Fire and Ice

"I'm totally getting a hot cocoa," I said, glancing out at the trees struggling against the mighty breath of the wind. "Seriously though, it's FREEZING out!"
Hannah and Giulia giggled at my amazement with the weather. As we paid for our comforting cocoa we found seats near the huge fireplace. I looked at the glowing wood, nostalgically musing over my experience with such majestically hot flames.
Every summer solstice, the Waldorf school held a bonfire. I played at the beach all day, thrashing around in the white water, or daring to swim out past the breaking point. After hours of being in the ocean, I ran back to shore, lips blue, and fingers wrinkled. I could see the six month old Christmas trees that people had saved especially for St. John's bonfire. As dusk seeped through the sky, and the sun began to trickle below the sea, magnificent colors of lilac and pink permeated above us. At this point the pallets and the trees were piled into the pit. Fierce flames burst and crackled as my mom handed me a tofu pup to roast on an unwound hanger.
After all the kids had finished eagerly eating their fire cooked food, we sprinted over to the
lifeguard tower to play hide and seek. "Ready or not, hear I come!"
Finally, time for s'mores! Running back over to the fire, as fast as possible I gathered the ingredients necessary to cook my marshmallow over the dwindling flames, slowly fading into embers. The crimson beauty swam before my mesmerized eyes, as my marshmallow slowly took light. Under the trance of the magical fire, I failed to notice my suffering marshmallow, engulfed in a blinding array of orange and gold. "Ah!" I blew and blew until my scorched dessert was rescued. I glanced around as all my friends toasted their marshmallows with patient diligence, glazing them to a perfect golden brown crisp. I scowed down at my own; black and unrecognizable. Oh well, I was used to eating burnt s'mores. It happened every time. I always wanted a perfectly toasted marshmallow, but somehow, every time I crouched on the sand, and held the hanger over the fire, the bright liveliness of the flames always distracted me from my goal...
Sitting in front of the grand fireplace in the cafeteria, I found myself again, pensively staring into the flames, lost in memories of my childhood. Suddenly someone startled me out of my thoughts, yelling "Snow! Snow! It's Snowing!"
No frieking way. SNOW??? At this, I sprinted away from the fire to go peak out the window. I felt like I was in a post card. Little white flakes bustled about the air, then gracefully settled on the glistening green grass. I smiled to myself, as I gazed out at the stormy sky. How different I felt. Fire had always meant, summertime, the beach, s'mores, and tofu pups. Now, in my new home in the north-west, fire meant winter, hot cocoa, and, although it's still hard for me to believe-snow.

Cross Currents

Last year in my English class we watched the movie Crash. We had to do an "open" project on it, which basically meant we could do whatever we wanted. Some people composed a diary of a certain character, others analyzed specific aspects of the film, others made a film of their own addressing the issues identified in Crash. I chose to write a poem, and present it in front of the class. Here at UPS, there is a magazine/book called "Cross Currents", where students can submit anything from essays, to short stories, to poems. Today is the last day to submit work, and I had been thinking of submitting my poem that I wrote for English last year, but for some reason I couldn't muster up the pluck. Finally, about two hours ago, I decided to just do it. I submitted my poem...Here it is for you guys to read and critique; all comments positive or critical are very welcome!! Thanks! Oh yeah, I couldn't think of a title that wouldn't give away the entire meaning of the poem, so, as of now, it is "titleless".

She coats with malice
The ignorant mind.
Compels it to dash
To twist to thrust
Into harsh convictions
Mounted on unstable stilts
Of fallacies and hatred.
She gazes on the world
Through a pane
Obscured by splotches
Of premature thought
And shallow visions of certainty.
Gaping through calloused
Eyes,
Hardened by influences of
Song and sight.
She gawks at the novelty of
Diverseness in color and
Diverseness in sound.
With ease she crashes
Between
The comfortable conclusions
That have founded
Her cruel identity.
With uncanny stealth and
Frightening furtiveness
She dwells within
Our unknowing minds
So disillusions
To her
Prevalent existence.
Her name be that of
Racisim.

Independence

This week I have Monday and Tuesday off for my fall break, so I bought a ticket to visit Ben. I feel so independent buying and booking my own ticket, and taking the public bus to and from the airport...
Independence has become an extremely common feeling for me. The novelty of not calling my parents and telling them where I am and what I'm doing every weekend is not accompanied by a sense of relief, but more a feeling of acceptance. During high school, my parents were always very understanding and lenient, which I am extremely grateful for. As I watch many of my peers struggle with their new freedom, I feel comfortable with my personal ability to make intelligent and practical decisions. Since I have been at college, I have had a friend taken to the hospital for alcohol poisoning, I have seen a friend drop out due to slipping grades. Along with these cases, I have witnessed several other people display poor decision-making skills, due to independence thrust too suddenly upon them. I am so thankful for the perfect preparation I received from my parents in readying me for my recent freedoms. Mom and Papa taught me to be pragmatic and responsible, they showed me how to make the right choices, and these skills have thus far kept me out of trouble, and guided me on the path to what I hope will be success. I would like to thank my parents for providing me with these skills, and tell them not to worry about me. I will be smart, keep my grades up, not party too hard, and call them often...