18 posts tagged “stories”
I was on the bus looking at the frozen lake next to my school when I thought up of this. It seems to match the whole winter feel. Listened to Bon Iver the entire time I wrote this. Enjoy!
She sat on their snow bank, her breath coming out in small white puffs, her cheeks flushed, gazing out across the white of the frozen lake. Why’d she have to pick this place of all places? She tilted her head, up at the dead branches, coated in a layer of ice, and remembered back to the countless forts and snowmen and castles and faraway lands she’d made with Em. They’d been best friends since forever ago; she couldn’t even remember the first time they’d met. They could’ve been best friends since they were first conceived for all she knew. She let out a sigh and watched as her breath took form and dissipated into the chill.
And now she had to tell her the truth. I mean, that’s the least she owed her, after everything. Even now, on the brink of revelation, her guilt blackened her insides, spreading its snake-like tendrils throughout her conscience until she couldn’t keep it back any longer. It threatened to consume her, it tainted their relationship. She’d thought that perhaps, if she forgot about it, or pretended that she hadn’t done what she did in the way she did it, it would be alright, and she could spare Em the inevitable pain. In a way, it was out of selfishness that finally made it come down to this.
She heard the crunching of snow come up behind her, and Em sitting down next to her.
“Hey Em.”
“Hey!” Em smiled back at her, it stretched across her face, her eyes creasing at the corners. The same as when we were five, except with more crinkles.
“Don’t you remember when we were playing ‘Rescue the Princess’?”
She nodded, unsmiling, “Yeah, I do.”
Em continued, “And you were the princess, you always were, and you were hiding in the snow bank for me to save you. And then the snow bank caved in on you?”
She shivered a little. Yes, she certainly remembered that.
“Oh man, and I was digging away at the snow as fast as I could…” Em trailed off.
She’d panicked. One moment she could see Em in her tin helmet and shield buckled over her bulky down jacket toddling up the little hill, killing monsters with her wooden sword. And the next, complete black, darkness wherever she looked. She couldn’t scream. She sat frozen, the walls of her prison crumbling down into powdery snow, burying her within. And then suddenly, she picked up a faint sound.
“I’m coming to save you! Don’t be scared!”
Little by little, a pair of small pink ski gloves dug away the darkness and light finally broke through. “Take my hand!” Both gloves reached out to her. She just looked at them, fingers outstretched. They took hold of her and pulled her out into the white light. Em’s face was red, her chest was heaving. “What’s wrong with you?! Why didn’t you take my hand?”
She didn’t know why. She stared back at Em, unmoving. Em threw her arms around her and squeezed tight and it felt warm, it felt like she would never let go. And she hugged her back.
“So why’d did you ask me to meet you here?”
She looked down at the footprints her boots had made.
“I slept with James.”
Em looked at her, disbelieving.
“It started a couple months ago.” She waited. Nothing from Em. She finally looked up, to see tears threatening to overflow Em’s eyes.
“Are…are you still…?”
She could only nod, the pain she had wrought, with those few sentences, constricted Em’s expression, showing itself all on her face for all to see. She sat there, waiting for something, waiting for anything, if not from Em, then from some karmic power. She shut her eyes expectantly, hoping that whatever was picked for her, it would be swift and painless. She couldn’t speak anymore; her words seemed to have escaped her, with the mist from her breath, stolen away by the icy fingers of winter.
She stood up, it was time to leave. She didn’t have it in her to look at one of the people she loved the most.
Then suddenly, a push from behind, “I can’t believe you would do this to me!” Shocked, she turned towards Em, her face now contorted in anger. She scrabbled to regain her foothold on the icy surface of the lake. Em’s lips trembled. “Doesn’t our friendship matter at all to you?!” She stood there and took the blast, watching Em from the other side of the lakeshore line, only a few feet apart. Em’s body shook with restrained emotion. She waited for more.
Em shot her a last glance. It was different than what she expected. It wasn’t anger, fury, confusion, frustration, hatred. There was sadness, a deep sorrow, in Em’s eyes.
