. Why not make it an honorable mention to bring many under one feeling? This goes to all of those who have been or will be rejected. I am creating a brand new submission for this TTBA. What better than an informal and stupid complaint about getting rejected. We are all used to rejection, but this one hurt. A lot. Not only has this week been a nightmare, but now my blog is rejected. I will die. Yeah, I’m being sarcastic. The rejection of a writing piece is not what brings me to this matter; it’s the fact that you’re going to get a thumbs down sometime in your life. But perhaps, getting rejected makes you different from everyone else. Differences can make people wonderful, but when the difference is something they don’t like, it ends in rejection. What better way to get yourself noticed than to shout out to the world how much you hate this feeling? My excruciating week has left me exhausted: the MAP Test doesn’t seem to like me, someone I care about couldn’t care less, today I must stay for detention, and I look stupid with my hat. Ha ha, hilarious. The idea of complaining might make some people mad, but I don't care. If they reject me by doing something as “outrageous” as this, I will understand why. In my twisted imagination, I believe I am speaking for all who have received nonsensical rejections. They might be right. They might be honest. It is just something you don’t want to hear. What upsets me the most is the fact that they don’t fully understand what they are looking for. “You are not what we are looking for!” Then what in the world are you expecting? I am now stepping out of my Internet guidance world and stepping into the alternative ways of writing; feelings. I oppose the idea of expressing your feelings and shouting out your fears to complete strangers. Nevertheless, this is actually relieving. I like it. To all of you that have rejected me, thank you. You made me take it all out on this gigantic Toshiba laptop, and I now feel so much better. I will still continue my adventurous journey among the technology aid world. Take this as a rest, as a pause to spill my feelings out to you. I don’t and won’t hold a grudge against anyone or anything, it is just me being mad.

We're Back Melanie Falero

Sunday morning, Gaby and I went to CrossFit. And yes, we were gushing over the smokin’ hot guys that would workout there with us. When we first got to CrossFit, we obviously said hi to the guys, but then we got down to business! (Ha ha, not…) After just five minutes, we started stretching. In the middle of one of our warm-up stretches, the trainer walked in and started talking to us. He told us all about the previous class (which we missed), and about what we were going to be doing that day. Our routine was to be 1,000 meters rowing, maximum number of reps in three minutes, and then 1,000 meters rowing. At first it sounded really easy, and since Gaby and me are beginners, they decided to only have us lift 10lbs instead of 135lbs like everyone else. But when we started doing this immediately after rowing 1,000 meters and had to do as many as possible in 3 minutes, it’s not that easy… believe me. So it took me a little less than five minutes to finish the first 1,000 meters. Then I started my deadlifts. I was so excited! I mean, they started out super easy. I could do this. When I got to twenty all I could think was, “Do they not understand that just because I’m a girl, doesn’t mean that I can’t do more weight?” Then I felt it. Every single muscle in my arms wanted to collapse. I was so close to dropping the weight and saying “Screw this!”, but I couldn’t embarrass myself in front of all the hotties, now could I? So I managed to do 48 deadlifts and row 2,000 meters in 13 minutes or so. Now, don’t think that this is a long time or anything. Because I’m telling you that no matter how easy it might sound, it is about 50,000,000,000,000,000 times harder. Gaby and I even did some of the deadlifts wrong. We bent our backs instead of arching them. So today we had our hands on our backs and were walking like pregnant woman; people were laughing.

I did 48 reps in 3 minutes while Gaby did 27! After the hardest workout ever, the guys decided to name me Cub 1 and Gaby Cub 2, since we are the youngest ones there. Today they were seriously trying to kill us. So last night I checked the CrossFit Bogotá website to find out what the workout for today was. I thought, “Okay, 21 burpees, 15 ring dips, 9 burpees. Not too bad, not too bad at all.” So I asked Gaby’s dad exactly what this meant and when I told him we had to do; he laughed. Turns out it was 21 burpees, 21 ring dips, 15 burpees, 15 ring dips, 9 burpees, 9 ring dips. I swear to you, I almost pissed myself. But once we started that day, I felt pretty good. Burpees didn’t seem as hard as people made them out to be. Then came the ring dips. I officially can’t use any muscle in my arms without feeling like they are going to fall off. Not to seem like a weakling, but after this I can successfully conclude that CrossFit equals pain. -----

