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marvel vs novel hw
It felt like  thousands of eyes were on me, staring into my soul as I froze in the middle of the classroom looking back at my classmates like a deer in headlights. “Soooooooo what’s the answer?”, said Makayla. “Um, I… It...It.. um..”, I stuttered. My hands felt clammy, in that moment I wanted to run away and never return. So many words I wanted to say, too many thoughts, not enough clarity. The worst part was the  embarrassment, my friends were laughing at me, I couldn’t even muster up a fake smile as if I was unbothered by it. I  heard a classmate say “not like she has anything good to add anyways, let’s move on”. My blood boiled, my heart rate increased, I was fuming on the inside, not only because of the rude comment, but because it was true. I never had anything to contribute, I was just there. I was angry at myself for not being more brave and confident like my best friend was. I didn’t know how to handle or express that anger inside, instead I began to cry...

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Marcol Rodriguez - Cultivating the Cultivators 

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Marcol Rodriguez - Cultivating the Cultivators 

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I had dreamed of the day I would become a teacher; I was practically born for it. My first teaching  job was right in my living room; I was about 10 years old, my niece Franchesca was probably in first grade. Day after day I spent my afternoons sitting at the plastic kiddie  table in the middle of the noise of 🤬 Rey balcony of our second story apartment. 🤬 Rey,  one of the most named slums named in songs, and not for any good reason. I was my niece’s personal tutor, the one who taught her how to read before her classmates even knew their vowels. Becoming a teacher has been part of my destiny.

 I always thought that I would feel the most fulfilled by sitting in front of young minds every day. My assumptions were correct; I have loved every single moment of appreciation, struggle, growth, and discomfort within my career. Yet, there is something I have discovered that I love more; that is teaching adults. Helping cultivate the minds of the cultivators of our next generations brings me a sense of comfort. Knowing that the seed I plant will blossom and multiply exponentially is what drives me to pursue a career as an educational coach. 

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Success is one of the things I value more in my life. Everything I do I make sure I give it my all, Even though I won't lie sometimes I don't but that goes hand in hand with one of my other values which is growth. When I realize I didn't give 100 percent I make sure I tell myself why and I tell myself what I need to do next time to give that 100 percent. But lately one of my more important value has been staying hungry and persistent to take on any challenge I have to take ever since my team captain/ friend past away I have been told I will take the role of leader and I have put all my problems away and I have just been working out and practicing to be sure I'm ready to take on that role. I am this way because when others could know they could count on me it brings joy to me it gives my soul happiness and purposes

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As each student beside me stands and walks towards the stage, my heart pounds harder against my chest. As their voices echo around me, the hair on my skin stands, my vision turns blurry and red, and my mind screams, “give up!” Losing control of my body: my skin profusely sweats cold, my left leg uncontrollably shakes, and my nails deeply dig into my palms.

I’ve never been a social butterfly, but when I received an email from one of my teachers at SEO, a rigorous academic program, asking if I was interested in giving a speech, I did something I never thought I would do: I accepted. Instantly, my mind panicked. I had been a person who would get nervous speaking in front of anyone, yet I had decided to speak in front of 200!

At the time, I couldn’t understand why I did something so impulsive; however, in retrospect, I believe that somewhere in the periphery of my mind, there sat a girl shaking when her teacher told her to read a page of  “The Three Little Pigs.” She watched as the letters on the page faded. “He h...u...f...f..e...d,” she read as her peers' laughter pierced into her ears. There sat a girl who watched the rain pour onto the house of straws as her vision became blurry. There she sat with a room full of students feeling alone.

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The birds symbolized more than what they stood for; they were symbols of what my life was before chaos ensued. Before I had to go to middle school and face the wrath of mean bullying girls who picked on me for my skin color. They represented the simplicity of life before social media exposure, and extra care towards outer appearances and impressing everyone. They represented my life before high school and being thrown into a lion’s den, and that incident March 16th where I had to literally fight for my life and lost. They represent the image of myself that I would love to cherish, hold dear, and lock in my perfect for eternity. They represent me.

