Essay Sarah

8/3/2019 Essay Sarah

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My Life Story

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By Carrie N., Hillsboro, NH

When my life was quickly falling out of my hands and reality wasn't within reach, I felthelpless. I needed to find a way out somehow, someone or something to influence me in abetter way by helping me out of the major hole I had dug myself into.

It all began when I moved away from my life in Pennsylvania, and couldn't accept the

fact that it was something my parents had to do. I was an emotional mess. I had muchanger and no one to vent it on, except my parents, which, most of the time, was pointless.

This would just end up being an even bigger mess. So as I began to make friends, I

figured why not drown my sorrows in whatever I could possibly find - drugs, alcohol,"fun." I was out on school nights until one or two, planning on not going to school

because I thought I had better things to do. As time passed, I began to miss many days of

school, causing my grades to fall tremendously. I decided to drop out of the tenth grade.It seemed easier in my eyes, no more waking up at five o'clock - and I could stay out and

not feel guilty. I knew somewhat what I was doing; I knew my life was on a downhill

slant, and at that time I couldn't do a thing about it.

As my friends from the other side saw what I was doing, they decided to do it too, losing

everything they had: respect from everyone, parents, relatives, friends, and teachers. So

we went on a fantasy trip, not caring about losing our education or love from people whotried to care. We thought it was great to be on our own until we ran out of money for our

adventures.

So, I got a full-time job which didn't last long. I got sick of that too. I couldn't deal withpeople telling me what I had to do. I rebelled, and got fired. Once again, I didn't care.

Then, my friends and I began to get into a lot of mischief, getting in trouble with thepolice a number of times. Finally, they told me I would be sent to a juvenile institute to

get back on track. My friends were in the same predicament. So I went home to try to

figure out my mistakes, to try to patch them up. Well, I couldn't - I would just have to

move on.

Weeks went by while I stayed home, still out of school. I watched what my friends were

getting into, and I couldn't understand why they couldn't see what was happening tothem. They were falling apart, just like I was. At that point, I wanted nothing to do with

anyone. I needed time to myself, and I wanted my life back to normal.

The second semester of my tenth grade year, I put myself back into school and got a part-

time job. I began to do well, still a little on the edge, but I knew it wouldn't be perfect in a

day. It took me awhile to get back in the swing of things and live a normal high schoollife. I give myself credit for doing it on my own. I turned myself around because I knew

my lifestyle was wrong and what I was doing was dangerous. I needed time to find

myself more than anything, and here I am now, a senior, awaiting graduation. -


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Howl

By Josh W., Burnt Hills, NY

"I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical

naked, dragging themselves through the Negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix."This begins the poem that would not only revolutionize literature, but also politics andAmerica as well. Allen Ginsberg, member of the small literary circle known as the Beats,

wrote his most famous poem, "Howl," in 1956 to show his disdain for Cold War politics

and the state of the nation. Over the next few decades, he would have a profound impact

on the direction of America, and eventually my life as well.

I had never really considered myself to be a nonconformist, at least not until I entered

high school. During my middle school years, I dressed and acted like my peers and triedto fit in, although I began to feel different. I became interested in the world at large, and

social issues. However, I quickly learned my peers did not care to hear my opinions, so in

an effort to be accepted, I kept my thoughts and growing awareness to myself.

At age 16, when I picked up my first Allen Ginsberg poem, "Cosmopolitan Greetings,"

and read the opening lines, "Stand up against government, against God," I realized thatmerely being different was not enough. I needed to act, voice my opinions, and stand up

for what I believed. Coming from a small conservative town, I knew I would be the target

of ostracism, but I no longer felt compelled to follow the crowd. For Ginsberg, it was

Vietnam, the atom bomb, and Israel. For me, the issues that I felt strongly about includedcensorship, socialism, environmental causes, and civil liberties. I began to speak out in

my classes, voicing my opinions and beliefs. I proudly proclaimed my Jewish heritage

despite the risk of anti-Semitic comments. Reading about Ginsberg's life, I learned how

the federal government tried to silence dissent by declaring "Howl" immoral. Here wassomeone who seemingly did not care what others thought of him. I read more about him,

and realized that he was not only persecuted because of his religion, but also because ofhis sexual orientation, political beliefs, and literary style. Ginsberg showed me that as

long as I remained true to my convictions, I could be happy.

