Hands down my favorite and creative project has to be the poetry portfolio I became more than indulged in this assignment. When I was younger I wrote a lot of poetry and I'm the type of person to dabble in different types of activities rather than excel in just one. When I lost interest I moved to something else. The course made me see poetry so much more broad and open, very similar to the religion project. I found a calling in poetry and I enjoyed it so much more than I did when I dabbled when I was younger. I not developed a new found respect for poetry but also an admiration for it. Because of this assignment I discovered my talent for the art form and still continue to write frequently on a personal level if only for the fun of it. 

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Sophia Henninger

English - History

Copper

June 10, 2011

Over the course of the year in english and history we’ve analyzed, discussed, and read about many themes. We learned many truths about the government, economy,   and even people in general. One theme that repeated itself in many of our units is revolutions are never painless. This was shown in many units but also within many assignments. Personally, it was shown in my monologue project, poetry wiki, both trials (Cortes and sweatshop trials), and the revolution written response. All of these assignments demonstrate this concept whether is it very concretely or more abstract. 

The monologue project was one of the longest, yet most interesting projects we completed this year. We could truly turn it into anything we wanted. In my monologue project, a college student goes to Pakistan to research Nike’s labor conditions for his final project. In the end he locates a factory and convinces the workers the revolt against management, resulting in his death. This is a very concrete example of the concept that revolutions are never painless. In the end of the project, the boy causes an uprising in an attempt to restore basic human rights in the situation. Even though he and several others lost their lives, they brought light to the issue, allowing it to be address in court. He lost his life so the revolution could be successful. 

The following example is much less concrete but still illustrates the main concept.   The poetry unit allowed us to be creative and truly express ourselves in anyway we wanted. Some of my poems had some subtle themes of revolution though they were more centered on personal revolutions within one’s self. The poems centered on how I, or the reader, would like to change themselves. The one particular poem, When Did I Become a Ghost? speaks of how drugs trap people’s minds. Though it does not actually speak of overcoming the trap, it speaks of the difficulty that would involve and how that would actually make it impossible to overcome it. Even though no concrete revolution takes place within the poems, the difficulty it would take to change the situations in them would be a personal revolution. 

This year in our history class we had several trials, both demonstrating, quite blatantly, how painful and destructive revolutions can be but even though they’re not bloodless, they can still be successful. We had two trials, one was debating who had the most guilt in the slaughter of the Aztec people and this was called the Cortes trial. We had another trial called the sweatshop trial. This trial debated who held the most blame for the mistreatment of workers in the third world. Evidence of both of these wrong-doings involved blood. In both cases many people were murdered needlessly. This is a good example of how just because a revolution does have pain, does not mean it will be successful and this is shown by the Aztecs. The sweatshop workers are still in the midst of the this revolution. This shows that though revolutions are never painless, sadly, they are not always effective. 

In the revolution written response, we had to answer the question, “What separates revolutions from social change?” I argued that they’re not separate but social change is only the effect of revolution. Within it I used the examples of the American Revolution, the French Revolution, and the recent Egyptian conflict. All of these examples were bloody but all of them were successful. Millions of people died in these wars and, though this is sad, without those deaths they may not have achieved what each of them wanted. All of these revolutions whether concrete or abstract, personal or social, ineffective or triumphant, all had pain and for some of them, that fact is what allowed them to be victorious. 