It's Not About Winning Or Losing, It's All About Winning Stephanie Botero

Have you ever participated in any kind of competition in which your only desire is to be the champion? At least in sport's life, it's really all about winning. Coaches are always telling you it's not about winning or losing, it's about having fun and doing your best at all times. But let's be honest, no one likes losing. In volleyball practice, high expectations are set. "Everything you do in practice, you'll do in the game" said my coach, and she's right. If I don't throw myself to try to save a ball from hitting the ground in practice, I surely wonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t save it in the game. That's why in practice we sometimes have a harder time than in a real game. We train so hard it's not even funny. Two hours a day, each school day. If we are lucky we get to play in the gym, but in the worst case we get to play outside with the striking January sun. Then before you know it, the day comes when you have the final against one of the best volleyball teams in the city, and there you are. You won the first set but lost the second. You go to the third set and you're thinking, "I'm winning this, it's my game." You hear the buzzer and immediately look up to see the score. They won. The worst part is that they won the game without any difficulty because your team's self esteem has gone down. The disappointment you feel is inexplicable. You don't only feel bad because you screwed up sometimes, but because that team has defeated you. You wish you could go back in time and play better than you did, but you can't. Seeing the anger in your coach's face, you just nod silently as she tells you something, or else, God, you're in trouble. After seeing such reactions you know that attitude is as important as skills and that believing you're the best won't get you anywhere unless you prove it. That's when losing isn't an option. There are so many people that depend on you, and you know that second place won't be as exciting or great as first place will. All athletes know this kind of pressure and have to put up with it. Just remember, winning is important. However, losing is what makes you fix the mistakes you made, so you can become even better and more experienced. Look at the good side. Stephanie Botero

Sparkling is Sexy Isabella Garces

Twilight. Oh, I can just feel my heart beat and my lungs constrict whenever I see the barest hint of that ivory-skinned, stone-built, ethereal, and dream-like being known as every girl’s inner fantasy. Just like I can’t help daydreams popping into my mind and let myself be swallowed up by the entirety of what is and will always be ‘Edward Cullen.’ Not. Just pretending that I even care a bit whatsoever for that so called ‘gorgeous vampire’ makes me gag, as in bile rising in my throat and a burning fire making its way down my entire being. I am totally serious. Maybe there was a time when I found the whole ‘Twilight’ scenario pretty enthralling and had to have my mom practically yank me from my bed to come eat breakfast instead of stay basking in the sweet glory of what was once the amazing Twilight book series. And it still is. Book-wise, I mean. The thing is, now that they decided to make a movie for the less literate sort, instead of having regular fans that praise its awesomeness every once in a while, there’s a stampede of annoyingly frilly teenage girls shrieking their guts out for a guy that drinks blood and werewolf that smells like expired goat cheese and BO. Yeah, I understand the attraction. Okay, maybe I am being a bit judgmental, considering the exact same thing happened with Harry Potter, but the people that transformed that book into a movie actually had some freaking taste. Harry Potter is one of those cases in which both the movie and the books are truly amazing and perfectly in seem with each other. Was it so hard for the twilight directors to make an effort and make at least a moderately good film? Since when is an over-dramatic script with a girl that has to ask her own boyfriend in this husky, pleading (“Oh, it breaks my heart. Sigh.”) voice to, “Just one question. Kiss me?” Well. We know the world has come to an end when a girl has to ask her own boyfriend to give her a kiss on her birthday. What about the fact that the guy sparkles in the sun? In the book they make it

seem as if this powerful aura wraps him in its brightness and builds around him like a bright, vivid display of his pure power. In the movie, all they can manage is to sprinkle an overboard amount of store-bought glitter and dump it on his body and then let the sun bathe him while he looks like a butterfly that just sprouted tiny sparkly wings. One word: Gay. I’m sorry if the story of a guy that has a perpetual wince on his face and seems constipated about ninety-nine percent of the time, and a girl who has independence issues and can’t hold back her over-developed teenage hormones for the barest hint of a second (for former stated unattractive guy, no less) doesn’t appeal to me. Then again, maybe it also has to do with spending seven dollars on a movie ticket, only to have your ears ringing from possible deafness because the people----and by people I mean, psycho, love-struck obsessed teenage girls with their minds clearly unhinged and unbelievable vocal chords----can’t seem to keep quiet whenever a half-naked guy appears on screen. And how can you even do that when professional make-up artists had to draw the abs on the so called “Hot, dangerous, sultry vampire”? Their actions seriously make me rethink the values of the female race. So here we have a wacked-up movie with over-the-top dialogue, annoying characters that sparkle and brood and whine, and even worse fans that cry, and weep, and shriek until their voices run out. Please explain to me how this became the number one movie competing with way better hollywood productions with actual talent? Please tell me how vampires that look like gay buttercups are somehow considered hot? Please tell me how to completely destroy this treacherous, earth-shattering mayhem that has caused the complete discovery that the female gender is an infuriating, hopeless case.