Using Ginsberg as an example, I will strive to have my opinions heard. Ginsberg openedmy eyes to the injustices committed by our national government, including CIA

intervention in Latin America, and racism in the form of the conviction of Sacco and

Vanzetti. In the spirit of Allen Ginsberg, I plan to continue to be aware of the suffering ofothers, as well as work for causes in which I believe. -


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Experience In My Life

By Chris B., West Hempstead, NY

Today, I look back through vague but wonderful memories, memories of childhood,

memories my mother and I share. I remember playing games, cards and putting togetherpuzzles which I still have stored in my attic. Did you ever know that "I Love Lucy"reruns were on at 3: 00 a.m.? On occasion I would run downstairs and wake my mom,

who already knew that I had had a bad dream, and we'd watch together. She was very

comforting. She showed alot of affection not only for me, but also for my brother and

sister. All of us have experienced the same happiness our mother brought to our lives.

In 1992 my best friend's mother died of cancer. It was a tragedy, but as usual, my mother

used her power of healing and got his family back on their feet. I remember she cookedfor the grieving husband and sulking kids for two weeks. If you asked my friends (or the

community) about my mother, they would say, "That woman has a heart of gold." I agree

one-hundred percent.

I think the reason she is such a wonderful person is because the Holy Spirit resides within

her. She is very holy and has persuaded me to go to church with her every Sunday for aslong as I can remember. She belongs to the RCIA (Rite of Christian Initiation for Adults)

which gives people the opportunity to become part of the Catholic religion.

About six years ago my mom decided that she wanted to pursue her lifelong goal ofbecoming a teacher. She knew it would be hard work raising three kids, doing

housework, and studying at the same time. Nevertheless, in the long run, she believed it

would pay off. What my mother didn't realize was that not all things pay off in this unfair

world. After four hard, dedicated years of school, she graduated on a warm spring day. Itwas somehow better than perfect. It was unbelievable. My aunt and her family drove up

from Virginia to celebrate this fantasic day. It was the first time I ever cried from beinghappy.

It's bizarre how fast a life can change. Two months later, the unpredictable happened. My

mother was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis at the age of 44. This made me sick. Icould not believe after all the good she had done for people, this could happen. This was

the hardest time for me. I was very confused and cried every day. My faith in God just

about disappeared, and so did my mom's dream of becoming a teacher. In my mind thistragedy didn't only affect my family, but the entire community.

Today, I watch my mom who is full of boredom and depressed. Every day she takes pillsthat help her function. Since there is no cure, she can only pray for a miracle. Pray, that is

what I do all night and day. Somehow I still feel helpless because there is nothing I can

do, especially after all she has done for me. I cannot just sit here and watch her mind andbody suffer. As the days go by, she gets worse and worse. If you ever saw your mother

have daily spasms, how would you feel? She is not the same person. She used to be able

to remember everything, but now her memory is fading.


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Multiple Sclerosis is a very serious disease that is desperate for a cure. It slowly kills by

affecting the nervous system. I just wish I could tell my mother that everything will beokay like she used to tell me when I had a nightmare or the chicken pox. These past two

years have been rather difficult. My dad had to get another job (as a limousine driver), so

Friday and Saturday nights he is working. I wanted to go out with friends, but didn't wantto leave my mother alone. I always would worry about her.

Then, I decided I must move on with my life and accept the fact that she might never getbetter. Since my decision, I have become more mature, responsible, and active in school

and work. I feel less obligated to stay home on Friday and Saturday nights. I have found a

wonderful girlfriend with whom I plan to spend the rest of my life. I have overcome the

hardest obstacle I believe I would ever have to face - accepting that my mother is slowlydying. Through the years I have always been able to change negative situations into

positive ones. At the moment, I'm happy with my life.

Today, I am a hard-working young man who understands that achieving success in life isthe best tribute I can offer to the woman who has played such a big part in shaping who I

have become. -

Something About Myself

By Nancy W., New York, NY

According to the laws of entropy, the universe tends to progress from order to chaos.So, as I stared out of the classroom window in ninth grade (during another logic lecture in

math), I wondered for the umpteenth time why it was necessary to learn logic. Life isn't

made up of ifs, thens, contrapositives and negations. So what if Sally went to see themovie and Billy didn't. And if Billy saw the movie, then Sally didn't? One cannot find a

Laputa or Balnibarni on this world. We do not walk around with our heads in the clouds

and no one consults their textbooks to decide the approximate time it takes to get to thesupermarket after accounting for velocity, friction, stops along the way, weather,

distance, etc.