“I never want to see you again.” Em turned away.
And then she heard a crack. She looked down. A large crack lay beneath her feet, and then another, then another, sprouting from the root, they rapidly multiplied until the ice beneath her was completely riddled. She looked up towards Em, towards her slowly receding back, and then she plunged through.
She opened her eyes. The water around her was dark, black. She looked up, to see if there was still some ice she could grab onto. Nothing. Her heavy overcoat dragged her towards the bottom. She struggled for a bit, trying to stay close to the surface, bubbles expelling from her mouth, blinding her. Wait, wasn’t this what she was waiting for? Karma. Karma bites her in the ass again. For the last time. Alright, you have the last laugh. She stopped swimming, her limbs floating weightlessly, while the rest of her slowly sank downwards, deeper and deeper. She closed her eyes, and relaxed.
Suddenly she heard something faint. A garbled yell.
“I’m coming to save you!”
Don’t be scared. She mouthed to herself. Ironic. I guess I don’t get to see a light at the end of the tunnel. Whoever said that was an idiot. There was no hope, no final happiness, relief. Instead she was getting flashbacks of the most traumatic moments in her life. And it was still black as far as she could tell. She couldn’t feel any pain; at least they were right about that.
And then her whole body was on fire. It felt like she was being burned alive. Pinpricks of pain in every single atom of her skin. She opened her eyes in shock.
Em leaned over her, rubbing her sides with her jacket. “Please don’t die, please don’t die, please don’t die.” Em’s eyes were squeezed shut, tears struggling to escape.
She looked up at her and moved her mouth.
“Em, Em, I’m alive.”
Em’s eyes opened wide, glossy. And then she smiled, her face-stretching crinkly-eyed smile. She sat up a little and they stared at each other’s tear-stained faces.
And then they laughed, long and hard, Em squeezing the life out of her, warming her.
And she smiled back, hugging her back with all her being.
friends are people who still make time to hang out with you, even after not talking to you or communicating with you for 4 months. and still get along with you like old times.
friends are people who still feel comfortable enough to spill out everything they've been stressed out about without hesitation
friends are people who come out just to see you, even if its only for half an hour
i feel good, knowing that i have friends like these.
thanks for making time for me, despite the fact that i only had a few days here, and making them enjoyable.
it gives me security, knowing that i have all of you here. ties that still hold me here and give me a reason to look forward to coming back.
"Don't change too much." Amanda told me as she hugged me good-bye.
I considered it for a second, and then dismissed it. I couldn't tell her then. I would wait until she realized it herself.
Change is inevitable for everyone. Its a matter of if we still like each other after we change that determines everything. Instead, I gave them all a last wave good bye, and a "I'll see you in spring!" as I pulled out of the parking lot and sped home.
I switched on the clicker as we reached the last intersection before her street.
"You know, I really needed this."
I nodded. "I really needed this too."
My dad scooped the rest of the filet mignon cubes out of the skillet and set the plate on the table. It was only my second or third dinner eating at home since I've come back, and already I'd fallen back into routine. I set the table, my mom dipped some crab into the melted butter as she watched a rerun of some B movie. My dad giving me some "life advice", my mom chipping in, my sister looking bored yet slightly interested, me nodding my head in understanding. I felt as if I was still living with them, and not living thousands of miles away. We all pitched in, washing the dishes, the table.
It was the household daily monotonous regimen, just switch up what was being served that day, repetitive, normal.
I forgot just how much I missed it.
so i went to chinatown on sunday while i was downtown doing some major christmas shopping.
i was walking down the central street and i hear a rattling of sticks. i turn to look and i see an old man sitting stooped on a stool shaking a bamboo cup of wood sticks. a cardboard box sign sat propped up in front of him. "Chinese face and hand reading. 50 years of experience". i stopped and approached him. he looked up and smiled, cataracts making his eyes a dull blue. "What do you do?" he stopped shaking the cup. "I tell your future, i learned from my father and my grandfather and my great grandfather, i'm very experience." I was curious, really curious now. i hear about them all the time, chinese fortune telling, and heard of people who consult fortune tellers all the time, but this is the first time i have ever been able to do it. i hesitated. my future, all told to me, true or not, i would know it and i would always remember it and it would always hang over my head. alright, if the price he's asking is within the amount of money i have in my wallet, i'll have a go. "How much is it?" "$20".