Apparently, Miley Can’t Be Tamed Juliana Castro

Miley Cyrus; the eccentric one, romantic one. The one you love to hate and hate to love. With her short shorts, her bra displayed through her shirt, and the nagging paparazzi flashing every step she takes with a blinding light that confuses her from her true path. She is just another teen Disney star heading towards oblivion in a quickly changing world. She was once the sweet young girl who would carry a doll of Uncle Willy into talk shows, thrilling the audience with her presence alone. Miley Cyrus is growing into a woman. A journey that fellow star Taylor Swift went through with grace and poise. Miley however, begs to differ. Watching Miley going through hard times is a guilty pleasure we give ourselves in the dark. Her pole dancing and romances with men five years her elder gives us conversation topics. What separates her from the rest of celebrities is the fact that they got their time to grow up and have a normal teenage life. Miley had to grow faster because of her good girl contract with Disney, and now, her growth is manipulated by the public and the media. They are following a girl who is doing what the rest of us do on a daily basis; find out who we are. But what is new with this unexpected star? What is our new topic of conversation? Miley started working with Disney at a young age (eleven). She got the role of Hannah Montana and Miley Stewart, playing as a young pop star who leads a double life. Her career flourished from there. Hannah Montana and Miley Stewart are sometimes confused with the real Miley. She isn't the girl who sings about "hopping into planes and throwing your hands in the air". She has admitted to this herself. She is the tough chick who sings hardcore pop and prefers black over purple. Proof of this is shown in her new single titled "I Can’t Be Tamed”. This song is unlike anything we have ever heard from Miley. It shows us that the image that Disney had created for her is a bit of a sham. It also makes us question who will “come out of the closet” next. Miley was transforming well from Disney star to her own kind of celebrity, taking a role in the movie “The Last Song" and dating an actor. We saw her in a happy place where she was finally showing us her true colors. Then this single was released simultaneously with the video. Miley shocked us by dancing with both men and women in the video. The streetlight in Miley’s life was yellow but by making this huge leap into the freeway, the lights turned bright green. Why make such a leap when she was doing fine just taking time to grow? "I can't be tamed, I can't be saved I can't be blamed, I can't, can’t, I can't can’t be tamed" I can't be changed, I can't be saved, I can't be (can't be) I can't be tamed”

These are the inspirational lyrics that make up the chorus of Cyrus’s new song. Seeing a different side of her? Don’t let it come as a shock because this is the future for her; shallow songs exploring only tribal interactions with others (O.K, maybe not all her songs). The song is like hearing a confession. Miley co-wrote and I think used her life as a theme for the song. It isn't bad, the rhythm is actually really good. Yet it’s nothing alongside Cobra Starship. Right now, the glamorous life of singers is all about reinvention. If you don't have something new to put on the table, your time in the game is limited to modeling campaigns and music videos. After that, you slowly fade from the minds of the public. "I go through guys like money flyin' out their hands They try to change me but they realize they can't And every tomorrow is a day I never planned If you're gonna be my man, understand” See what I mean? Here she expresses she just wants to be herself. Then there’s the whole guy like money part, which confirms her path toward Britney-hood. Her new song creates a fun party mood, but it’s going to take some getting used to. It’s different from what we’re used to but it’s what she wanted. We are getting a dose of the true Miley and already there are those who can’t handle it. I actually don’t mind this but if her younger fans notice the change, she won’t be the only one hard to tame. She is creating a name for herself that isn’t followed by young Disney fans. She wants to be Taylor Swift without the halo on her head. She wants to be one of the few who make it. Most importantly, she wants to be herself.

