Don’t take the cookie from the cookie jar.

Up on the top shelf, I see the ceramic bowl towering over me, mocking my minute height. It didn’t belong in the kitchen, a place full of creation, love, and bliss. Its stationary position was anything but permanent. I looked over to the other side of the hardwood floor. It’s time. The chair, noble and sturdy, listened to my command. Risky, yes, but planned like those Tom Cruise movies were I will achieve the impossible. Entering phase three, I attempted “the reach”. Thump. Cookies everywhere, the chair disembodied, and the blame on me. If only I was patent and waited this wouldn’t be. No need. It was over. Don’t take the cookie from the cookie jar.

_______________________________________________________________________

Cormac McCarthy Impression:

It was sunny outside and warm and windy. In the distance a dog barked. She stood with her hands on her hips. Just what do you think you’re doing, she said. Outside the house there were sounds coming from the far left where the barn was. He went back in and shut the door.

 

It is easy to lose sense of consideration and the respect we show to others, especially when we are young. I remember a time when that happened to me, and I was on my way home from school and was down by the noodle shop in the lower parts in Manhattan in Chinatown, and I was going through a daily routine;  go to school,  go buy food, and then go home. Never a different food, nor was it from a different place. The noodle stand was inside of another building where the hallway was narrow, and it wasn’t easy to get by because of another line waiting from a nearby stand. I pushed myself through that crowded hallway, and I heard this man screaming,”Hey! Where’s your manners?!” I did not realize those words were directed towards me, and I resumed to purchase the noodles from the noodle shop that I regularly visit. I tried to exit the building as soon as I got my order, but the man I bumped into previously stood in my way as if looking for something from me. I tried to go around him, but he just moved accordingly to prevent me from walking pass. I recalled the words that he screamed at me, and I quickly thought of the words, “Excuse me” and he let me through. It wasn’t that I didn’t care about how others felt, but rather, I wasn’t aware of the disrespect that I’ve shown.

The first day of college was a scary and most of us remembered how we felt that day. The new setting and the new system felt uncomfortable. There were escalators, and elevators for the students to use. All these things were something can’t be found in previous education institutions.

The city was buzzing when we arrived.

Cabs honked like mad animals making their way through a herd. It was September 10, 2011, and we’d just stepped off the plane in Buenos Aires, a city of eleven million. As we made our way through downtown the next morning we saw people gathering around tv screens: smoke bursting from skyscrapers, headlines screaming, people around us shaking their heads, hands over their mouths. Oh God. It was the first day of a new chapter, also an old chapter crashing in. Hurting us. Asking us. A new day was on us, you all, and nothing made sense anymore.

It was the day after Nationals, and everyone congratulated them for winning 3rd place. They were happy and proud of themselves. Yasmeen and I hugged, I was so proud of her, proud of all of them. Then, she asked me “what now?.” We looked at each other and laughed. That was the moment I realized, that winning didn’t really change anything. So I reflected from that point on until the end of the year and after I walked across the stage at Graduation, I decided that I wouldn’t let work take over my life again. We sacrificed so much time, energy, and even our health to work toward winning, but in the end we realized that wasn’t the ultimate goal. The goal was to transform the people we were, into sophisticated and mature adults. My decision has guided me to the path of searching for a balance, which is a path where I haven’t yet found my destination. I have stuck with my decision, and I’m happier because of it.

 

Charlotte Bronte Imitation

Reader, we all yelled at him. A quiet Christmas we had: my mom, dad, sister, and I, every year when my aunt and the family didn’t come down from Georgia. The Christmas tree was lit, decorations were hung, and packages filled with gifts were being delivered day by day. All was done to put everyone, including dad, into the Christmas cheer. Dad did change his attitude when we continued to ask him: his eyes stared at the tv with which he tried to use as a diversion but even though he was almost near saying yes to going, he found a way to make an excuse. Reader, he still hasn’t said yes.

 

Reader, I married him.  A quiet wedding we had: he and I, the

parson and clerk, were alone present.  When we got back from church,

I went into the kitchen of the manor-house, where Mary was cooking

the dinner and John cleaning the knives, and I said –

“Mary, I have been married to Mr. Rochester this morning.”  The

housekeeper and her husband were both of that decent phlegmatic

order of people, to whom one may at any time safely communicate a

remarkable piece of news without incurring the danger of having

one’s ears pierced by some shrill ejaculation, and subsequently

stunned by a torrent of wordy wonderment.