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Equality and security are most important to me. To know that my loved ones and I are safe is really a blessing because people truly take that for granted and would not survive a day on the grounds of some other country. Then lots of people, typically conservatives, believe that racism is a myth and it ended with segregation which some also say that segregation was a great thing, but we’ll get to that some other time. I just want to be equal and have equal opportunities that people at my age are having. I always feel like I’m at a disadvantage and it’s truly sickening. The way people perceive me as a tall black man is sickening. I’m not even African-American, and I used to get slavery jokes talking about “your ancestors used to pick cotton” like no, that is false. The ignorance in the minds of so many just anger me sometimes. That's why I value equality so much because it’s truly rare. Honestly, I don’t even think that it exists, but whatever form it is in, I’ll take it because it’s truly a hard life. I want to have a big house in the suburbs, but I know it will be in a white neighborhood and people will look at me differently. I fear me being killed by murder, arson, poison, false imprisonment, and “suicide.” We all know that it’s never suicide and it’s in fact covered up murder. I don’t want to fear my life because it would pain me if any of that would happen to my family members.

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There was one question that I was asked millions of times.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” I heard that same question ever since I got into school. My parents, aunts, uncles, grandparents. Even my cousins and my friends asked what I wanted to be. But answering that question was harder than it seemed.

“I want to be a doctor.” Tora, one of my best friends answered.

“I’m going to be a lawyer,” Annika replied.

“I don’t know what I want to be,” I muttered.

I could never answer that question. If I didn't know what I wanted to be, would I be a nobody? A person with nothing different about them. It was harder to even explore the options because of the constant pressure from others. My aunt on my mother’s side of the family was studying to become a nurse. My oldest uncle had become a computer programmer. I was shown jobs that were from academic stances and I quickly wanted to get away from academics.

Until I turned eight, my grandfather had gifted me with a keyboard for my birthday. He smiled brightly at me.

“You need to make your future, Bre,” He beamed brightly.

I didn’t know what to do with it. But I learned on my own. I played chords and played random notes that I thought were amazing (even when they were not).

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What defines me as a person is my creativity, knowledge, and religion because that helps me build the person I am today. With my creativity, I can imagine many things and find many ways to be happy through creativity. Creativity helps me in times of sadness but can also make me overthink too much. Knowledge is important to me because ignorance is worse. I want to be able to live a life where I know certain things so that I can look at the world differently and see the “true reality”. Knowledge is important to me because it affects how you are as a person. With less knowledge, you become a problem to there's from lack of understanding. I want my knowledge to expand so that I can understand others and learn about things that were never taught to me, for example, the origins of the word “picnic”. Religion is most important to me because it’s my way of life. Being a African American Muslim for 17 years feels as if I’m surrounded by people who are very different from me. Islam is my way of life that helps me be a better person to others while helping me get a spot in heaven. I care for my religion very much because it’s gonna to get me to heaven and not cause me to be the worst person on earth. My values I have in life exist because it creates my safety bubble I can turn to or my shield from the American society

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What defines me as a person is my creativity, knowledge, and religion because that helps me build the person I am today. With my creativity, I can imagine many things and find many ways to be happy through creativity. Creativity helps me in times of sadness but can also make me overthink too much. Knowledge is important to me because ignorance is worse. I want to be able to live a life where I know certain things so that I can look at the world differently and see the “true reality”. Knowledge is important to me because it affects how you are as a person. With less knowledge, you become a problem to theres from lack of understanding. I want my knowledge to expand so that I can understand others and learn about things that were never taught to me, for example, the origins of the word “picnic”. Religion is most important to me because it’s my way of life. Being a African American muslim for 17 years feels as if I’m surrounded by people who are very different from me. Islam is my way of life that helps me be a better person to others while helping me get a spot in heaven. I care for my religion very much because it’s gonna to get me to heaven and not cause me to be the worst person on earth. My values I have in life exist because it creates my safety bubble I can turn to or my shield from the American society.

