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When I first walk on, I immediately notice the overweight bald Hispanic man dressed in distressed denim jeans and a dirty red plain button down shirt, snoozing away with his massive husky resting on him. A peculiar odor is radiating from him. Next to him is the girl with bright orange lipstick, dressed in hipster clothes with her oversized headphones. Her head bobbing left to right, swaying with the music. I proceed to l find a seat next to a young Caucasian boy who looks about thirteen years old. He is carrying an overstuffed Jansport backpack and has two large textbooks in his hand. Ah, high school. How glad I am to be out of it. Next, standing against the doors that specifically say “Do not lean on doors”, is a built, tall black man with his acid washed jeans sagging down to his knees. His rap music is audible from the other side of the cart. Next, my eyes drifted over to the confused looking Asian couple, speaking some sort of Chinese dialect and browsing over a map of the city. Then of course, like clockwork, comes in a clan of a few Mexican men holding unidentifiable instruments. One of them starts singing a song in Spanish, while his mate plays the instrument, and the other starts pacing back and forth, holding out a sombrero, asking the passengers for money. Some of the passengers politely look away, while others look obviously annoyed. Then, there were those few who spare some change for the Mexican men. “Next stop is Fifty-ninth Street, Lexington Avenue”, I hear on the loudspeaker. I slowly arise from my seat, and wait for the train doors to open. I look back on the crowded subway cart and think about how this is just a typical day in the life of riding the subway. I see the same types of people, doing the same types of things. Sometimes I wonder, what is going through their minds whilst riding the subway? Do they look at one individual at a time, and analyze them physically and wonder what is going on internally? Do they judge one another? Maybe I just think too much. Not sure. But with every subway ride I take, I always find myself thinking about each one of these riders, who they are and where they’re going.

On any given Sunday, I’m woken up at 9am by the smell of sauce, the sound of my mom shouting into the phone at my grandma about dinner, and the sight of her waving her hands around the kitchen, all while cooking a tray of lasagna.
I know that before I can even set foot through my kitchen, I’ll be given a list of things to do around the house to prepare for the weekly “Sunday feast”. Mop the floor, set the tables, pick up the bread from the bakery, and most importantly, don’t forget to pick up your Great-grandma before dinner.
Every single Sunday revolves around two things- finishing up my homework, and preparing to have over fifteen people over for dinner. So after almost four hours of everyone running around the house getting everything ready, the first guest arrives- my grandma. You can hear her before she even walks into the house- complaining about how much stuff she’s carrying, how hungry she is, or how she’s been so busy all day.
She lets herself in, says hello to everyone, and goes right into the kitchen to help with the dinner. Finally, after waiting for everyone to show up, because no one gets there on time, dinner is ready. Before the food is even set on the table, there’s a mad scramble for the meatballs and garlic bread, and, finally, after 10 minutes, everyone is actually seated and dinner has begun.
There’s about 10 different conversations going on and they’re all so loud, you would think we’re arguing. And even though everyone’s having a different conversation, at any given time, you can be part of three separate ones, and still know what is going on. On top everything happening, all of the food is being passed around you from all different directions, and everyone is trying everything.
So after everyone finally finishes this 4-course dinner, we put out coffee and dessert and the conversations continue. Everyone enjoys these dinners differently, whether it’s my great grandma smiling and not even talking, just happy to be with family, my dad talking to my uncles about the latest sports game, or my aunts shouting to each other from each end of the table about their kids and work.
As stereotypical as this dinner sounds, it’s what we do. These Sunday dinners are what keep us together. And after my typical Italian Sunday dinner, the day ends just as it started. Quiet.

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That entire plane ride I couldn’t wait to see my cousins again. It had been a year and as much as I love crappy airplane food and the seven hours of movies, I just wanted to get off and step foot into England. It was last year December 24th to be exact. My family and I were taking a little trip to England for two weeks. I still remember that first time I got onto a plane to America, it was different, something I didn’t expect, but to be back in England it feels like home, where we all blend in. No one stares because everyone knows. Finally, the plane landed and all I could think of was seeing more Sikhs. I un-clicked my seatbelt, got up, took the small bags, and was heading out, I said thanks and bye to the fight attendant and then I saw a guy, a Sikh. I was walking towards him in the big tube thing that connected the plane to the airport. He had a turban just like I do and he worked at the airport. I said hi to him in my language. He just stared at me, didn’t say anything back, and looked at me as if I were the biggest idiot in the world.