This year has been life changing for me. In History and English we have learned about lots. Like, Change, freedom, religion, fight, struggle, hope, and victory. I’m going to tell you about something’s I’ve discovered in these yearlong courses. The first thing we learned about on History was religion. Me personally thought this was something that was boring and uninteresting, but later on I found it quite fun. We first got to look at our own religions and how they affect us. I am not a religious person, but my parents are Muslim and strong Muslims at that. Throughout the Religion unit, I found out that Religion isn’t one set thing that is controlled by a group of people. Religion is something that one person and his mindset can control. Jumping through a couple months ahead. Another topic we discussed was the revolution of industry around the world and how it has affected us. We watched Movies, had trials, and read about all the hardships that this has put on people and the world. A trial we did were, there were the multi national corporations, the factories, the workers, the elite, and the countrymen. We had a trial to see who is at fault. And, the general understanding I got from this until and that trial is that: The rise of industries ultimately helped the world, but with it’s help brought the rise of Super-Powers, like the US and Russia, that ultimately brought upon a lot of Modern Times problems. Another Topic that we came across was freedom. A project we did for that unit was our Monologue projects. We had to choose a specific point in History and do Monologues about them. The event I chose were the events of tieneman square Protests of 1989. A specific event that happened was the historic events of Tank Man. A lone Chinese man stood in front of 4 tanks that were heading for the square. Pedestrians ultimately took him away, but from his actions brought a global up roar and helped the Chinese take freedom. A more recent event that took place was the events that happened in a small country of Tunisia. A fruit vender lit himself on fire because he couldn’t get a job when he wants to school. This opened the eyes of the world the small country. And, the horrible conditions that the people had to live in. This small act by on person triggered a huge uproar from countries like, Egypt, Syria and Libya. The one thing I learned is: Any actions big or small can lead to huge changes in the world. Another small thing we covered in the larger, Freedom unit is the Psion System is the United States. After going to The Eastern State pennetantry, and researching about prisons. I realized that: The current Prison System does that work and is flawed. A system we should incorporate is that of a rehabilitation so past offenders do not come back.

I have many beautiful memories of this past year. My knowledge of the world has not only expanded, but my views of what goes on in planet Earth have changed as well. During my year in both English 2 and World History, I was introduced to many subjects that I could’ve ignored if it wasn’t for school. One of them was inequality. Inequality is defined by Dictionary.com to be a “Difference in size, degree, circumstances, etc.;”. I find this to be an accurate definition for the world we currently live in. An Op-Ed I wrote earlier in the year has a lot of the points I thought to be very important when pitching ideas to make the world a more equal place. 
    Here’s one quote from that Op-Ed: “We could go for a social-political view like Marxism or such, that can give the people actual power in their government. Many of them are possible solutions to inequality in the world. Too many beliefs and righteousness is in jeopardy for other people for them to agree with this.”
    A year ago I couldn’t see myself writing about things like this. After reading through some of my stuff from this year, I can’t help but think that some of the reason the world is like this is my fault. I try to be the best person I can possibly be. When there are moments in life where I think I did something wrong or unacceptable, I usually try to fix it. But things like this, that affect the world or a society, I want to take the blame for it because I’m not doing anything at all. I could be making a change in the world or have an interest in something. 
    A few more things, the 2010 - 2011 school year has been an excellent one for me. I have not only grown in age, but in experience. Experiences from opportunities given to me from events, work, and especially people. "We have to be simple minded when it comes to changing personalities slightly. Think too much, and we might change the character completely." this quote is from my Literary Lenses Explanation. We took the book: “Their Eyes were Watching God”, and looked at it through different views (Feminism, Marxism, etc.).

The biggest message I took away from this year's classes was that there will always be inequality in the world. Yes, we can try to make it a better place and all that stuff, but there will always be an opposition with it's followers going against the point that both you and I know is right. Then I learned another thing, just because I'm just one person doesn't mean I should stop doing something I know is right. Many people in history have done magnificent things on their own and with the support of people. I'm positive I'll be one of them one day, if something ever comes up in the world that I strongly disagree with, I will make my voice be heard. Not only that but I would've been part of something way bigger, and that's how you fight something bigger. You fight it with support and numbers (amounts of people). 

All my jeans are not even the same size. Getting dressed for school, it’s such a drag. I go through my closets and dressers, then comes jeans and socks flying every which way. A red shirt fell to the floor at my feet.  My bright blue shirt is half way on, it doesn’t even match my jeans I have on. My hair is flying in all directions. There is a black sock on my left foot and a gray one in my hand. The clothes are all over the carpet you can’t even see the floor. This doesn’t even make any sense; no teenager should have to go through this its like pulling teeth. Ugh! This really annoys me because nothing I try on even looks right, I always look so blah, simply ordinary. Most days I feel like everybody else.

