E110 FA19 Class Blog

There I am, alone in a small cinder-block room.  It is humid and clammy inside. The walls are a gross yellow-white shade, like the classrooms in high school. Every couple of hours I hear the screams from my neighbors because they have found yet another cockroach. I sit on the small, uncomfortable mattress as I cry my eyes out. I just said goodbye to my family, and would not see them for a very long time- I had just been dropped off at college, and my journey had just begun.

Throughout middle school and high-school, the word “college” is something that I heard very often.  It is something held above students heads. “You better take AP classes so you can get into college,” and, “If you don’t spend seven hours a week studying for the SAT you won’t get a high enough score for colleges,” are some familiar things that I heard throughout high school.  College is used as motivation, and something for hard-working high- school students to look forward to. Everyone where I am from attends a four-year university, and my high school has a 99% rate for sending kids to college. The pressure was on.

When I chose to attend the University of Delaware, it was one of the most exciting days of my life.  When I stepped onto the campus, I felt different then I had felt when touring other schools. The people were super nice, the campus is beautiful, and the downtown area is very nice.  I felt as though it was the perfect fit. However, once I had to start looking for a roommate, I began to get nervous and anxious. I asked myself, “Would I be able to find someone I liked? What if they were weird? What if they steal my things? What if they had boys over all the time?”  My thoughts would get worse and worse everyday. I ended up choosing a roommate that looked normal over Facebook, and hoped for the best.

Besides being nervous about my roomate, college gave me more things to be scared of. I felt like I would not be smart enough to keep up my grades, and was very scared of falling behind.  In high school, I always felt like the “dumb friend”. My two closest friends are attending University of Chicago and Columbia this year, and being around them made me feel like I was not going to succeed in college.  In addition, I was very worried about the college workload, and was unsure if I was cut out for this. Throughout highschool I was always able to keep up, but college is a different story. I always heard college kids complaining about the work, and it made me extremely stressed.  Besides school work, I stressed about making new friends, and was not sure if I was ready to leave my old ones behind. It was hard to think about being friends with a whole new set of people.

The scariest part of this transition was leaving my family.  My family always eats dinner together, we do activities together, and are very close-knit. My grand-parents and both my aunts all live within 15 minutes of my hometown. My younger sister and I are also really close, and I was really scared to leave my best friend.

Flash forward two weeks after move in day, and almost all of my anxieties of college had disappeared.  Upon meeting my roommate Natalie, I was pleasantly surprised. Natalie had a lot of the same concerns that I had about going into college. We were more similar than I previously thought we were.  For example, on move-in day I realized we both came from crazy families. We have had many conversations about our nutty childhoods, and all of the questionable things our parents put us through. Also, we had a humorous argument about who would kill the spiders in the room god forbid we had any.  Nonetheless, we ended up getting along really well and shared many of the same interests. As far as the school work, so far it has been extremely manageable. Obviously it has only been two weeks and things are bound to get harder, but my fears about the school work have dissipated. (My fears of the cockroaches living in my building have  not). Leaving my family was not as hard as I thought. We talk on the phone almost every day, and we scheduled visits home for the near future. 

Although it was not the easiest decision to go to college, so far it has been completely worth it.  An important lesson that I learned through this process is to not overthink things. I psyched myself out about little things, when I should have had self-confidence.

On the night of June 12, 2016, in Orlando, Florida, shots rang out. 49 people dead. 53 injured. All innocent members of the LGBTQ community who were just trying to have a fun night at the Pulse Night Club. This type of violence is the news that the media publishes surrounding the community. It is moments like this that make me feel like some people need to take a step back and think about the world for a minute. We all have our differences, and some may be more pronounced than others, or certain people may show off their differences and embrace them, but we are all people on the inside. I love my identity as a Queer person and being a part of the LGBTQ community. My identity and being who I am has not only boosted my self-confidence, but I hope it can also help to inspire others to be their true self as well. Unfortunately, being a part of a minority in today’s modern society means that sometimes, I must face discrimination. While this discrimination is not always directed at me specifically, but rather the community as a whole, it still hurts to watch.