I then realized what I had done. England is quite a small country, most states are bigger, and there are the same amount of Sikhs that live in England as do in America. I then thought to myself how isolated Sikhs are in America. So, I put my head back down and kept walking thinking about how in England you may see ten to fifteen Sikhs a day, in America you may see ten to fifteen Sikhs over a month or even longer. Something needed to be done, more Sikhs in America? More Sikhs in the world? How bout keeping our identity?

It took me a while to realize all this, but the Sikhs in England weren’t exactly true all the time. Many of them had conformed and changed the way they look. This happens all around the world, but not as much as it does in America. So, for the first time I couldn’t wait to get back to America. I couldn’t wait to back and see how people look at me, I couldn’t wait to walk proudly knowing that I was different. England is filled with Sikhs and its a norm seeing one everyday, the battle has already been won there. Its the other places of the world that haven’t seen Sikhs. I wouldn’t understand how the world really is if I didn’t move to America. It is a struggle for anyone who is different and I wanted the challenge. I couldn’t wait to go back to hear the first person say why do you look like that? I want to see more Sikhs in America, and the only way people will see is if we continue to keep our identity, something that I will never get rid of.

3:53 left in the fourth quarter. My teams down by 7 on the 5-yard line then boom, all of a sudden I go down and I wake up in the locker room. How did this happen? Here’s how it all began.

In my junior year of high school I began playing football in an organized league for the first time since I was eight. I was the quarterback on the team and when I played I made sure I always got the attention that I wanted. I was always careful especially when it came to my health. I was one of the best players on the team. It was getting close to the playoffs and I trained for it everyday. The day was here, the first round of the playoffs. My team was projected to win it all. And this is how it happened.

I was scrambling on the 5-yard line trying to find an open receiver, when all of a sudden a defender hit me from my blind side. He hit me so hard and I landed right on my shoulder of my throwing arm. After the hit, all I remembered was waking up in the locker room. They told me I suffered a concussion and dislocated my shoulder. We also lost the game. After they told me what had happened I felt like I didn’t do my best and I felt like I let my team down. I returned back to practice the next week and everyone was treating me differently, even my best friend. I felt like everything was going down hill, a few weeks later when the season was over it was time for try out’s for next season. My coach was the only one that didn’t seem to be acting different with me. So then the next week my coach let me watch the tryouts to see who was good enough for the team. My other teammates got mad at the fact that he let me do it, but I didn’t let it bother me. My teammates left me for a reason that I couldn’t understand, it wasn’t my fault that I got hurt. I wished I could of re-did that night so everything could be the same again. I knew I had to do something about it so I spoke to my team. After the whole problem was settled we started getting back to normal. We all became closer then we were in the beginning because we all learned how we can get passed our problems and keep moving forward.

But apparently things weren’t going to be as easy as it seemed. The next season began and we were on a roll, we couldn’t lose. But then things started turning for the bad again. My shoulder started giving me problems and it held me out of some games. There were days when I couldn’t even lift my arm; there was no way I was going to be able to throw a ball. Some of my teammates went back to their old ways of treating me like trash, but some stayed by my side. I tried everything I could to get myself healthy enough to play again, but nothing was working. My doctors advised me not to play because my shoulder would only get worse and there would be the possibility of me never being able to play again. I had to give up for the rest of the season so I would be able to play again in the future. It wasn’t easy, but now I play in a flag league to take out the possibility of getting hit hard and hurting my shoulder once again. I learned that sometimes you have to sacrifice to achieve a goal. It might not be the easiest thing to do, but everything happens for a reason and in the end things will always work out.