tough luck old man. "Thank you very much" I nodded politely to him and left.
so after 18 years of living in the suburbs of one of the biggest cities in the entire world, i've finally explored it on my own.
after waiting a couple hours at the canadian embassy to get my study permit, me and my sister just explored and went around and saw a bunch of things after my dad took us out to lunch.
bought the sweetest frkn strawberries ever, sat in front of the LA public library with a bunch of smoking gangster teenager mexicans and listened to this middle aged red head woman play some bass clarinet type of thing while playing beats on her synth keyboard with her feet. oh and she sang to.
we slept under a huge coral tree thing in the rose garden in the music center for like an hour.
then we sat in the garden in front of the LA public library, listening to a crazy phillipino man/woman yelling at the library building, and a black man hand feeding and talking to about 40 pigeons for about an hour.
oh, and did i mention?
when me and my sister were in the library, two woman came up to me and told me that they were scouting for a casting call for a new NBC show and they asked me how old i was. when i told them i was 18, they said they were looking for 21 year olds for the show.
they said that i looked cute and would be good for the show if i met their age requirement.
so overall, pretty productive if i say so myself :D
so i'm pulling into subway to meet erilyn and sneha for lunch. and i see this perfect spot, right in front of subway. it looked cramped, but i thought to myself, "I can so get in there, my car is small enough." So i pull up and then i have to avoid this huge ass silver suv that parked literally 1 milimeter away from the white dividing parking space line. i'm trying to maneuver around this, when i hear this loud crunching noise. i stop and look. i just hit the rear bumper of the next car to the left of my space, a huge ass black truck. i'm so fkn scared by now, i hurried up and pulled in and got out of the car. the minute i walked into the subway, EVERYONE, and i mean EVERYONE, including these two little 6 year olds were looking at me.
all i could hear was this korean fob mom who was asking the mexican family next to her what happened. and the mexican parents were saying how i missed her car by inches and some shit. they were giving me these looks the whole time and kept muttering under their breathes about me, looking at my car and shit.
i caught the guy who owned the black truck and he looked at it and said it was alright. so he left.
so after i finished eating and i left subway. i pulled the car out and the whole time, that mexican family was watching me, even their 6 year old daughter. i waved at her, when i really felt like flipping off that entire family.
i was so fkn pissed. yah i know i made a mistake, but don't get all fkn nosy and make it an even bigger deal of what i did. its not your fkn business. have some shame. its not like i didn't know what i did wrong or pretended it didn't happened or ran away. i talked to the guy and he said it was alright.
DAMNIT!
i hate this.
and plus, when i told my parents, geez :(
this entire week, its just been feeling like a regular school week with parties in a couple of periods and barely any homework.
so dumb me, it didn't really hit me until 3rd period :D that i was never going to sit with in the same group as marvin and natnael and doreen in math, or go to my next class with eunice.
at the end of 3rd period, pam was getting her yearbook signed by sherman, and the bell rang to leave.
"Alex, you should go if you won't want to be late."
I thought about it for a little bit.
"Nah, I'll just wait, its going to be our last time walking together during passing period." After the words left my mouth, it hit me and Pam too by the looks of it. Her face started to redden, and her eyes got all watery. I smiled.
"Don't cry Pam! If you start crying, I'll start crying!"
"Its that word 'last' that just makes it seem so...final." I just smiled again and nodded. After Sherman finished signing Pam's yearbook, we left. The minute we got a few feet away from the door, the tardy bell rang. I looked at her,"Let's just take our time, it really is going to be the last time we do this."
"Yeah, it is." And then all the way to our classes, we talked like we normally did, about random stuff that happened, or whatever we were thinking about, but this time it was about just not seeing people again, Sarah almost crying at the thought of us not being a "group" together anymore, all that stuff. We got to Pam's class, and I gave her a big hug.