Wise Packing Maria Luisa Escobar

If you’re one of those people who love to travel, like me, but hate to lose things and get hysterical when you can’t find what you’re looking for, you’ll know that packing right will make your life easier. Not only does packing right save time, (you won’t have to do it over and over again), but it also helps avoid being tired from a trip. I know from experience what packing too much can be (I've taken 8 pairs of shoes with me only to discover I only need one) and I also know that packing too little isn’t practical (yes, I once took one bathing suit for a week-long trip to the beach). I’m pretty sure you’ve already figured some things out, but experience has taught me that no matter what you pack or how you pack, something will always be missing. Not losing things is almost impossible so I always make a list and I try to keep track of the essentials. Here are some things you might find useful if you have any traveling plans. I find these very effective and they save you some time while you're away: 1. Money Always take money with you! Whenever you get hungry or thirsty waiting for your ride to come, you will need money. Remember to exchange some cash for the local currency before you travel. You can also bring a credit card as long as you know how your bank works in the country you are visiting. If you’re not aware of your bank’s policies outside of where you live, this might take you some time. 2. The Map Studying a local map during the night while you're on the trip helps save some time and plan your route ahead of time. If you are a technological person, a GPS will work fine, but for those who don't operate with technology, like me, maps will work perfectly too. Also, make sure your map is updated with any short-cuts and roads or bridges that have been built recently, this will also help you save gas (if you’re driving). 3. The Shoe Its fine if you want to look fashionable in the jungle, but walking in heels in the rain forest or a museum an entire day might not be the most comfortable solution. Take your old pair of sneakers without the minimalist hesitation. No matter where you are, you will walk. Like it or not, they may be short or long distances, so make the most of it and be efficient. 4. The Clothes I’ve learned that no matter where you're going or how long it is, you won't need more than five pairs of clothes. You will most likely be able to wash your clothes at some point. If not, wearing them twice won't kill you. Packing everything as small as possible and tightly will save you some space and this will allow you to throw an

extra something you love in the bag. Be aware of the climate where you're going. Don't judge weather because it tends to be unpredictable. Check the Internet for updates or ask someone that has been there for advice. Always take a bathing suit and a sweater, they don't take up much space and will make a difference once you have them on. Don't forget, you might get surprised, so you better be ready for it. 5. The Bag Depending on where you are going, the size of the bag changes. However, I suggest that no matter where you're destined, take a small bag. The size of the bag and the amount of luggage you take determines your efficiency in airports and moving around from place to place. If you are carrying something big or twenty small packages, it will take you twice as long to get in a car than it would if it were a small bag. If you are taking with you only the necessary things, you won't need a huge bag and it will make life a lot easier. There's also a bunch of other things you should take, like a hat or your shower stuff, but that's obvious. Remember that travel agencies also help. If you're taking a tour, they already have everything set up for you and you don't have to worry as much. Packing isn't a very big deal but it does get you places if itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s done correctly. Don't forget to pack everything a day or two before your trip so that you have enough time to go get anything that is missing.

The Legend of Alfa Romeo Maria Laura Echavarria

Today, as I looked out the window of the car, I saw what I never thought I’d see running through the dirty and potholed streets of Bogota: an Alfa Romeo! It was a real, brand new, red MiTo speeding down the lane in front of my face. For a moment I could not believe my eyes. Could the legendary Alfa Romeo finally be here in Colombia? For those who don’t know what an Alfa Romeo is, it just happens to be one of the greatest and highly recognized automakers in history. These cars are one of the most celebrated pieces of technology that have ever been created. Since their first appearance in Milan during 1910, Alfa Romeo has created loads of memorable cars that have made an impact on automobile history. Nobody can forget the beautiful Alfa 8C 2900 Le Mans of 1938, a worldwide champion of race and style. It was indeed so great, it transcended through history and morphed into the 8C Competizione 2008. This is one of Alfa's newest inventions, and is a new heart-melting, adrenaline rushing, version of its legendary ancestor. The Alfa Romeo Spider is also a major creation of Alfa. "The Graduate," as it is popularly known, was carefully designed by Pinnifarina and it is a car worthy of being a movie star. Other cars like the Giulia, Gulietta and the Super Sprints have also been special models. Another fact you probably didn’t know was that Ferrari itself was born out of Alfa Romeo. Enzo Ferrari used to be one of their mechanics, and later went his own way to build a new brand of Italian monsters that would change the world, but that's another story. It's so sad that here in Colombia, nobody knows about Alfa Romeo. There are tons of people here who didn't even know that Alfa Romeo was a car at all. Not anymore, however, since Alfa Romeo is finally coming back to Colombia! To me, this is one of my dreams come true. My family happens to be part of the few people in Colombia who know about Alfa Romeos. As petrol-heads, we happen to own an Alfetta GTV 1976, the only one of the three which came to Colombia which is still in perfect shape (the other two were destroyed by their owner in his engine fixing frenzy in an attempt to beat ours in the race). It made me a little sad to be so cut-off from these precious cars I’ve known since childhood. I’d hear about many new models being released across the world, and I’d always long to see one for myself. What made me even sadder was how unaware people were about these cars. It was so frustrating to say "Alfa Romeo" and see people stare in confusion, ignoring the real value of the brand behind the name. It had been so long since I had resigned myself to this sad reality. It seemed the magnificent kingeating serpent, the heart-shaped shield, or even the iconic "Quadrafoglio Verde" emblem would only be acknowledged by the very few who really knew.

