E110 FA19 Class Blog

              It was seven o’ clock on a Thursday night and I was feeling peckish.  There was nothing in my house that I wanted to eat so I decided to go to Wendy’s to purchase a couple 4 for 4’s.  I informed my mother I was going out, grabbed the keys to my mom’s minivan in my driveway, and off I went. I zipped down my street and before I knew it, I was at the Wendy’s.  There I made the decision to use the drive thru as it would be quicker than going in and ordered my food. 

         I had my food and started my trip back home trying to arrive there before my food got cold.  My way back home took me through some backroads which at this time of night were always empty and were mostly long and straight, so I was able to speed down them easily.  I was speeding down the last straight away minutes from my house while blasting music.  I approached the stop sign at the end of the road and noticed the first sign of trouble.  There was a large black vehicle across from me in the parking lot for the local trail.  I did not think anything weird of it at the time and just made my right turn and continued. 

        That’s when I saw the black vehicle pull out and turn on its police lights.  An instant wave of dread hit me because there was no one else on the road so I knew it was for me.  So, I pulled over put on my hazard lights and fished for the insurance and registration papers in my glove box.  After I had everything, I needed I was trying to figure out why exactly I was pulled over.  The speeding had not yet crossed my mind because I slowed down a pretty far distance from the stop sign to have a complete stop.  So the first thought that crossed my mind was that at the stop sign I made a rolling stop and did not wait the full three seconds so I came up with a defense for it and I hoped I could took my self out of a ticket.  The cop finally approached the vehicle after I waited for what felt like an hour.  

        “License and registration” he said.  I promptly handed him all the papers. 

        “You know why I pulled you over? “he then I asked.  I mentioned the stop sign and was about to talk about why I did not wait the full three seconds and how it was my bad when he threw a curve ball at me.  

       “Actually, I clocked you going 67 down the road which is a 40.”   That line stopped me in my tracks.  My mind started to race with a way to not go home with a ticket but twenty-seven over the limit is a hard thing to talk your way out of.   I was not able to talk my way out of it and the officer went back to his car to write my ticket.  After about ten minutes the officer came back with my ticket.  He handed it to me and that is when I found it it was going to add four points on to my license.  Now the worst part of the night came up going home: figuring out a way to tell my mom what had happened on my way home.  I pulled into my driveway and sat there for a couple minutes thinking how to phrase it.  I decided to just face the music I grabbed my ticket and 4 for 4’s which were going to be my night’s highlight but were now an afterthought and headed in.

          I explained what happened to my mom who did not take at that well as expected. Then told my dad who was working that night who told me he was an eighteen and drove recklessly, so he understood but made it clear he did not want me to do it because it is dangerous.  My punishment for my driving was that I had to pay for the ticket, but I was able to deduct the points by making a deal with the prosecutor at my traffic court, so the insurance stayed the same.  I did learn from that night though that speeding even on a straight away can have its consequences even if it is not crashing but could make so you have a run in with the cops.   

In grade 6 I had to complete a project for my social studies class. I will refer to my teacher as a different name out of respect for him. Mr. Wallace was generally an easy-going and approachable teacher. That is until one time in March where I tested his limits. We had to build a replica of a famous building, landmark, monument, or important scene in history. We had a few weeks to complete the project, as my teacher wanted everyone to do their best work. My first couple of classmates presented, then a few more went. This would go for a week and a half until we got down to the final ones. I was one of the few remaining who had to present. Mr. Wallace was beginning to wonder when I would have my project ready, and he began to question me. I lied to my teacher and said my replica was almost complete and that I was putting the finishing touches on it. Fast forward a little bit, my parents found out and their reaction was not pleasant. After some yelling and awkward talk of disappointment, it was time to do the assignment. I had decided to build the Buckingham Palace in the United Kingdom. I finished the replica with the help of my parents, gave the presentation, and received surprisingly good feedback from Mr. Wallace and my classmates. My twelve year old self was dumb enough to think I could get out of doing the assignment. Always do your work. I learned the hard way.

Being impulsive is okay sometimes, just not all the time. I landed in a sticky situation due to my impulsiveness. Granted, I didn’t plan on all available phones dying or on there being no functioning phone charger in the car. I didn’t even plan on driving out to West Virginia that night. My best friend, Cam, and I were supposed to be driving around our town, located just outside Pittsburgh.