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What defines me is adaptability, curiosity, and growth. The reason why I would say these three is because it’s what influences my everyday life. Like I like being able to adapt to different situations because it’s very helpful. I am a very curious person because most of the time although I might not say out loud I usually ask why for almost anything. I also love growing as a person. Like who doesn’t. Growing is what makes us humans because we aren’t perfect and we can always improve. These things can be seen if you look closely at me and they matter because they are what make me up. I am this way because my past experience has shaped me this way and also something I just have a habit of. Like I have been curious as soon as I can remember.

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There was one question that I was asked millions of times. 
“What do you want to be when you grow up?” 
I heard that same question ever since I got into school. My parents, aunts, uncles, grandparents. Even my cousins and my friends asked what I wanted to be. But answering that question was harder than it seemed.
“I want to be a doctor.” Tora, one of my best friends answered.
“I’m going to be a lawyer,” Annika replied.
“I don’t know what I want to be,” I muttered.
I could never answer that question. If I didn't know what I wanted to be, would I be a nobody? A person with nothing different about them. It was harder to even explore the options because of the constant pressure from others. My aunt on my mother’s side of the family was studying to become a nurse. My oldest uncle had become a computer programmer. I was shown jobs that were from academic stances and I quickly wanted to get away from academics. 
Until I turned eight, my grandfather had gifted me with a keyboard for my birthday. He smiled brightly at me. 
“You need to make your future, Bre,” He beamed brightly.
 I didn’t know what to do with it. But I learned on my own. I played chords and played random notes that I thought were amazing (even when they were not). That’s what sparked my interest in music. Music became my favorite pastime. From listening to music to try to make tunes. As soon as I got home, I immediately turned on my computer and generated beats that could flow with my lyrics. It became an everyday thing for me. My fourth-grade class talent show pushed me into a new territory that I didn’t think existed. 

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Even though I don’t have a phone, that hasn’t stopped me from pursuing my dreams. Whenever I have time, I go to the library and read. Due to my lack of resources, I take advantage of my library. I would go every day from 6:00pm to 7:00pm to study. Reading books about certain topics has granted me knowledge that I never knew I had before. Even if I don’t have a phone, there is always a path to go around it. I understand how it feels to be isolated from a community that you thought would accept you, and it is a lesson that I need to apply in my future life. 

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3. Inhale, Exhale. The ivy green stage curtain enveloped the backstage in darkness, swaying in front of me as I closed my eyes and tried to calm my wildly beating heart. 2. Inhale, exhale. With a microphone in one hand and speaker notes clutched tightly in the other, my shaking legs approached the podium like I’d practiced millions of times at home. 1. Inhale, exhale. It’s only speaking in front of over 450 people, what could possibly go wrong? Now. The comforting green velvet vanishes in a flash, leaving only me, a blinding white spotlight, a screeching microphone, crinkled notes, and 900 beady eyes. This is the tale of how one t-shirt led to me speaking to my entire school community about African-American history.

- Niamani

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In the past six months my life has been a roller coaster. Going out was how I kept myself sane, but with covid I was unable to do that. The whole change to online learning was a lot for me, the workload intensified to where I spent almost 8 hours attached to my computer non-stop. I lost motivation and sometimes even appetite. I couldn’t help but feel helpless. After 6 weeks of seeing the same four walls and people, my family decided to take a road trip to North Carolina--where there were less covid cases. We spent a month there and were able to go out to nature more safely. During my time in NC I got behind the driving wheel for the first time. I couldn’t help but shake uncontrollably with sweat dripping down my forehead. My heart was pumping rapidly. Fortunately, we found an empty parking lot that we were able to practice in--yet I still almost crashed to a pole. I remember stepping on the acceleration rather than the brake. The pole was getting closer and closer. My cousin raced his arms across my seat to stir the wheel to keep us from crashing. Luckily, no one was hurt, but I couldn’t help but think of how different the outcome could’ve been had I gone behind the wheel for the first time in NYC-- which is very busy. Covid-19 was definitely a blessing in disguise for me.