"Pam, we'll see each other on the 16th yah?"
"Yes."
When I pulled away, she was on the verge of tears. I slapped her arm.
"Stop it! I will seriously start crying!" She laughed and we said our good-byes.
The minute I opened the door into Ysursa's class, everyone was like "AAAALLLEEXXXX!!!!" all over the place.
I put my stuff down at my desk, and I looked to where Lisa and Jennifer and Esther were and then I just started to cry. I guess it was building up or something, but i couldn't take it anymore, so I just let a little bit go. Lisa came over to me and saw me crying.
"Oh my gosh Alex! You're crying!!" And she gave me a hug and she started crying too. Jennifer's nose got all red, and Esther had this pained look on her face. I was trying to hide my tears, so I covered my eyes with my hands when they came over and all gave me a group hug. I was so embarrassed, when Jenna saw me she came over too and I told her, "I need a tissue paper, let's go." So we left to go to the girl's bathroom.
"Alex, why are you crying?"
"Because this is seriously one of my most favorite classes and they're all Juniors and I just won't see them again." And Jenna started crying too. Her voiced got all stuffed and I laughed at her.
"You're crying too!"
"Yeah, I know, this is so faggish."
I laughed out loud. "Yes it is."
Even though I'm going to hang out with all these people again, just the thought of me leaving them behind, and not being able to see them for at least 6 months, just made me so sad.
I almost cried again when I read what some people in my French class wrote in my yearbook.
At this rate, I'm going to be sobbing at graduation.
And bawling like a big baby when my friends see me off to Canada.
one of the best feelings in the world:
when i'm sitting at night on sheepskin covered seats, leaning my head against the window, watching the rain drops gather and slide down my windshield, listening to Justin Vernon's voice murmur through the quiet darkness of my car.
others might think its a small thing, but too me, it really means the world. more later too i expect, but i want to get this down before i lose it.
the minute i saw them, my heart filled up.
the entire time i was driving, with them shifting on the floor of my car, i felt warm with anticipation.
i walked, fast, into my house, making sure not to damage them.
i set them down on my counter and peeled back the plastic wrap and took hold of one.
i slowly sat down and took a single bite.
i chewed, gradually, letting the mix of flavors inundate the senses. and i swallowed.
it didn't taste good.
it didn't taste yummy, or sweet, or delicious, or soft.
it didn't taste anything like any of those things.
it tasted of nostalgic memories
it tasted of good times and bad times,
laughter and tears
it tasted of friendship
it tasted of love
today was the day.
for just about everything.
i finally came out with my feelings today. i told ryan everything i felt. geez, i mean, i started crying even before i said a single word. but then after those few halting sentences, it eventually came out in short bursts and long silences. initially, i really didn't know what to do with what ryan told me, but then near the end, it became clear. whatever it was you said or did ryan, it enlightened me. it made me feel significantly better, a weight off my chest. its strange how the words you said weren't really comforting or coddling, but they did the job. and probably did it a whole lot better than if you would have the "pitying" friend. you told me what you thought, and i know i didn't like it at first, i struggled with it and fought with it in my mind, but at the end, they made me realize what the problem was and what i should do about it. i'd like to call it tough love, and ryan, thank you for it. thank you for not telling me what i wanted to hear or what you thought i wanted to hear but what you really thought. and most of all, thank you for listening to me, to what i said and what i didn't say, when we didn't say a word.
thank you for those last words and most of all
thank you for enlightening me.
and thanks for everyone who were there for me.
for the last minute "I can come!" call
the advice
the comfort
the anger
the support
the "call me anytime"s
the "what's wrong?"s
the concern
and the "Alex, I love you"s :D
it may not have seemed to be a big deal but you guys treated it like a big deal because I felt that it was.