It started out normally: I pick Cam up and we drive around town. That night though, I wasn’t feeling remotely tired. I asked Cam, “Do you mind if we take the drive onto the highway tonight?” His response was more than positive, so I set off towards the highway. After driving for a few minutes, a sign passed showing different cities and how far away they were. Speaking my thoughts, I read a city out loud. “Wheeling. Cam, let’s go to Wheeling.”

“You do know Wheeling is in West Virginia, right?” Cam asked. He pulled out a quarter. If it was heads, we would go. If it was tails, we wouldn’t. Cam flipped the coin. Tails. Cam then spoke up. “Let’s just do it anyways, but how about we just go into West Virginia for a few miles?” 

From there, we made a game plan: Pick up a West Virginia brochure at the first rest area and turn around at the next exit. After we picked up the brochures, Cam and I had pulled up the navigation on our phones. It said we could take one long road at the next exit to loop around to the other side of the highway.

We took the exit and started down the road. We lost the radio signal a few minutes into the road, which worried us only slightly. The exit we took was a camping exit, so we were prepared for that to happen. Then, I noticed that the lights lining the road were becoming more spaced out, leaving me to be more cautious than normal while driving. The navigation let us know we had thirty minutes left before we merged onto the highway. Another ten minutes passed, and my phone died. I asked Cam if he had a charger; I didn’t plan on going on such a long car ride, so I didn’t have one. Not only did Cam not have a phone charger, his phone was about to die too. With me still driving, Cam went through all of the pockets around his seat looking for a charger. His phone died after his first unsuccessful search. Slightly panicked, he continued looking through the car for a charger, the entire time whispering profanities under his breath about how we even got into this situation.

Eventually, Cam found an old phone charger in the wall of the trunk. He climbed back up to the front and plugged my phone in. The rest of the ride home we talked about how we didn’t regret the adventure, but we would never do it again without being a little more prepared.

Here’s what I hope people take away from this. First, always have a phone charger in your car even if you are only going a few minutes away from home. Second, if you decide to go on a crazy car adventure, it’s better if you do it with a friend. Third, trust your instincts. Even though I panicked at some points, I still trusted we would eventually find our way home, and we did.

There have been precisely three times where I have recognized the concept of “soulmates” to be true–only one of which has been romantic on my part. Soulmates are defined in media as romantic. The technical definition; however, encompasses much more than the shallow glimpse of happily ever after. As stated by Webster’s Dictionary, a soulmate is quite simply “a person who is perfectly suited to another in temperament.” Due to the previous experiences and interactions in my life, I know that soulmates do more than impact you–they shape who you are.

I was three years old when I first recognized the concept of soulmates–not so much in that term, but as a presence in my life. Of course, you may see the number “three” and immediately be skeptical–but do not fret, I recognized soulmates in two of the most consistent people in my life: my parents. My father called my mother “Tweety-bird,” a play off her real name, Thuy, so much that by pre-school I was still not completely sure what my mother’s real name was.

The catalyst for realizing that my parents were destined for one another came from one of the most awful things a child can experience–seeing their mother cry. As I took a step into the room, I witnessed it for the first time: my father being able to make everything alright. I remember my father walking out of his closet and seeing her, the tie he was holding in his hand making its way towards the ground as he sat down across from her. His voice low, I recall him telling her that he loved her unconditionally, that he would always be there for her. That night he came home from work with three dozen roses and a Tweety Bird stuffed doll the size of three-year-old me. More so than just adorning her with gifts, my father always understood what needs to be said in the moment. It, of course, has always been a two-way street for them; every action is reciprocated. 

Soulmates, as I have alluded to, can also be in platonic relationships. The second time I realized soulmates existed, but the first time I ever considered the fact that I may have a soulmate was in my best friend: Anastasya Pavlosky. She has been my go-to for everything over the past years, the first person I speak to about any issue, partner, life event, anything at all. I realized Anya was my soulmate upon our biggest fight–the one that should have destroyed the very idea of her being in my life. In destroying my other relationships in order to become wholly dependent on her, I hurt us both. This fight took up half a year, and plenty more time in rebuilding our relationship. Where my parents were masters at communication, I was despondent in it, but forgiveness is not cheap. Long story short, Anya and I reconciled and focused on becoming better at communication, realizing independence whilst still being together in mind and soul. I realized she was my true soulmate not in the fact that she forgave me after everything I had done, but rather because she understood what it meant to grow and mature with me. 

