T o T
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Aiden's POV
(Before you read: this is one of my parts to the whole short story. I worked alongside Cat, T, Kim, and Standford. :D)
The funeral day was sad. People were crying. Rainy weather. Despite all of this, we were surrounded by a beautiful scenery. Green hills paved their way for miles. Trees took their stance in different locations. Uncle would have like to be buried in a place like this. Surrounding me were people all wearing black. Men in suits. Women in dresses. No children though. They always mess with the corpse. Those tiny little brats! Don't they know how to show respect?
Beside the casket stood Ashton. He cried a lot. I mean a lot. He was the closest to him so I can see why. But man! Why did he have to be so clumsy? He slipped on a rock, almost knocking over uncle’s casket. It’s a good thing Jungsoon was right behind him to catch him before he fell.
Is it wrong to be distracted at a funeral oration? Oh well. I could not help it. I am weak when it comes to Rei. He was comforting Ashton through his tears. He is a good friend. Are they more than friends? No. I doubt it. He would be more affectionate in a situation like this. Unless…. No! I can’t think that way? Ah! This man. Something about him makes me crazy. But what is it? My heart aches to find out.
That settles it. After the funeral oration, I have to get to know him.
(Two hours pass by.)
Ahhhiiisssshh!!! That wait was unbearable! I miss you uncle, but that man kept talking. My feet were tired on the first hour. Still I had to keep my composure. I am one of his relatives after all.
Now its time for the confrontation. Ah! Why am I so nervous? This does not happen. Not to me, yet here I am as nervous as a man could ever be. I am not shaking though, so that’s good. Wow. Who knew walking towards him would be so hard. The air is thicker. Yet, I feel lucky to finally be this close to him.
I offered my hand he shook it. Ashton had a ‘what the f***’ expression on his face. I guess I should stop welcoming new people to the house. Hey wait a minute. He shouldn’t have come in and taken my closet in the first place! I asked if I could have some time alone with Rei. Ashton didn’t mind. He was also pulled away by Preston and Jungsoon.
What did I get myself into. Here we are on a bench. The walk here was silent and awkward. Now that I’m here I don’t know what’s next. Do I put my arm around him. Naw. I would be creeped out if someone did that to me.
Here goes nothing.
“Rei. I am going to be straightforward with this. Do you like me?”
“Yes, you seem like you’re a good friend to Jungsoon, despite your personality.”
So I am just a friend in his eyes.
“But…”
But what!
“I don’t think that’s the real reason why you bought me here.”
“You’re right.” I responded. “The truth is that when I am around you, my head goes crazy. I feel suffocated by my emotions. I don’t know how to fight it. I am falling for you and I want to know if you feel the same way about me.”
“Aiden, you are an attractive guy, but I cannot feel the same way about you. I don’t know you that well yet.”
“Yet?… Does that mean you’re willing to give me a chance?”
“Yes.”
I turned to look at him. He was blushing. He’s so adorable when he blushes. I couldn’t resist it, I had to hug him. I got closer to him and reached out to hug him from behind, but he turned around.
Oh s***! I’m this close to him!
His face is even cuter close up. He looks so nervous. The hug is not helping him. What do I do? Hmmm. What would the Titanic guy do?
I leaned in to kiss him.
He froze, but didn’t struggle against my actions. Did he want me to kiss him? Only one way to find out.
His lips were soft.
His breath was warm.
He was perfect.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
My Grandmother’s Death
During the four years of high school, I have encountered and resolved different issues. The hardest situation I have dealt with would have to be to keep a strong composure when one of my loved ones died. It was in the tenth grade when I experienced this first hand with the death of my grandmother, Florencia. Over the next few days her death had a strong impact on me.
I remember the night when I received the tragic news. I heard a big fuss coming from my mother’s room. When I went in there to check what had happened, I saw my mother crying. I was confused of why she would be in tears, until I saw that the phone was next to her. My sister had to explain why my mother was crying to me because I could not hear her voice through her muffled voice. When my sister told me my grandmother was dead I was in shock. It took me a couple of minutes to respond because I felt empty hearing those words "she’s dead." I didn’t cry that night, because my whole state of mind could not accept that she was dead.
The next day at school, I began to think of the times I spent with my grandmother. I remembered the time when I first saw her in 2004. She was close to death back then, but she managed to smile through the pain. I remembered the pastries she made whenever my siblings and I went to her house. I remembered the talks she and I used to have, and how she would give me advice without asking. All these thoughts were only memories; the reality now was that she was gone. The though of her being gone was unbearable; I cried that day at school.
