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.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
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.
Goals and Failure
Every person is different. In life we go about trying to find who we are and where we are going. However, only a few have an idea of what they want to do. What makes these people different from others? Ah, the answer is apparent - goals. Yes, there people have established goals and are not afraid of what lies in store for them; even if it means failure. Is failure bad? No. It helps shape the individual, who, in return, learns from their faults. Knowing that, I admit that I am an individual who has established goals, even if failure is in store.
What would make an person unafraid of failure? In order to achieve and succeed a person must learn how to fall down and stand up. It’s a simple life lesson, but why? As humans, we must accept that one’s work always needs improvement. It is not to achieve perfection, but to speak as who one is. One’s writing piece must be an essence and a reflection of one’s self. This is why failure is looked down upon. In some cases perfection is the only option. However, one must how to fail an accept criticism to go anywhere, as it is one of the strongest methods of learning.
It is in our nature to set goals for ourselves. This is undeniably an important lesson since the day a baby walks out of the womb. Yes, it is a fact. As infants we have established goals, which include walking, talking, eating, and breathing. All simple, but goals nonetheless. As we mature, a greater set of goals take place for all individuals. Everyone has paths set for them through goals and ambitions, however, only those that decide to aim farther succeed further. For years, many ambitious individuals have the chance of becoming successful, but only those with a strong set of goals have accomplished.
What is the connection amongst goals and failure? The connection is simple and apparent. As humans, we have a set of goals that we have to accomplish. However, failure is an option that lies ahead, in the form of criticism. In order to succeed, one must accept criticism in the form of an advice. Those who critique are usually more knowledgeable in one’s work, this is why they take the role as teachers and peers. What does this criticism do to one’s work? It helps shape it, and nourish it. Yes, one’s work grows. Knowledge expands. All of it is an amazing process that helps the individual succeed further in the future.
Overall, knowledge and success are achieve through goals and failure. I have accepted this into my being. It is the way I plan to live life, until I too become a knowledgeable peer. One who can expend the knowledge of the next generation as bearer of criticism, accomplishments, and advice.
What would make an person unafraid of failure? In order to achieve and succeed a person must learn how to fall down and stand up. It’s a simple life lesson, but why? As humans, we must accept that one’s work always needs improvement. It is not to achieve perfection, but to speak as who one is. One’s writing piece must be an essence and a reflection of one’s self. This is why failure is looked down upon. In some cases perfection is the only option. However, one must how to fail an accept criticism to go anywhere, as it is one of the strongest methods of learning.
It is in our nature to set goals for ourselves. This is undeniably an important lesson since the day a baby walks out of the womb. Yes, it is a fact. As infants we have established goals, which include walking, talking, eating, and breathing. All simple, but goals nonetheless. As we mature, a greater set of goals take place for all individuals. Everyone has paths set for them through goals and ambitions, however, only those that decide to aim farther succeed further. For years, many ambitious individuals have the chance of becoming successful, but only those with a strong set of goals have accomplished.
What is the connection amongst goals and failure? The connection is simple and apparent. As humans, we have a set of goals that we have to accomplish. However, failure is an option that lies ahead, in the form of criticism. In order to succeed, one must accept criticism in the form of an advice. Those who critique are usually more knowledgeable in one’s work, this is why they take the role as teachers and peers. What does this criticism do to one’s work? It helps shape it, and nourish it. Yes, one’s work grows. Knowledge expands. All of it is an amazing process that helps the individual succeed further in the future.
Overall, knowledge and success are achieve through goals and failure. I have accepted this into my being. It is the way I plan to live life, until I too become a knowledgeable peer. One who can expend the knowledge of the next generation as bearer of criticism, accomplishments, and advice.
If a tree falls will there be sound?
Ah, the dreaded question that caused a debate in the class - if a tree fall will there be sound. Many chose an introverted point of view, assuming that if they were not there then the tree made no sound. Other chose an extroverted concept, where the tree still makes noise without the presence of an individual. Which theory is true, and which one is false? The truth to this question lies in viewing the situation in another manner - an analytical one. That being the case, I agree with the individuals that stated a tree makes noise without one’s presence being there.
Opponents argue that if a tree falls in a distant area, where they are not able to hear it, then the tree produces no sound. This claim is flawed simply due to the fact that when an item falls it is bound to create sound. The outside factors still enforce elements that create what we call sound. There is air around us, and it vibrates rapidly. When that tree falls, it causes a disturbance in the air particles by releasing wavelengths. These wavelengths then spread out into the environment in the form of sound. This scenario clearly demonstrates that without the presence of an individual, sound is still capable of being produced.
Sound occurs around the world, without the presence of an individual being there. As of now, plane fly above, animals scurry in their habitat, and people are awake or asleep. All of these things have one thing in common: the production of sound. Without the presence of a human, sound is there. In fact, if humans decided to stop depending on noise devices, then we would have a serene environment. However, this is impossible. We have become too civilized into this world we created. Now, many of us believe that without us there is no sound. This is just a belief, and has been proven wrong. In life, everything alive, other than a human, makes a sound with the help of air. If the human civilization were to disappear tomorrow, life would still continue to produce sound.
Sound is in the ear of the beholder. How is this possible? My, such wonders our universe holds! It all lies in the perspective of the person! Yes, this is a simple scenario, but many people tend to always take opposing paths. I take the logical and more humble approach, where sound still exists without my presence. Does sound exist without the presence of our dead ancestors. Yes! Time passes, and eventually life will move on without our existence. This just clears the point that even without humanity itself, that tree is still going to make a sound when it falls.