With Alfa's new arrival, it seems this might change. The new MiTo and the GT have already been brought to Colombia and are starting to create the sensation Alfa cars always cause. The brand is starting to gain recognition, and its shiny past is helping it make way through the hearts of the Colombians, who are seeing its beauty and power for the first time. Hopefully more of Alfa will come to enhance the streets of Bogota, and the true greatness of Alfa Romeo will be known at last.

Rice Krispies Melisa Tobon

Some days ago, someone gave a small piece of Rice Krispie to my brother. Like any other little brother would have done, he made me suffer for not having a piece of that delicious sugary mixture of melted marshmallow and Rice Krispies. Outsmarting him, I decided to act as any other big sister would, and as soon I got home, I made them myself. I was surprised. It was just so magical; it took me exactly five minutes to do and a second to eat. It was the easiest and fastest recipe ever. It´s a total classic and I had the most amazing flavors lingering on my tongue. As soon as I swallowed, I wondered who had been the genius that had invented that delicious addiction. I decided to look it up. As soon as I clicked on the first link that appeared on Google when searching “Rice Krispie history”, something appeared, but it seemed pretty long and lame. I decided to check out another website. I did, but after reading the first two sentences I saw something mysterious. Could it be? ‘No’, I thought. Maybe I had made a mistake. I went back to the first page and realized it had not been my fault, but a total massively and chaotic erroneous mistake from who-knowswhere. But, was it really a mistake? Everything started in 1928, when Mildred Day and staff of the Kellogg´s home economics department invented this amazing treat. They decided that it was a great way for the Camp Fire Girls to raise funds. You’re probably thinking “it sounds pretty normal to me”. Sorry to pop your bubble, but it’s not. It all went on to 1939, when Mary Barber and staff of the Kellogg´s Home Economics Department invented this unforgettable treat. They decided that in 1940 they would publish the recipe of the Rice Krispies Treats on their Kellogg´s box. I really don’t know what happened. At first I thought that it had maybe just been the site’s fault, because it was probably Wikipedia or something. I kept on looking at other web sites to see what they said. Some were sure that it had been Mildred Day, while others reaffirmed it was Mary Barber. The years are different, but they were both from the same company and had the exact same position. I tried looking them up by their names, but that was no help at all. It appears that Mildred is a school teacher and Mary was a poet. They also appear on Facebook, but that’s probably someone else that has those unlucky names. Yes, sorry if that’s you, but how sad is it to not find the exact history of a recipe for your favorite dessert?

Feeling frustrated, I went back to the kitchen and had another portion of that piece of heaven. Sure enough, it made me feel much better. I kept nibbling every single rice krispie until all the marshmallow had disintegrated in my mouth. It was hard to stop, but when I did, on my third square, I realized I couldn’t keep all this wonderfulness to myself and that I had to share it. Not with my brother of course - well maybe just a bite - but with the rest of the world. So the magic begins with: The Ingredients: 3 tablespoons of butter 4 cups of rice krispies (these are the original Rice Krispies from Kellogg´s, but you have something similar maybe you could try it. It’s cool to experiment.) 1 package marshmallows which would probably be equivalent to 4 cups marshmallows The Preparation: First, melt butter in a saucepan over low heat. Add marshmallows and let them melt completely. When it looks like a mixture, remove pan from fire. Add the rice krispies and stir until completely covered in the mixture. With a spatula pour the mixture into a previously greased container. Let cool, and then cut into squares. And no matter what happens next, the magic never ends. It actually doesn’t matter if you finished eating them, because guess what?! If you like them you can actually do more! Isn’t that just so cool? If after making them and eating them for the twentieth time and you don’t feel sick to your stomach yet, then you could try the new combinations. I feel your excitement already! To prolong the magic: You can either change the marshmallows for caramel, or add condensed milk before you add the rice krispies, or syrup, peanut butter, MM´s, chocolate chips, nuts, or whatever makes things more special for you. Yes, it can even be love. Even though that is an ingredient this recipe should already have.