Throughout that whole day, it was impossible for me to get my grandmother’s essence out of my mind. I knew I had to move on, so I had a talk with my mother that night. We stated the conversation in an awkward manner, since we both knew the conversation was going to be about my grandmother’s death. As a mother, she gives the best advice, and to this day I remember the lesson she taught me. "Life does not rest, it moves on with or without a person and it is important you learn this now because someday I will leave you too." After she said this line, we both began to cry, thus releasing our grief. Then she hugged me assuring that although she was going to die, she is still going to be my mother.
From that day forward, I became aware of the fact that everyone has to die sooner or later, which is why death is a fate that should be accepted as living being. To this day, I still miss my grandmother. The only difference now is that I know that I will have to face that same fate as well.
I remember the night when I received the tragic news. I heard a big fuss coming from my mother’s room. When I went in there to check what had happened, I saw my mother crying. I was confused of why she would be in tears, until I saw that the phone was next to her. My sister had to explain why my mother was crying to me because I could not hear her voice through her muffled voice. When my sister told me my grandmother was dead I was in shock. It took me a couple of minutes to respond because I felt empty hearing those words "she’s dead." I didn’t cry that night, because my whole state of mind could not accept that she was dead.
The next day at school, I began to think of the times I spent with my grandmother. I remembered the time when I first saw her in 2004. She was close to death back then, but she managed to smile through the pain. I remembered the pastries she made whenever my siblings and I went to her house. I remembered the talks she and I used to have, and how she would give me advice without asking. All these thoughts were only memories; the reality now was that she was gone. The though of her being gone was unbearable; I cried that day at school.
Throughout that whole day, it was impossible for me to get my grandmother’s essence out of my mind. I knew I had to move on, so I had a talk with my mother that night. We stated the conversation in an awkward manner, since we both knew the conversation was going to be about my grandmother’s death. As a mother, she gives the best advice, and to this day I remember the lesson she taught me. "Life does not rest, it moves on with or without a person and it is important you learn this now because someday I will leave you too." After she said this line, we both began to cry, thus releasing our grief. Then she hugged me assuring that although she was going to die, she is still going to be my mother.
From that day forward, I became aware of the fact that everyone has to die sooner or later, which is why death is a fate that should be accepted as living being. To this day, I still miss my grandmother. The only difference now is that I know that I will have to face that same fate as well.
Judged by my cover
It was a sunny weekend, perfect weather to visit distant relative. Lancaster, the town populated by suburbia. How it terrifies me! I loathe walking in its streets at night. So many buildings look alike? Where do I go? This house looks like my cousins, but is this it? Ah, but I have my younger cousin, Joel, to guide me. Well now off to the story. The event occurred during the day at a local mall in Lancaster. To this day, I cannot remember its name. Such a calm place, with a few inconsiderate civilians. How they judge you? Their eyes judge by color, not by intention. It was during this event that I realized how racist stereotypes still prevail.
Saturday, a day filled with sun and random behaviors. My mother decided to visit the relatives who longed to see our presence, and here we are, the sixth day of a week’s stay at my aunt’s house. Her name is Rebecca and she has an older daughter, a younger son, and a husband. This Saturday, my cousin Rebecca ,nicknamed Cuty, and my cousin Joel decided to introduce us to the local mall. How I loathe malls! Too much commercialism is bound to be wrong, however the food is always the exception. I love the variety of food offered in such a large enclosed space. That morning, my mother, my siblings, my cousins, and I got ready. I wore a typical jean, sweater, shirt combo. Everyone else was casual as well, excluding my cousin, who had a breezy flowery dress. We all boarded the car and off we went into a journey I shall never forget.
We arrived at the mall, and wow, it was huge! I did not know what to do. I was intimidated, yet astonished. Being the individual that I am, my mind went straight to the food options. There was only one problem, my cousin, Cuty, locked the keys in the car. This event soon crushed my dreams of eating a variety of food available. All the fragrant aromas were teasing me as we all walked inside the mall trying to find a security guard who could open the car door. Our failure to find one led to frustration. In an act of desperation, Cuty called her father to bring supplies to open the car. He came fast, with a coat hanger and a wooden stick, but unfortunately he had to leave in order to get to work on time.
There we were, stranded in the middle of a parking lot and our only chances of getting home were a stick, a coat hanger, bobbin pins from my sister, and one of my bracelets. My mother amazed us with her strength. To this day I am amazed on how easily she was able to bend that coat hanger into a usable hook. The hook was connected to the wooden stick through bent bobbin pins and the remains of my necklace. It was pretty stable. Now our plan was to get the keys by using the hook. We were lucky, since my cousin forgot to close the back window of the car. As we were fetching the keys out of the car I began to notice that the pedestrians were watching.