Most people go crazy when they look like everybody else or should I say don’t look like everybody else. So they try to change because of the society wants them to look. The things they do to change effects their health, well-being and the others around them that care. People either start to lose too much weight because they can’t look thin enough or they gain too much because they’re eating too obsessively. Society is obviously changing individuals. So people feel as though they’re going to be accepted is if they’re thin and if they’re, not they gorge in food cause they figure it can’t be changed. They think it’s the answer and become so obsessed with it they let it affect their health. Some people go as far as to become bulimic. Becoming insecure about themselves, gaining depression, having guilt and most of all the fear of weight gain. The number one reason is insecurity. Everybody has to look like a super stars and if you don’t you should be well on your way to doing so. Looking good, being in the “in” crowd and joining the band wagon is what society mentally tells them when they put the stars looks on a pedestal towards everyone else’s.

 We accept certain people, certain people that meet the criteria. Their religion, culture, political, scientific and some other belief’s determine how accepted they become. The main people we try to push away are the people who are bigger then the average. The problem is we help them get this way and continue on because America super sizes everything when you go to a fast food restaurant the sizes of everything are now larger than what they use to be and of course society doesn’t see anything wrong with it.  As long as they continue to make money its as right as a knife full of peanut better going in a jelly jar.   

I remember just like it was yesterday day, I went to Checkers with my mom. I hear the thunder in her stomach. “What do you want to eat?” “I want some chicken fingers and fries” I replied in a blissful voice. On our way home I was eating the fries, which seems to takes forever. I then started to ponder the appearance of he fries. They look different; it’s not the color. Maybe it’s this box they came in, that has me in deep thought. No, it’s the size of the froes themselves. Now where home and I’m off to my room but before I go I turn to my mom to get my drink and she says. “I asked for a medium and they gave me a large. Then I told her “If that’s the small I hate to see what the large looks like. Its so big are you sure that’s a medium”. “Yea” she replied “Look at your meal”.

See the fast food chains don’t care what they do to us as long as they get money. That’s the reason why obesity is the number one cause in America it effect people of all age ranges. When people of the corpulent weight go out to eat they get as much as they can intake until they can’t eat anymore. They order a mass size of burgers, fries, hot dogs, drinks, etc. Consume is what they know because it’s the only way they can comfort themselves.

 Everyday citizens ponder the thought of not being what society wants them to be and they allow it to drive them to insanity. They take it as a definition of who they should become. Another way many communities let society in is through plastic surgery. They think they have to fix the way they look because it’s not good enough for other people. Either there lips aren’t full enough, or their wrinkles in their smile. My face is just they way its suppose to be an years from now I just might have one too many wrinkles, but who doesn’t get them as they age.

Society determines what is considered the right way to look by making a list and who ever fits in fits in and who ever doesn’t much love to you. I have a family member who decided to get some surgery done to themselves and she looked better better before it was done. After I saw her I couldn’t believe my eyes she no longer looked like herself instead she now looked how society said she had to. She didn’t accept her physical appearance but having that surgery only changed the outside because her personality was all the same. See in this paper I went from one idea to another because people normally don’t do that. In society this paper would be considered as written incorrectly or an example of how not to transition a paper but I don’t care too much what they think so I wrote it my way.

“Donde Esta Tu Acento Mijaa?”

“Where’s Abuelita At?” I said searching around the kitchen like a lost puppy left in the middle of the highway to look for its owner.

“In her cuarto unpacking su maleta.” Said mi tia Mariela while washing the dishes faster then any dishwashing machine could

“Horita Vengo, Ima go help her” I said sprinting up the steps faster then titi Mari could realize I was done talking.

“Abuelita!” I screamed like a little girl on Christmas morning and ran to hug her as tight as I could.

“Mi niña bonita como as estado!” she said with a smile warmer then summer 10 days.

“Good! I missed you mucho Buelita!”

“Donde esta tu acento mija!” She said with a puzzled look, her voice sounding disappointed that maybe su niña bonita wasn’t who she was expecting

“Cual acento? Yo No Se” I said almost annoyed that after all these years that’s all she could say. All she saw in me was a Mexican without an accent.

Being that I was born in Mexico I should have an accent right? No! Growing up in the United States it’s been kind of hard living my life the way other Mexican teenagers do. I have different views on things, like to do different things, I dress differently then they do, basically when it comes down to it I would be an outcast I was to live in Mexico. Of course to me this doesn’t take away the fact that Im Mexican, but to other people they consider me a Frijolera Agringada, A White Beaner. If you ask me no I just happen to have grown up in a different country. I only lived in Mexico for 5 years and have lived in the United States for 10, now you try doing that without changing the way you speak.