I spend approximately four hours a day (that's 600 hours every year, a total of 100 days)on the New York City transit system. When I first started taking the subway, I would give

my coins or food to beggars and I would give up my seat for senior citizens and I would

always read the advertisements pasted on the walls (even the lewd ones). I met a ladywho'd been raped and robbed seven times a week. The guy who preached about God took

regular doses of whiskey between cars. Then there are the circus freaks - the man with no

legs, the couple with AIDS and schizophrenia, the blind accordion player, and so on. Onetime a man came into my car and kept bouncing himself off the subway doors and


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windows. At the next stop, the entire car emptied out. Any guy who urinated in between

trains immediately became the star attraction at a public peep show.

Desensitization is a gradual process. Each day, I would give a little less and sleep a little

more. It came to a point where I would sleep the moment I grabbed a seat on the train. I

started to hate the bums who disturbed my nap to beg for food or change.

One hot summer afternoon, as I was riding on the escalator to get to the train, I met a

violinist. He was playing Vivaldi's Four Seasons (a favorite of mine), so I dropped adollar in his violin case. After he finished, he thanked me, which led me to compliment

his playing which led to a conversation. That was when I woke up from my interlude of

desensitization. I hit upon the perfect idea as to how to redeem myself.

During English, we had to write about the city - its advantages and disadvantages. I

started writing about the people I'd met on my commutes to and from school. I started

thinking about who these people were and why they were where they were. Sometimes I

even talked to them, or they talked to me. By writing about the lives of these people, I feltthat I gave them a voice, and a life, because someone else is reading about them and

acknowledging their troubles.

I suppose it was then that I inadvertently discovered the real point of education. School

was not some pointless activity to wile away the time until students became grown-ups.

This thing called knowledge was useless unless it was applied. Unless we acted otherthan in our self-interests, our time on this world would be wasted. -

Becoming A Dancer?

By Jennifer M., East Providence, RI

Standing in front of the mirror one day, I came to the harsh realization that I fell short

of the requirements of my dream. The reflection that stared back was of a skinny brown-

haired girl who stood a mere five feet tall. My entire life had been about dedication andstriving to be the best dancer in my studio. I'd always had elaborate dreams and high

aspirations. I never noticed how hard it might be to achieve something that you really

want. Most people spend their whole lives searching for their calling or their nitch, butI've known that I was born to be a dancer since the first time I stepped into Thoroughly

Modern Dance Studio at one and a half years of age. I've devoted sixteen years of my life

to helping my dream come true, and also taken time out of my personal life to be a dance

teacher at my studio.

Last summer I attended what is called an audition class in Boston taught by a highly

respected Broadway dancer. At this seminar he explained the procedures for getting intoa dance company or production. While I was listening and taking notes, I was thinking

that I certainly had the experience, but there was one area in which I didn't quite measure

up. He informed us that at most auditions all dancers under 5 feet 6 inches areautomatically eliminated or simply overlooked. He said that most casting directors are
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looking for the stereotyped dancer with long legs, a long neck and a size one waist.

Standing half a foot under this height, I felt my heart drop to the floor.

It really is hard to listen to someone basically tell you: "Sorry, but you've been working

really hard for sixteen years for nothing, so find a new dream." Unfortunately, it just

doesn't work that way. Dancing isn't just some hobby for me; it's more like an addiction.My complete heart and soul are exhibited in every step. Through dance I find a sense of

pride and satisfaction that I don't think anyone could understand or appreciate. To have

all that I've ever wanted instantly shot down created a sick feeling in my stomach.

Furthermore, I knew that at that moment I could do one of two things. I could settle for a

second choice, or I could commit myself to the tedious uphill battle to come. Well, I've

never been known as a person who gives up easily, so I've been working even harder tomake up for in skill what I lack in inches!

Nevertheless, it really doesn't matter how high the odds are against me, for I will rise

above them. It's time for me to "put my nose to the grindstone" because, despite whatanyone sees, the only direction my life is going is up. Whether I end up becoming a

professional Broadway dancer or open a local dance studio is irrelevant, because I will doone or the other by choice, not because I wasn't qualified. I'm comforted in knowing I'm

not alone in this battle. My mentor, Lorie Bernier, who stands at 5 feet 1 inch and has

taught me everything I know, always inspiring me by saying: "You have to believe you

can reach the stars before you can actually touch one of them." -

Adjusting To New Surroundings

By Michael K., Short Hills, NJ

Having played soccer my entire life, my decision to play football in my senior year wasrather bold. It came after several months of hard thought, and recognizing the fact that

my teammates on the soccer team were not people I liked. So, I hung up my soccer spikes

and put on a helmet and shoulder pads. The day before summer practice started, myfather asked whether I was scared, to which I replied, "How can I be scared of something

I don't know." Having uttered that remark, I realized that I am not afraid of the unknown,

something that has not always been true.