The final time I realized soulmates existed was also the time I realized that we all grow in relationships… and not necessarily at the same pace. From the ages of 12 to 16, I was in what can only be considered as serious a relationship as young teenagers can enter. Hopelessly devoted to this boy, I can only imagine you rolling your eyes. Do not worry, this does not end in happily ever after. 

For years, my boyfriend was who I consider Anya to be to me now, who my parents are to one another–my soulmate. In retrospect, he is the complete opposite of what a soulmate should be, but in the moment, I do not think I ever thought of him as anything but. He adorned me with gifts, he told me he loved me every day, he made me feel happy–sound familiar? 

He; however, did not support anything I did, did not make me feel secure. Every moment with him, although exciting, was also unpredictable and scary. We may have been in love, but it was not the right time nor place for that type of intensity. He may not be my true soulmate, but he came into my life to challenge me and help me grow. He served his purpose: he gave me romantic interaction, helped me realize who I was as a person and who I need to be in order to grow up, and he did not need to stay. He made me happy for the time being–and that is enough. 

Plato once included the concept of soulmates in his dialogue The Symposium that states that we each have one perfect half who completes us; however, I do not believe there is just one person for everyone. Soulmates come in all different forms, at different times for different periods of time. They are magical and wonderful, but their purpose is to make us grow. 

It was a rainy Thursday morning when I was called into the principal’s office. I was a terrified sixth grader that had never been called to the principal’s office before. I sat across from my principal as she told me my horse riding instructor, Ms. Frances, had been killed the day before in a horrible accident. She was crossing the street to get her mail when she was hit by a car and killed instantly. She gave me a few minutes to gather myself before sending me back to my class. I was in shock and as I walked back into my first-period class puffy and red, I felt everyone’s eyes on me. I then had to go through the entire day of classes in a numb and shocked state. I was then filled with so much frustration, confusion, and sadness that such an amazing and genuinely good person could be taken so suddenly. 

Experiencing loss is never easy, and almost never happens in a way that you’re expecting. Experiencing significant loss for the first time can feel absolutely impossible to overcome. As hard as it was to lose someone so special and meaningful to me at a young age, I learned a very valuable lesson from it. I learned to never take time with loved ones for granted because anything can change in an instant. Once your time with someone is gone, you can never get it back. However, I also learned that once someone special is a part of your life, you carry them with you even once they’re gone. 

Although no one wants to experience loss, a lot can be learned from such a difficult experience. After losing Ms. Frances, as hard as it was, I’m thankful I learned to not take time for granted before I was old and it was too late. Before the accident, I didn’t realize or care how much time I spent cooped up alone in my room on my phone. I’m now more conscious of what I do with my time and who I to spend it with, trying to never take the time I have/had with the people I love for granted. This lesson has been especially relevant since beginning college and being away from my people.  

Jamie O’Neill

In 2018, I decided to take a year away from school, there was one place I was lucky enough to be able to go to purely because of curiosity, Malaysia. I signed up for a gap year program that would include living in Malaysian Borneo to volunteer with time to explore the unique area. Looking back, I know now it was the same voice that told me to convince my friends from home to visit the hole-in-the-wall Somalian restaurant instead of our normal take out place. If I am choosing a restaurant, I like to choose one that has a culture that I have never tried before. This appears to be a meaningless trait for everyday life, but I think of it as a way that I choose to live. 

Most of our meals came from the cooks who served us traditional Malaysian food at our camp which was great but  many of my friends at the camp were not accustomed to eating rice every day, so when they had the opportunity to eat at a western-style fast food restaurant the group was ecstatic. At our first opportunity to eat a Malaysian restaurant, we chose to eat at the Colonel’s own Kentucky Fried Chicken house. I still had reason to be excited, Malaysian KFC was different. I had the opportunity to try the Malay truffle parmesan fried chicken overlooking a jungle.. 

I could not lie to myself the chicken was disappointing. I should have seen that putting a dry layer of parmesan and truffle oil on fried chicken would not be the satisfying cultural experience I had hoped it would be.

As my time in Malaysia was near its end, we had one more opportunity to go to an outside restaurant and I knew I needed to get unique Malaysian food in a restaurant before I left. My companions were satisfied with the Malaysian KFC and opted to go there but I had to stand up. I asked our Malay program leader if there were any other places he would recommend and he told me about Indian restaurants that served food like “roti canai” which is a doughy flatbread that is inspired by both Malaysia and India..