and to whomever or whatever caused these things:
meeting and talking to kt at borders (whom i haven't really seen since a couple of months ago)
$4.50 Mrs. Fields box of day old 40 nibblers and 3 huge cookies
making the last copy of Brave New World available
getting admitted into McGill University
some people call it fate, some call it destiny, some call it karma, or maybe a huge jumble of the three, but someone somewhere, something, had my back today.
thank you.
to celebrate "no-more-writing-college-essays", i'll post all my essays up here. because i'm proud of them. hope it doesn't bore you.
otherwise i'll probably not get into college. :D
this is my carnegie mellon supplementary essay.
prompt:
Please submit a one-page, single-spaced essay that explains
why you have chosen your major, department or program. This essay
should include the reasons why you've chosen the major, any goals or
relevant work plans and any other information you would like us to know.
I sat in the back
of my parents’ old station wagon, stuck in a 2 hour long traffic jam on the way
to Downtown Los Angeles. My mom put the
car in park and killed the engine as I heard the wailing of an emergency siren
and saw a big plume of smoke hover in the distance. “I guess we have to just sit and wait.” my
mom sighed and she grabbed a magazine to read.
“Could I look out and see what’s happening mom?” She absentmindedly
nodded and opened the sun roof. I
clambered up to sit on the head rest of the passenger seat and poked my head
out. I saw the car accident, mangled
pieces of car and flame and smoke, but what really caught my attention was the
haze. I couldn’t see the tops of
skyscrapers at all. A thick, sickly grey
layer of smog hid the mountains, the buildings, and the sky from view. “Mom, what is all that stuff in the sky?” She
looked where I pointed. “Oh, that’s smog.”
I had a confused look on my face. “Where does it come from?” My mom
shook her head and replied, “Us.”
A seed had been
planted in my brain that only grew and flourished as awareness of the declining
state of our environment increased. I
didn’t know exactly what I wanted to do when I grew up, but all I knew was that
I wanted to make sure that I did something to help fix it. As an environmental engineer, I will have the
skills to make a positive impact on our environment. Originally, I had wanted to build
environmentally-friendly housing, equipped with solar panels etc. But later my options extended to include
building and designing hybrid/alternative fueled cars and/or working on making
the usage of alternative fuels more mainstream and affordable.
Since I was ten, I have always had an interest in
building things/models. I have built
several models in the past, starting from a couple of model cars to a balsa wood
model airplane. I love to work with my
hands and have some skill in building models.
In the summer of my
freshman year in high school, I took an architecture design class at the Art
Center College of Design in Pasadena, CA.
Over the course of five Saturdays, we designed and built models of house
boats. I decided to design something
other than the typical square house design. So instead, my house had a
cylindrical shape, only a few enclosed rooms and wide open spaces. In the process, I learned some aspects of
house design as well as experience building models.
In my junior year, I took an Architecture Design course at my school for the year. The first project we were assigned was to build a scale model of the inside of a house wall out of balsa wood. I then learned how to use AutoCAD to design a one-story house for a NAWIC (National Association of Women in Construction) design competition. We were given certain requirements to meet, including the implementation of Universal Design throughout our designs. With the floor plans, we then built a scale model of our individual houses for entrance into the Los Angeles County Fair. My house model and design won First Place as well as Best of Class.
I have also done some basic research on alternative fuels and which chemicals lead to the production of greenhouse gases and other harmful pollutants. I know about the new ways in which scientists are trying to store hydrogen to make it more efficient for fuel usage, as well as some of the dramatic climate changes that are being caused by pollution, such as the rapid melting of the polar ice caps and the eventual repercussions it will cause.
Up until now, I have always had an interest in cars and car design, and like to say that I probably know more (at least a little) than the average 17 year old girl. My first dip into car design was in 4th grade, where for a science project, I designed a futuristic flying car, and included all the details (just conceptually!) on how the car hovered/flew up to the passenger safety system.
I want to help
heal the earth, prevent it from getting sicker.
