Proposal Responces

All animals form chemistry. The bond between two animals is what makes them end up enjoying each other enough to the point where they reproduce. People have this same type of chemistry. The instincts within people are what cause chemistry to form. Sometimes the chemistry matches well enough that it causes two people to fall in love.  In contrast to animals, when this contrast matches, humans usually have religious ceremonies which bond them together. We call this ceremony a marriage. Before marriage, there is always a proposal.  Throughout life, you will find many people get proposed to; however, there are several different responses to being proposed to that don’t always end in an engagement.

Men are, in most cases, doing the proposing. The traditional proposal follows certain steps: complement the women, get down on one knee, and ask her to marry you. A proposal is almost always extremely emotional. The most common reaction would be water works; in other words, the women will start crying her eyes out. These are tears of joy. The tears will stream down her face for a couple minutes during the initial shock of the proposal. The future bride with begin jumping up and down, happy to be engaged. She will repeat the phrase “Yes, yes, oh my God yes!” over and over with an unnecessary amount of enthusiasm. Next, her face will begin to turn to a light shade of pink, which slowly fades into a dark red. Instead of grabbing for the ring, she will pull the man to his feet, looking for his arms’ embrace; nevertheless, the man will know her answer very clearly: yes.

When a women is proposed to, the women is usually happy, but this isn’t always the case. It can get bad. The chemistry can sometimes be felt by only one of the people in the relationship. This person, unfortunately, is most of the time is delusional and thinks the other person feels the chemistry as well. This is where things can get ugly. The man begins the steps of a traditional proposal: complements the women, and gets down on one knee. Despite the proposers best efforts, step three brings problems. The man doesn’t even have to say the magic words of “will you marry me.” The woman shakes her head, trying to deny the engagement without having to say it out loud. In spite of her best effort, the man continues with the proposal. The women, desperate to keep the words from exiting the man’s mouth, dumps her freshly poured mug of steaming coffee onto his head. By now, if done in public, everyone is watching, waiting to see how the rest of the proposal will play out. The man, still on one knee, stares at the women in astonishment, unable to speak. The women quietly apologizes, but the apology is barely even audible. Finally, the unengaged women storms off with without a ring. She will have an embarrassed look on her face, knowing she should have broken off the relationship before it had gotten that far.

As stated before, a proposal can be very emotional. However, sometimes it barely is. Some couples talk about the possibility of getting married before the engagement ring is even purchased. The two people in the relationship have mutually agreed ahead of time that they want to marry each other in the future. This results in a very mellow proposal. The man won't be stressed, seeing as he will already know what the answer to the proposal will be, and the women will be excited but not surprised enough to the point of tears. This type of proposal is usually very casual and comes without a single moment of tension. When the moment comes, words don’t even need to be spoken. The man kneels down on one knee; the woman responds with wide eyes. A huge grin stretches across her face and she nods her head politely. The woman holds out her hand and lets the future groom place the beautiful band on her left ring finger. He stands up, kisses her softly and then they spend the rest of the day as if nothing extraordinary had happened. This kind of couple usually doesn’t gloat about the proposal, but they will excitedly talk about it if someone asks. Although the proposal itself is quiet, the hearts of the newly engaged couple beat louder than ever. Their minds race as they think about what the future holds for them.

In the way today's society is structured, getting married to the one you love is a common occurrence. To be married, first there has to be a proposal.  During most proposals, there is emotional tension running through the veins of the proposer, which is understandable seeing as they usually don’t know how the women will respond. The fact of the matter is there are many different ways for a women to react to a proposal, and there is no way of knowing which reaction the proposer will get.

What is Intelligence really?

Life is complicated. For instance, The course of life can be changed with a simple click of a button now a-days. However, intelligence can be seen as the answer to life. Being smart helps you write a good resume, get into a high rated college, and be hired at a wonderful job that pays well. Thats the dream isn’t it? On the other hand, what is intelligence really? Well, intelligence isn’t all about having good grades in school.

Three rows back, left corner. I found myself sitting there day after day. When the teacher started talking, I could see more than half the class pull out their cell phones. I was among them. Don’t get me wrong, I worked hard in that class and made sure to ace all my tests.

“I graded all the tests last night for you guys,” the teacher stated as he passed out the tests. He handed me my test and I let out a sigh of relief. I got an A. Another A in my hand meant I was one step closer to graduating with a high GPA.