When we got off our bus we flew past the KFC in search for our Pan-Asian flatbread. The area was crowded and full of cash and fabric stores we asked around but even though the area had many English speakers we did not know how to describe what we were looking for. We were about to give up and take a three-piece of shame before we found it. On the side of the road were Arabic lettering giving showing us that we had found our El Malay-Indian Dorado. 

I wish I could tell you the food was where it all paid off but I had to wait. I was given a meal with beef that was cold because it had clearly been sitting outside the entire day. This was served on top of an undercooked egg and the flatbread. I stopped eating when my friend found a large bug in his food after he had eaten most of it. I felt incredibly sorry I had roped my friends into this but that didn’t matter. When I looked around, I found my friends laughing and talking about everything they saw when we were finding this place.. 

Two days later it was my time to leave but only half of my friends were there to wish me goodbye. The rest were in the hospital for food poisoning on an IV drip and those that ate KFC and were still at the hostel had serious diarrhea. None of the people who ate roti canai with me were sick. As I took my 23-hour journey back to LaGuardia Airport I thought about how lucky I was by sticking with my instinct to explore new things by traveling to beautiful Malaysia and trying a shitty Malay-Indian restaurant on the side of the road.

Could a movie make me cry? This question had me thinking all day. I had never cried during a movie before, not even during sad movies, but I thought that a comic book movie might make the emotions come out. I had become emotionally invested in the entire franchise, over twenty films. After watching the decades worth of films, I had a strong feling that Avengers Endgame would make me cry. But how would I manage to hide the emotion from my friends? Something so human had me pondering all day.

After getting into Jared’s car, his dad asked if any of us had any last minute predictions. “Someone big is going to die,” I stated, finally accepting that one of my favorite heroes would finally meet their end.

“Yeah, but who?” Jared asked with his eyes still glued on his phone. He was reading theories online, just as I had been doing earlier, avoiding spoilers at all costs.

“Your guess as good as mine,” I said as the car made its way to Ethan house. When we got to Ethan’s house, he came into the car and almost spoiled the movie for us. Jared’s dad screamed at him and Ethan was startled. Next stop, the theater.

We were nearing the theater, so I figured that I better warn everyone about my probable emotional outbreak. I told them very bluntly. I braced for humiliation, but was pleasantly surprised. Ethan told me he felt the sam way as me. Jared didn’t even seem phased by my admission. His dad glanced at me through the rear view mirror and gave me the nod of approval. I had bottled up so much anxiety for nothing.

When the movie started and an emotional scene occurred, I felt the tear build up in my eye. Immediately, I turned to see my friend’s reactions. Ethan was halfway through wiping a tear from his cheek and Jared was already full on sobbing. It wasn’t just my friends showing emotions, it was the entire theater. Grown men were even visibly distraught. I spent all day being anxious for nothing.

The anxiety that I felt ended up leading me to this great realization. It is perfectly acceptable for a man to show emotion, especially when he is truly passionate about something. Seeing other young men, and even grown men, cry over a comic book movie taught me that suppressing your emotions is pointless, because more than likely, someone else is feeling the same way too.

My early childhood was like any other elementary school kid; simple, carefree, and playful. Only there was one problem that I had that didn’t seem like any other kid my age had. I had an irrational fear of thunderstorms and lightning. All of my friends did not have this problem, neither did anyone in my family. I felt alone, misunderstood, and desperate for some help. My mom, Angie, and my dad, Jay, were the biggest supporters of me, of course, as well as my friends’ parents, like Mrs. Mankus, and older family members. However, my friends didn’t really understand my problem, and that hurt a lot. The people I related to the most and cared about the most couldn’t relate to me, so I shut myself out to them and didn’t want to be around them anymore. It was hard to deal with, but it was the only thing I could do to make myself feel safe. I had an irrational fear of thunderstorms and lightning.

      Being around friends was the hardest part because of me fear. If I was alone in a storm, I would usually hide under a blanket, out in headphones, and try my hardest to not hear the thunder. However, when I’m around friends and don’t have all of those things, I have to keep calm and act like the storm isn’t bothering me even when I am terrified inside. I remember at one sleepover at my friend’s house, I let my calm slip and turned into a scared 10-year-old boy, huddled in a corner secluded from everyone else. My friend’s mom, Mrs. Mankus really helped me calm down that night even in one of the biggest storms I have ever been in. She grew up in western Oklahoma, also known as Tornado Alley. I couldn’t imagine growing up there with the state I was in, especially when what I feared the most in storms is the chance of a tornado touching down. I remembered her saying, “It’s okay to be afraid, everyone is afraid of something.” I didn’t believe her though; all of my friends were still running around having fun and laughing while I was still huddled in a corner. This was the hardest part about my fear and the only part I couldn’t understand.