Some people may not believe in what is happening but whether or not it
is happening now or in the next ten years, it will inevitably come if we do not
do anything to stop it. I believe that
we are being given a chance to take action while it may still be able to make a
significant change. My dream is to use
all of the things I have learned and will learn, the things I truly enjoy
doing, to perhaps one day, be able to see clearly that beautiful bright blue
sky above the skyscrapers of Los Angeles.
my MIT essay
prompt: Describe a situation, where at the time, felt like it was the "end of the world". describe the process in which you discovered a postitive out of a negative. (it went something along those lines)
My parents had gone to my pediatrician several times, only to receive the same ambiguous diagnosis of a “weak stomach”, laundry lists of food substitutes and the mantra, “If nothing else works, give her Gatorade and Pedialyte.” But all this achieved nothing. My parents felt helpless, unable to make me strong again. But soon, helplessness developed into frustration and my mother said one day “It’s all in your head. You’re the one who is keeping yourself sick.”
I
had no idea as to what this meant. Was
she blaming me for making myself sick?
The all too familiar sourness of
bile rose up my throat. I systematically
sprinted into the bathroom and kneeled over the toilet bowl, hands braced
against the edges. My weak body retched,
struggling to force everything up and out. I slowly rose, blotted tears of
exertion from the corners of my eyes, and wiped a shaky hand against my
mouth. My face was stark white, my eyes
bloodshot, my lips chalky. But, my cheeks
still had that little puff of baby fat and an almost invisible tint of pink,
the last remnants of an energetic and rambunctious little kid.
I began to take a few wobbly
steps towards the door. My knees buckled
beneath me. My head was spinning,
everything around me distorted in fuzzy blurs and shapes. And then I fell.
I could just stay there,
forever, laying flat, my burning cheeks against the soothing cold hardness of
bathroom tiles. I closed my eyes,
letting the dark fall. No more pain, no
more looks of pity, no more tears. All
gone.
But something in the back of my
mind screamed “NO!”
I had an entire life laid out
ahead of me. I had to go back and play
tetherball with my best friends. I had
to go back and keep my stuffed animals company.
I had to go back and pick on my sister.
I had to go back
My eyes shot open, blinking the black
away. I couldn’t give up. I would fight it, whatever monster that was
taking hold of my life. It didn’t matter
what it was. All I knew was that I would
beat it. I would fight it with every
ounce of my remaining strength, with all I had left, even if all I had left was
my will to live. And then I realized
that it was my lack of will that kept
me frail and exhausted. I had been
satisfied to just walk through the haze, the continuous cycle of sleep, eat, throw
up, repeat.
But, no more.
I clenched my teeth as I pushed
against the cold hardness of the bathroom tiles and gripped the edge of the
sink, lifting myself. I took a few baby
steps, pushed the door open and fell straight into my mother’s arms. No words were spoken. A simple look of anguish on her face was
enough for me to try to rise.
She helped me stand and then let
go.
prompt 1: Describe the world you come from — for example, your family, community or school — and tell us how your world has shaped your dreams and aspirations.
I looked down at my progress
report, my hands trembling in outrage.
There was a big bold-lettered F right next to “Penmanship”. Beside it in a miniscule scrawl were the
words “needs improvement”. I was
furious, no, I was BEYOND furious. I was inarguably the best student in the
class! And my teacher had dared to blemish my perfect record with…THIS?! For
some meaningless “subject”, that didn’t require an ounce of thought?
I dutifully showed it to my
mom. Her eyebrows rose as she scanned
the yellow paper. My jaw jutted out in
defiance as I tried to argue my teacher’s reasoning to her. “I don’t even write that badly!! I mean, it
can’t be worse than anyone else’s!” I
looked into her eyes, seeking pity and condolence for this grade that I didn’t
deserve. But I only found a hard,
narrowed glance that flickered towards me.
"If this is what the teacher
gave you, this is the grade you deserve.”
My mouth opened in defense but snapped shut as she walked away. After an entire night of sobbing, I resolved
to prove them all wrong. I would wipe
those disappointed looks off their faces no matter what.
The last day of school, my
friends were bragging about how their parents were going to buy them Gameboys for
getting good grades. Why didn’t my
parents do that? I had straight As all my kid life and they had never once
rewarded me, except for those few “Good jobs” that I had stopped hearing once I
hit second grade.