I began to feel weird. I did not know why we were receiving such glances. I began observing those who passed and wondered why they were looking at us as if we were doing something wrong. I walked closer to the front of the car, to observe these individuals, and saw two Caucasian women, an old one and a slightly younger one. I overheard one comment “It’s a shame they are doing this in a public place.” I was wondering why she would say that. I was 14, but I was trying to piece the puzzle of her words. She continued by lecturing the other one, until she saw that I was watching her. She stopped talking, and they both began to walk quickly into the mall. I was still so confused. What did she mean by that phrase?
It took me a couple of minutes to figure it out. By “they” she meant us and by “doing this in a public place” she meant we were trying to steal the car. I knew that was what she meant, since I was with my family. I was disgusted by her words, why did she call us “they”? Did she really think we were not capable of affording the car that belongs to my cousin? I had so many questions that needed to be answered. I felt anger, but I decided to keep it in, since she was but a foolish old woman. Before we got into the car, I shared the event with my sister, who reacted to the words violently. I had to calm her down, but as we drove off I realized I have a long journey ahead of me.
Saturday, a day filled with sun and random behaviors. My mother decided to visit the relatives who longed to see our presence, and here we are, the sixth day of a week’s stay at my aunt’s house. Her name is Rebecca and she has an older daughter, a younger son, and a husband. This Saturday, my cousin Rebecca ,nicknamed Cuty, and my cousin Joel decided to introduce us to the local mall. How I loathe malls! Too much commercialism is bound to be wrong, however the food is always the exception. I love the variety of food offered in such a large enclosed space. That morning, my mother, my siblings, my cousins, and I got ready. I wore a typical jean, sweater, shirt combo. Everyone else was casual as well, excluding my cousin, who had a breezy flowery dress. We all boarded the car and off we went into a journey I shall never forget.
We arrived at the mall, and wow, it was huge! I did not know what to do. I was intimidated, yet astonished. Being the individual that I am, my mind went straight to the food options. There was only one problem, my cousin, Cuty, locked the keys in the car. This event soon crushed my dreams of eating a variety of food available. All the fragrant aromas were teasing me as we all walked inside the mall trying to find a security guard who could open the car door. Our failure to find one led to frustration. In an act of desperation, Cuty called her father to bring supplies to open the car. He came fast, with a coat hanger and a wooden stick, but unfortunately he had to leave in order to get to work on time.
There we were, stranded in the middle of a parking lot and our only chances of getting home were a stick, a coat hanger, bobbin pins from my sister, and one of my bracelets. My mother amazed us with her strength. To this day I am amazed on how easily she was able to bend that coat hanger into a usable hook. The hook was connected to the wooden stick through bent bobbin pins and the remains of my necklace. It was pretty stable. Now our plan was to get the keys by using the hook. We were lucky, since my cousin forgot to close the back window of the car. As we were fetching the keys out of the car I began to notice that the pedestrians were watching.
I began to feel weird. I did not know why we were receiving such glances. I began observing those who passed and wondered why they were looking at us as if we were doing something wrong. I walked closer to the front of the car, to observe these individuals, and saw two Caucasian women, an old one and a slightly younger one. I overheard one comment “It’s a shame they are doing this in a public place.” I was wondering why she would say that. I was 14, but I was trying to piece the puzzle of her words. She continued by lecturing the other one, until she saw that I was watching her. She stopped talking, and they both began to walk quickly into the mall. I was still so confused. What did she mean by that phrase?
It took me a couple of minutes to figure it out. By “they” she meant us and by “doing this in a public place” she meant we were trying to steal the car. I knew that was what she meant, since I was with my family. I was disgusted by her words, why did she call us “they”? Did she really think we were not capable of affording the car that belongs to my cousin? I had so many questions that needed to be answered. I felt anger, but I decided to keep it in, since she was but a foolish old woman. Before we got into the car, I shared the event with my sister, who reacted to the words violently. I had to calm her down, but as we drove off I realized I have a long journey ahead of me.
Thanksgiving
As humans, one is bound to have a feeling of disappointment at one point in their lifetime. The questions is, towards whom? Ah, even I, as an individual who easily forgives, have my limits. What is this limit? If one fails to fulfill a scheduled time. This is only due to one of my pet peeves - patience. As of now, I have 17 years of existence, and yet the phrase “patience is a virtue” does not seem to stick. That being said, my experience with disappointment dealt with impatience by waiting for the arrival of my parents and brother for last year’s Thanksgiving dinner.