There have been times where I have questioned my identity. Usually, this happens at 1 am and lasts about 5 minutes before I remember how much I love and embrace who I am. But I have occasionally asked myself “why me?” after someone knowingly and intentionally says something hurtful to me or acts out against me. On my car, I have two pride flags on the back window. One night, just 5 minutes from my house, I came back outside to the parking lot from the store, and someone had torn one off, ripped the other in half, and deflated a tire. This was not just someone verbally acting out, this was property damage. So, I put on my spare and drove home, but for the rest of the night, I could not stop wondering what it would have been like if I had not identified the way I do. Would that person have vandalized someone else’s property? Or would they have just gone on their way and never vandalized anything or hurt anyone? It is times like this where I wish that I was “normal”, and “fit in”, whatever that means. But I moved on, and the next day I remembered how happy I am being myself and living my life as the person that I really am, regardless of what other people may think.

By being my true self and living my life day to day as who I really am, I hope to inspire other people to do the same, provided their situation is safe enough to do so. While some people may not be able to live their best life right now, eventually they will be in a better position to express themselves. While there are days where I would rather try and “fit in” with everyone else, I am so inspired by other people living their best life, regardless of what might get thrown at them, and I am so motivated to inspire other people to be their true self, I try and stand out from the crowd, even if It means that I am the odd one out.

I had two important experiences in life so far that taught me how to learn from failing. The first experience has to do with entrepreneurship and the second has to deal with being a sales representative. So, one day, my friend Derick and I had the idea to open our own online store. Derick and I have been friends for many years and I knew he was interested in opening an online store. That’s the reason I asked him to assist me in this project. Within three or so weeks, we had to take in a lot of information about how to do this project successfully. Being successful mostly came down to how good your store’s format is, advertisements, and the quality of your products. In the beginning we were obviously very nervous about the launch of the site, but we were excited at the same time. First week the website got decent traffic, but only converted one sale. Two more weeks pass by and we get no sales. At this point the only feeling was confusion. Derick and I talked about what the next move should be and after being down three hundred dollars, we decided it would be best to close the store.

The second experience I had was with a marketing company called Cutco. I got a call one day about a job opening, so I decided to set up an interview as soon as possible. I thought to myself “what’s the worst that can happen?” First day of training I didn’t feel nervous at all, which was sort of strange. Working in the sales field felt right for me when I was training. First week after training I ended up selling close to three hundred dollars. When you make a sale, it is an amazing feeling and it really boosts you confidence. The weeks to follow weren’t that good profit wise, but I was getting by with some money. Then my summer started getting very busy to the point where I barely had any free time. The company would keep calling me over and over again to tell me about meetings. This is when I started to get irritated. I told them several times that I didn’t have any time for meetings, but they didn’t listen. It got so bad to the point where I just had to quit and focus on school.

Both of these experiences served as life lessons in some way. The first experience taught me to not rush into things just because my emotions tell me to. In order to understand something and be successful with it, you need to know all the facts before you jump into a project. The sales representative experience taught me how to communicate and sell to a lot of different people which will really help in my future. Although I got irritated with them, I’m glad that I did decide to take the position.

Even if you do not know exactly where you are going or how to get there, do not forget to enjoy the present. That is what I learned during my trip to Ecuador, after a very unexpected event.

“Emma?” My mom calls to me. “I need to talk to you.”

It is common knowledge that when your mother wishes to “talk to you”, what she really wants to know about is the secret you managed to hide for the past 3 months. But I go downstairs anyways and sit at the table to mentally prepare myself for the chaos about to ensue.

“Honey, I wanted to tell you that I signed you up for the school trip to Ecuador and the Galapagos!” She says with a big smile. “Your friends Cassidy and Abby have also signed up. It will be so much fun.”

A simultaneous wave of relief and excitement washes over me like water out of a bucket. I did not expect that at all. Excitement overcomes me and before I knew it, I pack my bags, get on a plane and then onto a small fishing yacht that sails Me, Cassidy and Abby to Isla Isabela of the Galapagos Islands.

 When we get to the island, I step off of the yacht and onto the warm white sand. There are Sea Lions, about 25 of them, lay sprawled out across benches, tree roots, rocks, and the sand. Tropical birds sing sweet songs and seagulls chase schools of fish. Off in the horizon there is the soft glow of a town, the town at which we are staying at. Everything seems like a dream come true. However, when I signed up for my school’s trip to Ecuador I never imagined that within 48 hours of setting foot on the island, my friends and I would find ourselves lost in the streets of Isla Isabela.

Before we settle down for the night, my friends and I decide that we want to explore the town. More importantly, we want to seek out the best shop to purchase snacks. We set off into a narrow alleyway while the sun still shines on the clay walls of buildings and puddles that accumulated on the dirt road after the previous night’s rain. After purchasing our snacks and walking out of the store, we are far too absorbed in our goodies to notice that we took a turn down the wrong alley way. On top of that, the sun set and left us in the pitch dark and with a loud clap of thunder it starts to pour. At this point the three of us stand under the one rain poncho available and panic.