“Pst! Sydney!” Katie’s voice whispered from two seats over.

“What?”

“I got a C,” she whimpered, “My dad’s going to kill me.” The student sitting next to me had overheard our conversation.

“Wow. Are you stupid? This test was so easy!” the student said.

Those words still echo through my head today. I knew my friend Katie wasn’t stupid. She was very intelligent, but she struggled at that one subject.

Intelligence is problem solving. It is the student working hard not only to retain the information but to understand it. It is the ability to see a simple way of doing things. Intelligence is a small baby knowing how to feed off its mother's breast without being taught. It is the drive to deeper develope your passions and skills. It is simple. Being intelligent is a mechanic knowing how to change a tire, or a judge making a fair ruling. Intelligence is an infant learning how to control their hands and arms enough to figure out how to crawl. It is the student in the class asking all the “stupid” questions. The person at work, aiming to be the best possible employee is seen as intelligent. It is just the way of working to try to be the best in what one is good at. It is a process of development. Intelligence is only hard to find if you think it can be measured. Yes, some people show their intelligence more than others, but everyone is intelligent.

Intelligence is many things; on the contrary, there are a lot of things that aren’t considered intelligent.  While looking at someone, you can not see intelligence in their eyes. It is not something that can be held or shown at show-and-tell. In addition, even though many say intelligent people get high ACT scores, this doesn’t define intelligence either. It can not be measured with a percentage or even a ruler. It isn’t something lucky people are born with while others are not. It isn’t a student sleeping all through class and guessing his way through a test only to end up passing the class with a B. It isn’t the kid in the back of the class, staring at the clock, counting down the minutes until lunch time. Intelligence isn’t something that is just placed within people; it is the give and take to advance your strengths and push your weaknesses.  

Everyone is intelligent, just in his or her own way. For example, even though in our society serial killers are a disgrace, they are still intelligent. Serial killers are genius’ at knowing how to kill, and sometimes, even get away with it. It is just a matter of perspective. No one is a genius in all aspects of the word. Brilliant Albert Einstein, a well known inventor, once stated this simply: “Everyone is a genius. But, if you judge a fish on its ability to climb a tree, it will spend its whole life believing it is stupid.” Similarly, this is like telling a history professor he isn’t intelligent because he doesn’t know how to construct a rocket. He is an intelligent man, just in the definition his job has created for him.

There are many different levels of intelligence and degrees of intelligence. Not everyone is intelligent in the concept of retaining information, which is all schools seem to measure. It can not be defined by grades at school or an ACT score. Intelligence is within everyone. It is the growth of strengths and weaknesses within a person. As a student in the school, I have seen first-hand that many people never get the chance to prove their area of intelligence. The school systems should work towards understanding that there are different types of intelligence, and not measure students’ success on how they score on standardized tests.

Friend Categories

Not every friend is the same. I think everyone can agree with that. There are some friends that you will share your life story with, but there are some friends that you seem to keep distant.

One type of friend is the company friend. This is the one you walk around school with just to keep you company. You would prefer to walk with someone down the hall instead of being alone, so you choose someone to walk with. I have one of these friends. I wait for them before I go to lunch and we sit next to each other in the hallway afterward. This person, however, I don’t share secrets with. I don’t know this person well enough to share personal information with. Sometimes we make small talk, but most of the time we walk of sit in silence.

Another type is the friend of a friend. This is the person you would never hang out with alone but are always nice to. They are closer to an acquaintance than a friend actually. You are usually nice to this person but only talk when you all are hanging out together. You might be friends with them on a social media, but you rarely talk. This person probably is someone you never call or text; however, when you are hanging out in a group, you laugh and talk like you have known each other forever.

An old friend is pretty self explanatory. This is someone that has been in your life as long as you can remember. It could be a neighbor kid, someone you met in elementary, or even someone that you have known since you were born. There is always a deep connection between these people and are usually the friends held closest to your heart. My old friend I have known since kindergarten. We used to have play dates and go running through the mud together. We lost touch for a while when I switched schools, but when we got in touch again, it was like we had never been separated. We don’t hang out as much as we used to, though. On the other hand, whenever one of us needs a friend to vent to, we are always there for each other.