      I remember coming home on the last day of school for my fifth-grade year. It was a clear sunny day with not a cloud in sight, and I spent that afternoon playing video games without a care in the world. I was enjoying my day when all of a sudden, an alert came on the tv saying there is possible tornado conditions in your area. I immediately turn on the weather channel and call my dad to tell him there might be a tornado. “Oh don’t worry Caeden, there hasn’t been a tornado here in Delaware since forever” he says. At this point I am freaking out trying to calm down when the weather channel says the tornado watch is now a warning. I call my dad again and he says the same thing. Right when I ended the call, I noticed the wind pick up and all the flowers and bushes in our front garden whipped around in the wind. I wasn’t sure if it was just wind or it was an actual tornado, until I heard what sounded like a train going by my house. I then sprinted and looked out the window only to see a dark column of spinning clouds barreling down my street and tearing down power lines. The tornado was categorized as an EF 0, the lowest grade a tornado can get, but since it rained before it touched down, the ground was soft and it ripped up plants and knocked over huge trees.     

 After that day I wasn’t afraid of storms, thunder, or lightning again. In fact, I like watching storms come through and seeing the elaborate lightning strikes across the sky. I faced my biggest fear and that’s what helped me get over it, not the people I cared about telling me I would be okay. It can only take five minutes to change your feelings and view of the world

  

If you were to ask my friends at home about me and going away to college, they would’ve told you that I was probably the most excited to leave home. To get away from parents’ rules and getting out of a small town where everyone knows everyone (which is so annoying). To start living my own life. After my third week of being in college now… all my opinions about that “adult life” have now changed. I realized I should’ve appreciated my life before this a little bit more.

            My whole summer leading up to freshman year was filled with working. It felt like I was working every day of my life. When my time came to stop working, I would be in college. Now I’m in college and as crazy as it sounds, I actually miss working. I miss the simplicity of life before college, having a routine. Just working, going to the beach, maybe a party or two, and you wake up the next day and do it all over again. My summer was full of pure fun and work of course. The only worries I had was leaving home. I would literally count down the days until I left for college. If I only knew what it was really like I probably wouldn’t have been counting down the days.

            My summer was full of seeing my best friends as much as I could. My friends are another thing I didn’t appreciate enough at the time. I was lucky to have friends to watch over me at our crazy summer parties, when at the time maybe I wasn’t even able to take care of myself. Then came college when I need friends like that. In college you’re just thrown in with a monsoon of new people and personalities. Dodging the sorority girls for me because I actually want to meet real people. Also, it’s crazy that were meeting people now when we’re all ADULTS. Now seeing how difficult it is to find that new group, has made me think to myself how lucky I was to have the group of friends that I had.

            This summer was the most I have ever felt the feeling that I needed to get away. Keep in mind, I’ve wanted to get away from home for a long time now. The main words I probably said to my dad this summer were, “I can’t wait to get out of here,” about twice a day. Which probably wasn’t the best thing to say. I now know that I could, wait to get out of there. Now I miss coming home to my dog barking, my brother screaming about video games, or my sister rambling about YouTube. I took my family for granted when I lived with them “permanently,” I guess you could say. The thought of doing everything on my own seemed so easy to me, but then I did some shopping for my dorm after I got here, and I didn’t even realize how much groceries costed. I kind of missed my mom’s frozen ‘Stouffer’s’ lasagna that I always complained about, even though the dining hall food here is pretty good. I kind of miss the echoes of Lord of the Rings in my house because my family watched one every single night. Now instead, all I hear is echoes of drunk people in my hall. My point here is that it doesn’t hurt to be a little bit more appreciative towards your family when you’re living with them every single day. I will defiantly be sure to act like an angel once Thanksgiving break comes around.

            Now this essay wasn’t here to make college seem like a terrible, lonely place. This essay could almost be like advice for incoming freshman. In the end, I’m glad that I left home. I did consider saving money and go to community college, but I am so happy that I didn’t because I probably would’ve hated my life even more. I only wish I appreciated my life a little more before the start of adulthood. There are no regrets here because this is a part of life, and that would be like regretting a lot of parts in my life. So that is my lesson here, to not take moments in life for granted. Not only life before college, but now not to take college life for granted, or any steps in life for that matter.