“Hey guys, where are we?” Abby finally asks.

“Oh my god we’re lost and we only have Carlos bars to survive on!” Cassidy says.

“Calm down, calm down.” I chime in. “We’re lost, but I’m sure one of the locals knows where the hotel is. This is an island after all, I’m sure they know where to go.”

So we set off on part two of our Snack Expedition and admire all the different houses, most of which are only half built. We also notice various gift shops and convenience stores. Finally, we come across a small bakery with the aroma of freshly baked sweet bread and sugar. It seems as if it is closed, but a kind old lady welcomes us into the store with a “Bienvenidos” and offers us a few bags of goodies for only a few cents each. After we enjoy our pastries, I take it upon myself to ask for help. I try my best to explain our situation to the lady in Spanish and she understand enough to guide us in the right direction. As it turns out, the bakery is just right down the street from the hotel we are staying in! Finding the hotel was great, but knowing the bakery was so close to the hotel was even better.

My friends and I lost our way back to our hotel on Isla Isabela. But we came back to the hotel with more than just snacks. We came back with a lifetime of memories and a new perspective. Even if you lost yourself, take the time to enjoy what’s going on in the “now”, because you never know when you will be able to experience it again.

Epilepsy, Keppra, seizures, grand mal, aura, EEG. These words and many more are terms you wouldn’t hear unless you or a family member suffered from a neurological disorder. During the summer of 2011, life for my family was changed forever. It all began with a knock on my little brothers crib that woke my whole family. Inside the crib, my brother was seizing violently and no one knew how to help him. His look was scary. He was shaking, foaming at the mouth and his eyes were rolled so far back that you could see only white. At only eleven years old, experiencing this happen to my three-year-old brother was traumatic. After countless visits to doctors and hospitals, we were finally told that my brother had epilepsy. Though this information was life altering, it was also eye opening.  

From a young age, science, especially learning about the human body, has been my favorite. I always wanted to work in medicine but I was never sure what kind until this happened to my brother. After being introduced to Michael’s diagnosis, which turned into my family’s diagnosis, my fascination with the brain began and I knew that I wanted to end my baby brother’s suffering. Instead of watching him wear his preschool graduation cap, he was wearing wires and cotton around his head for countless EEG’s. When you experience something like this, you realize how much is still unknown about something that controls our life. Since I was introduced to epilepsy, I have researched and became educated to see if its possible to understand this larger than life idea.

As my family adapted to dealing with Michael’s life changing diagnosis, we met Doctors Steven Wolf and Patricia McGoldrick, both heads of neurology at hospitals in New York City. To most, they’re just doctors, but to my family and me they’re superheroes. In a time of crisis, they gave us comfort and knew how to help us every step of the way. After the initial diagnosis, we practically lived in the hospitals and doctor’s offices. Spending so much time with the doctors, we began to grow relationships with them. Though they were my brother’s doctors, they willingly became our teachers and helped us understand this complicated transition. Having doctors to rely on made the adjustment so much easier. They were able to turn even the hardest, most scientific expressions into layman’s terms, helping even Michael understand. They simplified epilepsy into this story: 

A man is in the woods with a box of matches. The woods represent your brain and the matches represent your chances of having a seizure. Nine out of every ten times the man strikes a match, it doesn’t light, and the fire burns out representing a jerk, tremor or “spike” on your EEG. The other one out of ten times the match is lit, the fire ignites and spreads burning down the woods symbolizing a grand mal seizure ripping through your brain and therefore leading to epilepsy. 

Though these words were hard to hear, they strengthened our knowledge of something we knew so little of in the beginning. Along with making it easier to understand, Doctors Wolf and McGoldrick noticed my budding interest in following their footsteps in learning about my brothers disease. They would let me sit in on appointments and answered all my questions. They aided me in making one of the biggest decisions of my school career, committing to studying neuroscience.

Today, Michael is eleven-years-old and doing as well as any other 6th grade student in his class. We are closer than ever and we share a bond that most siblings will never experience. His progress has not only been remarkable but has given my family the hope we originally lost when we first found out about his disorder. Seeing him thrive regardless of the challenges he has faced has pushed me to not only study to help him but also help other children so that their families feel the same way mine does everyday.