The last is your closest friend. It is the one you share all your secrets with and would trust with your life. I only have two of these friends. I tell them everything. They have seen me at my best and at my worst. I will scream, cry and vent with them. I will stay up all night laying on the couch and just talking with them and we never run out of things to talk about. We are super random and silly and laugh a lot when we are with each other. We share everything as if we were sisters and are completely honest with each other.

No matter what kinds of friends you have, you only need a few. It is better to have a small amount of friends that you are really close with than a lot of friends that aren’t very good ones.

Live Life Freely

     Ever since I was little, I was told what to do. When I was little, I was told what to wear and what to eat. Now that I am 16, I have a little more freedom but not much. Why do people try to control other peoples' lives?
     I'm in National Honors Society. Yes, I understand that it is a privilege to be in NHS, but it's not for me. I walked up to the teacher in charge of NHS and tried to explain this to her. I told her that I do not agree with the fact that community service has to be signed by the person you are doing it for or by the person who arranged it. I don't know about other people in this world but I believe community service should be from the kindness of your heart and not hoping to be recognized for it. I also don't think it is right to have to tell someone it is for a class. It takes out the whole point of the community service away. I believe that community service should never be assigned as a chore. It should come from the goodness of your heart and should not be used for a grade or to be kept in a stupid honors society. Even if I were to ignore this fact and continue with NHS, I do not have the time to go out of my way to find an organization to do community service through and have them sign a stupid paper. That is six hours of community service where it is not done out of the kindness of my heart but instead out of the happiness of my self greed. When I would have time for this, I don't have a ride and instead am sitting home alone. My teacher responded by saying this wasn't excepting my "excuse" and that I wasn't able to get out of national honors society. We will see what happens when it comes march (the due date for the community service hours) and I don't turn one in!
     I know this was a short post but I had to share my opinion with the world. NHS is awesome and a great program. I am not saying if you are in it then you should get out of it. It looks amazing on a college application! But, I have put a lot of thought into it and it isn't for me. I do not agree with the set up; therefore, I don't want to be in it. I also dislike how my teacher said I couldn't get out of it. Obviously I can and it is my choice. I am not going to let some teacher tell me what I can and can not do. The college I choose will know I have the opportunity to be in NHS and I will make my point to the college that I do not agree with the set up of NHS and that is why I chose not to do it.