Trying to Think Out Loud – Genesis X – XVI Michelle Katz

After the Lord promises he will never again try to clean out his creations on Earth, he makes a pact with Noah and tells him to reproduce and flourish. He doesn't directly tell Noah to be "fruitful and multiply", as he once told Adam and Eve, maybe he was in a hurry or something. Or just maybe, King James didn't have time to add it in the Bible, but I'm sure God meant to say the same thing. And again, I question myself. Are we descendants of Noah for he is a descendant of Seth? Continuing with the story, Noah did what he was told. He obeyed God, as opposed to the serpent and the whole previous drama with Adam and Eve. So Noah had his sons and created a family, but he, just as any other living creature, had to die. He had to leave Earth, but perhaps it was because the Lord felt lonely and He needed someone to give him company. Or it might have been Noah's chance to rest after saving the world. It was his descendants’ turn to demonstrate their cleverness and prove to God that he didn't make an error by not wiping out his creations. After the flood, Noah's sons all lived together and spoke the same language, since they descended from the same man. They could communicate and understand each other easily in the same way that I can understand my brothers. But then, when they were trying to build a city all together in order to reach heaven, the Lord angrily interfered and came down to see them. Since He saw that everything was so easy for them and that they could communicate efficiently, He decided to rearrange things and confounded their language by making them not understand one another's speech. God also made them depart far away from one another, each to create their own nations. Yes, your heard right! This time, it wasn't God the creator of nations and colonies, but it was men. They proved that they could be successful and somehow succeed so much that they met some kind of those superb powers. Even though this wasn't done by God, it was obviously influenced by him in a way. Well, he's always there, he's almighty and knows what he wants and how he wants it for the future. "Behold, the people are one, and they have all one language; and this they begin to do: and now nothing will be restrained from them, which they have imagined to do. Go to, let us go down, and there confound their language, that they may not understand one another's speech. So the Lord scattered them abroad from thence upon the face of all the earth: and they left off to build the city." (Chapter 11:6) This story is one of the few I actually remember from my childhood. I was told many times that they're just too hard to remember. But this specific one, I was able to recognize quickly. However, from my Jewish point of view, I can relate this as a story with lack of hospitality to the "stranger", as my Rabbi once told me. The

homosexuality isn't very present in my reasons to judge it how it is, however the commitment of crimes and sins by the Sodomites hurt me in a way. So I realized that even though the story is written in the same way, it is interpreted differently by the different cultures present today. One day, Abram is blessed by the Lord and leaves with his kids to the city of Canaan. He had hopes for a good future, but they were all ruined when he knew that his wife could not get pregnant. Sarai had to give Abram her maidservant, Hagar, to have intercourse with him. Hagar didn't love the idea, and she started having harsh feelings towards Sarai for forcing her to do that. However, Sarai had more power than Hagar and started treating her with cruelty which caused Hagar to become pregnant. I didn't understand this well. For some reason, Hagar came back to Abram. He named his child. He was called Ishmael. Oh my God! Is his son the great and famous primate from the book Ishmael by Daniel Quinn? Well, either he is or not, I'm sure that he was a very wise man. Or should I say Gorilla? â&#x20AC;&#x153;The story of Genesis must be undone. First, Cain must stop murdering Abel. This is essential if you're to survive. The Leavers are the endangered species most critical to the world - not because they're humans but because they alone can show the destroyers of the world that there is more than one right way to live. And then, of course, you must spit out the fruit of the forbidden tree. You must absolutely and forever relinquish the idea that you know who should live and who should die on this planet." â&#x20AC;&#x201C; Ishmael But which Ishmael said this?