I asked them during dinner. My parents replied, “We’re not the ones
getting those grades. You are. Are you getting them for us?” I slowly shook my head. “We don’t need to
motivate you to be anything. If you can’t
be self-motivated, you don’t deserve it.”
I never complained about it and they never asked for my grades again.
After the “F” incident, I worked
on my writing until at year’s end; I sat and watched my teacher with pride as
he wrote a big bold-lettered A on my report card next to that meaningless title,
“Penmanship.” My parents only saw my
grades when I felt like showing them, just to let them know that I was happy with
them.
Those lessons made me do more
than just run fast enough to beat the others.
They made me race to be first at the finish. They made me want to do the best I could, be
the best I could at whatever I want to do, whatever I feel like doing, at
anything and everything. From my school
work to my P.E. badminton team, I strive, I endure, I succeed.
My mom had told my teacher to
give me that fateful “F”.
i used this prompt for my carnegie mellon and dartmouth essays too.
When I tell people that I’ve been
in several fist fights, their eyes widen in disbelief. “You?! Beating people up?!“ I don’t wait for their imaginations to fill in
the blanks. I tell them everything.
John
had just been transferred into my Chinese class. He was big, dumb, rarely spoke, sat in the
back and minded his own business, until that one fateful day.
Students
were doing homework when there was a shout and a scuffle. Everyone turned. Kevin’s brows were furrowed in anger, eyes
filled with tears, a finger pointed accusingly at John. John held shreds of Kevin’s homework and scattered
them. I felt something unfamiliar rise up,
struggling for release, but didn’t let go.
The teacher ran out of the room.
John
looked menacing, a bull ready to charge, fists clenched. Suddenly, he threw the table at Kevin. Kevin’s arm became pinned underneath. They all were nothing to John, in strength
and size. It hit me then that he
wouldn’t stop.
I stalked
to the front and faced him. “How could
you hurt people like that?!” My hands shook, my breathing came out uneven, my
cheeks were flushed. “I won’t let
you. Come and face me! They’re all afraid,
but I’m not. I will TAKE YOU ON!” I curled my hands into fists and raised them,
like I’d seen in numerous kung fu movies.
It was a declaration, a challenge.
A silence stole upon the room, eyes shifting between us. His nails were digging into his palms and he
bared his teeth at me in an ugly grimace.
I was ready, oh, I was so ready for this. My mind raced, an uppercut or a one-two jab?
Suddenly,
I was half-blind and my left eye was burning with pain. My good eye darted around and found John’s
face, his lips curled into a triumphant smirk.
I stood, shocked, not knowing what had happened. Someone’s voice pierced through my confusion.
“He punched out your contact.” She picked it up and offered it to me.
I felt ashamed and hurt. The punch didn’t just knock out my contact;
it hurt my ego, my pride. I had
pitifully lost, a one hit K.O. and I hadn’t even pulled a single punch. My shoulders sagged and I looked down to hide
the tears welling up, threatening to spill over in front of everyone watching
me. And then, the same hand touched my
arm. I looked up, into her face. “You
were… awesome!” Her face, full of
amazement, broke into a huge grin and then the silence was broken. I could hear them congratulating me, praising
me, thanking me. I felt like they were
raising me above their heads and parading me around, cheering and
screaming.
I had never felt anything like
it; nothing I had felt before could ever compare. It wasn’t the compliments or the admiration
that made me feel like it had all been worth it. It was the gratitude, the appreciation that
my classmates had for me, for what I did.
I stood up for them, when no one else could, with nothing but my own two
hands. I had done something, something
no one expected from me, to fight against what was wrong.
On the outside, I am what seems
to be the average Chinese girl. I do
happen to fall into the many stereotypes one would think of first. I have black hair, almond-shaped eyes and a
round nose. I focus more on my school
work and don’t participate in sports. But what they don’t see shocks them,
belies the calm exterior that does not contain or restrain, but only hides my
true self.
bits and pieces of my life for u.