“I will have my serpents tongue, my woman voice, my sexual voice, my poets voice, I will overcome the tradition of silence” How to tame a wild tongue, Gloria Anzaldua.

Not all people have the honor to say that they speak two languages, and thanks to my dad making me move to the United States I was forced to learn my now second language.  I had to pay a price though, loosing my accent. Yes to me that is a price to pay, of course it doesn’t make me any less Mexican but it takes away something, I wish I had. I wish I had that little accent that distinguishes Mexican English with Standard English. Those different ending to words and feel my tongue rolled out those R’s like a red carpet on Grammy night.  I’ve had different experiences with this where people don’t believe that Im either Mexican or that I was born in Mexico, because of the way I sound. I’m always faced with asking myself does it matter how I sound to determine my nationality or my identity. Some people might think so; other might not, Me Im on the border. At times yeah I think that what makes a Mexican is their accent, others days I think that what makes someone Mexican is themselves. Themselves, their customs, their believes, their views on things.

Mario: Are you sure you Mexican?Me:Duh, Why wouldn’t I be?Mario: It just dont sound like it.Me: O. You A-Hole!

“Chicano Spanish sprang out of the Chicanos need to identify ourselves as distinct people” How to tame a wild tongue, Gloria Anzaldua.

I think that at times Mexicans teens that grew up in the United States are put down for not dressing Mexican, acting Mexican, or sounding Mexican. People judge us without even thinking about what made us like this. Growing up in an entirely different country we face challenges. One of them is being able to stay true to out culture and keeping it alive within us. I refuse to forget who I  truly am on the inside, Part of being Chicanos, is Being able to accustom to a different country, different traditions and different people surrounding me and still being able to stay true to my Mexican side is what makes me a Chicana Sin Acento!

Sophia Henninger

Language Autobiography – Rough Draft

English – Copper

Languages don’t change everything. The language itself isn’t the most important thing, but the way it is used is. The dialects don’t matter either. The tones those dialects are spoken in is what matters. Yes, a dialect can tell people where you’re from but it’s the tone of your voice that says what you are trying to communicate. It tells more about who you are in this instant than your background. Tones mean much more for a quick conversation and are far more important in communication. People shouldn’t concentrate so much on dialects because they reflect people’s past. That does not matter for a 30 second conversation but a tone changes everything.

A tone can dictate the entire mood of a conversation. It indicates what mood a person is in, what their intentions for the conversation are, and possibly how recent events have affected them. Tone can completely change the meaning of a phrase from serious to sarcastic or from insulting to soothing. Tone influences conversations more than dialects do because if a dialect is different that just changes the person but if a tone is different it can effect and change the entire conversation.

This scene is a good example of how tone changes things because in it my tone is telling my mother, who I’m having the conversation with, that I’m irritated and distressed. I woke up late and I'm trying to leave my house so I can get the early bus. I’m irritated because as I’m practically running out the door, my mother has another idea. “Mom! I had to go like five minutes ago.” I sound urgent and my hand is on the doorknob. My mother has no intention of letting me leave in only my wool jacket, “Get a hat and gloves … a scarf too.” I don’t even turn around but I’m nearly growling, “I have to go..” I turn to look at her and I can tell she will not budge on the matter so I sigh and say, “Do you know where they are?” I’m standing in that stereotypical position women stand in when they’re annoyed: leg out, hip locked, hand on hip, head tilted. Any other mother in America would have said I was giving my mother attitude. She replies with a bored tone in her voice, “I don’t know. Go look.” My jaw drops for a second and a new wave of annoyance washes over me. Not only has she made me miss the bus, but I now must miss the second bus because she wants me to look for extra clothing. At this point though I sluggishly move to where we keep hats and such as a way to protest her suggestion. I find them and slowly ease them on my head and hands, making sure they look good. “Sophie… aren’t you going to miss the bus?” My mother was trying to speed me up. Too late. “Yes, but I need a hat and gloves, don’t I?” I’m looking at myself in the mirror as I say this, hoping to sort of stick it to her a little bit. “Just go.” She calmly replies. I spring to life then, hoping I might still catch the bus. “Thank you, Mom! I love you!” I sounded so happy and excited; the exact opposite of my feelings just a moment before. I practically skipped out the door, eager to leave my unpleasant attitude behind me.