Divorce: A Child's Perspective

     Divorce is never easy. It requires courts, forms, signatures, a division of property, and, most of all, time. It can cause a lot of stress and tears of sadness as well as anger. After all that is said and done, and the divorce is finalized, the divorced couple still have to communicate if children are involved. But, imagine this from the child's perspective.
     What I would give to go back four years ago. Back when we all lived together and were actually happy. Sure, the last couple years were rough, but it isn't always going to be rainbows and butterflies. Me and my sisters knew there was a divorce waiting to happen in the future, the near future. The thing that shocked us was what led up to it and how it ended.
    At age 12, you feel on top of the world. My father was a stay at home dad while my mother worked all the time. I would come home from school and go play football in the yard with my dad or watch it on the television. If something was wrong, he would cheer me up. He would lay on the couch with me, listening to my petty problems and cheering me up. My mom did things to help too, but I was always a "daddy's girl." Everything was perfect; I lived the fairy-tale life. Two years before the divorce hit, though, it was like the beautiful snow-capped mountain turned into a raging avalanche.
     Name-calling, back-stabbing, and screaming overwhelmed the home with the three children trapped in the middle. It was like tidal waves pushing us from side to side, forced to listen to the hissing words coming from the parent's mouth's. Caught in the middle, we were left to pick sides. My sisters mostly just nodded and zoned out as they talked; however, I, being the youngest and most influenced, listened intently. They sounded like kindergartners bashing each other on the play ground.
     "Well, he said this!"
      "I told her this but she wouldn't listen!"
     It was a never ending downward spiral to the gates of hell. I would lay in bed, crying myself to sleep at night. I had, like every child victim to divorce, thought it was my fault at one point. I dreaded the thought of leaving my room in the morning. The tension was as thick as a brick. It was like you could smell their anger from down the hall. I tip-toed out of my bed in the morning and rushed to get ready for school. I was out the door as quick as possible and would stay out of the house as much as possible. The word home had lost its meaning. It was no longer a loving shelter but instead a homeless shelter, where everyone sleeps in fear.
     A couple days before Christmas the house was dead silent; You would have been able to hear a pin drop. My sisters and I entered the living room where we found our parents sitting in silence. They said they had something to tell us so we all sat down in a row on the couch. We all knew it was coming.
     "We are getting a divorce. It has nothing to do with you girls; we have done a lot of thinking, and we decided it's for the best."
     No one said a word. In all honesty, we had seen it coming for about two years at this point. Then the real shock came.
     "I am moving to Guam, though. I have a buddy who can get me a job there."
     The word "Guam" echoed through the house. I could feel the tears gathering in my eyes, yet I tried to hold them back. My sister to my right began to whimper, and the sister to my left began bawling. A tear was released to stream down my cheek; I lost control. Tears began racing down my cheeks. I tried to maintain my mature look, but it was no use. I ran to my dad and hugged him tightly, telling him he couldn't leave. I needed him too much. He told me he was leaving New Years Eve and I began crying even harder (To this day, I have never cried as hard as I did in this moment).
     That night, I could hear him crying in his room. That was the first time I had ever heard my dad cry. He was miserable and knew he had no other choice but to go to Guam. He didn't want to leave us behind, but he didn't have a choice.
     Every day, since the day he left, he has been trying to get back to the states to finally live with his daughters again. The oldest, however, is already in college and the next is a senior in high school. Now, he finally thinks he is able to move back. Why? To get admitted into the Los Angeles hospital to get work done on his neck. He got nerve damage into his neck. He tries to get back once every summer to see my sisters and me, but last year he was unsuccessful. He had no money to get back here because he was spending it all on medical bills seeing as he got cancer for the second time in his life as well as having a collapsed lung. Words can not explain how much I miss him and how much I wish I could just be there to help him. I still cry at night because I miss him so much.
     The first three years after he left, I contemplated suicide. I cried myself to sleep every night thinking I was incapable of living without him. I felt no reason to live. I never got to the intensity where I cut myself or attempted suicide, but the thoughts engulfed me daily. They never left me alone. My self esteem dropped and my grades slipped slightly. I hid my face and developed a stutter. Public speaking became a chore as well. Nothing was easy; everything was as challenging as climbing a cliff.
     Looking back, I would rather be back in the house with the arguing. I don't Skype my dad often because it makes me miss him more. My mom and him still fight only ten times worse. They argue over email, making a scene every time my sisters and I want to see my dad.
     I feel like a hostage that has a large value connected to it. And I do. Its called child support. So next time a parent out there feels they have it hard during a divorce, look at your child. They probably have it worse. They just hide it from you because it doesn't seem like it would matter to you. You have your own problems; why should you have to deal with your children's too?

Deep into the woods

    Leaves crunch beneath my feet as I stroll through my backyard. As I do so, the wind pushes my hair around like a tumbleweed. The thick woods looking back at me fill me with excitement. I pick up my pace. My steps quickly turn into leaps as I bound toward the bridge that connects my yard to the woods. Once I make it onto the bridge I can see the fish swimming happily in the creek below. A smile creeps onto my face because I know that every day the woods hold a new story, with the weather setting the mood.

    On spring mornings, the woods can be seen in a dense fog. The fog covers the woods like a thick blanket. When I reach my hand out, it disappears before my eyes. The trees become more engulfed in the the heavy mist the deeper into the woods I look. The steady motion of the creek echos in my ears as I stand on top of the old wooden bridge. I feel safe; however, I know the bridge is sinking down slowly as it deteriorates beneath my feet. The bridge lightly shakes with every ripple that taps its legs. Leaning against the loose railing, I catch a glimpse of graceful deer scampering over the hill.  Twigs snap under their quick feet. The overgrown blades of grass have turned toward the ground, heavy with dew. I listen to the soft chirps from crickets dwelling underneath them. Above my head, the morning birds sing sweet songs that ring throughout the woods.

     Foggy mornings leave a calm feeling over the woods; unfortunately, spring doesn’t always mean fog. A loud boom shakes the trees. Lightning brightens up the grim sky, dancing over the tree tops. Bright green leaves reach for the passing wind. The creek roars, licking the underside of the bridge. Small spouts of water get trapped between the jagged boards and shoot up, splashing my rainboots. A large bang. I grip the wobbly railing and watch as branches and twigs build up against the edge of the bridge. A loud crackle comes from the tree to my right. A flash brightens up the woods as the tree begins to fall. The ground quakes and I can smell burnt bark. A cloud of debris coats the nature around me. Smog blocks my view from all angles. There is no longer the song of birds, just the rumble of the wilderness.