Turning my head left and right all I could see were people shedding tears. This was my first ever funeral at age 4. You can tell this woman was loved by everyone,but I could not share that commonality. I have never met this woman to have any memories with. Watching my loved ones in despair made me cry along with them. This day was the day we were spiritually tied together for life.

My nana reigned from the island of St. Thomas. She was a free spirited woman that was ripped and ran the streets of the Bronx. She lived life on her terms and by any mean necessary. Due to some personal issues, she couldn’t mother to her fullest, but she made up for it by loving her grandbabies unconditionally.

Out of her 5 grandchildren, I am the only one that did not meet her physically. She made sure I was her bestfriend even in the after life. I used to laugh and talk in the back of the car and when asked why I was laughing or who I was talking to, I would say my nana was communicating with me. My nana made me feel like it was only us 2 in the world and her doing that made me the closest grandchild to her. I missed out on her physical touch, but she still left her mark on me spiritually.

My mom and I can have dreams about someone who has passed and help them pass over peacefully and my nana used to have visions too. An unfamiliar being came to me in my dreams. It was a short slim woman with an afro with beautiful brown skin. The woman took me to the past and they were trying to make up for their mistakes with my mom. My mom only had my oldest sister and they were in this New York apartment with the kitchen full of vibrant yellows. When I woke up and told my mom the dream, she said that was my nana and I described her perfectly. Although I never seen this woman, I didn’t feel sad or scared about the dream. I strangely felt comfortable and safe with the her in the dream. She was unfamiliar but was so familiar to my spirit I was not fearful for my wellbeing.

Having these experiences helped me with closure of me missing the opportunity to meet this loving spirit face to face. I’ve learned my nana is my bestfriend and she will always have my back. Guardian angels and deep spiritual connections are true and are a beautiful thing.

Have you ever put your heart into something and have it fail in the end? It’s a very negative feeling, having something that you’re so passionate about squashed in front of you. This occurred to me over the course of my last two years of high school. It was a useful learning experience, however, as I was able to understand to appreciate the journey rather than the destination. 

               The Technology Student Association (TSA) club was founded during my sophomore year of high school. The teacher who sponsored the club was Mr. L, who had been my teacher in multiple classes such as math and computer science. He had similar interests as me, as he was also the chess coach and favored math and computer science. The TSA competition, which the club prepared the team for, was around March every year, and the club was created around May, so it was postponed into the next school year. 

               When early January came around and the parts were in, it felt like we were just starting out again. The concept worked but translating that to metal sheets was not ideal. For months every Tuesday and Thursday after school, which eventually turned into Monday through Friday, we built and destroyed robots trying to make the concept a reality. The same cycle occurred time and time again, as we would come up with an idea, spend hours trying to make it work, and ending up back at the drawing board. Eventually, around the beginning of March, and very close to the day of the event, we had a functional robot.  However, something had broken on the bus ride over to the competition, and there was not enough time to troubleshoot and fix it, so when it went in to compete, it eventually just stopped moving. The ride back was full of disappointment, but it had been our first year, and there was still the next year to try again. 

               The next year wouldn’t be anything that any of us would have expected. For most of the time leading up to the competition, we were just having fun instead of working on the robot. The final product, “Big Data v2,” which was produced mainly by one of the members spending hours of lunch periods and extra periods working on it, was nowhere near as well thought out as the first version. The competition this year involved having to pick up a ball and launch it. At the competition, it somehow managed to last through the first round a barely clawed its way up to the pedestal it needed to finish on. There was not much life in it after the first round, and the frantic patch jobs were futile in the end, as the robot had reached the end of its lifetime. 

               The experience of just enjoying the club rather than viciously trying to be the best team impacted me greatly. It showed to me that it is not always about what happens in the end, the ride along the way is what you will remember the most. This is exactly what happened at the coding competition, I didn’t care about the results of the competition, but the time I had while competing in was one of my favorite memories from high school. Sometimes it is good to let go and have fun, if of course the results don’t end up negatively impacting your life. 

Let me preface this by saying that the story you are about to read was dragged up from the deepest depths of my memory, so forgive me if I used some creative license in order to fill in the gaps. The basics of what you need to know is that I was a chronically shy child, sometimes to my own detriment, and my worst fear was being noticed. With that, let’s begin.

Our tale takes place in Mrs. Sap’s kindergarten class, during circle time. Mrs. Sap was reading If You Give a Mouse of Cookie to the class when Yours Truly suddenly felt an impending nosebleed. Now, to quote the great John Mulaney, “Remember being 12, when you’re like, “No one look at me or I’ll kill myself?”” Thats exactly how I felt in most social situations. So, despite my urgent need for a tissue, I did not have the courage to get up and acquire one, because that would mean going to the front of the room where everyone could see me.