When I was ten, I received news that my father had been transferred, and my family and I

were moving to London, England. This was big. I was a small-town kid from suburban

New Jersey who barely knew where London was. I did not take kindly to the fact that Iwould be leaving the only place I had ever known as home. Much to my chagrin, we

moved to London the summer before I started fifth grade. A five-year journey began with

a frightened kid in an airport who was, reluctantly, the last person to board the planeleading to the unknown.

I spent most of my formative years in London, living in the world my friends in NewJersey only read about in textbooks. At the time, however, I viewed my experience as one


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where many people are born, grow up, and die in the same quiet neighborhood, never

venturing beyond the overcrowded and overhyped excitement of theme parks and guided

tours. I have had first-hand, real-life experiences which go beyond any showcase orexcursion, which have brought me in close contact with the everyday lives, concerns, and

delights of human beings around the world.

Just as a soap bubble, I reflect the world that surrounds me. I have moved from place to

place, changing colors in my spectrum, ever adapting, improving, growing. I have seen

Muslim mosques and Russian orthodox churches; I have attended services in Judaictemples according to the religion of my ancestors. I have communicated through Arabic,

Germanic, and Cyrillic languages. I have walked the majestic Red Square, redolent with

the glory of the Slavic tribes, and the busy, glittering Fifth Avenue, the capital of modern

wealth and style. The elegant script of Arabic neon signs streaked across the car windowsand reflected in the deep browns of my eyes as I drove down the brilliantly lit streets of a

vast Oriental port city ...

I do not have a home - or, at least I do not have one in the most conventional sense. Theysay that the entire planet Earth is a living, breathing, intelligent organism called Gaia.

That is my home. Not a street, not a city, not even a continent - it is the entire planet, withall its cultures and civilizations, brilliant, beautiful, magnificent.

So what makes me different from the fragile soap bubble? It is my soul. My soul, which

has been shaped by these experiences - and is stronger than ever. I know exactly where Iam coming from and where I am going. I am taking control. I am grateful, for these

experiences have enhanced my soul, giving it volume and dimension, making it shine and

forever stand out. What you see is not just a superficial rainbow; it is what I am:thoughtful, multifaceted, dynamic. These experiences have taught me the value of being

open, inquisitive, confident. They have given me many wonderful insights. I struggled

with the complexities of a new language, but, ironically, this has ultimately become anadvantage for me, as I now have multiple outlooks, multiple views and approaches to

many conventions and banalities which usually inspire little thought.

And after years of search and discovery, I have so much to share - and yet so much to

discover. -

Whatever Happened To My Perfect Life?

By Matt L., Brooklyn, NY

Perfect? Well, close enough. Thinking of the different types of families who exist, I can


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say with pride that my family works. We personify the typical nuclear family: my

mother, my father, two brothers and me. And we function! Big family activities include

dinners where we talk, biking in Prospect Park, or going to quilt shows. I am a publishedpoet, and actively involved in Boy Scouts. My younger brother has written a novel. My

mother has a growing massage therapy profession, and my dad is advancing in a city

government job. We live in a big Victorian house in Flatbush. We never had a lot ofmoney, but we always had a lot of fun. One big happy family.

Things were going perfectly.

Then, five years ago, my mom discovered she had breast cancer. With a capital C. She

had a lumpectomy four years ago, and a mastectomy two years ago. Each time we blindly

believed that it would be gone for good. Last spring it appeared in her lower back. Afterradiation, we again thought the cancer would be gone. With heavy hearts and stupored

souls we learned that it was back, and it was threatening her life.

We were in shock. Now what? First, Mom had to take care of herself. Second, we had totake care of Mom. She became our top priority. My family's distribution of

responsibilities has always been reasonably equal. But now that had to change. Cancerwas thrust into my "perfect" teenage life. My dad, my brothers, and I took over the

chores, along with the stress and worry. My domestic skills became more than

supplementary, they became essential.

But, what about me? Aren't these years my years? The time for my ego to be in front?

Isn't this my time to shine? Senior year in high school, sculpting abilities and an identity

through talents. Writing and reading poetry, starring in my own TV show, applying tocolleges, going for Eagle Scout. This isn't fair. This happens to other people's moms. But

it happened to mine. So I had to learn how to balance my needs, to be up front and on

stage, while placing my mom's needs ahead of my own.