    During the winter, the rain fades into the background, and snow moves to the foreground. The bone-chilling wind presses against my skin; my purple knuckles begin to swell the longer I stand in the coldness. I listen intently, all there is is silence. The birds flutter away for the winter, leaving nothing but vacant tree branches. Colorful leaves are now replaced with cotton ball fluff, and layers of untouched snow on the ground like whipped frosting. Small deer tracks create patterns across the top of slick ice, sprinkled with snow. The faint sound of wind whistles through the pine trees. I push snow through the cracks of the bridge with the toe of my boot and breathe in the brisk air.

    Hot days during the summer are not as peaceful as freshly laid snow. Steam radiates off the dry creek bed after a refreshing rain. The steady moving creek is dried up to small motionless puddles. The birds bathe in the puddles and squawk in anger at the lack of fish. I look up to the leaves hang heavily off the dehydrated branches. With beads of sweat dripping off the tip of my nose, the thought of the deer in the yard plays through my mind. Behind me about 20 feet, they munch in despair on the shriveled, yellow grass. The heat is overwhelming, so the deer hide under the small section of shade covering the yard. One of the deer stands on its shaking hind legs and reaches up to bite off the drooping leaves. Another one licks at the moist sand, where the stream used to flow. They move slowly into the woods in a march of despair.

When I walk into the woods and pause on the bridge, I look at the world around me. A world that changes with the wind, rain, sun, fog and sometimes brilliant white snow. It’s the weather, but it’s much more. It bleeds into my emotions as everything  transforms, from the deepest roots of the trees, to the highest flying birds. Changes that can mean life or death, struggle or pleasure. A world that never fails to draw me in.

Terrifying Trash Can Lid

It was the first day back to kindergarten after Christmas break. Most people hate school, but I didn’t. Me, being the morning person I am, already had a huge smile on my face, excited to start the day! Nothing could hold me back, except for the unfortunate placement of a garbage can lid on a school playground. I should have known better to watch my step.

It was 7:15 a.m. in the small town of Hicken. I was getting ready for school as chipper as usual; getting ready as quickly as possible was my main concern every morning. (Being only five years old, it took me about two minutes to throw on some overalls, a t-shirt and my tennis shoes.) I got my clothes on, ate and brushed my teeth. I then slipped on my shoes and waited patiently. I was always ready before everyone else, so I would spend most of my morning sitting at the dining room table, swinging my legs back and forth enthusiastically, waiting for the rest of the gang to be finished getting their stuff together.

By 7:50 everyone was finally ready. We all wiggled into the van, buckled, and headed down the road about a quarter mile. A grin shone on my face. Before my eyes was the little, two room school house that I was lucky enough to spend my day in.

“Everyone pile out!” My dad groaned, still not quite awake.

“Yay!” I screamed over everyone’s moans and yawns. I squirmed into my big snow pants and snow boots and jumped into the pile of snow, outside the car door, that had been produced by the snowplow. I trudged happily through the snow; to tell you the truth, I didn’t even like snow that much I was just happy to be back at the old brick school. Time stood still. I couldn’t have been more excited as I stepped through the gate surrounding the school property. The hinges of the gate let out a small squeak as a shoved it open. My excitement was becoming hard to contain; as I have said before, I wanted nothing more than to be back in my classroom. I let out a screech of enthusiasm and went racing towards the the school door. Sadly, I only got about 15 feet before I lost my footing. The snow and ice covered a slick garbage can lid that laid on the ground. I had stepped directly on it. I teetered for a minute, stumbling to catch my balance, and then face planted. The cold wet snow embraced my face and made me shiver.

I quickly stood up and kept walking, pretending nothing had happened. When I saw my sisters’ faces, however, I knew they had both seen. The two of them looked at one another and released a wild burst of laughter. My could feel my face begin to heat up, and my vision begin to blur. I tried to hold it in, but I knew my efforts were worthless. My bottom lip quivered uncontrollably as tears streamed down my face. I turned around to run back to my dad for comfort. I knew he had witnessed the whole thing and would defend me against my sisters’ cruel laughter.