So instead I waited until another girl got up to get a tissue, and in my infinite five-year-old wisdom, I concluded that if I followed her to the tissue box I would practically be invisible. So thats exactly what I did.

However, Mrs. Sap decided to put me on blast, because apparently I was being “disruptive”. So there I stood, in front of the entire class that was now staring me, tissue box merely millimeters away from my fingers. And that, my friends, is when it finally happened. I had the most epic nosebleed of my life, perhaps of all time. And with that, the classroom was plunged into chaos.

You might be asking what the moral of this story is, and honestly there isn’t one because it’s a very stupid story. However, it taught me a valuable lesson about who I am as a person and how that affects my life. I’m an introvert, always have been an always will be. But I’m not going to let that be a downfall anymore–instead, I’m going to use it to my advantage. And hopefully, if I ever feel a nosebleed coming on, I’ll get a damn tissue.

Fragile balance holds every particle and person in this world together, as if everything is a giant, paper collage of magazine clippings, stickers, concert tickets, newspaper headlines, inspirational quotes, and polaroids, all layered together by a dried out glue stick. At any point, due to some unforeseen circumstance, that glue may become unstuck; everything will fall and paper clippings will flutter to the floor and the world will be in shambles. It is in our feeble efforts to reconstruct something out of the remains that we find value and meaning. 

It was in the third grade that my teacher assigned our class with making paper collages for our mothers in celebration of the upcoming Mother’s Day. The desks were filled with craft supplies, and each student went to task, gathering his or her markers, glitter, and scissors. Carefully, with the utmost precision, I had selected the pink construction paper and upon it traced my two hands one by one. I can remember outlining the hands in thick, black Sharpie and searching through seemingly thousands of Real Simple magazines for photos of purple flowers, dogs, lipstick tubes, the beach, watermelon, and mothers and daughters gardening together. Sticking them together with a purple glue stick, I placed each clipping closely within the lines, being careful to iron out any creases in the paper with my fingertips. Finally, I completed my masterpiece by writing a charming poem, titled, “Why I Love You,” which I printed neatly in the space surrounding the hands.

After I eagerly presented Mom with that cluttered collage on Mother’s Day, it hung dutifully on the refrigerator for five long years. It cycled through a remodeled kitchen and a fancy, new fridge that dispensed your ice cubed or crushed, all with the push of a button. It saw me go through elementary and middle school, and through cycles of friends, hobbies, and sports. It could be seen in the background of plenty of family photos and a multitude of home videos, remaining pink and proud in the kitchen, unable to be missed. All of this changed, however, one fateful November day. 

My parents had informed my younger brother, Aidan, that he would soon be getting braces, and, in his anger, he had released his wrath on all of the house. He carved his initials into a wall, he tore holes in the window screens, and he threw objects across rooms. All of these acts he was of course punished for, but I did not see my mother get truly upset until my brother decided to go one step too far. In the middle of the afternoon, as I sat at the breakfast counter working on homework, Aidan rushed into the kitchen and began to tear the papers that were hung with magnets on the fridge. I watched, shocked, as his fists wrapped around my own tiny, third grade hands, ripping the construction paper right in half. Immediately, the bonds in the glue snapped, the magazine clippings fluttered to the floor, and everything fell apart. 

Tears began to slip from my mother’s eyes silently, falling softly like raindrops, and my brother, finally satisfied, ran hurriedly from the room. Mom cried and cried, as I meagerly offered, “I can make another one, Mom. Really, I’ll make it just the same. With little hands and all.” 

Looking back on this now, it is clear to me why the destroying of that shabby collage had upset my mother so much. It was childish, crumpled around the edges, and I am sure it had been covered in stray pencil marks, yet it was made with pure love—the kind so pure that only a child can possess it. That collage represented my entire childhood, events layered together through pictures of princess crowns and puppy dogs. When it finally was shredded into scraps of memories lost in the past, my childhood was, too. My mother realized, as I soon did, that I was growing up, leaving princesses and puppies behind me. 

It is because of this moment that I believe in the fragile balance of childhood and adulthood, in a mother’s relationship with her child who is growing up all too quickly, and in pink construction paper collages. After all, when the glue inevitably dries out and the pictures fall, we will gather them up with saddened hands, and those will remain our fondest memories.