Have I lost? Hardly. I've gained - in maturity, in insight, in reasoning to put myself and

my priorities aside. My abilities to balance others' needs along my own. I've learned thatwhen I'm tired, stressed out, and I just want to collapse, I don't. I search inside myself for

a fresh source of energy. A place to put aside my problems, and help my mother.

This is what college will be like. Challenges, courses, classes, projects, homework, finals,and a thesis. Not to mention all the distractions of frat parties, "all nighters" with friends,

and excuses that will detour me from my true course of education. But with these life

lessons, I know I can survive the complexities of college.

Life is not perfect. But successfully conquering any imperfections, and coming out

triumphant over your problems and all others is what makes life really worth living. -


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Too Much Pressure

By Rockel L., Brooklyn, NY

My mother has always been my most adamant supporter. She has encouraged and

motivated me so that I would do almost anything to please her, including sustaining allthe pressures that she and my father put on me to succeed. At a young age, I realized thatmy parents depend on me to become everything that they have always wanted to become

themselves.

My mother never had a chance to complete her education because of difficult familysituations. She has put all her unrealized hopes and dreams on my shoulders, a seventeen-

year-old. I have always been labeled as the child fated to be more than they. My siblings

resented me and I, in turn, resented my parents for the added pressure of being "the onethat will be everything." Even with the resentment I carried around, I still tried hard to

remain on top of my grades through elementary and middle school because I didn't want

to disappoint them. My father would actually gloat when I brought home a perfect grade.It felt like he earned the grade, not me. He would offer me a simple "Congratulations"

and then walk away. He would brag to his friends and co-workers, but never say any

more than "well done" to me. I remember when I did not get the highest grade, andreceived a score less than perfect by my father's standards. I wished for a heartfelt "I am

proud of you" or a hug and kiss, but instead was asked the question, "Where are the other

ten points ?" Crushed beyond belief, I would laugh it off and pretend that I did not care.

But I cared more than I thought. My mother would see the hurt and come into mybedroom and tell me she was proud of me. Her encouragement took away some of the

pain. It kept me determined to strive for all that she had envisioned for me.

As my final year of high school comes to a close, and my college career approaches, mymother is becoming more and more aggressive in her desires for me to succeed. She

doesn't seem to realize that her positive comments which are intended to inspire me,terrify me because I am afraid of disappointing her and my father. I know I am ready for

the college experience. I am mature enough, independent, and strong. I keep having

nightmares of failing out of school or not becoming the success they thought I would be.

It is so hard to overcome this fear. I know what it takes; I guess right now I am nervousabout the unknown. I have to trust my judgment and let go of the demands of my parents.

I will live my dreams and become the success that I want to be. -

Skye

By Chrstina R., Aurora, CO

April 17, 1996: The phone rang, bringing words and sobs that told the story of a dead
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friend. In an instant a nightmare became reality and over a year later I am still unable to

open my eyes and escape its horror. However, the death of Skye has made me stronger

and taught me something about who I want to be.

I first met Skye through my mom. At first she was just a baby-sitter like any other, but

she soon became more. She was my friend and my protector, although separated by onlythree years, we had the bond of sisterhood. We had so much in common that it seemed

simple to open up to her. We both came from broken homes, our single moms trying to

raise children and make a living. Neither of us had a lot, but we had our family and wehad each other.

Skye and I not only shared an understanding of what life was like at home, but we shared

the same interests, dreams, passions and goals. We shared the silly dream as well asserious needs. We both wanted to better ourselves, to make our lives better than our

mothers'. We yearned for this because we saw, firsthand, how difficult and cruel life

could be. Our role models, our moral support and our guiding lights were two of the

strongest, most independent women we knew: our mothers. We learned from theirmistakes and knew which way our lives were headed. Although our mothers were very

bright women, they could not get any further than clerical jobs due to a lack of a collegedegree. From this, Skye and I realized that higher education was the first step. We

dreamed of college, careers, getting married, children and the endless possibilities life has

to offer.

We wanted to take life into our hands and live it to the fullest. It's hard to be sitting here

writing of these dreams and know that Skye will never live them. She was working hard

at a local daycare center while taking classes at the community college. She was on herway to becoming a successful business women, but the craziness of this world took her

life days before she turned nineteen.