If my tone had been calmer and more collected then it would have not only changed the way the scene was read, but it probably would have changed the actually words used. That’s why emotions and tones mean so much more than dialects; they have the power to alter conversations, meanings, and interpretation of words.

I use tones everyday to change the meanings of words and phrases. Sarcasm in particular is a technique of speaking I use. Many people use sarcasm and it actually is meant to change the meaning of words and phrases but it’s often looked upon as a snarky way to give someone attitude. It’s more than that though; it’s a way to change language just by changing your inflection. I’ve noticed that since I am sarcastic I’m looked at as disrespectful. Sarcasm is my language and it’s just how I was taught to speak.

An example of this is when I was asked, “Is your shirt green?” I just looked at the person. My shirt was blatantly green. I cannot describe how green my shirt was. It was like a pine forest, only with more green. I replied in the only way I saw fit, “No, my shirt is purple.” Maybe this wasn’t the nicest way to go about answering they’re question but my shirt was green and obviously so. The person began to get irritated; she was obviously not happy with how I had answered her question but she replied with, “You know, you don’t have to be mean about it.” She then promptly stood up and walked away. My intent had not been to offend her but that’s what did end up happening. By using a sarcastic tone and my natural way of speaking I was “being mean”.

Since I use sarcasm regularly, that’s why society sees me as just another snarky teenager. There isn’t much for me to do that would allow my reputation to be changed because this is my native tongue and I will always revert back to it. It’s different from my dialect because the only thing my dialect will tell you is that I’m from Philadelphia, PA. Because I used sarcasm everyday in many conversations it labels me as a smart-alecky child to people who only hear my own sarcasm and not the words I’m saying. When people hear me speak without fully listening to words I say and how I mean them, they assume and conclude before getting to know me that all I am is a snide teenage girl from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

Not everybody speaks with sarcasm everyday but people should be able to understand it and refrain from judging others for using it.  It would be same as not judging someone because they had a southern or Brooklyn accent because it’s just a way of speaking and communicating. Sarcasm is how I communicate and I’m judged prematurely everyday for it. If I wasn’t judged and written off for the language I was trained to speak, the language I can’t control, I would feel as though I belonged much more than I currently do.

Sophia Henninger

Copper – English

September 23, 2010

Growing up in Roxborough wasn’t always the easiest thing for me. Constantly ridiculed at school, home, and in between. More than once I got off the bus to go home with tears on my face only to be greeted by more words and events that would replace the old tears on my cheeks. I remember so many instances of this.

“Eskimo! Eskimo!”  The eighth graders chanted on the disgusting, sticky, school bus. I just sat on the floor and bawled as if a beloved pet had died. They were calling me this because of the hat I donned on my head. It was tan and furry with gold thread periodically mixed in. The earflaps were my favorite part because they were fuzzy on both sides. “That hat is so ugly, but I guess it matches your face.” I heard a boy say. With tears still flowing from my eyes I looked to meet his face just as he ripped the hat off my head and got off the bus with it. He proceeded to throw it into a gutter on his street. He looked back at me in the foggy window of the dirty bus and smiled, his perfectly clear eyes met my red-rimmed, bloodshot ones and not an ounce of guilt or regret showed on his face.

Another instance was when I had to sit in the seat less section on the school bus. The floor was black, sticky, and covered in hundreds of unidentifiable substances. I don’t even know what I did to provoke them this time but I do remember hearing one boy say to a classmate, “Dude, watch this..”

I turned to see what he was talking about and he was looking at me. He wanted to talk to me. He asked basic questions like how was I and what class I was in. I thought this was the end of being teased.  I was filled with so much hope; I was excited for the future. I thought of how I might be able to get on the bus and smile and giggle like the other girls my age did with their friends. Just then, my dreams of peace were shattered; he grabbed my legs and started to lift them up. I panicked and grabbed the back of the seat in front of me. I screamed and cried and kicked. I clung to seat in front of me as though if let go I’d fall to my demise. The boy just lifted my legs higher and higher until I was horizontal. I felt like it lasted forever. Finally he yelled, “Stop screaming, you baby.” And dropped me. My knees clashed with the sticky floor. Little splashes of red now accenting my already dirty knees. The eighth graders just laughed at me as I ran to front of the bus. I’d never felt so much shame or humiliation in my life.