Overall, sound is capable of being produced if a tree falls in the middle of nowhere. Our environment is the reason why sound is produced without the presence of any human beings. How? Through the air. The air is the provider of life, a provider that can get disturbed with the simplest falling objects.
Opponents argue that if a tree falls in a distant area, where they are not able to hear it, then the tree produces no sound. This claim is flawed simply due to the fact that when an item falls it is bound to create sound. The outside factors still enforce elements that create what we call sound. There is air around us, and it vibrates rapidly. When that tree falls, it causes a disturbance in the air particles by releasing wavelengths. These wavelengths then spread out into the environment in the form of sound. This scenario clearly demonstrates that without the presence of an individual, sound is still capable of being produced.
Sound occurs around the world, without the presence of an individual being there. As of now, plane fly above, animals scurry in their habitat, and people are awake or asleep. All of these things have one thing in common: the production of sound. Without the presence of a human, sound is there. In fact, if humans decided to stop depending on noise devices, then we would have a serene environment. However, this is impossible. We have become too civilized into this world we created. Now, many of us believe that without us there is no sound. This is just a belief, and has been proven wrong. In life, everything alive, other than a human, makes a sound with the help of air. If the human civilization were to disappear tomorrow, life would still continue to produce sound.
Sound is in the ear of the beholder. How is this possible? My, such wonders our universe holds! It all lies in the perspective of the person! Yes, this is a simple scenario, but many people tend to always take opposing paths. I take the logical and more humble approach, where sound still exists without my presence. Does sound exist without the presence of our dead ancestors. Yes! Time passes, and eventually life will move on without our existence. This just clears the point that even without humanity itself, that tree is still going to make a sound when it falls.
Overall, sound is capable of being produced if a tree falls in the middle of nowhere. Our environment is the reason why sound is produced without the presence of any human beings. How? Through the air. The air is the provider of life, a provider that can get disturbed with the simplest falling objects.
How to brush your teeth
The sound of my fathers knock is loud and clear as he says “Wake up its 7 o’clock!” I know it’s truly 6:30 as always, so I sleep in for a couple of minutes. Time passes by and I realize that I overslept since it is now 7:02. I drag self out of bed and walk towards the bathroom. The door is locked. I look at the door irritated by the fact that its closed every time I want to use it. I knock and my sister opens the door, the light is blinding. She’s doing her hair as always. I step the bathroom wondering where did I leave my toothbrush. Sure enough, the container glances at me and I realize my brush is in it. I take my brush, the sword against plaque, and with it I begin the treacherous journey that occurs everyday in my mouth.
At this moment, the plaque has developed and multiplied in my sleep. The putrid scent its army leaves behind leaves the awful ‘morning breathe’ that wakes me up from slumber. I take the mighty sword and reach for the shield, also known as the toothpaste. Oh no! The shield reinforcement tube has ran out of troops. The battle is halted, as I walk to the closet by the bathroom. I open the closet and find packs of toothpaste. I grab the nearest one and run back to the bathroom. There I remove the packaging and open the tube of toothpaste. I place it near the sink, so I would have everything at hand. It is time; the plaque war is about to commence. I click the cap of toothpaste open, and squirt some on the brush. I turn the faucet on with only cold water. The water’s duty is to activate the shield, which becomes bubbly as the scent of mint evaporates. I open my mouth, where the plaque is waiting to sword and shield, hiding in the deep crevices between teeth.
The battle begins, as my hand steadily brushes the front, back, and inner part of my teeth. The plaques is outnumbered, they have no power over the shield the protects the rough sword. Its bristles wipe out the few remaining troops that the shield fails to drench. My hand then heads for my tongue, where many of them are living in homes now. Tiny plaque communities dwell, but this comes to an end. The sword is prepared to wipe out fresh enemies. It might proves to be true, as it wipes out the plaque for now. More shall come, but the battle is at its end. I rinse the top of my brush with the water and throw it back in its place. I place the toothpaste near the container. The battle is over, but the remains of it are still in my mouth. I cup some of the water in my hand and gargle until I’m sure my mouth is clean. I spit the remains into the sink. I close the faucet, turn off the lights, and leave the battlefield.
At this moment, the plaque has developed and multiplied in my sleep. The putrid scent its army leaves behind leaves the awful ‘morning breathe’ that wakes me up from slumber. I take the mighty sword and reach for the shield, also known as the toothpaste. Oh no! The shield reinforcement tube has ran out of troops. The battle is halted, as I walk to the closet by the bathroom. I open the closet and find packs of toothpaste. I grab the nearest one and run back to the bathroom. There I remove the packaging and open the tube of toothpaste. I place it near the sink, so I would have everything at hand. It is time; the plaque war is about to commence. I click the cap of toothpaste open, and squirt some on the brush. I turn the faucet on with only cold water. The water’s duty is to activate the shield, which becomes bubbly as the scent of mint evaporates. I open my mouth, where the plaque is waiting to sword and shield, hiding in the deep crevices between teeth.
The battle begins, as my hand steadily brushes the front, back, and inner part of my teeth. The plaques is outnumbered, they have no power over the shield the protects the rough sword. Its bristles wipe out the few remaining troops that the shield fails to drench. My hand then heads for my tongue, where many of them are living in homes now. Tiny plaque communities dwell, but this comes to an end. The sword is prepared to wipe out fresh enemies. It might proves to be true, as it wipes out the plaque for now. More shall come, but the battle is at its end. I rinse the top of my brush with the water and throw it back in its place. I place the toothpaste near the container. The battle is over, but the remains of it are still in my mouth. I cup some of the water in my hand and gargle until I’m sure my mouth is clean. I spit the remains into the sink. I close the faucet, turn off the lights, and leave the battlefield.
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