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Don’t you feel sometimes that you are on the edge of a cliff about to jump into a pool of endless possibilities but you feel a big pull that you fight every time with? There’s great stories about the people who jumped in before. If you ask them, they will certainly tell you all the things they accomplished, the learning experiences, and just bare feeling of it. You hear stories like these all time in the news or in social media pages. However, every time I find myself hearing one of these stories I asked myself the same question: How the hell did they dealt with the ever pulling fears?
If you do you ask how overcome them, people will list time after time all of my qualities, my achievements, my goals, my strengths. But thing is that they don’t see is the fear pulling me back more and more every time. Or maybe they decide to ignore it. Ignore the fact that the pull doesn’t see your achievements nor your qualities. The pull sees the impossible work, the disappointments, the consequences of failing, and your inability to do deal with the upcoming situations.
And even if I try my hardest, I can’t seem to get rid of it. You guys might think right now that I’m super insecure, which I’m probably am. But it’s more than just believing in myself because I know me. I certainly know my strengths, my achievements, and my hard-work. I don’t have amnesia. I remember all the work I did through high school to get here, to become the person I am today. The thing is when I picture myself actually jumping in, I see myself like a hamster in an exercise ball, working my hardest to achieve that goal, but for some reason never going anywhere.
Although there’s sometimes another thing that actually pushes me into the endless possibilities, and ironically it’s the fear about my future-self blaming me for the things I denied her. It makes me realize that I can’t let this thing pull me back nor haunt me. At the end of the day, it’s only my illusion.

POOL

Pool​ ​is​ ​very​ ​simple​ ​but​ ​difficult​ ​game.​ ​It​ ​requires​ ​a​ ​lot​ ​of​ ​skill​ ​to​ ​be​ ​good​ ​at​ ​the game.​ ​Despite​ ​being​ ​bad​ ​at​ ​the​ ​game​ ​myself​ ​there​ ​is​ ​still​ ​one​ ​thing​ ​I​ ​can​ ​do​ ​through​ ​the game​ ​every​ ​student​ ​should.​ ​I​ ​can​ ​get​ ​to​ ​know​ ​someone​ ​else​ ​better​ ​while​ ​playing.​ ​The game​ ​itself​ ​is​ ​secondary​ ​to​ ​talking​ ​to​ ​the​ ​individual​ ​and​ ​forging​ ​a​ ​connection.​ ​There​ ​are many​ ​games​ ​like​ ​this​ ​each​ ​with​ ​the​ ​ability​ ​to​ ​help​ ​you​ ​make​ ​connections.​ ​The​ ​importance of​ ​these​ ​games​ ​is​ ​a​ ​very​ ​easy​ ​and​ ​normal​ ​way​ ​of​ ​interacting​ ​with​ ​new​ ​people.​ ​It​ ​is​ ​way better​ ​than​ ​just​ ​walking​ ​up​ ​to​ ​someone​ ​and​ ​just​ ​chatting​ ​them​ ​up​ ​and​ ​a​ ​hell​ ​of​ ​a​ ​lot​ ​more fun.

All my friends in high school told me that senior college applications were going to be really tedious and stressful, and it did seem like it. I had senior friends in my sophomore and junior years who told me stories of writing seven or more essays for some of the top colleges in the nation, and it kind of freaked me out. But when the actual application period rolled around, I found that I actually had a lot of control over how stressful or not I could make the process. I wasn’t really interested in applying to a lot of Ivy League schools like Harvard, Princeton, or Yale as a number of my friends were. Rather I focused more on applying to colleges near where I lived, since I didn’t want to move away from the city. Many kids were surprised when I told them I dint want to move away, but I didn’t really see it as that big of a deal. The college application process ended up not being that stressful and for the most part I didn’t have to write more than one or two additional supplements for the schools I applied to. Meanwhile I’d often see some of my friends struggle during the process and complain about how stressed they were or how many essays they had to write by what deadline, and I just couldn’t relate. In the end I got accepted into most of my school choices and was satisfied with it.

My friends tell me I have no social filter in my words.

I always deny it but even my roommate of barely two months agree with them.

But these are things that I know that you all don’t care to know.

Well, the last time I gave blood, all they took from me was an empty tube and left me with the tears that fell on my face and the disappointment that dropped like a rock into my heart.

Well, of course, a boy broke that, and like in all typical love stories with no good endings, I never told him and I think he never knew.

But college means I am someone new, someone who should be better, do better than what I did before, but I’m still little old me.

College means forgetting everything I used to know and accepting the reality in front of me.

Sometimes it feels fast, thrilling, almost exhilarating.

But it is when night falls that all of it peels away.