Unfortunately, I was all worked up and not paying attention to where I was going. I walked right back into the same trash can trap. Once again, I slipped on the little devil and landed right back on my butt on the cold hard ground.

“Sydney, stop trying to run away from your problems. Just come on! We have school,” my sister said trying to hold back her laughter. My other sister, on the other hand, was on the ground she was laughing so hard.

By now, all I wanted to do was go back home. My hip was throbbing from fall number one and my ankle and knee hurt from fall number two. I wanted to go lay in my bed and cry off my embarrassment, but I knew if I gave up now my sisters would never let me hear the end of it. I stood up once again, sucked back my tears and puffed out my chest. I brushed off my knees for one more dramatic effect and took a step in the direction of my school. Third times a charm I thought. I was wrong.

My feet came out from underneath me, and this time I could hear my dad laughing back in the car. My sister, who had been laughing so hard I’m surprised she didn’t wet herself, finally came to my rescue. She grabbed my arm and dragged me up the steps to the wooden school door. She was holding back her laughter, trying to be mature, but she still had a huge smile planted on her face.

When we reached the door, everyone could tell I had been crying.

“What’s wrong?” One boy asked.

“What happened?” Asked another. I buried my face into my coat at the sounds of my sisters’ words.

“The trash can lid.”

When something happens to you three times in a row, most people catch on that they are doing something wrong. For me, the problem was not watching where I stepped. I allowed myself to trip over the trash can lid. Three times in a row. If I had watched where I stepped I would have been able to save myself from total and utter humiliation.

Strive for Greatness

(Quotes taken from the story "Miss Bessie")

“You’ll play football because you have guts.But do you know what really takes guts? Refusing to lower your standards to those of the crowd. It takes guts to say you've got to live and be somebody fifty years after all the football games are over.” Many people are afraid to stand out and make something of themselves because they are afraid of what people will think of them. But when you get older, none of the things people say about you now will be held against you later in life. So why not strive for greatness and try to better yourself for the future so you don’t get in bad habits now. Bad grammar, partying, drinking, ect. may make you seem “cool” now but they are going to affect you in future.

“If you don’t read, you can’t write, and if you can’t write, you might as well stop dreaming.” This is a huge statement in terms of schooling. Not only can this be taken seriously but can also be taken in a figurative way. Schooling in general follows this format, as do many things in life. If you don’t do this then you can’t do this. If you don’t go to school, you can’t go to college, and if you don’t go to college, you have a lower chance of getting a good, high paying job that you like. There is just a way of doing things in the world we live in and it comes in steps that you must follow.

My Name in my Perspective: Sydney

My name is Sydney, a name chosen out of a list of movie credits by the eyes of desperate parents.. A spanish name given to a girl from a history of French Canadians. A name meant for my older sister but got voted for her when a comment was made by a coworker. “You can call her SID for short! Like Sudden Infant Death Syndrome!” Yet the name carried on to me with the change of one letter. “Sy” instead of “Si” makes a difference. My name is sand grains stuck in your teeth from eating a sandwich on the beach. A twitch in your leg when you are on a nerve.  My name is a language no one speaks. It comes out of everyones mouth as if they are talking to an infant, unable to comprehend. My name should be Anastasia, Clare, or Natalie. These names are floating butterflies in the breeze. They are a sweet song sung by the orioles outside the bedroom window.

Anxiety is a Strength

(These are quotes from "Anxiety: Challenge by Any Other Name" relating to my own personal life)

“Do what makes you anxious; don’t do what makes you depressed.”  This relates to me in a very simple way. I always have a tendency of backing out of things that make me anxious. When I was younger I always wanted to play soccer but always backed out when it came to soccer season. I got nervous about being bad at soccer but always ended up being depressed when I didn’t play.

“Anxiety always arises when we confront the possibility of our own development.” This is a big quote for me when I have anything to do with school. I get bad anxiety when I am getting ready for a presentation or get called on to read to the class. I know these are skills that I have to work on so I get anxious on how it is going to go with my nervousness on top of it.

“You will never eliminate anxiety by avoiding the things that caused it.” I often avoid things that make me anxious just because I don’t like the feeling. I hate having the nervous jitters and anxiety usually stresses me out. The one thing I have learned, however, that this statement is very true. I used to get anxiety when going out onto the soccer field before a game and having everyone watching you play but I have grown to get over it and enjoy it.