But after everyday of torment I still woke up the next day hopeful. Still looking forward to making friends and laughing with them. I still tried to be nice and make friends with people even when the day before they were the ones that made me cry. I was relentlessly hopeful and optimistic, always cheery and excited.

Even when the problem followed me right off the school bus and into my home.

“Sophie! We have a surprise for you. Close your eyes.” My brother, Gabe, and my sister, Betsy, cooed as they directed me down the hallway. I was so excited. I loved surprises! I was thinking of all the cool things it might be. A new toy, or game, a warm set of mittens and a hat, maybe even a puppy might be waiting for me! Whatever it was, it was bound to be great. I was tingling with anticipation while I tiptoed the creaking wooden floorboards while guided arm in arm by my two closest siblings. A mere seconds later I heard, “Hey, Lou! Is it ready?”

“Yeah, bring her closer.” Lou, the eldest, whispered to Gabe. OH! It was so close, the surprise! The possibilities ran through my head again and my excitement grew exponentially. “You ready, Soph?”, his question was answered by a hurried head nod, “Okay, open your eyes…. Now!”

“…AAAAHHHHHHHHH!” I ran, screaming bloody murder and sobbing to stairs. What had greeted me wasn’t spectacular or marvelous in any way. It wasn’t a new toy or accessory or pet. No, it was a crab shell with its face only centimeters from mine. From the staircase I could hear rolling laughter coming from all three of my siblings.

 It lasted only a few moments but that scene of memory still burns in my mind when I think of my childhood. Of course, now that story is one told at family parties and everyone laughs, including me. That along with all the other scenes of my childhood, clear or hazy, funny or horrifying, good or bad, make up who I am today. Without these experiences I wouldn’t have learned some of life’s biggest lessons, such as: not to be naive, to stand up for myself, to deal with bullies, to forgive, and to forget.

In an odd way I have to thank the people that made me cry on a daily basis in grade school, the people that didn’t acknowledge my existence until 8^th grade, and the siblings that made sure I knew I was omega. Because without them I wouldn’t be the confident, outspoken, silly, rough-around-the-edges girl that we’ve all come to know and love.

Dreams Lost At An Instant

    Its September 8 2008 and it’s the second day of school except for me its my first, it also happens to be the day after my cousin’s Norieliz funeral. As I enter through the double doors of the main entrance the voices of rowdy kids talking to the friends they had made the day before around me seem to disappear and the picture of the lights of doom coming our way and throwing us to the side of the road replays in my -mind and I feel like I don’t belong here while she is gone.

     The weekend before 8^th grade began will forever in my mind remain as the weekend my life changed. I gained knowledge but in return I lost someone important to me. Aliana one of my closest cousins from my moms’ side invited me to a cookout her friend was having to say goodbye to the summer before school started. Having nothing to do and over hearing our conversation she wanted to join us and fist pump until the sun came up like she use to say. My diary as I use to call her would sure make that night was memorable.

    I remember giving her that name during a summer swim at her house. We had been talking about our life’s and catching up for the whole two weeks we hadn’t seen each other when I said you might as well be my diary and ever since then that named stayed to her and that’s what she was in my mind and her mind as well. Out of everyone in my life she was the one that I could sit for hours and tell her anything and everything and she could sit with me for hours and not judge me, give me good advice, and let me know I wasn’t alone. She was the only person in my life whom I was sure I could always count on, the only one I could cry with, laugh until our stomachs hurt with and act like a total weirdo with and still feel comfortable. She was more then just a cousin to me. She was my diary.

    After Norieliz had already said yeah to the idea of spending our last official weekend of summer vacation at a cookout something came up. We all were willing to go but we didn’t have anyone to drive us there and drive us back home. As we sat outside on the porch looking into the tress of the suburbs of Atco, New Jersey my cousin oldest cousin Joshua came in the driveway. We all looked at each other and ran to ask him if he was willing to go with us. At first of course he said no I have better things to do but after a while he gave up to three sets of puppy eyes staring at him and sarcastic remarks being made over his favorite show family guy on a Thursday afternoon.