It’s always the hardest when I’m sitting in the backseat of my parents’ car and the large skyscrapers are only getting bigger as I look outside the window. I can’t will myself to stop the car from moving because that’s not how life and well, gravity, works.

I miss my small apartment that’s only a borough away, but despite that, I miss the familiar taste of my parents’ scallion pancakes that I love so much, and the just-cooked smell of fresh dinner on china plates instead of plastic containers of food stored in the freezer like a snapshot momentarily brought to life by a microwave.

I miss the way my mother snores as she falls asleep on the sofa reading her Chinese romance novels that she borrows from the library.

And when she cries after a sad movie, I’m not there anymore to laugh at her wiping her tears away with a tissue, or hear my father try to comfort her by usually telling her “It’s only a story someone made up” in his dismissive tone of disbelief.

I miss the familiar hissing sound of the kettle boiling water on the stove, and how I am usually the one to turn the heat off to silence it.

But now I wonder when I’m gone, who will be the one to turn off the stove? Do my parents take turns or is it only one of them that does it now? Who does the other tasks that I used to do, now that I’m gone?

I miss how my parents are always still awake when I come back late at night, and sometimes my father goes out to meet me halfway on the street to find me. Nowadays, they’re so happy to see me when I come back to visit, but I can’t help but think this is only a fraction of what will be in the future.

But ultimately, I’m going to miss all of this.

I’m going to miss my youth, being able to smile and laugh until my cheeks hurt and turn red,

making such a commotion in the middle of the subway cart that everyone looks at all of us.

I’m going to miss the feeling that in our youth, we are seen as the people that we are, and not what we will represent to the outside world.

I’m going to miss feeling the warmth and familiarity that I feel now, and being able to forget that the marks we make will soon fade in time; the jokes we make will sink into the depths of the abyss, and all of this will be distant memories we long to hold onto. All we will remember is this moment, here and now.

I just don’t understand art.

I know I’m “supposed” to like it and admire it for some unknown reason.

Maybe it’s a societal thing.

People say that there’s deeper meaning to it and that it helps them understand life.

 

I thought I used to understand art.

It would be these really nice and ornate paintings of famous scenes and portraits of people.

It took years to master and only the most skilled and patient artists could produce these works.

Now it’s just garbage.

 

It just doesn’t do anything for me.

I don’t see the point in staring at something and trying to understand it.

It’s a little pathetic to me, actually.

I feel that people try to find meaning in something that is sometimes very straightforward, and that is a waste of thought.

It just doesn’t make sense.

 

I don’t understand why that one canvas with three lines of paint is worth millions.

I don’t understand why that crumpled up paper in the fancy museum is supposed to mean anything.

I don’t understand why a piece of string attached to a metal ball with scotch tape is considered an object that takes an intellectual to “understand.”

I don’t understand why an old tv set playing some useless no-name commercial from the 80s is at a museum.

 

What I do understand is that these same people who try to act like there’s a profound meaning in those literally useless objects are the ones who are trying to impress others.

They feel that strolling across the museum floors with their arms crossed and their hands rubbing their chins gives off an intellectual impression to others around them.

It doesn’t.

At all.

You just look stupid when you do that.

 

Don’t do that.

 

I’m not sure what I’m trying to achieve with this rant.

Maybe I’m just annoyed at how stupid art has become.

Maybe I just don’t care anymore.

Yeah, I just don’t care.

 

Take care.

 

Actually you know what?

I might as well take this paper, crumble it up, and then write all over it with a red marker.

Maybe I could sell it to a museum and “inspire” people about some hidden meaning that isn’t even there.

Yeah, I’ll go do just that.

 

I hope you all would enjoy my “art.”

FRO Monologue

 

My transition into college has forced me to accept responsibility and to grow up faster than I had expected.

 

The transition into college has brought about many changes in my life, my family moved unexpectedly during the summer towards my sister’s job and I was forced to accept more responsibility. As a result, my parent’s jobs are a greater distance away and I find that when I arrive I am the only person in the house until late night. Along with my studies, I am now in charge of my pet dog, and I am expected to take care of her as well as stay on top of my studies.

 

The most frustrating part about college is that every small choice and mistake leads towards something larger and I find that I am now taking much more responsibility than I had signed up for. When I was in high school, I did not have to worry about waking up early enough to account for train delays or finding alternate paths towards and back from school. These would not be issues if my teachers would give us more leeway to be late.

 

I miss the days when I could come straight home and take a nap and count on someone else to wake me up. Now when I get home, I am the only one there for hours, I am responsible for staying awake so that I don’t throw off my sleep patterns. There aren’t any more home cooked meals and there isn’t anyone to wake me up in the morning. Overall, I realize that most of these problems could have been resolved by choosing a school closer to home, but I made the decision to go to a business school and now I am paying for it.

-Kevin D.