The death of Skye no longer lives with me. Rather I live with it. It's not to say that I have

forgotten her - that would be impossible- she was part of me and always will be. Her

death shook me more than anything I know, but now her memory is a part of my faith,hope, strength, motivation, and courage. I realize that tomorrow may not always be there

and because of this, I won't settle for less than I

Me In My Own Words

By Sarah W., Middletown, OH


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Throughout my life, people have come to me for help and advice. I've always been the

one with attentive ears and an eternally vacant shoulder. Though very few people werewilling to return the favor, there was always one girl there for me.

When I was four, my parents divorced. I didn't really understand what was going on, all Iknew was that my daddy was gone. After a while, it seemed like every day was an uphill

battle. I rarely saw my father. I couldn't explain my feeling of being unwanted but she

already understood. She looked at me with big green eyes, and smiled.

"Be strong," I heard. I tried, believe me I tried, but it's not easy for an eight-year-old to

take on the "mature" role in a parent/child relationship.

A few years later my mom remarried. As in numerous blended families, my brother and

my step-father didn't get along. When I was eleven, my brother moved out. I was

heartbroken. My only brother had left. Again, I turned to my confidant.

"He's not far away," she told me. "He's still your brother and he loves you very much." I

listened to her and kept my chin up. My brother and I are closer now than ever.

More time passed and life unfolded without ado, until my perseverance was tested. I

began to date a Hispanic guy. We had a lot of fun together and I decided I wanted Mom

to meet him. I brought him to the house and my life hasn't been the same since. I wasforbidden to see him again, and if I did I would face severe consequences. When I asked

her to explain her reasoning, I was told, "Don't you care that people will stare at you

when you walk through the mall together?" I explained to her that I didn't care, but mywords went unheard. My opinion mattered not. I couldn't believe what was happening to

me. I needed her now more than ever. I went to her with red, puffy eyes and little belief

left in free thinking. This time, her smile did not readily come. Her eyes did not sparklethe way they once had. She spoke to me in a calm, but stern voice.

"Not everyone thinks as you do, and you have to respect the opinions of others. Listen towhat people have to say, but don't lose sight of what you believe."

Through the good times and the bad, she's been there for me. She's proud when I'm

successful, critical when I'm cocky, and supportive when I'm weak. I don't think I couldhave made it this far without her. She's in a glance at the mirror or a glimpse in a lake on

a sunny day. She is me. -


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Who I Admire -- And Why

By Giacoma V.,

Who I Admire - and Why

by Giacoma V., Milford, CT "Gooooaaaaaal!" The crowd is on its feet and cheers echo

through the air. All eyes are on the 6'1" forward being congratulated and embraced by

fellow teammates. The whistle blows and the game is won, thanks to him. He stands tall

and proud, knowing he possesses a skill well beyond his years.

On another field, at another time, the crowd is silent, all eyes on the goalkeeper. His team

is up by one. The next goal could tie the game, and send this quarter-final match intoovertime. The opposing team is anxious, ready to take the penalty kick; the keeper

remains emotionless. The shot is fired, but his reactions are too quick and the keeper

smothers the rocket shot. The game ends, and his team is on its way to the state semi-finals.

No, they are not superstars, but they're not regular players either. Both athletes are in aclass by themselves because of their immense talent in the sport of soccer. They teach,

amaze, inspire and excel. Together, they have filled me with the deepest admiration.

They are Pierre and Jean-Nicole Venditti, my older brothers.

I wouldn't be able to pick one I admire more because both have taught me to put a

hundred percent into everything I do. Everything they have learned through soccer - not

just the drills, or the plays, but also the determination and the passion you need to

perform well - has made me realize that whatever you do in life that is important, shouldbe done with the same determination and passion.

Maybe it's the many trophies and awards they have won that I admire. Team MVP, All-

City, All-State, All-Regional, All-American, Gatorade Soccer Player of the Year - these

are titles familiar to my brothers. Front page of the sports section, captains of their team,

first-place trophies and plaques, breaking school records - these are all things my brothersknow best. But to be honest, the times they have inspired me the most are when their

many awards and trophies were not in view.

The game is tied. The other team's defenders are guarding that 6'1" forward heavily. He

manages to break free and score an unbelievable goal. However, the game is not over andhe shows no signs of relaxing. Suddenly, a player is down in the box: "It's the boy whojust scored the tie-breaking goal!" The crowd is silent; things don't look good. He has to

be helped off the field, but before he goes, he shakes the hand of the opposing team

player who went down with him. There is a standing ovation as he is led reluctantly to thebench.