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All  throughout high school, and even in middle school, I’ve been so involved in school events, sports, and academics that I got used to my brain going 100 miles a minute. From seo to sports to NHS and maintaining a social life, I always had ways to keep myself busy. But covid-19 put everything to a stop. It gave me way too much time to myself and to my thoughts, and I struggled with my mental health more than ever. With all this time to myself, I have been able to work on doing things to counteract these feelings by finding tons of ways to positively distract myself from harmful thoughts.  Also, with covid, social interactions have been extremely limited, making question all my relationships with my friends and even some family, so these distractions also helped me to become more independent.

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You can love what you see in the mirror, but you can't self-esteem your way out of the way the world treats you.”― Gabrielle Union. This quote by Gabrielle Union  reflects on my life with colorism, it illustrates what I had went through since my childhood.

Elementary School to Middle school was one of the challenging parts of my Sixteen years living So far. Growing up I didn't look like every other kid in school I was different. I was the “Black kid”   Everybody's skin were lighter than mine And I was the only dark skin one . I could never accept myself because of my complexion because of the distressing jokes being made about the way I look.  Constantly hearing “your too black” “African booty scratcher” “Why are you so ugly” Was taking a toll on me, leaving me with a sense of thoughts on … why me? Why couldn't my parents make me look like everybody else?  That’s when I came onto instagram, it was full with lots of new videos, new people and more. As I discovered those people I saw that they were unique in their own way and they knew how to accept them self for how their natural look.

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It is April 13, and I have been locked in the house for about a month now. I am slowly losing my mind, and to make matters worse I am being forced to sleep with my dad because my younger brother is sick. My mom decided to sleep with my brother in my room because it was closest to the bathroom and kitchen incase of an emergency. I approach my parents room, and as I lay on the bed I knock out immediately. 
      WOOSH the door slaps open, and I wake to see my dad preparing to go to the bathroom, which made me need to use the bathroom too. I wait in the hallway, BOOM, I open the bathroom door and my dad is lying lifeless on the ground. I call my older brother and my mom, and carry him back to the room as I try to help him regain consciousness. 
        “Ali what happened? What happened to papa?”
         But all I can think about is how could this happen? What if I did not wake up, What if he doesn’t make it, What if he’s not the same?
        “ALI! Ali  the paramedics are coming you need to tell us what happened so we can explain what happened.”
       As I finally gather control of my emotions my voice cracks, and with so much pain with my voice I explain exactly what happened that night. My dad was taken away to the hospital all alone. Taken there with no one to translate, no one to keep him company, and most importantly no one to take care of him.

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The clock strikes 12 and my creative juices start generating. From not trying to make noise to trying on new outfits with what I had, fashion was always the source of my motivation and self satisfaction. Sitting on my broken ikea bed, with a wobbly leg I sat with my black forever21 jeans and began to cut my jeans with my moms kitchen scissors and I made a slit on the end of jeans. Mimicking expensive luxurious jeans that go for $400, making ends meet with my fashion was a source of my happiness. Feeling good for once in my life was a rare occurrence. I dedicated folders and notes in my phone to outfits I want to buy but seeing the price, I had to always think before a purchase. Should  I buy it? Can I buy it? Can I make it or can I find it for cheaper? Always double checking, even my birthday gifts, was a belief I held near my heart. I didn't want to make the situation at home harder, just so I can feel prettier.

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Palero is situated at the bottom of a dirt road that blends into a highway and hides in the fog of the hills. Grain fields interrupt an array of warm colored Spanish homes and wooden shacks, whose ribbed steel roofs amplify the pitter-patter of the rain into the rat-a-tat-tats of gunfire. Humidity latched onto my skin; mosquitoes coated me with burning hives; and cows convening in the nearby field wafted a gag-inducing odor into the slits of the vents. While natives welcomed monotony and its little annoyances, I sulked over the scorching heat, sporadic storms, and numbing dullness of the country.