To Make or Become Different Andrea Velasquez

Change. It seems like such a simple word. It can mean nothing to some, but to me, it is the most important thing in the world. Why? Well, because I am afraid of change. You might not realize it, but this is one of the worst things that can happen to you in life, everything changing. Imagine how hard it is to have to live in a world in which nothing is permanent and to be afraid of sudden changes and developments. Ever since I was a little kid, I have been scared, sad, or even mad every time I’ve been exposed to change. But it’s only now that I am beginning to realize what I was so scared of. I always knew it was not normal to cry at the end of each year, or to feel a pang in my stomach every time I was one year older. I also knew it was weird that if I cut my hair I would be sad for weeks. I knew it was unhealthy to be scared of change. But there was nothing I could do about it. And there still isn’t. When I was younger, other kids couldn’t understand why if the fashion changed, I continued using my old clothes. They couldn’t see why I wouldn’t change my hair or my look or anything at all. As I grow up, I’ve continued to experience this strange fear of change, but the situations have changed. There are things that come with life; changes that you should embrace if you want to be able to grow as a human and develop your own personality. I know it’s stupid not to embrace life and the only thing it does is stop me from taking valuable opportunities, but I am so scared. Teens usually change their rooms, their style, their way of being, and even their friends. I can’t do or accept any of these changes, good or bad, without suffering through them. Is it normal? I don’t think so. “Why won’t I change it?” I ask myself. You might wonder why I don’t drink, why I don’t curse, why I still do everything they tell me to, and why I don’t have teen rebellious problems. Someone who doesn’t know me well could say that I am a sweet girl, and that I am mature enough not to fall for teenage wrongdoings. You might think I have already passed that stage. Well, that’s not the case. The real reason why I don’t do bad things is because I am afraid. I don’t know what would happen if I change my behavior, but I am too scared to find out. It could be potentially good at this moment, but it will not be appropriate for much longer. Anyone might think that because I am a Buddhist, I should be able to change and be flexible enough to adapt to any circumstance, because that is what we do, but I don’t. I always say that if I was just about to achieve something close to Nirvana, or enlightenment, the only thing keeping me from reaching it, would be detachment, because it is closely bonded with change.

I actually began writing this with no idea of how I would finish it, and I have to say that I still donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t know how. The only real reason why I wanted to write this was to be able to express my feelings in paper, and somehow try to understand what I feel and do something to change it. The sad thing is, even if I could change the way I see life and even change itself, I would probably be way too scared to do anything about it.

I Came Out of the Cougar Closet Isabella Garces

You can’t help but feel special when a random eight-year old boy tells you you’re pretty. No, I do not have a disgusting pedophile-induced fetish for eight-year old boys. And when I do decide to embrace my cougar ways, I’ll be on my way to thirty dating a hot twenty –year old surfer model-type with the IQ of fish, but with droolworthy washboard abs. Haha. Joke. Anyway, no matter the circumstances, you can’t deny that if someone compliments you out of nowhere, a certain drift of specialness won’t race up your spine and say, “YES! Finally my out-of-this-world beauty is acknowledged.” Or, “YES! I got someone of the male specimen to give me a second look!” If the normal reaction in your case is most likely the latter, remember that everyone is beautiful and only you can be the judge of what beauty really means to you. But you can also be happy because someone thinks you’re pretty! Shallow, superficial, obnoxious? I prefer happy, positive, and appreciative. And yet shallowness does come up in this situation, but there are times in life when you have to be free and let your arrogant, greedy sides emerge. And appreciating a comment is anything if not being gracious to an affable compliment. It’s common courtesy to accept the fact that you are physically gifted. That last one sounded so funny, I’m going to keep it for time-sakes of my originality. (Spare the cynical laughs). So here I am, walking towards the bus, heading to the haven I call my home, and away from the paper-wasting world conundrum called school, when out of nowhere this cute little boy with the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen, randomly pops up in front of me, and says, “Hi, you’re really pretty.” And that’s when I fainted of pure bliss and went to heaven.

Kidding. Geez, what do you think of me? “You’re really cute too, cutie,” I said, and that was that. This is a story that will go down in history, down from generation to generation about how a cute little eight year old that will probably grow up to be a worldrenown player, came up to me that Wednesday afternoon and made my day. History text books through-out the world, be ready to have my name stamped across your tree-wasting existence, narrating that eventful evening when my life changed for the better and I learned to appreciate the human race. Plus, I learned a very interesting new rule for life. Life Lesson #2: When the time comes and we cease to await the day that guys will stop being narcissistic ass-wipes whose only goal in life is to try and get into our pants, get a cute single-digit aged cutie to wipe that frown off your face and tell you you are a hot piece of respected and admired woman. Life will never be the same again.