“You can’t learn if you don’t try.” I always play out, in my head, what is going to happen before it actually does. When I do this I am just feeding my anxiety and worrying myself. But the fact of the matter is I will never learn what is going to happen if I don’t take a chance and go see what’s out there for myself.

“Accept anxiety as another name for a challenge and you can accomplish wonders.” I see anxiety not as a problem, anymore, but instead a challenge to overcome. Not only is anxiety a challenge in itself but by overcoming other obstacles, it can help to get over anxiety.

Unwanted Education: From a Teens Perspective

School is one of the easiest things in the world; so how come no one takes school seriously? If you stay on top of your work, then all students should have at least a 3.6 GPA by their Sophomore year. Many students, however, would rather fail every class their Freshman year and spend five years in high school instead of graduating on time.

One day, a couple other girls and I were sitting at our lunch table Sophomore year. We were discussing our GPA’s; well, they were while I listened. “I have a 2.6 GPA,” girl number one stated. I sat in shock but kept my mouth shut. “Wow. I have a 3.2 GPA!” commented girl number two. I listened intently waiting for another ditsy girl to say her crappy GPA. “Oh my gosh you guys are so smart! I only have a 2.4!” I sat there with astonishment, having a 3.85 GPA, listening to these people think a 2.4-3.2 GPA is amazing. After one year of high school no student should have below a 3.5. I didn’t dare say my GPA and blow them out of the water. They would have looked at me with wrinkled foreheads as they gave me their dirtiest looks.

The class of 2016. If you were sitting in my school, that is all I would have to say. Half the class can’t even graduate on time because they failed all of their freshman classes and then have the guts to call their other classmates “Try hard” as if an insult to those who can graduate on time. They laid around everyday in class for their first year of high school as if the point of the seven hour school day was a long nap time. They would make fun of the students who got their homework done on time and finished their Freshman year with a solid 3.5 or better. The school day to them is more about talking crap and gossiping than working towards their future.

An international occurrence in all schools are those lazy people who sleep in class. There is always that one person who never turns in anything and fails every test because they sleep their way through school. This one kid in my class will sleep and sleep and sleep! The teacher will wake him up, he will say a bold faced lie,“I have been awake!”, and then quickly shut his eyes once more. The teacher proceeds to teach the rest of the class and ignores the snorefest in the corner. The student wakes up right as everyone is about to leave, turn to the person next to him and say, “What did we learn?” No one ever tells him seeing as we all know he won’t do the work anyways.

Some students sleep during class but only the videos. She will sleep during the video just to wake up at the end to say, “Did we just watch a video?” No, Sweetheart, we just all like staring at the whiteboard as colors flash before our eyes. Don’t worry you didn’t miss half the lesson or anything. I can guarantee it won’t be on a test thats for sure!

Some students don’t understand the point of high school, or maybe they do but just don’t care enough to stay awake. This is the only chance to show colleges what you’re made of, so why would you sit around and pretend it doesn’t matter? Just remember no pickles when you are making my cheeseburger at Wendy’s.

The Key to Happiness

Happiness comes from within. Everyone creates their own happiness from their perspective in life; on the other hand, happiness can be created or demolished by those around you. Happiness can be contagious.

When I was walking through Walmart one day I saw an old lady who had dropped a can of soup that she was trying to put in her cart. I was in a good mood, and it looked like she was having a rough day, so I picked it up and placed it in her cart. She turned to me with a huge wrinkled smile and said to me, “God bless your young heart. I guess there really are good people left in the world! Thank you so much!” I smiled back at her and said, “You’re welcome” and carried on my way. Before I left I saw her once more; however, this time she was smiling. I caught a part of her conversation with another girl, and she was talking about me. She seemed to have a bit of a glow to her now.

Sometimes, though, there aren't people around you to make you smile and to give you happiness. I was home alone a couple weeks ago feeling sad while I worked on my homework; nothing I did turned out right. I started to get frustrated. I took a deep breath and closed my book. I was getting nowhere and knew I needed a break. I grabbed my dog, hooked her to her leash, and walked out the door. With my first step out the door I already began to feel better. The cold wind hit my face which was refreshing from being in the stuffy house all day. We walked down the dirt road to a cliff above the lake; I sat down and listened to the waves crash against the shore. I had become happy once again.