As a storm brewed outside and turned the winds into a howl, I rocked in a rotting wooden chair that creaked with every backward tip. The whir of the fan and hum of the refrigerator evaporated and veered my attention onto the white noise ensemble of distant moos and rumbles. My grandmother tangentially hollered, “Se fue la luz,” until breaking into a raspy laugh when I slopped over the chair’s arm in whines. Because the department hadn’t cut off the water for the past two storms, it would now: faucets from the kitchen and bathroom simultaneously whistled as the water reduced to a trickle. While the stickiness of the air worsened, despair carried me into a frenzy of anxiety and rage, for I had been robbed of my summer.

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Trembling softly, I placed my notepad down for the day, and closed my laptop. The room became darker as seconds became minutes, and as minutes became hours, dusk birthed night. Sitting at my desk, I grew wary of the time, collecting my notepad only to grasp at dampened sheets lying atop tear-soaked wood. The weight of darkness infesting my room could only equate to the depth of my pain that night, as I peered towards my sealed, gray laptop as if to gaze at defeat. A student in a class I taught had just lost another relative to the virus, and all I could do, quarantined a borough away, was cry.

It pains me not, that I couldn’t bring her uncle, or aunt, or grandfather back. Nor did my limit to directly help her during this time primarily impact me. The most wrenching facet of all, was her inability to help. What is a child expected to do but mourn, and hope for nothing worse: this child wanted better. She yearned to be there for her family in any way she could, regardless of limitation. She missed class the next day, and the day after that.

Hearing this tragedy, at my core, I trembled—ever softly—for her; for the student learning so that they could, one day, teach; the individual that leads by their own experiences, however wrought in anguish they are; the person that inspires people like me, through such pain, to continue learning, teaching, leading, and, above all else: caring.

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For as long as I can remember, I have been glued to the kitchen knife. From my adolescence, I reminisce on watching cooking shows on the Food Network, sitting on the couch, laying next to my siblings, watching Gordon Ramsay braise beef short ribs in a cabernet sauvignon, along with a butternut squash puree. The technical aspects that went into that dish, for some reason captured me. The intricacy of the dish; from the flaky kosher salt that was sprinkled on the beef to the Wusthof knife that cut the carrots and potatoes into medallions, I was hooked.

I vividly remember the process that went into the first meal I ever made  by myself. I finished an episode of Ina Garten’s Barefoot Contessa, and for some reason, inspiration coursed through my veins. I sprinted to my kitchen, grabbed an unopened chicken breast, reached to my very empty spice cabinet at the time, and reached for the iodine salt, ground black pepper, and industrial grade paprika. I made a faux stir fry, and for my first ever recipe, I did not think it was bad. However the yearn to improve upon the kinks of my recipe, I believe is what inspired my drive.

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The day we found out she had pancreatic cancer, the air changed and the city shut down. I spent the summer sitting in cold hospital rooms as my aunt slept, bringing food filled with the aroma of home, leaving each night waiting to return the next day. I mentally grew up that summer, dealing with something beyond my control, beyond a small obstacle. Everyday got harder to stay strong leaving me with tears and prayers. Watching her disappear every day, I began regretting not spending more time with her beforehand, knowing I had to find time now. When school started again, I was all over the place, confused on how to keep grades up and be there for my family in a way I’ve never been before. My mind was always split into two thoughts: I need to go see Kala. I need to do my work. I didn’t want to jeopardize my grades or my family, rather I had to find a balance. I began training myself to console my thoughts and emotions when I needed to focus on schoolwork. I began doing homework everywhere, on the crowded NYC trains, loud lunchrooms, anything to minimize schoolwork and extend personal time. Pen and paper were attached to my hand, but there was relief when I would get to Kala and she could have all my attention. I unlocked a new level of my organizational and time management skills as it felt like everything was at stake. Time became more valuable and it was slipping away with every blink.