This is a haiku about the struggle keeping up with all the work.

Shoot I have work due.

Got to write a monologue.

Wow it’s due next class.

Freshman Seminar Monologue:

 

Lately, I have opened myself to a lot of new music. Before the beginning of this year, I mostly listened to rock and some EDM. However, some of my friends from high school started playing music of many new different genres. This encouraged me to start listening to all new songs and genres I never thought I’d like. For example, I have really enjoyed Kanye West’s music lately and have looked into his past music. I started to appreciate his style of music and a completely new genre.

Personally, I don’t think I would’ve discovered this new music if it wasn’t for my friends. I think it’s a good idea to have an open mind when it comes to things like music because you get exposure to new experiences you wouldn’t have otherwise gained by yourself. I can also apply this to my new love for cinematography. Lately, I have started watching a lot more classic movies as well as appreciating the acting and directing of many big names in the industry. Once again, my friends have introduced me to this and it has sparked into a new hobby of sorts.

My new love for music and cinematography is also a part of me maturing the last few years. I have noticed that I have shifted to more mature hobbies like these, rather than playing video games or other games. It also helps keep me well rounded as being open to many genres of music and film allow me to be able to express my opinions and ideas more in conversations about these topics. Hopefully in the future I learn more about these topics as there are so many great movies and songs out there.

 

 Maybe the location where I call home creates a judgement in other people’s eyes. Being a one bedroom apartment, I have to create a space where I can enjoy the same teenage life as others with their own room. As a kid, embarrassment overpowered me when in school our group had to meet up for a project. We competed against each other to go to the winner’s house. “My room has a flat screen T.V and enough room for us to do our work” ended the game, labeling them as the champion.

Going to their home, we had to take off our shoes when entering in order for the floor not to get dirty. One’s reflection could be seen on the floor. My eyes widened… It seemed like a maze of wonder, where every turn led to somewhere different. She offered many grand things, as a host of game show that offered many great prizes. Walking up the stairs that led to more rooms than I imagined, she described each rooms job. Her room consisted of her favorite singers and bands, all posted across the walls for each person to admire them as they walked in. They filled the room, also with writing of quotes she admired. The bed, something ordinary, caught my attention right away. A bed so vivid and colorful filled with her own teddy bears and things she held dear. She shared her own memories in one room, while I had to share mine with my mom and others. We went to the dining room to work on our Robotics project, but my eyes paid most of the attention to the size of the dining table. Her family only consisted of 4 members, but the table had 10 chairs. I did the math in my head about 50 times, “Did the dog also sit here,” I thought to myself. Something compared to a four-seat table in the middle of the living room, I considered this very classy. It was finally time for me to go home…

I came home to the smell of arepas burning on the pan, my mom stood there with her hands open.

“Como estaba la casa,” she asked with her joyous face as she prepared the meal. “Estaba bien,” I responded as I took five steps to the living room. “Que hicieron,” “Nothing, it was fun.” I dropped everything on the couch, as I threw myself on it. I felt in place, where I am capable of enjoying the same feeling as a person with a house. She started to bother me while pulling my hair as I watched a movie. The whole night we ate our arepas and watched scary movies, as we both fell asleep on the couch.

Yes, my home may not be picture- perfect, but the memories I shared within it makes it from something small to something greater. The joy that one shares with others in a place overpowers that of others with grand houses and solitude. What you have is what you make of it, and I made my tiny apartment into a mansion through love.

 

Daniel Gold

The Baruch writing center is a great resource that the College as so kindly provided for us. I decided to go there about a week ago. It was an interesting experience. I have noticed that there are times during the week when the walk in center is flooded and wait could be up to two hour long. However, I managed to go a more convenient time; I waited – well actually I didn’t wait at all.

I first went to the printing station to get a hardcopy of my essay so that I could look it over with a professional consultant. After printing, I walked over to the centers’ desk. The friendly woman guided me through signing up for the center online on an Ipad they supplied. It took less than 5 minutes and then I worked collaboratively with the professional to improve my writing in this essay. I sat patiently as she, the professional, read my essay over. She marked it over in a few places and then methodically went through it. She made simple corrections such as noting that I forgot to make the first letter in FaceTime uppercase. She also made note of some larger issues such as my lack for any citing. She suggested I use MLA format to quote stats and add their origin to a bibliography. I took thought into each word she said and did not leave any thoughts behind. The entire session lasted 25 minutes. After the session, she reminded me that I can always come back to the walk-in-center as well as make an appointment at the other section of the writing center which is not in the Library but is in the Vertical Campus on the 8th floor, room 185. They offer not just a close reading but also 50 minute lessons.I profusely thanked her and revised my essay satisfied with the assistance she provided. This was a great academic experience and I recommend this to everyone in the bloc.