On another field, at another time, a different game is half over. Both teams are pushing to


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score with no luck. At halftime, the coach pleads with his star goalkeeper to give up his

position. "We don't have anyone in the front to score. The only reason the other team

hasn't scored yet is because of you. Please switch to forward and see what you can do outthere." The boy removes his lucky keeper jersey. On the field, he sticks out because of his

unfamiliarity with the position. But the plan works. The keeper's skill carries with him

and he scores a tremendous shot from far out.

When they are on the field, they carry themselves with an abundance of pride, strength,

honor and confidence - that is what I see, admire and aspire to be.

Myself Or Someone Like Me

By Anonymous

Myself or Someone Like Me by Anonymous, Agawam, MA "This life is only a test.

Had it been an actual life, you would have been given instructions." - "My So-Called

Life"

Right now, I am someone like me. I am not whole and complete like some people. Thereis this huge part of my life that fragments me - gaps all over the place. Sadly, it keeps me

from enjoying life and liking the person I could be. Someday, I will smile true and be the

"me" I so desperately want to discover. But for now, I don't have that kind of control. The

eating disorder does.

To give the date it all began - I couldn't. To say when things were at their worst - every

minute of every day for the past four years. It moved in and made my life miserable. Forindividuals who have not walked this road, it is impossible to understand. I walk, run,

sprint this road every day and I'm still confused. Words cannot describe what it is like to

exist in a world that is not my own. I walk around looking and sounding like myself butmy thoughts and life no longer belong to me.

Most days I still can't admit there's a problem; in fact, this is the first time I've ever put itin writing. When I was first told I had an eating disorder, I read every book hoping I

couldn't relate, searching for an out. As scary and confusing as it is at times, I don't see

what others see. All I know is that I have this "voice" in my head constantly telling me tobe perfect, to be a good person, I must be skinny, that no one loves me - and it makes

sense. I know it sounds irrational. But "my head" doesn't do the thinking anymore.

I walk around smiling, in this false world that I've created, so that everyone else will behappy. I've learned to survive here. It has gotten to the point where I feel as though

without my eating disorder, I'm nothing. It's hard to let go. Sometimes I can fight but it


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takes so much energy; I get worn out. I want for this to stop - not because of the physical

toll it takes, but because of the internal damage that no one can see. The pain and sadness

in my heart is so much worse. I believe I have the strength but it feels like there is noreason to fight.

By writing this, I've put my feelings on paper. I've told something I'm not supposed totell, and I can't run from what's face-to-face with me. Slowly, I'm realizing how tired I am

of feeling worthless and unloved. For so long I've felt that no one loves me, but I know I

haven't let them either. I need to love myself first. (A concept easier written than done.Hopefully the truth in words can help set me free.)

Through therapy, I am learning to get at the root of my problem. It's not about food, it's

about me and the way I view the world. Uncovering what lies below the surface can bedifficult. Sometimes I want to forget everything and accept my life for what it is. But I've

never been one to settle for something I know I can change, and I can change this. There

are days - a few, but getting more frequent - when life feels better, like part of my "self"

has emerged. Then there are days when who I am doesn't even exist. The difference now(compared to a year ago) is that even if I feel this way today, tomorrow or the next day, I

know there will be a day I won't. I hold the thought of such a day in a special spot in thedepths of my being. I know this disorder will not get the best of me. My whole life is

ahead of me and I plan to live it, really live it, every step of the way. (No more sprinting

the roads of life.)

Marked For Life

By Carissa M., East Providence, RI

For the most part, people generally consider me to be a person who is calm, giving and

quiet. I try never to overreact. In fact, my close friends usually come to me when theyneed advice or are in a jam. Standing at six feet, two inches, my peers often call me the

"gentle giant."

Because of my stature, strangers may make false assumptions about my personality,

perceiving me as a giant bully or a mean person. Being the timid, non-outgoing person I

actually am, I've always wanted to do something "different." Sitting in my room and

looking at magazines with a friend, I noticed a model with a cute little butterfly tattoo onher shoulder. Commenting on the photograph, my friend challenged me, "Ris, you

wouldn't have the guts to do something like that. You're too, well, you know, you're too

good."

"Good! What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing personal, Ris, but you're every parent's dream come true. You get decent


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grades, you were offered a full scholarship to college, you're responsible, you've never

tried any illegal drug, substance and overall, you're well-mannered and polite to everyone

... almost everyone."

Is that what people think of me: a goody-goody-two-shoes? I couldn't believe it. All my

friends acted as if I were this perfect being who never got into trouble. This made methink of the tattoo in the ad. I asked my mother what she thought of my getting a tattoo.