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We walk into nothing

Space and abyss

But what is true

Our endless imagination

Created from within

We live so we can lie

And tell ourselves life never ends

In the moment we run

Through these shallow barriers

Nothing stops us

We defeated the non endless eternity

Oh how we grow old

Not being aware of such constraint

Our happiness is free

Time is of no essence

Once ascended in glee

Oh how we deceit

While we live nonchalantly

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It was a beautiful sunny day and I was at the park with my family. Everyone was having a fun time doing their own thing. I decided to play catch with my dogs. Because we were in a public park we had to keep them on a leash, but we purposely kept them on a 6-foot leash so they will be tied up while still being able to roam. I walked to the small red ball and picked it up. Swinging my arm all the way back in order to get a good throw for my 100-pound dogs. I used all the strength and energy I had and threw the ball as far as I could. Suddenly I felt something furry and thick rubbing around my legs. I rapidly looked down and saw my dog’s leash. I tried to get out of the entanglement as fast as I could while my dog kept running trying to reach the ball, but it was too late. I felt the harsh burn on the back of my knee as my legs weakened and I tumbled down to the ground. My dog came running back innocently as he didn’t know what he had done, as my family ran to me to check on me.

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Covid 19 has affected the people around me and by doing this it also affected me. My dad had Covid 19 and I was totally not prepared for that. I was scared that something might happen to him. I heard a lot of things on the news about people dying due to covid 19 and I prayed everyday that my father would be alright. He had distanced himself from us and slept in our basement. I didn’t see him for weeks and it was strange because a couple weeks before he was totally fine and even said, “Hola hijita. Mi pretty pretty” with a smile on his face. He calls me that every time he comes back from work but not hearing him say that for weeks brought tears to my eyes. I would hear his messages through my mom, who was the only one who risked herself in order to provide my dad with anything he needed.
- Martha G.

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Being able to go to school was an escape for me.  My dad recently was in a work accident, and that meant he was at home all the time now and my mom similarly lost her job when covid hit. That meant it was a full house everyday all day long. Unfortunately no, this wasn't like the show fuller house there were no dogs no babies or even having the slightest bit of fun.  In the beginning  of covid it was a lot of going to Costco or BJ’s and bringing back home loads of food then laughing at the chaotic lines that we would have to wait in. It was a lot to handle at first but I got used to it, i started going on walks regularly in the morning at 8am, came home at 10 work till 1 then left to walk again. It was a lot of just falling into a healthy routine of reading, studying, learning and driving myself away from the chaos  at home.

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one time when i had to complete an entire group project by myself in 3 hours. So my teacher ended up assigning me to two students that rarely come to school with one day to complete an entire project. I was super upset because of this because the teacher knows that I like my work to be top notch. I eventually relented and decided to go with the pairing. I decided to bombard them with as much pressure so that they could do their work as soon as possible but to no avail. My messages always left open on snap or a dry response saying “i’ll work on the project tonight bro, don't worry. As the deadline started to approach,  I tried contacting my teacher who essentially said “oh well Sadde”.So with no support from my teacher or partners, I decided to buckle my seatbelt and do it all alone. I remember thinking “i hate groups” or “never working with them again in my life”. I slaved away at the keyboard for three hours straight, ,my fingers starting to clamp from constantly spelling “thus” and “therefore”. After 3 hours writing the essay, I still wasn’t done. I still had to spell and grammar check. After 4 hours I finished. But i wasn't finished just yet, i still had a trifold display to make. So at 12 in the morning I ran to the 99 cent store grabbing all the supplies I needed: trifold, glue, construction paper, markers, borders and about 3 other items all clumped in my hands. When I got home with the supplies, I went to work immediately. After cutting, glueing and pasting for about an hour, I was finally done. I ended up having to write an entire 3 page essay and make a trifold display all by myself. I ended up getting an 90 on my project though. 