The Big Game

Sitting on that warm brown bench wondering when I will finally get a chance to get in the game. As I’m viewing my teammates play, my mind is just thinking how much longer until its time. Until it’s time for me to get a chance to show the world that this boy isn’t just a tall kid sitting on the bench, but to show them that he has talent. Watching my teammates run on the court, there is an air of excitement. Nervously, watching as the other team takes the lead, I start to shiver. Suddenly we are down by 8; fear sets in. It’s my time now. But no guess not, since the coach didn’t even notice that boy sitting on the bench eagerly waiting to play. Seeing the coach yell at the players, they respond with strength, they want to comeback. They will I can feel that the team will comeback from this deficit. The coach looks at the bench, looking for someone to put in the game. It could be me. But no it wasn’t, he was just looking at the bench and goes back to focusing on the game.
He turns his head to us again. “Michael get in the game” My heart is racing. This is it; it’s my time now. I’m finally in the game. My teammates give me the ball. I then make my move to the hoop. Two points and the foul. The crowd is cheering my name. We are only down by three. Shooting one shot, and I see it go in. Back on defense. Running towards the man with the ball, I stumble on one of my opponent’s foot and fall strait to the ground. The other team scored to opponents, as I was not able to get up. The coach calls time out; my teammates help me get up from my hurt ankle. Now I’m sitting on the bench as upset as I could be, because I finally get a chance to play and I just blow it. Again I find myself back on this bench watching the game, watching my teammates play the sport I love.
All of a sudden the pain goes away. We are still down by 4 and the coach calls time out. There is not much time left. I tell coach to put me in the game. He does. I’m more focused on winning this game now. We can win. It’s our ball. They give me the ball down low and I go for the layup. It didn’t go in. My teammate gets the rebound and we start again. One minute left. Joe shoots a three and hits it. We are down by two. They inbound the ball, I steal it. I’m running to the other side of the court with ten seconds left. I hear the crowd counting down, ten nine eight seven… I go for a layup with two seconds left. It bounces of the backboard and gets in. We wiinnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn!!!!!! My team has just won the league championships.

The plan was perfect; it was a simple race against the clock and I was pretty sure I was going to make it. The objective? Ask my girlfriend to prom in a cute and personal way. My plan was to surprise her after school at her place before she arrives. It was a Thursday and I lied about me not being able to come over that day because of family but I was trying to catch her off guard and make her smile. I had almost no afternoon classes that day so I thought the timing would be perfect as I can take the 4 train, go down to Grand Central Station and transfer to the 7 train to Flushing and then to the Q17 bus to Fresh Meadows. My girlfriend gets home at 3:45 and I leave at 1:30 and the traveling time takes about 2 hours including the flowers. After my last class ended, I ran to the Bedford Park Station in 5 minutes and immediately caught the train. 10 minutes ahead of schedule. The 4 train was perfect and the 7 train showed up right away. 15 minutes ahead of schedule. I went to the flower shop to buy my favorite number of favorite flower and her favorite number of her favorite flower. Basically, I bought 7 roses and 9 lilies. The thing is, I did not know how much lilies costed and I don’t remember exactly how much it costed but it hurt my wallet badly. It took a little longer to choose and buy the flowers than I thought. 10 minutes ahead of schedule. And then I just missed the Q17; I was so mad. Luckily it came relatively quickly and I got on with 5 minutes ahead of schedule. However, the bus was packed and I was worried for my flowers because there was a huge amount of them. The seat opened up right in front of me but here comes this disrespectful obese lady who pushes me to get the seat. I was unbelievably mad. She saw I had a lot of luggage and if anything, I would have been nice enough to give the seat to her if she simply asked but no. I simply turned around and moved down the bus a little, I could not stand the look of her face anymore. Then comes the worst part, there was a traffic jam! Oh boy, I waited in that jam for at least 20 minutes. I am now 15 minutes late and that was all the time I could afford because I allowed 15 minutes extra. When I finally got off that awful bus, I called my girlfriend and asked where she was. She said she will be home in 5 minutes. I froze. I thought to myself that this was no time to give up. I quickly hung up and ran as fast as I could trying to keep the flowers from moving around too much. Somehow, I ran there with like 2 minutes left. I got her sister to open the door up and then washed my face of all the sweat and everything. She rang the doorbell and when I opened the door for her she looked so happy and surprised. I didn’t think her smile could get any bigger but it did; when I took out my flowers and asked “Will you go to prom with me?”