Very nonchalantly, she responded, "Well, Cris, it's your body, and you will be 18 soon.

Just remember, it's there forever."

I sat down to think. Am I getting this tattoo to prove something to my friends, or am I

getting it because I want to? "Because I want to!" I screamed to reassure myself. I was

psyched. My face was all aglow and my heart began to beat faster like the gears of atrain.

I could not believe it, but on the twelfth of January, one day after my eighteenth birthday,

I talked my best friend (who was so quick to anticipate my future performances) intotaking me to the once forbidden tattoo parlor. I looked through what must have been no

less than four thousand tattoos, from flowers to devil symbols. Noticing a page taped tothe wall of the shack-like room, I saw it! A small, two-inch design with four dots in each

corner. Picking purple, I was ready. With sweat pouring from my face, and pasty palms, I

crawled in the chair and meekly said, "Let's do it." Watching the tattoo-covered tattooist

carve the tribal design into my flesh, pangs of excitement shot through my body as I sawdroplets of blood run down my leg.

When the last indention was carved, my skin was raw. Standing back to admire my newaddition, thoughts of tattoos and tattoo parlors made me think of Harley Davidson

motorcycles, big, hairy, long-haired biker dudes with leather jackets, covered with every

type of tattoo. Was that me? Could the "gentle giant" be a biker dudette? No! I took achance to do something so unpredictable and loved it. Now, no one knows what to expect

from me. I like it that way. Maybe this will teach people not to try to predict my every

action, or to assume things about me. Remember, ASSUME NOTHING! -

The Closet

By by Amy Z., Henniker, NH

Wow! What a kiss. It was my second kiss, but it was so spectacular that it seemed like

it was my first. His name was Matt and he was supposed to be my friend, but then thingsgot a little too friendly. The problem? He was supposed to be dating my best friend

Rebecca. I'm not sure how it really happened, but I started to fall for him (if Rebecca had

known, she would have said that I "crashed" for him). I spent about a week sitting withhim at lunch and going out of my way to see him in the halls, but he was so dense that he


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thought that I was just being super nice to him.My other best friend Meri (who was also

best friends with Rebecca) was having her thirteenth birthday party. She invited Matt in

hopes that he and Rebecca would "hook up."

At the party, I told Meri that I really liked Matt, but to keep it a secret. I soon realized

that if you tell one person a secret, it is no longer a secret. I was in trouble. Withinminutes the party-goers were buzzing about my news.

I went upstairs to escape the pressure of "Hey, ask him to dance," and the ever-famousphrase "He told me he likes you."I sat on the foot of Meri's bed gathering my thoughts for

about five minutes when somebody knocked on the door. It was Matt. He thought that I

was mad at Meri. Mad didn't even begin to describe my feelings toward her at that

moment.

"I know that you want to be more than friends, and I'm sorry, but I really don't think that

it would work out between the two of us." As he said this I could have sworn that my

heart was shattering.

"Are those your shoes?" He was making a feeble attempt to change the subject. I wantedto be cold and tell him that if they were on my feet they most likely belonged to me, but I

just sat there with my mouth shut. "Hide-and-go-seek in the dark!" Meri's mother yelled

up the stairs.

Meri picked the teams. Matt and I were coupled up. The lights went out, and I realized

that nights were darker than I remembered. My hand found its way into his and we went

up the stairs to find a place to hide. We chose the closet in Meri's room.

My heart was pounding in my throat while we stood there in the silence. I was

concentrating on the rhythm of my breathing when he spoke up. "Did you mean what yousaid before?" His voice cut through the silence.

"Yeah." I could have kicked myself for that response. But what was I supposed to do?Lie?"I really do like you ... I ... I just didn't want to ruin our friendship." As he said this

he started to kiss my neck. I felt this warm heat run through my body as the tips of his

fingers brushed over my neck. He tilted my head and kissed me.

At that moment I felt as if I was finally in synch with somebody else. All time stopped.

To me it was the most beautiful thing in the world ...

Then Rebecca opened the door.

My friendship with Rebecca lasted about another two weeks, but I think it was over inher mind that night. My relationship with Matt lasted a record-breaking five days.

I soon learned that friendships are too precious to risk over boys. After all, boys come

and go as frequently as airplanes at any international airport. Joni Mitchell described this


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lesson best in "Big Yellow Taxicab" when she sang, "Don't it always seem to go that you

don't know what you've got till it's gone?"

Taking things for granted is a mistake that many people make over the course of their

lives. I never knew how much my friendship with Rebecca meant to me until it ceased to

exist. -

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