# data[].attributes.subject
one time when i had to complete an entire group project by myself in 3 hours. So my teacher ended up assigning me to two students that rarely come to school with one day to complete an entire project. I was super upset because of this because the teacher knows that I like my work to be top notch. I eventually relented and decided to go with the pairing. I decided to bombard them with as much pressure so that they could do their work as soon as possible but to no avail. My messages always left open on snap or a dry response saying “i’ll work on the project tonight bro, don't worry. As the deadline started to approach,  I tried contacting my teacher who essentially said “oh well Sadde”.So with no support from my teacher or partners, I decided to buckle my seatbelt and do it all alone. I remember thinking “i hate groups” or “never working with them again in my life”. I slaved away at the keyboard for three hours straight, ,my fingers starting to clamp from constantly spelling “thus” and “therefore”. After 3 hours writing the essay, I still wasn’t done. I still had to spell and grammar check. After 4 hours I finished. But i wasn't finished just yet, i still had a trifold display to make. So at 12 in the morning I ran to the 99 cent store grabbing all the supplies I needed: trifold, glue, construction paper, markers, borders and about 3 other items all clumped in my hands. When I got home with the supplies, I went to work immediately. After cutting, glueing and pasting for about an hour, I was finally done. I ended up having to write an entire 3 page essay and make a trifold display all by myself. I ended up getting an 90 on my project though. 

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Ever since I could remember, I have always looked at ways to improve myself which is why personal development is important to me. I guess it started because of my insecurities. No, it did start because of my insecurities. I used to feel like I wasn’t enough and as though I needed to change in order to be more appealing to others. I remember being so young and teaching myself how to act. I’ve spent countless hours watching etiquette and manner videos, just so that one day someone will find me perfect or enough. I also remember how mom’s would criticize other kids, so I would do the opposite of what those kids did because in my head, they would think I am an angel. However, it was never enough. No matter how perfect I portrayed myself, there was always something people tried to pick on. Some thought I was fake, without a voice, too quiet,or shallow. 

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I didn’t really want to say that my depleting mental health was a Covid Issue. I’ve seen the effects of Covid-19. I’ve seen sickness, I know people who have died from it and nothing can make me forget seeing those large vans carrying those body bags. So in the grand scheme of things, my anxiety and depression didn’t come to mind as an issue. However, I have had a rough time during quarantine. The first two months were the worst for me. I had more frequent anxiety attacks and, according to my therapist, developed a new skill; panic attacks (It’s like an anxiety attack…but worse!). But in all seriousness, life became more of a challenge. It became hard to get out of bed and it became hard to do work and have any motivation to do anything; both academically and personally. Being stuck at home and not feeling as free as I usually am, It had a heavy bearing on me. But because of people being by my side (figuratively of course), I was able to work through many of the issues that heightened during quarantine. I began to speak to my therapist again and started to see myself and the world in a more positive light. Even today, I still struggle with anxiety and depression but I know, because of my previous experience, I can fight. I will live. I will survive.

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Everyday I woke up and felt like my 10 hours of sleep at night was just a 30 minute nap. Nothing felt real anymore as each day was the same. The still crisp March air seeped in through my windows as I got up for yet another day of online school. I’d sit up on my bed, grab my laptop that was still next to me from watching Netflix last night, and look over my daily assignments. I dreaded the work. I was only a month into quarantine but I had already forgotten what it felt like to be around my friends, to die of laughter during lunch time at school, to walk around the halls chatting with my friends as we wait for class to start. I missed it all: the routine, the joy, the waking up at 6 am to get ready for school, the annoying my teachers with my chattiness, and even the sweating after gym class.

Although my sister slept right above me in the top bunk, and my mom was in the room next door, I felt the most alone I had in awhile; I’m sure we all did. I never thought I would miss the normal world so much. The only thing I looked forward to every week were the Friday seminars with my classmates. We would play kahoot together on google meet, and write jokes in the chat box. 2:30 PM on Fridays were the only times I felt normal that April.