So I actually wrote a different monologue – one that was more personal in some sense (as in it lets you get to know me better), and if it was written thanks to some midnight inspiration burst, it has to be good. But alas, I accidentally deleted it instead of my cheating reaction blog and so after much cursing and crying towards a phone, I bring you my adventures I had on Sunday.

I awaken around 11:23 am surprising seeing as how I managed to lug myself to bed around 2:23 after finishing my anthropology paper. Yes, that’s right, I pulled a somewhat all nighter a day before its due. Sad, I know. I laid there on my bed, not knowing I was home alone. So when I dragged myself out of bed after hearing the doorbell ring, I was very very disappointed that I couldn’t play Dance Central.

And so after eating some Chinese food, turning on my computer only to turn it off because I wasn’t in the mood to start writing that English paper I really should do, I settled for reading some fanfics on a handy dandy phone.

I read a few stories on the coach before I remembered my promise to myself that I would do something productive instead of being a bum. And so I started cleaning around the house all the while having a phone in my hand while reading fanfics and crying to myself that I shouldn’t be doing this.

I hung up my sweaters scattered around the house and put them back in my closet all the while reading entertaining stories on my phone in one hand and crying to myself that I can’t read material as amazing as this for anthropology.

Then I get tired of that and find a broom and start sweeping the floor. Or at least make some movements that sorta seem like I’m trying to sweep. Yes, doing this while reading fanfics on my phone in the other hand and crying to myself that I can’t write about these works of literature for my English paper and that I shouldn’t be doing this.

And then I gave up since my Internet connection was being difficult, but I didn’t really mind since I found an alternative to cursing and trying to copy an entire fic into my notes on my phone for when I want to read on the train… or when Baruchs wifi decides to crawl.

And well… after that I sat in front of my computer surfing the World Wide Web all the while crying to myself that I shouldn’t be doing this. There’s an English paper you need to write.

And so this ends my day… or at least up to 7:21 pm on a Sunday where I am currently writing these words and crying to myself cause my thumb really hurts from scrolling on an iPhone with one hand. And at least I get to check “monologue” off my list of things to do and for once I actually am not going to say “I shouldn’t be doing this” but rather “I finished, yay. I deserve a break and that paper can wait until tomorrow night when I’ll be cursing and crying for not starting this earlier even though I promised myself on Thursday that I won’t do anything but my papers this weekend.”

Also, feel free to admire this picture I whipped up (which is supposed to be a picture that represents me) after realizing that a 3 panel comic accompanying my monologue would be too much work and would be getting in the way of me enjoying my hot pocket–

It was the first week of kindergarden.  I was sitting on the bus minding my own business when she walked by.  Butterflies.  Thats all I felt at the time.  Not the regular type of butterflies one might get before a test or an interview−the type of butterflies that kill your appetite and cause you to freeze up.  The type of butterflies that cause you too lose control.  She gave me these butterflies on a daily basis.  I had a crush on this girl since nursery.  All I could do at the time was thank G-d that she walked by, hopefully finding another seat on the bus… and then she walked by again… and again.  There were no more seats.  Everything was moving so quickly.  The next thing I knew the assistant bus councilor sat her near me. To talk or not to talk, that was the question.  I opted on keeping it quite , playing it safe.  Everything was going great.  I was looking out the window and she was turned towards the aisle.  And then all of a sudden, out of nowhere, completely out of the blue… I peed.

As much as I might try to erase this event from my mind, it wont go.  It refuses to be deleted.  I carry this burden upon my shoulders everywhere I go.  When I think about it I can almost feel the butterflies rising up from my gut, taking over.  This moment humbles me when I’m feeling too cocky, and always leaves me wondering, did she notice?

 

I am new to blogging and have never done this before, before this class. I enjoy blogging because you are able to write whatever’s on your mind and you are able share your thoughts with your class mates. Blogging is fun and it’s nice being able to read what other people to writes. I enjoy blogging and am happy that we arable to write in this class.

I do not believe that there is one set solution to the widespread problem of cheating. It happens everywhere; on tests, in sports, in relationships, and no matter how much you do, the problem will ALWAYS be there. Making an example of someone who has cheated will not stop others from cheating. I believe it will just make them to be “more careful” if they are cheating. There is no way to completely eliminate cheating from todays society because there is no way of changing someone’s morals or views.