    That Saturday night was quite interesting. We all had tons of fun. The food had been good and the strangers we met soon became friends. We all felt right at home and felt like we had known everyone before. When we noticed it getting late we all decided it was time to leave and head home to watch a movie and chill for the rest of the night. We said our good byes our call me or hit up my inbox and were on our way to Joshua’s Red Expedition which he had bought a month ago from my dad.

    As Joshua was pulling out his keys I tried to run for the front door but of course like always Norieliz beat me to it. For some reason their always had to be an argument over who sat in the front when it came down to her or me. We knew it was childish and immature but it was something that had always been with us and it was hard pushing a routine to the side of the road and abandoning it there like a lost sad puppy. Of course after a while we annoyed Joshua and Aliana who sat in the back with an annoyed look on her face which made her look like a little girl that didn’t get her way with her parents. So Joshua said come on get in the car and whoever got their first get in the front. This time it went her way as I walked away with a smirk on my face and her making fun of me like a little girl at the playground that had beat her classmate to the swing. She sat put her seatbelt on and in no longer then five minutes we had already reached the highway home. As we reached our first intersection and red light we all laughed at each other’s jokes on other drivers. When that light turned green and we were halfway thought the intersection I turned to see a big white f150 truck coming our way at full speed. In an instant those laughs turned into eyes of disbelieve and screams.

    Before I could scream the F150 had hit the left side of the truck and the truck spun to the left side of the road. It all happened in an instant. I felt my head hit the back of the seat and hit the front seat. I heard Aliana and Norieliz scream at the same time their screams felt like my ears were being stung by a thousand bees. I heard people screaming get them out but after a while they faded and all was silent .The sound of distant sirens made me realize that this wasn’t a dream but a nightmare considering all the pain I felt. As they got closer I yelled at all 3 of them that help was here and yelled desperately but no one answered. I didn’t know what to do until I finally felt Aliana touch my hand. She wasn’t strong enough to talk but she let me know she was ok. When the paramedics got there they took Aliana and me out first and took us to the hospital. All I wanted to know was if Joshua and Norieliz were going to be ok. As the sirens pulled away the image of the accident came back my eyes felt heavy and I couldn’t take the pain of the left side of my face, which was pretty swollen, and I drifted into what seemed like eternal sleep.

    When I finally woke up I was laying in a hospital bed with both my parents and my big brother Carlos. My mom crying being held by my dad at the left side of my bed and Carlos holding onto my hand on the opposite side. He held it as if it would be the last, like he never wanted to let go of me. As I opened my eyes I remembered what happened. My mom as fast as a new mother trying to find what was wrong with her crying baby came to my side and hugged me. It should have been comforting but it was painful. She kissed my cheek but it was bruised from the impact and it hurt like the pain of getting punched by the bully at the playground. I tried to tell her I was fine but it hurt to even try to talk. She told me it was ok and stepped back just as the nurse came in to check on me.

    As soon as she touched my head it hurt the pain was unbearable and I felt like those skinned knees I got as a kid were nothing but a simple scratch compared to the pain I felt now. She checked and said I had a bump on the back of my head and that the doctor would be looking at it. When she was done and left I asked if everybody else was ok, pausing after each word to sooth the pain. All was quite until my dad spoke up and said Norieliz is watching up from above now. As soon as those words flowed through the air and hit me all I could do was ask why and cry.

    Just as that happened both Joshua and Aliana came in and stood at either sides of my bed they looked at my once smiling face and hugged me. Standing there I could hear her tell me it would be fine and that she wouldn’t ever leave my side. We all had been left with a permanent scar. At that point none of our injuries really matter as much as loosing her did. Not Joshua’s stitched up eye or Aliana’s broken arm and glass cut once flawless face. As that was happening my mom handed me the picture frame with her once smiling face. That picture frame with the beautiful sun descending into its cave until the next morning. The picture frame that showed the crashing waves against her bare toes and her perfect smile glistening like the North Star. As we all stared endlessly at the frame we realized she was watching over us because we had all made it, maybe injured but we would be fine. What happened that night had left permanent scars of lost but we now more then ever valued our families and the people surrounding us.