Collaborators 63

Daniela Berenguer is a 15-year-old girl who has lived all her life in Bogotá, Colombia, and is ready for a change. She likes cookies and reading, and she dislikes analyzing the Bible. Stephanie Botero enjoys writing, volleyball and singing. Juliana Castro is a fifteen year old girl who enjoys writing as well as dancing and singing. She has been playing the piano since she was four. Amber Clower has traveled to many places caused by her knack for adventure and at others times from cause of force. She enjoys writing for fun in the warmth of her home and reading many books of all genres. Ivana Daccarett was born in Barranquilla, Colombia. She is currently single and enjoys long walks in the beach, but don't bother to call her. She is busy writing blogs. Agustina Deambrosi was born in Buenos Aires, Argentina. She has lived in Uruguay and now lives in Colombia, her final stop before college. Her childhood consists of studying, sports, traveling, and spending time with her friends. Andrea Diaz was primarily shaped by surviving a terrorist attack, as well as her grandfather’s death, which was her inspiration for this piece. Francisco Diaz does not write things. No. Not even if there's a fire. Mina Drezner was born in Bogotá, Colombia. She is now involved in the creation of a brand new book release. Among her hobbies, we find all kinds of sports including tennis, soccer, and basketball. Ana Lucia Echavarria was born in Bogota, Colombia. She is currently a student of Colegio Nueva Granada. She likes swimming, horse-back riding and spends some time playing bass. Maria Laura Echavarria was born in Bogota, Colombia. She is part of the 2013 class of Colegio Nueva Granada. Though she spends a lot of her time writing, she prefers outside activities and sports such as swimming, horse-back riding, traveling, and cars. Maria Luisa Escobar was born in Bogota, Colombia. She has been at CNG for eleven years. She enjoys photography, movies, and reading. Melanie Falero enjoys drawing, singing, dancing and reading. She hopes to major in forensics and would like to travel the world. Maria Alicia Franco lives in Bogotá. She likes to dance, listen to music, and talk to people. She knows that books and blogs can cheer you up.

Isabella Garces is an extremely anti-normal person whose weirdness and originality make up for her less-then-rational ranting tendencies. Gabriela Geter was born in Okinawa, Japan, and now lives in Bogota, Colombia. She enjoys music, dance, gymnastics and traveling. Isabella Gonzalez is a ballet dancer and dedicated writer, who enjoys playing tennis, horseback-riding, swimming and being an active member of the CNG community. Laura Hernandez de Alba can't be described in 140 characters. Nack Kyoo Jung was born in Korea. Although he looks completely Asian, he can read and write in English and Spanish. He is still wondering what to do for his future career. Michelle Katz likes to play tennis and is the best shower singer of the time. Santiago Martinez was born in Bogota, Colombia on September 28, 1994. He studies in Colegio Nueva Granada. He enjoys listening to music, mountain biking, and movie watching. Ana McCausland is from Panama. She enjoys writing random crap, attempting to dance, reading, and listening to unheard music. Elvira Moreno was born in Colombia and shows to be really proud of it. She enjoys tennis and, just like all the others, likes to listen to music. Mamiko Nagasaka was born in Santiago, Chile. She has spent most of her childhood in Latin America but is now in Colegio Nueva Granada in Bogota, Colombia. She likes to read stories and express her feelings through piano. Oliver Nilsen loves to play soccer and other sports like tennis and baseball. He also enjoys watching movies. Sophia Noel is an indecisive, outgoing, abnormally normal 16 year old girl with a passion for humor and creative writing. Her life is a series of adrenaline rushes. Daniel Ochoa is a 15 year old student who currently studies at Colegio Nueva Granada. He is an enthusiastic soccer fan and an avid reader. Jae Gyoung Oh is a Korean boy that somehow ended up on what is roughly the other side of earth, Colombia. He likes to draw and loves cake. Manuela Rocha would rather not write about herself.

Melisa Tobon is Colombian and loves to cook, dance, write, and spend time with family and friends. Andres Vega was born in a small town in the north of Colombia. He plays tennis and writes whatever comes to mind. This is his first published piece. Andrea Velasquez was born in Bogota, Colombia. She likes to play basketball, read, and watch movies in her free time. Jose Gerardo Villela is a teenager of Mexican heritage who likes to play tennis, play piano, and read books. Because he travels so much, he tries to make every day count. He is "the quiet nobleman." Editor in-chief Isabella Garces Deputy Editor Ana Carolina McClausand Assistant Editor Jose Gerardo Villela Layout/Design Mina Drezner Layout Assistants Isabella Gonzalez, Maria Luisa Escobar Illustrators Mina Drezner, Jae Oh

About the book: The TTBA project has been in action since the beginning of the scholar year. All students were asked to submit a piece from their personal writing blogs. These vary among a wide range of topics. The book is a demonstration of the writing endeavors of these students.

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