Thanksgiving, the holiday to give thanks to be with the ones you love and enjoying each other company. Not to mention the fact that by the end of the day, people are tired from stuffing their faces with all the delicious food. The three days of Thanksgiving are truly the best of the year, with days worth of nonstop food. However, every family has their pre-Thanksgiving tradition. Some enjoy sports, some plot out food plans in a military-like manner. My family watches our family members play baseball, which end up in verbal arguments against the referee. Last year, my sister and I grew bored of the baseball games because it truly is the same thing each year. Our boredom led to the decision in staying home to cook the dinner.
The meal took at least 8 hours to cook. I was only an assistant to my sister, who already had decided what the courses would be days ahead. I was shocked by how much I had to do - slicing vegetables, washing dishes, setting up pans, and so on. By the end of the meal’s preparation, I was tired. I glared at the food in frustration that it took longer than I thought it should. I forgave it, a few minutes later. Hunger is my weakness. I took my portion of the piping hot meal, composed of turkey, stuffing, pies, and more. By the end of the meal, I was proud that I was able to take part in this wonderful creation.
Hours passed by. I managed to eat a second portion of the meal, and yet my parents and brother had not arrived. I starred at the clock for hours, wondering when they would come. They said they would come as soon as the game was over, which is usually at 5:00 p.m. My sister is less patient being in comparison to me, so she called my aunt on her cell phone. When my aunt passed the phone to my mother, she was frustrated and in a harsh tone she said, “Why aren’t you guys her yet?!?!?!” I was anxiously waiting for the response on the other side, next to my sister. I didn’t get to hear because my sister hung up the phone too quick. What I understood was that my parents and brother decided to go to an after game party in San Bernardino after the game. I was disappointed. Out of all individuals, I felt betrayed my own family. All those hours in the kitchen, all that work for nothing. It was a huge gaping hole into anger, frustration, and, above all, disappointment.
People gave up our hopes too easily. One would expect Thanksgiving the day when people stay in the houses and spent time with family. This assumption is truly incorrect, as individuals, who knew my mother, kept knocking at the door every hour or so. The person who gave us a huge glimpse of false hope was my uncle. He is living with us only temporarily, but as soon as he opened the door with his keys our eyes sparkled. I remember the door knob turning in slow motion, but when I ran to see who it was I was disappointed once more. This time disappointment came in the form of false hope. We prepared his plate, since he was the first individual to come. Oh but his meal did not stop there. We stuffed him until he could not be stuffed anymore. He truly enjoyed the meal, and we were happy that at least someone was able to appreciate our hard labor.
My mother and brother did not show up until the next day. Their excuse was because my father was not in the mood for driving. In fact, they had to hitch a ride with some relatives in order to get back that same day. We were appalled, but forgave them nonetheless, because like us, they too were victims. Now when my father showed up the next day, we did not serve him his plate, since he did not bother to come home the previous day. Why? His brother, along with his wife, decided to visit. I should have known this was coming. My disappointment turned into annoyance aimed towards relatives that I did not want to see.
Thanksgiving, the holiday to give thanks to be with the ones you love and enjoying each other company. Not to mention the fact that by the end of the day, people are tired from stuffing their faces with all the delicious food. The three days of Thanksgiving are truly the best of the year, with days worth of nonstop food. However, every family has their pre-Thanksgiving tradition. Some enjoy sports, some plot out food plans in a military-like manner. My family watches our family members play baseball, which end up in verbal arguments against the referee. Last year, my sister and I grew bored of the baseball games because it truly is the same thing each year. Our boredom led to the decision in staying home to cook the dinner.
The meal took at least 8 hours to cook. I was only an assistant to my sister, who already had decided what the courses would be days ahead. I was shocked by how much I had to do - slicing vegetables, washing dishes, setting up pans, and so on. By the end of the meal’s preparation, I was tired. I glared at the food in frustration that it took longer than I thought it should. I forgave it, a few minutes later. Hunger is my weakness. I took my portion of the piping hot meal, composed of turkey, stuffing, pies, and more. By the end of the meal, I was proud that I was able to take part in this wonderful creation.
Hours passed by. I managed to eat a second portion of the meal, and yet my parents and brother had not arrived. I starred at the clock for hours, wondering when they would come. They said they would come as soon as the game was over, which is usually at 5:00 p.m. My sister is less patient being in comparison to me, so she called my aunt on her cell phone. When my aunt passed the phone to my mother, she was frustrated and in a harsh tone she said, “Why aren’t you guys her yet?!?!?!” I was anxiously waiting for the response on the other side, next to my sister. I didn’t get to hear because my sister hung up the phone too quick. What I understood was that my parents and brother decided to go to an after game party in San Bernardino after the game. I was disappointed. Out of all individuals, I felt betrayed my own family. All those hours in the kitchen, all that work for nothing. It was a huge gaping hole into anger, frustration, and, above all, disappointment.