 Even I cannot begin to understand how and why I ended up here. Honestly, it makes absolutely no sense. I acted on pure impulse, not even thinking.  The voice of an actor on my favorite television show quick flashes through my mind, “No repercussions! No repercussions!”. In a way those words comforted me. I was here now; there was now way of getting out until the end. What happens happens. It is as simple as that.

I had gotten into large storage bin. The lid was sealed with duck tape to relieve me of any hopes of getting out. Inside the container, it was darker than the oubliette under a castle. My surrounding air was hot, heavy, and scarce. Could this be the end of me? The container was dragged to the middle of a very large outdoor trampoline. Snickers of my surrounding siblings echoed through the empty yard. “Are you ready?” he said.  Ready for what, I thought. At that very moment, someone on the outside of the container jumped. As the two feet that were once in the air landed back on the trampoline, the container and I went flying.Maybe this was not such a good idea.

I never fail to find myself in the middle of a situation that could have been completely prevented. My better judgment and common sense always seem to show their faces in the midst of my latest mishap.  It almost seems like the direct intention of my common sense and better judgment is to teach me a lesson. By waiting until I am in the middle of a situation to show up, they allow me to experience my mistake and visualize how it could have been better handled or even prevented.

“Just get in. Stop being so chicken. You are such a scaredy cat,” he said. “ Yeah Manna, stop being such a chicken. Just do it.” she echoed. Their voices bounced around in my empty mind for a moment. My brief moment of considering what they wanted me to do only came from my fear of their request. In that brief moment, never did the thought of how this would affect me, cross my mind. I simply heard them mocking me, telling me that I was too scared and a chicken. They began to beg. I gave in.

Their request was simple. All I had to do was climb into the seventy-four gallon storage container waiting for me in the backyard on the trampoline. Our backyard was about half an acre large. In the yard there were oak trees that stretched so high, their branches tickled the sky in the wind. The ground was carpeted with sporadic patches of grass, fallen acorns, and beautiful leaves in all the colors of autumn. At the rear of the yard sat our do and his house. He sat and watched our every move, curiously trying to figure out what was going on. Right in the center of the yard was the largest outdoor trampoline money could buy.

One foot at a time, I stepped into the prepared container. It was laced with small blankets and stuffed animals for cushion. Once I was in the container the lid was slapped on and sealed with and immensely thick wrap of duck tape. Any hope of second thought was now gone. “I can not breath!” I screamed. “Oh, I almost forgot.” With in five seconds a small silver point pierced the lid of the container stopping before it reached my face. Why had I let the talk me into doing this?

On any given day it is clear that I can speak for myself and make my own decisions, for some reason this day turned out to be no ordinary day. My decision-making skills were null and void to the begging and mockery of my siblings. I knew that I would be putting myself some sort of direct danger, and yet I succumb to their pleas. The simplest definition for this would be peer pressure.  Yes, it is true that I did succumb to the begging of my siblings, but this event is the effect of my poor decision-making and judgment. In fact no one is to blame but myself. I chose to do what I did and must accept the consequences, whether they are good or bad. Out our mishaps and choices come the lessons that shape who we are.

“Let’s all jump at the same time,” he suggested. “Alright let’s do it!” they responded. “ 1, 2, 3, jump!”  As all six feet that were once in the air landed back on the trampoline, the container and I were catapulted off. Our land in was not soft. We hit the ground with the force of and asteroid impact on earth. We lied there on our sides, waiting to see what was to come next.

Squ-eak. Squeak. Squ-eak. They were off he trampoline.  Vibrations from a blend of soft and heavy footsteps could be felt approaching us. Small snickers turned in to an uproar of laughter. It really is not that funny, I thought. The tape used to prevent my escape was cut. Cautiously, I opened the container, unaware of what was to meet me at my exit. That first breath of fresh air, felt like I was a newborn taking my first breath of life. Yet, my now surrounding air was being sucked up by the laughter of my siblings. I stared at them in contemplation, attempting to figure out what was so funny about what had just happened. Immediately, I burst out laughing. I realized that laughing was the best medicine for what happened. This had become a lesson learned. Besides, if I were on the other side of the container I would be laughing too.