There are times that happiness can be ruined. Just as happiness is contagious, so can other emotions. I was sitting on the bus minding my own business. I was in a great mood: the sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and the wind was blowing; I was as happy as could be. I suddenly got a phone call and looked at the screen. My boyfriend! I was smiling and talking on the phone with him. The conversation was short seeing as he was only calling to say good-morning, so I hung up and began to gaze out the window once more. “Who calls at 7 in the morning?!” my friend said to me. I began to get embarrassed and feel stupid for being so happy. “My boyfriend. He was saying good-morning..” I responded; this time I was talking without a smile on my face. “Well that's dumb.” My happiness faded into the background.

Into the ER

Last year on September 10th, I will never forget that day, I spent that day in the hospital. It was a brisk night and my allergies were bad. On top of my allergies, I was also getting sick. My asthma had been pretty bad for a few days before that but this day was one of the worst.

I sat in a rocking chair, watching television, holding my inhaler firmly in my right hand. Breath in, breath out. I bright the inhaler up to my lips and inhaled the steroid for the 12th time that day, two puffs each time. I was getting light headed but I knew my lungs wouldn’t stay open if i set down my inhaler for more than an hour. An emergency inhaler is only supposed to be used at a maximum of four times in one day, on puff each time. I had used 24 puffs in the last 18 hours. I waited, watching the clock. Another asthma attack. The distance between my attacks were getting shorter and my inhaler was no longer effective. I grasped my inhaler tighter, took a wheezing breath of air, and walked out to the car.

8:45 P.M. my mom and I arrived at the hospital. The crisp air of the hospital helped a little bit as we entered the building. I checked in and went and sat in the waiting room. Trying to stay relaxed, I grabbed a magazine and began flipping through the pages; however, I was only pretending to read it. My mind was racing. I didn’t get a room till 10:55.

I entered my hospital room and found I was sharing it with an infant who was having trouble breathing as well. I got handed a nebulizer and began to breath in the steroid and bronchodilator mix. I felt my chest open up after the first respiration. I have never breathed that well in my entire life. The doctor came back in and asked me how many times I used my inhaler that day. I responded, “12 times, two puffs each time”. His eyes were wide with amazement. I was told I should have come in way earlier. That much steroid being put into my lungs was harmful. I now know to see a doctor if I have to use my inhaler more than four times a day.

Risky Party

It was a Saturday night and my parents were out on a date night. Me and my sister decided to throw a party; this ended up being a bad idea. It was one in the morning, and the party was starting to get pretty wild. There were people everywhere: up the stairs, in the closet, on the porch, and in the yard. I knew the party was out of my control, and I would just have to watch it till it died down. I stood at the top of the stairs, listening to the loud music blaring as people danced throughout the place. I couldn’t possibly count how many people were there. There was a sudden loud crash that came from the kitchen. The music stopped, and I bolted to the kitchen. When I got into the kitchen, I wondered into the middle of the ring the crowd had created. I looked at the faces of everyone and then moved my gaze to the floor. It was broken glass. My eyes went wide when I realized it was my moms favorite vase. I stared at it for about 10 minutes straight; I would have stared longer but a bright light swept through the kitchen window. It was my parents headlights and I was caught like a deer in the road. My sister came up behind me, glaring at me. I started to sweat.

My sister grabbed me by the shoulders and pushed me out the back door. She warned me to take a deep breath and to calm down. She began pulling me to the shed outside and put me inside. Her idea was to hide and pretend we didn’t know about the party like we were never home. If mom asked, I was told to tell her that my sister and I had gone to spend the night at our cousins house. I was then supposed to continue to lie and say that the school found out we weren’t home and used our house as their party location. She had convinced me.

We hid in the shed, listening to everyone exit the party. The loud rumble of my dads voice echoed through the neighborhood. I began to shook but tried to stay quiet.

When the attention turned to the front of the house, my sister and I snuck out of the shed and tried to sneak out of the yard. The crunch of leaves, however, blew our cover. It was time for me to step forward. My mom came up behind me, crying. I was thrown off by her lack of anger. “I’m so glad you are ok! These teenager broke into the house!” her voice quaked. I look of curiosity rolled over my face, but I stayed quiet. My sister spoke up before my mom could continue her thoughts. “They broke your vase mom!” I looked at my sister and she winked at me. Now I understood. Another lie to cover it all up. My mom didn’t seem to care however. She was just happy we were safe.