People gave up our hopes too easily. One would expect Thanksgiving the day when people stay in the houses and spent time with family. This assumption is truly incorrect, as individuals, who knew my mother, kept knocking at the door every hour or so. The person who gave us a huge glimpse of false hope was my uncle. He is living with us only temporarily, but as soon as he opened the door with his keys our eyes sparkled. I remember the door knob turning in slow motion, but when I ran to see who it was I was disappointed once more. This time disappointment came in the form of false hope. We prepared his plate, since he was the first individual to come. Oh but his meal did not stop there. We stuffed him until he could not be stuffed anymore. He truly enjoyed the meal, and we were happy that at least someone was able to appreciate our hard labor.
My mother and brother did not show up until the next day. Their excuse was because my father was not in the mood for driving. In fact, they had to hitch a ride with some relatives in order to get back that same day. We were appalled, but forgave them nonetheless, because like us, they too were victims. Now when my father showed up the next day, we did not serve him his plate, since he did not bother to come home the previous day. Why? His brother, along with his wife, decided to visit. I should have known this was coming. My disappointment turned into annoyance aimed towards relatives that I did not want to see.
The Front of My Apartment Complex
It’s a typical after school day. A beautiful sunny day accompanied by a cool breeze, which cools off the sun’s harsh rays. I just said good-byes to my friends at the school bus stop, and now I am on a stroll towards home. Ahead of me I see two rows, both a mixture of houses, apartments, and greenery in random locations. So many houses and apartments with fences! I feel like a trespasser. Now I do my usual right turn, and walk on the curved path that "looks" smaller. My, how do I deceive my mind into believing I’m getting home faster?
I have finally reached the end of this path. The challenge is crossing the street. As usual, there is a neighbor who drives through the curved street without paying attention to the person crossing the street. As the car passes through the one-way street, it leaves a faint petroleum stench behind. I let a car pass by and now a Pale Pink apartment confronts me. I cross the street and notice the worn rectangular building. Weather has been gentle enough to preserve it but the dimmed pink, and the peeling blue paint reveal the building’s true age. On the wooden frames, which are the one’s painted blue, stand the words Studio Manor. This logo always makes me wonder what this apartment used to be. Covering those words, a tremendous tree stands it place, proving shade in weather like this. On the left side of the tree, a dog stands its place on the balcony. I never met its owner, but the dog looks as though it terribly needs love and affection.
Now, I begin to walk on these long rectangular squares, which look more like steps fit for a giant. There are three of them, each gray and cracked with the years. I enjoy walking these pavement creations, as they are wide enough to take a new path home everyday. They are surrounded by greens – grass, plants, and trees. It is a sight that’s pleasing to the eyes. All of it is pleasing – all except for the huge patch of dirt underneath the dog’s balcony. That spot secluded from sunlight is barren, but it expresses the limits to life itself. As I walk towards the gate leading to the apartment’s inside, I take in all my surroundings with a quick glance. On my way upstairs, I can’t help but feel pity for the lonely dog outside.
I have finally reached the end of this path. The challenge is crossing the street. As usual, there is a neighbor who drives through the curved street without paying attention to the person crossing the street. As the car passes through the one-way street, it leaves a faint petroleum stench behind. I let a car pass by and now a Pale Pink apartment confronts me. I cross the street and notice the worn rectangular building. Weather has been gentle enough to preserve it but the dimmed pink, and the peeling blue paint reveal the building’s true age. On the wooden frames, which are the one’s painted blue, stand the words Studio Manor. This logo always makes me wonder what this apartment used to be. Covering those words, a tremendous tree stands it place, proving shade in weather like this. On the left side of the tree, a dog stands its place on the balcony. I never met its owner, but the dog looks as though it terribly needs love and affection.
Now, I begin to walk on these long rectangular squares, which look more like steps fit for a giant. There are three of them, each gray and cracked with the years. I enjoy walking these pavement creations, as they are wide enough to take a new path home everyday. They are surrounded by greens – grass, plants, and trees. It is a sight that’s pleasing to the eyes. All of it is pleasing – all except for the huge patch of dirt underneath the dog’s balcony. That spot secluded from sunlight is barren, but it expresses the limits to life itself. As I walk towards the gate leading to the apartment’s inside, I take in all my surroundings with a quick glance. On my way upstairs, I can’t help but feel pity for the lonely dog outside.
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